Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Banditos ❯ Schism ( Chapter 9 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Junior speared him with a furious look. “We’re out huntin’, an’ you don’t have a gun?”
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Horror / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.11.2006 | Updated On: 04.11.2006 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 347 | Status: Completed
Junior speared him with a furious look. “We’re out huntin’, an’ you don’t have a gun?”
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Horror / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.11.2006 | Updated On: 04.11.2006 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 347 | Status: Completed
Extreme AU, OOC, non-historic West, violence...supernatural themes, violence...Just be prepared for the amount of violence and utter chaos.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
Based somewhat on that thrilling vid-game, Darkwatch. Heh. My inspiration for something gory and dark.
Chapter Nine:
Schism
His arms throbbed with a sort of stinging pain that made it tough to move them. Chunks of skin and some muscle had been torn right off of bone, and it had taken some cauterizing to close a few. The pain was agonizing, and he’d been quite embarrassed to have found himself passed out when Teresa sewed some of them back up. The women had smaller wounds that didn’t require such extensive treatment, but all three of them were battered and worn.
Neither of them knew why Angel had behaved in the manner she had. Richie, for all his knowledge, didn’t know what ‘Possession’ was. Alva wasn’t explaining why he knew what he did.
This incident made the men much more wary than they were, before.
Richie stared up at the pictures mounted on the wall of the town’s only saloon. Many of them were depictions of nude women, displayed in positions that looked uncomfortable and fulfilling for the men that were interested. He felt sorry for the models–the painter’s depiction had captured their tired and aged eyes perfectly.
He looked over at Specs, Trapper, Tim, and Mitch; all of whom were raiding the bar’s supplies. No one was paying attention to him. He looked away from the wall, and found an open doorway that led away from the bar, and into a narrow stairway leading up.
Alva had gotten the idea that everyone was to raid the town. Find supplies, find weapons, find money and valuables. Everyone–including the whores.
Personally, Richie was grateful to be allowed out. He didn’t mind the raiding aspect–as long as he wasn’t locked up in some room. Specs and Trapper were supposed to be keeping an eye on him, while Tim and Mitch were supposed to be watching Jessie. But Jessie had wandered off toward the whore’s rooms, muttering something about finding some dresses and under garments.
It was a good idea, really. The clothing he was wearing stank of his own body odor, and was dried with both his and the others’ blood.
Walking up the stairway, he found that it led into a series of rooms. Richie began searching that floor, finding that it was offices and storage spaces of everything the former owner had apparently deemed important.
One room was that of a man’s, and once he found the clothes, he began rummaging through it all, looking for something that would fit him.
Later that afternoon, he was fiddling with a book he’d found in someone’s house, a small pile of treasures sitting next to him. There were a couple of mules standing nearby, outfitted with various leather and chains, pulling a quickly filling wooden cart. The cowboys were currently loading it with dry goods, some valuables they’d found throughout the town, weaponry, ammunition, and other things that they’d deemed important. Teresa and Jessie were talking low about the clothing and supplies they themselves found, standing nearby. Both of them had changed into simpler, plain dresses, and had fixed their hair to look a little more manageable. No one would have guessed their professions upon looking upon them.
He himself had found some clothing that fit him, as well as some boots that fit much better than the others had. He’d also found a hat–his face had gotten sunburnt without that earlier protection.
Alva was barking orders to the men, looking cross as he wiped his face with a worn kerchief, his horse prancing with agitation. He’d found a more suitable shelter on the outer limits of town, where a correl would hold their animals until they were ready to roll out. They were going to move their things from the boarding house to there–and the cowboys really weren’t happy about it.
That night, Richie flipped through the book he’d found, Jessie tiredly asking him to read to her as she rested her head on his chest. They had been locked in a room that was quite sizable, with two beds; the women were sharing one, and Richie had the other. Junior had gone through their ‘supplies’, ranting and raving about carting their ‘junk’, and the women had argued the entire time with him, managing to piss him off and send him drinking.
Alva had grumbled that if they found their own animals to carry their ‘junk’, they could keep it. So, tomorrow, the ladies planned on looking for a few animals–the other cowboys had scoffed at them, sure that they’d taken every available one.
Teresa lowered a bonnet she was adding more lace to. Her injuries had swollen that one side of her face–making it seem as if she were attempting to wink. It made her self-conscious.
“Are we stayin’, then?” she asked the other two curiously, causing Richie to stop his reading aloud. “I mean...if we’re set...are we stayin’? Or, are we...like...unsure of what to do?”
Jessie lifted her head, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She eyed the woman with a frown. The scratched eye made her seem somewhat devilish. Her eye globe had been scratched, but as long as she kept it from getting infected, she would keep her sight. Richie’s was the same way.
“Angel was right,” she said slowly. “Even if we don’t like it, an’ we hate it, they protectin’ us cuz we’re their property. I’d feel better if I knew what to do with a gun, an’ none of us here knows how to use them.”
Teresa thought about it, then shrugged, picking up her sewing once more. “True,” she grumbled. “But I still think that if’n we got the chance, we should take it.”
“Maybe we can get them to teach us how to use those things,” Richie suggested, lowering the book. His arms throbbing with pain, so Teresa had taken a bottle of liquor from the men to give to him. He was currently feeling a little buzzed and joyful. “Go along with their plans, until we’re confident in ourselves in using them.”
“Like pretendin’ to join their forces?” Jessie asked, looking at him, then excitedly crawling over him to lay beside Teresa on the other bed. “Like, we’ll go along with them, be all submitting, stop all our bullshittin’–then whine about wantin’ to defend ourselves, too. Get them to teach us how to shoot–then, when we all good, we bust out one night. When they let their guard down.”
“Sounds good,” Teresa muttered, lowering the bonnet. “Then what? What we do after we bust free? Where we go?”
