Pilgrim

The next he knows, the wastes are around him. It’s happened before, a dreamy sense of dislocated time, waking to find his body moving on invisible strings. He can’t stop. It’s all he can do to grab his canteen- blessedly full- pour water down his dry throat.
James Deaks, bounty hunter, sharpshooter- now a Pilgrim.
It happens sometimes. For no gain and no reason, Pilgrims leave their lives behind and walk north. You couldn't stop them, short of killing them. Now people hardly tried.
The lucky ones die in the wastes. The unlucky ones don't.
He’s never been that lucky.