Written as part of a challenge details can be found below.
” We were within a mile-and-a-half of the service roads when we found it.” The sign told the story of Wheeler Pass. But their were ghosts to tell the rest of it.
Reverend James looked over the scene. The backside of Wheeler Pass. The easy part was upon them. Five months worth of supplies used up. Eight wagons, now six patchwork towering ships. Indiana was a world or two away now.
“God, we thank you for the food you have provided us. Have mercy own our souls. Grant Wilbur all the forgiveness we seek.” His words fight against the wind.
The eight man with long rifles wipe at their eyes. Two of them drag a frozen chunk of comforter across what remains of Wilbur. The scene white washed with bright red starbursts and black feathers.
“Gentleman, we will not speak of this to the others! We have another week or two of mountains. The meat is necessary. We know Wilbur is in a better place now.” Reverend speaks to his owm soul. The regret lies deeper than the snow that halted the wagon train.
He walks along the comforter. Little comfort in it being cairn for his own son. In his hands the bounty of meat yielded from hell on Earth.
“Reverend, whaaaa whatt do buzzards taste like?” Robert fights through the memory of his friend.
“Better than the alternative. My son. Better than the alternative.” The wind picks up the words. The snow muffled all sound.
In a whisper of wind. The scene faded back to a brown wooden sign. Rachel and Dan returned to their car. The snow was beginning to fall.