“I want to go back home,” Richie confessed, rolling onto his stomach and setting his book aside.
“Back to mommy an’ daddy?” Jessie sneered.
“Yes. And pretend that this never happened. Ever.”
“I wish I could do that,” she muttered sullenly. “My mummy an’ daddy were kilt by Indians. Damn red bastards.”
“I would like to go back to Spain,” Teresa confessed. “But I wouldn’t know how to get to my family. We all moved here.”
“I would like to find a man. A real one. One that is going to treat me like a damn princess,” Jessie said, rolling onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “Someone that ain’t gonna mind that I ain’t a virgin. I ain’t ever gonna tell him what I used to do, though. Ain’t no one want you, then.”
“I would like to have a family,” Richie muttered, pulling a pillow close to him, “but I don’t know, now. I’m afraid no one will accept me.”
“Just don’t tell them, fool. You a man–ain’t like you got a pussy that a man wants intact. You can just go on an’ do all your ruttin’ on a woman that don’t know any better,” Jessie said.
“...I can’t do that,” Richie muttered. “‘Ruttin’. That’s such an ugly word.”
“Prolly can’t get it up for ladies, anyway, huh?” Jessie snickered. She left Teresa to bounce back onto the other bed. She began pulling at his pants with a sort of naughty grin. “Let’s see! Let’s see you get it up for me!”
“NO!”
Teresa rolled her eyes as the two struggled on the bed, Jessie roaring for Richie to pull his pants down. Amid all the shouts and laughter, she barked, “Both of you! Behave! Shut up!”
Someone pounded on the wall, the pair silencing immediately as a drunken slur told them to quiet down. Jessie let him go, sighing heavily as she hung half her body off the bed.
“I’d like to learn how to shoot a gun,” she muttered, “and mebbe use it on one of them. All of them.”
Teresa cast a look in her direction. She resumed sewing. “Whores are whores all their lives, girl. Y’know that. That one up there,” she looked up briefly, at the ceiling, “He’s a stingy piece of shit. Don’t like women–won’t respect them. Won’t give them chances when they fall. They make a mistake–bang. Lookit what happened to Eve.”
Jessie cast a middle finger at the ceiling. “Stingy ole codger.”
Teresa nodded firmly. She pricked her finger, and muttered a curse as she pulled it into her mouth. “Gives men all the good chances, an’ redeems them.”
“Not all of them,” Richie muttered.
“Busta, you be quiet. You the only one with a dick in here, an’ you don’t even use it. Don’t you be lippin’ me, when you all ganged up by women,” Teresa snapped.
“Yeah,” Jessie chimed, lifting a foot to kick him. Richie pushed her off his bed, and she hit the floor with a loud thud.
That same man pounded on the wall.
Jessie snickered as she straightened. She rose from the floor, and headed over to the window. Looking out, she frowned at the full moon, blinking curiously. Hadn’t it been full a few days earlier? She looked down at the darkened grounds below–then worked on the window. It was unlocked, and she opened it carefully, exhaling lightly as the cool night air filtered in. She bent forward, resting her elbows on the window sill.
After staring out at the darkness and hearing the silence, she whispered, “Wouldn’t it be neat if’n I could sing? Y’know? Just burst into song? Serenade my prince into comin’ to me?”
Teresa snorted, throwing an eye roll in her direction. Richie grinned at her, opening his book once more. “You’d be more of a siren, anyway. Luring him to something unfortunate.”
Jessie stilled, then picked up one of Teresa’s pilfered shoes, hurling it at him. “Fuck you, you fuckin’ dick! Suck cock fucking jerk!”
“Weren’t you with old man Thomas, before that? His flaky skin might have rubbed off on you.”
Jessie pushed her sleeves up her arms and stomped over to him. Teresa gave an exasperated sigh as the two began fighting again.
“Both of you–! Knock it off!” she hissed, growing irritated with their giggling and wrestling.
Jessie screeched upon being pinned, reaching up to pull on Richie’s hair, making him yelp. The pair slipped off the bed, laughing, rolling over the floor. Teresa sat up to bawl them out when she heard the man next door clomp across his floor and shove his door open, heading for theirs. The pair heard this, stilling upon hearing the hallway filled with irritated clomps. They separated quickly as their door opened, all of them facing a very irritated Mitch.
Who was naked, save for his boots–on the wrong feet.
“What the fuck’s wrong wit’ you?” he snapped loudly, obviously trying to sleep off heavy liquor. “Shaddup! Men tryin’ ta sleep!”
“They just havin’ a nightmare. Go back to sleep,” Teresa whispered, waving at him. “We just as tired, too.”
Mitch eyed them angrily, then slammed their door shut, clomping back to his room.
Richie waited until he heard Mitch’s bedroom door shut, and the sound of his boots hitting the floor. At the muffled thump his bed made in connection with the wall, he snickered. “What do you know? Mitch is pregnant. He’s going to have a girl.”
Jessie snickered, then started laughing, muffling it behind her palm. “He’s a not a natural blond!”
“Both of you–! Shut up! Get inta bed before I smack you both,” Teresa grumbled, setting her things aside, and blowing out the candle next to her. “Jessie, I mean it. Who knows what’s goin’ happen, tomorrow? Old man might be gettin’ us to move on. Gotta get our rest.”
Jessie sighed tiredly, pushing up from the floor. Richie did the same, moving over to the window to close it. The women settled into their bed, and he crawled into his, blowing his candle out before pulling his blankets over him. As he settled, staring out into the darkness and hearing Teresa and Jessie whisper a hurried conversation in Spanish, he thought of a pair of green eyes–wondering if that cowboy was still alive; and, if he were, if they’d ever see each other again.
He felt miserable in that moment, shutting his eyes tight; he didn’t want to think of a man. He wanted to be able to do things right. He tried to make himself think more of Jessie–but he just couldn’t do it.
