The sun rose over Montana, spilling golden light across the land and casting long shadows over the rolling plains. The warmth crept across Frank Boone's ranch, illuminating the peeling red paint of his barn and glinting off the broken glass of the old weather vane that spun slowly in the wind. It touched the crumbling wooden fence posts and the dew-covered grass, bringing with it the promise of a new day—a day unlike any other Frank had known.
Frank stood in his room, coughing quietly as he pulled his worn leather belt through the loops of his faded jeans. He paused for a moment, eyes drifting to the small, framed photograph that sat on his dresser: Mary, smiling and full of life, her eyes shining with the light that used to fill his world. Frank tipped his hat to the photograph, murmuring a quiet, "Wish me luck," before he grabbed his rifle and stepped out into the hallway.
His boots made a familiar, comforting sound on the creaking wooden floor as he walked down the narrow passage, the sound echoing in the silence of the old house. As he reached the end, he heard another door open, and Sam emerged from the spare room, her backpack slung over one shoulder, and the black jacket—Mary's jacket—fitting her slender frame perfectly. Her face was still marked by traces of sleep, but her eyes were sharp, guarded, like a young animal caught between fear and curiosity.
"Sam," Frank said, tipping his hat to her, "you ready to go?"
Sam nodded, though she looked around as if she expected something more. "Yeah, I'm ready. But… aren't we taking a car?"
Frank let out a low chuckle. "Ain't got no car, kid. Never needed one. We're takin' a horse. Unless you'd rather walk, but I reckon you'll be slowin' us down that way." He paused, studying her expression. "It's gonna be a long trip. Might take us the better part of a year to get to Japan, especially with those government folks sniffin' around."
"A year?" Sam said, her eyes widening. "Why not just… fly there or something?"
Frank chuckled again, a dry, scratchy sound that came from deep in his chest. "Flyin' might be faster, but it'd also be a helluva lot easier for them to find us, don't ya think? Now come on, we got ground to cover."
Sam, still bewildered, followed him outside as Frank made his way to the stable. The structure was old, its red paint having faded to a dull, chipped pink, with planks missing from the walls and gaps that let the wind whistle through. Inside, hay lay strewn across the ground, mingling with the unmistakable scent of horses and age. Frank approached his horse's stall, calling out in a soft, familiar voice, "C'mon, Rusty, we got work to do."
Rusty, the bay horse with a white blaze down his face, nickered softly and nudged Frank's shoulder. "Good boy," Frank murmured, slipping a halter over the horse's head and leading him out into the yard. He began to saddle Rusty, his hands moving with practiced efficiency, as the wind picked up, tugging at his hat and the strands of hay strewn across the ground.
Sam stood nearby, fidgeting with the strap of her backpack. Frank glanced at her. "You got all your stuff packed?"
"Yeah," she muttered, though her eyes lingered on the gun holstered at Frank's side. "But… what about my gun?"
Frank paused, giving her a steady, measuring look. "You're still a kid, Sam. Don't need to be carryin' around somethin' like this." He reached into his jacket and took the revolver, turning it over in his hands before slipping it into his own holster. "You'll get it back when I think you're ready for it."
"But—" she protested, but Frank shook his head, cutting her off.
"No 'buts,' kid. You want my help, then you're gonna do as I say."
With a sigh, Sam nodded, her shoulders slumping in resignation. Frank's eyes softened for a moment. He reached down, double-checking the saddle straps and securing his own supplies—an old bedroll, a small sack of oats for Rusty, and a rifle slung over his shoulder.
"Alright, then," he said, hoisting himself onto the horse. "Hop on."
Sam stared up at him, eyes flicking between the horse and Frank, clearly unsure of how to proceed. "Uh, how…?"
Frank sighed, swinging his leg over and stepping back down. "Alright, come here. Put your foot in the stirrup." He grabbed her waist and, with surprising ease for a man his age, lifted her up onto the saddle. Sam let out a little gasp, gripping the horn of the saddle tightly, her legs dangling awkwardly on either side.
"Comfortable?" Frank asked, his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile.
"Not really," she muttered.
"Well, get used to it," Frank replied as he climbed up in front of her, settling himself into the saddle. "Alright, here's the plan. We're headin' northwest, up to Seattle first. From there, we cross into Canada, and then it's up to Alaska. If we're lucky, by the time summer rolls 'round again, we'll be able to cross the ice over to Siberia and make our way down to Japan."
"You make it sound so easy," Sam muttered.
Frank laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air. "That's because I've been doin' hard things my whole life, kid. Now hold on, it's gonna be a rough ride." He clicked his tongue, and with a nudge of his heels, Rusty began to walk forward, his hooves crunching against the dry grass and dirt.
As they rode away from the ranch, the wind picked up, tugging at their clothes and whistling through the trees. The old farmhouse grew smaller and smaller behind them, until it was just a dot against the horizon, swallowed up by the endless sky. Frank kept his eyes on the road ahead, the weight of the journey settling onto his shoulders.
"You ever been outside Montana?" he asked, breaking the silence.
Sam shook her head. "No. Never left my hometown back in Canada, either. This is… all new to me."
"Well, it's gonna get a whole lot newer," Frank said with a smirk. "The world's a big place, bigger than most folks realize. And there's things out there that'll make you wonder if you ain't just dreamin'."
"Like… other realms?" Sam asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
Frank nodded. "Yeah, like those. Now don't get me wrong, I've never seen one myself, but I reckon if you say they're real, then they just might be."
They fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound being Rusty's rhythmic steps and the occasional caw of a bird overhead. Frank's mind wandered, drifting back to the days when he'd dreamed of leaving the ranch, of taking Mary and traveling across the world, seeing places he'd only read about in books. Those dreams had died with her, buried beneath the weight of responsibility and routine.
But now, here he was, heading out into the unknown with a girl who claimed to be from another world. Maybe, he thought, there was still some adventure left in him after all.
As they crossed the Montana border into Idaho, Frank felt a strange sense of freedom washing over him, like a weight lifting from his shoulders. The land stretched out before them, vast and wild, and for the first time in a long while, Frank Boone allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he still had a purpose left to fulfill.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the road as they rode onward, two souls bound by fate and circumstance, riding toward an uncertain future with nothing but the wind at their backs and the call of distant realms echoing in their ears.