010101010110
Junior was annoyed with him. Frankly, Richie had to wonder when Junior wasn’t–even when the man was taking his turn on him, he’d complained. The younger Alva was obviously a very unhappy man.
The men, save for Alva, were gathered out in the correl, target practicing. Richie managed to ask for some guidance in the area, and Junior had actually agreed to it.
Even more surprising, he was the one showing Richie how to shoot.
“You do this, an’ take this, an’ hold it right here, you piece of shit–! How many times do I haveta tell you–? Fuck, I get so fuckin’ tired of tryin’ ta make ya lissen–! Hold it right here!” Junior angrily jerked Richie around into the proper position, jamming the rifle butt firmly against his shoulder. “When it kicks back, it gonna hit you in the fuckin’ face. In fact, why don’t you do it like that, huh?”
The others were laughing at him.
Junior pulled away from him, snarling angrily, and the men quieted. Junior looked back at Richie, then kicked the back of his knee, making him fall to the ground with a startled yelp. With intense frustration and short temperament, Junior yanked the boy to his feet.
“Aw, Christ–! Git back up–! Fucking piece of shit! Git this gun in position, an’ so help me, you miss, an’ I’ll make you pay–!” Junior stepped back, still snarling his threats as Richie straightened, positioning the rifle correctly, and taking aim at the coyote Jerry had trapped. The man collected coyote pelts, and figured it was okay to sacrifice one if it meant to better their numbers against another invasion.
Richie felt sorry for the animal, but he didn’t want to go through another one of Junior’s fits, so he fired just as the coyote tried to make a leap for the correl walls. It was such a shame to watch the animal slam hard against one of the posts, ripped from the side by the blast. His arms felt intensely shaky and weak---throbbing painfully with the wounds he'd gotten. Feeling the wetness start to soak his bandages, he grimly guessed that he'd opened a few with this. But he really didn't care---learning to shoot a gun was better than nothing.
Some of the men cheered at the lucky shot, Richie lowering the shotgun with a saddened expression. Junior grunted. “First timer’s luck,” he muttered, handing over a couple of shells. “Now, reload, an’ aim at that there bottle on the center left post.”
Richie did so, spying the lone bottle atop of the post. Once he’d had the weapon loaded, he positioned himself and aimed–catching the bottle easily. More cheers.
“Shit...” Junior snatched the rifle from him, and handed him one of his six-shooters. “Try wit’ that. Aim fo’ the coyote’s head. Better yet, aim for it’s eye.”
Richie stared at the hand gun for a few moments, then lifted his arm, aiming clumsily. Junior scoffed when the empty click of the barrel signaled the lack of a bullet. He slapped the back of the boy’s head, sending his glasses flying.
“Idiot! Only five barrels are loaded. Remember that! The first one’s always empty.” Junior frowned as he retrieved his glasses quickly, setting them right and aiming again.
His laugh was ugly when the kick of the weapon had the boy smacking his face with the gun. The other men laughed as well, throwing down some shots. Junior then frowned when he realized that Richie’s target had been met–the coyote’s head was a gruesome display of skull, flesh and brains. He began looking for other targets.
Pointing at a lizard perched atop of another fencepost six lengths down, he commanded a shot of that.
Holding the gun with both hands and locking his arms, Richie aimed for that and watched, with intense guilt, as the shot sent the lizard flying into pieces.
Junior snatched his gun back. “That’s enough. Yer wastin’ my ammo.”
“C’mon, teach! There’s more ta be learnin’!” one of the men shouted, laughing. “I’m learnin’ a lot from ya!”
Junior turned, firing at him. The men scattered, falling from the correl posts and taking off with startled shouts. With a satisfied smirk, he lowered his gun and frowned at the boy that refused to meet his eyes. A little annoyed that he was actually a very good shot, Junior reloaded his weapon and slipped it back into its holster.
“That all you want? You know how ta use one,” he said gruffly. “I ain’t teachin’ those women nothin’. Women don’t got to know that stuff.”
“...It’s a men’s only club?”
“You ain’t no man, kid.”
“...Then...?”
“I’m just doin’ this cuz we might, just mebbe need ya one day,” Junior muttered, hating that fact. “The women, they’d just fuck it up. Panic an’ shit. They’re a weepy lot. Can’t handle stuff like that.”
“Teresa and Jessie are actually–”
Junior whacked him across the head to shut him up. “Don’t back talk me, boy! I know what I know! I ain’t teachin’ those women nothin’, an’ you’d best not to, either! If I catch you tryin’ to show them how, I’m goin’ to work you over somethin’ fierce!”
“I’m sorry...”
“Damn right, you are.” Junior grumbled a bit more, then hefted up his belt, glaring into the distance.
Richie glanced at him to see what was next, a little more than tense standing next to him. He was waiting to be hit, actually. Junior was quite free with smacking the three of them around with no regard to their wounds or status. He viewed everyone as workers; slaves. He hadn’t any respect for anyone–perhaps just a little for his father.
Richie tried to think–he didn’t want to be locked up in their room, where Teresa and Jessie currently were. Being outside, with the others, felt great.
“What about a horse?” he asked quickly. “I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
Junior scoffed at him. “I ain’t givin’ you no horse! You an’ that spic-bitch are sharin’ one. Whether you fit on it, or not.”
“But...it would help–!” Richie quieted quickly when Junior raised a hand.
The younger Alva lowered it with a frown. “Why you wantin’ to know all this, alla sudden?”
“Well, um, so far, things haven’t been very organized–but the three of us, Junior, we know the value of sticking together. Some things are horribly unfair–”
“Git to the point.”
“Er, well, in other words–we want to help, too. We’re part of this group.” Richie licked his lips with uncertainty, judging the other’s mood. “Shouldn’t we be just as involved?”
“No.”
“...um, why?”
Junior gave him a disbelieving look, then began marching away, apparently annoyed by the conversation. Richie followed after him hurriedly, fearing any sort of consequence if he didn’t.
He didn’t get his answer.
That night, Alva allowed the three to sit with the others while a small dinner was served–the three were allowed only because Alva wanted the women to cook. He wanted to know just how educated Richie was, and actually began talking to him about finances and economics. The older Alva was pleasantly surprised that the boy was quite knowledgeable in the area, and spent some time discussing options in financial survival with the boy.
Junior, witness to the conversation, was sullen about it. Just seeing his father–who was very cold and concerned with matters pertaining to his financial successes than his own child–talk with the boy made him considerably angry.
Later on, Junior was nursing a bottle of tequila, sitting alone in the downstairs living room, where he had viewing access to the large window overlooking the front of the house’s property, the front door, and the single stairway. He held a rifle in one arm, his six-shooters were nearby, and he was getting quite buzzed as he sullenly went over everything he’d ever done for his father. Alva never seemed to respect him; he never seemed to give him the time of day, unless it was a matter for himself.
Junior hated that about him–he was the only living offspring of Alva, and Alva disregarded him as a simple, mindless worker. There were occasional moments in which Alva treated him more, but the man was cold, a stonewall concerned only with himself.
Junior wasn’t looking for love–he’d gotten too old for that childhood yearning. He was just looking for acceptance. Respect. Acknowledgment.
Brooding, he swirled the liquid around in the bottle.
Later that morning, he was dragging Richie out of bed and yelling at him to follow along. Drunk, Junior had come to the conclusion that his father wanted someone like the boy to be his son, and Junior was going to put a stop to that. He ignored the startled women’s inquiries, and those of his cronies as he herded the boy out from the house. He wasn’t walking straight as he grabbed random bits, reins and a couple of guns from the stockpile in the living room.
By the time they were riding out from town, the others had given up trying to find out what he was doing.
Richie had no idea what was running through Junior’s drunken mind, wondering anxiously what the rush, and the meaning of this unexpected journey was about. He was having trouble keeping up with the younger Alva, struggling to stay atop of his horse as Junior led the way through the valley floor. As they drew further and further away from the town, Richie grew more and more anxious.
Finally, Junior stopped in a rocky passageway between two large mountains. The sound of birds, insects and wind sweeping through the area was a welcome cacophony of sounds. Looking around himself, Junior found the area satisfactory, and ordered Richie from his horse.
Slowly, Richie dismounted, eyeing him with wariness. Unsure of what he was going to do.
The younger Alva was swaying atop of his horse’s bareback, and he was loading his rifle. Without further questioning, Richie knew what his intention was.
He started to shake, feeling his eyes burn with tears as he felt the situation was very unfair. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong–! Hadn’t he done everything they’d said? Everything they’d wanted and asked?
...well, true, he did prove it hard for them from time to time, but that was before the zombies. He’d been nothing but a well-behaved prisoner since then. He hadn’t done any acts of rebellion since that horrible night.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, then took a deep breath. At least he wouldn’t have to submit his body, anymore. That was a wondrous relief. But the things that drew him down once more was that he’d never see his parents, again. He’d never see that cowboy. He’d never have the happiness he’d dreamed of.
It was all so unfair that, rather embarrassingly, he burst into tears.
Junior looked up from his actions, where he was trying to align the shells within their chambers. He scowled drunkenly at the teen that was sobbing with loud hiccups and gulps of air.
“What’cha cryin’ fer, ya big baby?” he growled, his voice echoing off the rock walls that surrounded them. He waved the weapon at him, the shells falling out of the chamber, making him grumble with severe irritation. He found matching shells and reloaded. “I ain’t even done anythin’ ta ya, an’ yer cryin’ like a fuckin’ gurl.”
“Please–! Don’t–kill–me!” Richie sobbed. “I–! I haven’t done anything–! Wrong!”
Junior rolled his eyes, heaving a massive sigh. “Stop your fuckin’ blubberin’, boy. An’ quit movin’ all over th’ place. I’m just gonna maim you, a bit. It all makes sense!”
Richie cried harder at that.
“Thinkin’–I got ta thinkin’, whore. I mean, you only about...what? Thirteen? Fourteen–?”
“SIXTEEN!”
220;...Whatever. An’...an’ I was thinkin’...you, when daddy got ya’ll out here? Ya’ll said you wuz gonna teach, right?”
Richie paused, furrowing his brow. Wondering where this was going. Junior wasn’t making any sense.
“So...figurin’ on that...you smart, right?” Junior swayed atop of the horse, snapping the chamber shut and propping it carefully into position. “Well...what if you WEREN’T smart, eh? What then?”
Richie stared at him in intense disbelief, then wiped at his eyes. “I...I’m not following...”
“O’course, not! I didn’t esplain it ALL!” Junior snapped at him. “Now, shaddup! Shaddup wit’ all that smart talk! Jush lissen! Jush fuggen LISSEN!”
Satisfied with the boy’s silence, Junior glowered at him, then started off quietly, “If you weren’t smart no mo’, ya can’t teach. Now....not that you were EVER...seein’ as daddy got ya workin’ som’thin’ else...where was I? Shit...now lookit what ya made me do! Made me–lose my thoughts. Fuckin’ kid...”
Richie listened to him, thinking quickly. Junior was much too drunk to think clearly, and it was obvious. He wiped his face, not taking his eyes away from the younger Alva for a second. He realized that Junior viewed his education and smarts as a threat–found it a little flattering. And a little sorrowful in that Junior would think so.
He suddenly recalled keeping up conversation with Alva last night, and tried to think of Junior feeling jealous. Alva never paid much attention to his son, and it was obvious Junior strained to satisfy the old man.
It hit him suddenly that Junior just wanted attention from someone that was never going to give it. And Junior saw him, Richie, as a threat.
It made sense. He swallowed hard. He tried to think–tried to think of something to distract the man from carrying out his intention.
Nothing came to mind. It felt that the realization he had for Junior and his father overwhelmed all else.
“I’m not smart,” he said quickly, eyeing the gun. “It’s an act, Junior. I–I’m not. I mean...I...yeah, I know how to read and write, but–I...I’m not half as intelligent as the rest of you, are.”
Junior looked up from trying to keep his balance atop of his horse. He eyed the boy with heavy eyes, frowning. “Huh?”
“I mean...I can’t–without you, I can’t make it out here. I wouldn’t know what to do,” Richie said, a half confession. “If I were smart, don’t you think–don’t you think I would have left, by now? Found my own way out of here? Escaped?”
Something snapped in Junior’s drunken mind, and he frowned. He gave visible thought about that, looking up at the sky. Then he scowled, aiming the rifle at him. The barrel wavered quite obviously as he struggled with the task. Richie wondered how fast he himself could move.
“I know what yer tryin’ ta do,” Junior mumbled from behind the gun. Richie vaguely registered that if he fired the weapon, the kick was going to knock the man right off of his horse. “Tryin’...tryin’ ta talk me out of my set decision. Well...it ain’t gonna happen....all set ta do this.”
Richie swallowed, feeling his knees weaken. Slowly, he lowered himself into a crouch, Junior getting angry about it as he had to follow with his weapon. His horse also shuffled a bit, and while the younger Alva cursed it, Richie looked around himself. He grabbed a hold of a rock, testing the weight in his hand. He wasn’t about to get shot by this man–maybe Junior wouldn’t remember it after he’d passed out.
Well, Richie figured he’d help him along in that aspect.
Junior looked up just in time to see the underside of the rock, and the crack it made with his head was horrendous. It seemed to echo throughout the small canyon.
Junior dropped his rifle, blinking stupidly while Richie watched him with a horrified expression.
The impact the rock had made with the upper part of his forehead had torn skin–blood welled immediately and began to drip, surprising the man. Richie felt appalled in that he had sped up Junior’s intentions on killing him–Junior was supposed to be knocked unconscious by that blow.
The man looked at him, scowling, then slid off his horse. Before he took another step, his legs gave out on him, and he hit the ground with nothing more than a grunt.
It was quiet all around him as Richie stared at the man, wondering if he had killed him. Wondering if Junior was just playing with his head.
He glanced around himself, the horses shuffling casually nearby; there was no one around them for miles, and he was sure that no one had followed them.
He swallowed hard, looking back at the unconscious man, then heaved a sigh. Fiddling with the bandages around his forearms, he tried to think. If he somehow managed to load Junior onto the back of the horse and walked them both back to the house, what would Alva say?
Richie figured he’d be quite disgusted and annoyed at his son, and that would just encourage Junior’s hate for him. That option wasn’t viable.
Still...what should he do?
010101010110
Junior awoke with a raging headache. His head was much too heavy for a human body to possess, and it throbbed in tempo with every beat of his heart.
He groaned aloud, then coughed, sputtering as he lifted his pounding head with superhuman strength. He spat dirt with a great amount of disgust, blinking heavily as he tried to remember where he was. It was quite dark, out. The air was cold.
Realizing he was outside, he tried to remember what it was he’d come outside for; the last thing he remembered was sitting in the living room. Other than that, it was a blank.
Movement was sluggish, and his head raged with incredible pain. He hadn’t had a hangover like this one, before. This one overcame all else. He reached up to help his neck support his skull, then cursed aloud as fresh pain raced down his spine and spread throughout every cell around his face. When he withdrew his hand, he was surprised to see blood caked with dirt on his palm. He reached up to touch his head again, and realized he had a thick, swollen knot just above his left eyebrow.
Just as he was wondering how that had happened, his eyes dropped to the two horses standing nearby. Richie had the reins of both, and the boy was watching him warily. Looking wholly guilty and sullen.
Junior blinked, looking at him, wondering why he was out. Wondering what in the world they were doing outside, in the middle of no where.
He rose shakily to his feet, feeling immensely light-headed as he did so. The world spun dangerously for a few moments, and he was suddenly leaning over, vomiting into the dirt he was just laying upon. After several violent heaves, he rose again, spitting and wiping his mouth. Looking over at the horses, he realized they were bare of saddles, blankets–they were outfitted only with reins.
He looked at the boy again, and realized that he was being regarded cautiously.
Junior really had no idea what they were doing out here, and he was too embarrassed to ask. Frankly, he’d lose some face if he admitted such a thing.
He looked around himself–he had no idea where they were, how and why they were here... he straightened his posture and asked gruffly, “When the others comin’ back?”
Richie stared at him for a few moments, rising cautiously from the dirt. He’d been holding onto the reins of the horses for hours–afraid that if he’d let go, they’d run off.
“Um...there are no others,” he said slowly. His mind raced–he realized that Junior didn’t remember anything. It would work in his favor. “You...you fell off your horse. You were–we were out there, and you were trying to teach me how to...how to hunt.”
Junior blinked. He was? He tried to think of the reason why he’d want to teach a whore to hunt, and couldn’t think of any. He was quite befuddled. He himself didn’t even know how to hunt.
He cleared his throat. Hocked a loogie into the dirt, and tried to resume his tough stance. But it was hard doing so, considering that he had a busted head and no memory of how, what, where and why.
He cleared his throat again. Then looked around himself. “Wit’ no guns?”
Richie bit his lip. “Um...you...you ended up bawling me out. Because...I’d...forgotten to pack one.”
Junior speared him with a furious look. “We’re out huntin’, an’ you don’t have a gun?”
“...I’m sorry. It was all my fault. You were yelling at me when your horse tripped.”
Junior could see that happening. But he just could not fathom why he’d be teaching this boy to hunt.
Richie was very thankful that he’d taken the time to hide the rifle behind some rocks before Junior woke up. Though, he thought it worked rather well in that Junior had no memory of why they were up here. Happiness shot through him, and he cautiously handed the reigns of Junior’s horse to him.
“Can we go back, now?” he asked. “It’s...it’s a little creepy out here.”
Junior took the reigns, and was terrified for a moment in that he had no idea in how to get back. As he tried to think, he began to realize how quiet it was out here. There was absolutely no sound. No insects, no animals, no wind. The moon was set, providing some light, but the shadows were too dark and this area was foreign.
Chills swept through him.
He looked at the boy. “We–you didn’t bring no supplies?”
“Ah–it was supposed to be a couple of hours. We–I forgot to bring things with us.”
Junior frowned at him, then whacked him across the head. “Yer such a friggin’ idiot! How on Earth did two people conceive of something like you? You’re fuckin’ worthless! No wonder yer a whore!”
His horse suddenly pulled back, reigns slipping out of his hand as both animals began to fret noisily. Junior tried to recapture the reigns, but the animals quickly turned, and tore out of the area with mad whinnies and snorts.
Gaping, Junior and Richie stared after their quickly disappearing forms. Junior turned to inflict some abuse on the boy for his incompetence when something incredibly abnormal caught their ears. The two animals were suddenly giving squeals of pain–mixed with those sounds were the loud growls of something far larger. Shrieks of animalistic agony filled the night air, Richie clamping his hands over his ears. Dust flew, and growls escalated to that of victorious screams–an animal proudly announcing its success.
Junior gaped–he’d never heard an animal like that, before. Bears, wolves, mountain lions–this was none of those. Terror shot through him, but he couldn’t act on it. Following those screams came the telltale knowledge of bones being broken, of flesh being rendered. More growls of unknown nature hit the air, and more dust flew.
He abruptly turned, and started walking away from the sounds. Richie, confused, followed closely, staring over his shoulder.
Junior was vaguely aware that they had to get to some sort of safety–but he had no idea on how to accomplish that. No weapons, no animals, no knowledge of where they were–he looked over to see Richie hurrying away from him, and he had the thought that the boy was running because they were being pursued. He whirled around, but those animal-things were still preoccupied with the horses, and there was nothing following them.
He looked over to see the boy hurrying back to him, carrying a rifle, and a very familiar ammo bag. He started to curse violently at him when those growls stopped. Taking both, he forgot about the tales Richie was springing on him, and checked the chamber. Loading the thing, he began walking faster, urged by the human instinct to run.
Snapping the chamber shut, he reached out, ensnaring blond locks within his fingers. “When we git someplace safe, you tell me the fuckin’ truth,” he snarled, shoving him away. “No mo’ of this lyin’, you filthy shitbag. You unnerstand?”
“Yes, sir,” Richie replied sullenly, sticking close to him, anyway.
The rocky canyon twisted narrowly for nearly a mile, the walls steep and high. It looked as if this were a common flood path for snow melting off the mountains. Their hurried footfalls echoed around them, and Junior was starting to panic. The mouth of the canyon reached them quickly, and Junior was grateful, expecting to see the town they were staying in, or perhaps other people.
But instead, his eyes fell upon the darkness of a small, shallow valley. The moon provided them with just enough light to see that it was moving–crowded thick with moving objects.
At first, Junior thought they were buffalo–he had half a mind on the money made from killing as many as he could; help the government wipe out the Indians’ food source.
Then he realized that the moving herds weren’t buffalo–they were people.
The smell hit him, then. The smell of multiple dead things, dead things that had been in the heat and sun. He slapped a hand over his nose with a sound of disgust, regarding the constant movement below with that of irritation and fear.
If the zombies were here...then where was their house? Where were the others?
He looked at Richie, who had both hands clamped over his nose and mouth, giving a sound of distress as he looked over the moving mass of zombies. Some were so close that Junior could see the detail of their clothing, the color of their rotting skin. He shook his head, turning, wanting to go back the way they came–but stopped short.
There, ambling slowly through the canyon walls, were three large creatures. They were bigger than bears, and moved quicker than horses. They had round, human-like heads, save for a bald plate of bone atop of their crowns. Their eyes glowed a demonic red, rimmed with black, sunken deep within their skulls. Their cheekbones jutted outward, skin sunken deep, forming hollows and ditches throughout the face, making them appear even more demonic. Their teeth were bare–it didn’t look as if they had lips.
Huge shoulders rolled with every motion they made, and Junior could see that their skin was actually short, thick fur. Their front legs resembled those of a human’s–but they were longer, their feet ending in fingers that extended with each step, the knees bending inward with each movement. Their back legs resembled those of a dog’s–the hips were high, and a long, curving tail kept their balance.
Once the creatures caught sight of them, the leader stopped, raising its head.
Junior felt himself shake violently, lost in utter terror. Those faces...those faces were more memorable than anything, much more frightening than the creatures themselves. It seemed as if their eyes just burned right into him. He clutched his rifle tightly, feeling every muscle lock stiff as he stared at them.
Next to him, Richie was just as terrified–stock still as his mind blanked of any thought, of any registering for a getaway. Those eyes seem to skim right over them, though, and that little observation made him aware. The three creatures continued to move, and though Richie was terrified and couldn’t move anyway, he began to realize that their eyes were moving beyond them.
As if totally disregarding them, or...unable to see them.
“Don’t....move...” he whispered, trying very hard not to move his lips. One of the creatures lifted its head once more, staring at him–he froze, not breathing, wondering with panic if Junior even heard him. Two of the creatures swept past them, bellowing ear-piercing shrieks of discovery upon seeing the zombies. The third lost interest in the pair of men and scrambled after them, echoing their shriek.
Richie wanted to laugh, bewildered in how he and Junior were disregarded so casually, but at the same time, he was in complete shock.
Almost a minute after the creatures had bypassed them, Junior slowly turned, staring out into the moving river of undead bodies. The monsters had swept through them, taking with them in their wake enraged zombies that attacked them viciously for bumping into them. They were attacking random zombies, tossing them around like a dog with a toy– not interested in meals.
But the strange thing–also the most terrifying–was that the creatures were unaffected. Their tough pelts prevented any injury.
Junior was in such a state of mind-numbed shock that he didn’t realize he’d wet his jeans. His fingers had curled around his weapon so tightly that he couldn’t feel them. There was much he couldn’t feel–his eyes registered everything before him, but he couldn’t prompt himself to move.
Richie turned to watch, taking in the sight of the monsters that were unaffected by zombie attacks. He felt his brow furrow, wondering what it was that kept the creatures safe from teeth, inhuman strength–thoughts of wonder and design hit him, and he wondered if those pelts were safe for human use.
If humans could wear animal fur...could they wear the fur of demons?
He watched the zombies–most of whom were not bumped or bothered continued walking. Any one nudged by some physical object–bumping into a tree, another zombie, those creatures–were subjected to immediate zombie rage.
Instead of fear, analytical thoughts started to race through his mind.
He reached up to capture Junior’s attention, pulling at his sleeve. He wanted to point this out–maybe they could use the information rather than continuing their helplessness and fear with the arrival of these things.
Junior jumped upon contact, looking at him wildly.
Richie pointed out his findings, and it took him awhile–but Junior began to see what he did. And once he did, he began to lose that mind-numbing fear. He found himself gazing in puzzled wonder as the three creatures lazed within the moving river, unaffected by zombie attacks. He watched the zombie rages prompted by touches.
He looked back at the boy, and realized he wasn’t so worthless after all.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
Based somewhat on that thrilling vid-game, Darkwatch. Heh. My inspiration for something gory and dark.
Chapter Nine:
Schism
His arms throbbed with a sort of stinging pain that made it tough to move them. Chunks of skin and some muscle had been torn right off of bone, and it had taken some cauterizing to close a few. The pain was agonizing, and he’d been quite embarrassed to have found himself passed out when Teresa sewed some of them back up. The women had smaller wounds that didn’t require such extensive treatment, but all three of them were battered and worn.
Neither of them knew why Angel had behaved in the manner she had. Richie, for all his knowledge, didn’t know what ‘Possession’ was. Alva wasn’t explaining why he knew what he did.
This incident made the men much more wary than they were, before.
Richie stared up at the pictures mounted on the wall of the town’s only saloon. Many of them were depictions of nude women, displayed in positions that looked uncomfortable and fulfilling for the men that were interested. He felt sorry for the models–the painter’s depiction had captured their tired and aged eyes perfectly.
He looked over at Specs, Trapper, Tim, and Mitch; all of whom were raiding the bar’s supplies. No one was paying attention to him. He looked away from the wall, and found an open doorway that led away from the bar, and into a narrow stairway leading up.
Alva had gotten the idea that everyone was to raid the town. Find supplies, find weapons, find money and valuables. Everyone–including the whores.
Personally, Richie was grateful to be allowed out. He didn’t mind the raiding aspect–as long as he wasn’t locked up in some room. Specs and Trapper were supposed to be keeping an eye on him, while Tim and Mitch were supposed to be watching Jessie. But Jessie had wandered off toward the whore’s rooms, muttering something about finding some dresses and under garments.
It was a good idea, really. The clothing he was wearing stank of his own body odor, and was dried with both his and the others’ blood.
Walking up the stairway, he found that it led into a series of rooms. Richie began searching that floor, finding that it was offices and storage spaces of everything the former owner had apparently deemed important.
One room was that of a man’s, and once he found the clothes, he began rummaging through it all, looking for something that would fit him.
Later that afternoon, he was fiddling with a book he’d found in someone’s house, a small pile of treasures sitting next to him. There were a couple of mules standing nearby, outfitted with various leather and chains, pulling a quickly filling wooden cart. The cowboys were currently loading it with dry goods, some valuables they’d found throughout the town, weaponry, ammunition, and other things that they’d deemed important. Teresa and Jessie were talking low about the clothing and supplies they themselves found, standing nearby. Both of them had changed into simpler, plain dresses, and had fixed their hair to look a little more manageable. No one would have guessed their professions upon looking upon them.
He himself had found some clothing that fit him, as well as some boots that fit much better than the others had. He’d also found a hat–his face had gotten sunburnt without that earlier protection.
Alva was barking orders to the men, looking cross as he wiped his face with a worn kerchief, his horse prancing with agitation. He’d found a more suitable shelter on the outer limits of town, where a correl would hold their animals until they were ready to roll out. They were going to move their things from the boarding house to there–and the cowboys really weren’t happy about it.
That night, Richie flipped through the book he’d found, Jessie tiredly asking him to read to her as she rested her head on his chest. They had been locked in a room that was quite sizable, with two beds; the women were sharing one, and Richie had the other. Junior had gone through their ‘supplies’, ranting and raving about carting their ‘junk’, and the women had argued the entire time with him, managing to piss him off and send him drinking.
Alva had grumbled that if they found their own animals to carry their ‘junk’, they could keep it. So, tomorrow, the ladies planned on looking for a few animals–the other cowboys had scoffed at them, sure that they’d taken every available one.
Teresa lowered a bonnet she was adding more lace to. Her injuries had swollen that one side of her face–making it seem as if she were attempting to wink. It made her self-conscious.
“Are we stayin’, then?” she asked the other two curiously, causing Richie to stop his reading aloud. “I mean...if we’re set...are we stayin’? Or, are we...like...unsure of what to do?”
Jessie lifted her head, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She eyed the woman with a frown. The scratched eye made her seem somewhat devilish. Her eye globe had been scratched, but as long as she kept it from getting infected, she would keep her sight. Richie’s was the same way.
“Angel was right,” she said slowly. “Even if we don’t like it, an’ we hate it, they protectin’ us cuz we’re their property. I’d feel better if I knew what to do with a gun, an’ none of us here knows how to use them.”
Teresa thought about it, then shrugged, picking up her sewing once more. “True,” she grumbled. “But I still think that if’n we got the chance, we should take it.”
“Maybe we can get them to teach us how to use those things,” Richie suggested, lowering the book. His arms throbbing with pain, so Teresa had taken a bottle of liquor from the men to give to him. He was currently feeling a little buzzed and joyful. “Go along with their plans, until we’re confident in ourselves in using them.”
“Like pretendin’ to join their forces?” Jessie asked, looking at him, then excitedly crawling over him to lay beside Teresa on the other bed. “Like, we’ll go along with them, be all submitting, stop all our bullshittin’–then whine about wantin’ to defend ourselves, too. Get them to teach us how to shoot–then, when we all good, we bust out one night. When they let their guard down.”
“Sounds good,” Teresa muttered, lowering the bonnet. “Then what? What we do after we bust free? Where we go?”
“I want to go back home,” Richie confessed, rolling onto his stomach and setting his book aside.
“Back to mommy an’ daddy?” Jessie sneered.
“Yes. And pretend that this never happened. Ever.”
“I wish I could do that,” she muttered sullenly. “My mummy an’ daddy were kilt by Indians. Damn red bastards.”
“I would like to go back to Spain,” Teresa confessed. “But I wouldn’t know how to get to my family. We all moved here.”
“I would like to find a man. A real one. One that is going to treat me like a damn princess,” Jessie said, rolling onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “Someone that ain’t gonna mind that I ain’t a virgin. I ain’t ever gonna tell him what I used to do, though. Ain’t no one want you, then.”
“I would like to have a family,” Richie muttered, pulling a pillow close to him, “but I don’t know, now. I’m afraid no one will accept me.”
“Just don’t tell them, fool. You a man–ain’t like you got a pussy that a man wants intact. You can just go on an’ do all your ruttin’ on a woman that don’t know any better,” Jessie said.
“...I can’t do that,” Richie muttered. “‘Ruttin’. That’s such an ugly word.”
“Prolly can’t get it up for ladies, anyway, huh?” Jessie snickered. She left Teresa to bounce back onto the other bed. She began pulling at his pants with a sort of naughty grin. “Let’s see! Let’s see you get it up for me!”
“NO!”
Teresa rolled her eyes as the two struggled on the bed, Jessie roaring for Richie to pull his pants down. Amid all the shouts and laughter, she barked, “Both of you! Behave! Shut up!”
Someone pounded on the wall, the pair silencing immediately as a drunken slur told them to quiet down. Jessie let him go, sighing heavily as she hung half her body off the bed.
“I’d like to learn how to shoot a gun,” she muttered, “and mebbe use it on one of them. All of them.”
Teresa cast a look in her direction. She resumed sewing. “Whores are whores all their lives, girl. Y’know that. That one up there,” she looked up briefly, at the ceiling, “He’s a stingy piece of shit. Don’t like women–won’t respect them. Won’t give them chances when they fall. They make a mistake–bang. Lookit what happened to Eve.”
Jessie cast a middle finger at the ceiling. “Stingy ole codger.”
Teresa nodded firmly. She pricked her finger, and muttered a curse as she pulled it into her mouth. “Gives men all the good chances, an’ redeems them.”
“Not all of them,” Richie muttered.
“Busta, you be quiet. You the only one with a dick in here, an’ you don’t even use it. Don’t you be lippin’ me, when you all ganged up by women,” Teresa snapped.
“Yeah,” Jessie chimed, lifting a foot to kick him. Richie pushed her off his bed, and she hit the floor with a loud thud.
That same man pounded on the wall.
Jessie snickered as she straightened. She rose from the floor, and headed over to the window. Looking out, she frowned at the full moon, blinking curiously. Hadn’t it been full a few days earlier? She looked down at the darkened grounds below–then worked on the window. It was unlocked, and she opened it carefully, exhaling lightly as the cool night air filtered in. She bent forward, resting her elbows on the window sill.
After staring out at the darkness and hearing the silence, she whispered, “Wouldn’t it be neat if’n I could sing? Y’know? Just burst into song? Serenade my prince into comin’ to me?”
Teresa snorted, throwing an eye roll in her direction. Richie grinned at her, opening his book once more. “You’d be more of a siren, anyway. Luring him to something unfortunate.”
Jessie stilled, then picked up one of Teresa’s pilfered shoes, hurling it at him. “Fuck you, you fuckin’ dick! Suck cock fucking jerk!”
“Weren’t you with old man Thomas, before that? His flaky skin might have rubbed off on you.”
Jessie pushed her sleeves up her arms and stomped over to him. Teresa gave an exasperated sigh as the two began fighting again.
“Both of you–! Knock it off!” she hissed, growing irritated with their giggling and wrestling.
Jessie screeched upon being pinned, reaching up to pull on Richie’s hair, making him yelp. The pair slipped off the bed, laughing, rolling over the floor. Teresa sat up to bawl them out when she heard the man next door clomp across his floor and shove his door open, heading for theirs. The pair heard this, stilling upon hearing the hallway filled with irritated clomps. They separated quickly as their door opened, all of them facing a very irritated Mitch.
Who was naked, save for his boots–on the wrong feet.
“What the fuck’s wrong wit’ you?” he snapped loudly, obviously trying to sleep off heavy liquor. “Shaddup! Men tryin’ ta sleep!”
“They just havin’ a nightmare. Go back to sleep,” Teresa whispered, waving at him. “We just as tired, too.”
Mitch eyed them angrily, then slammed their door shut, clomping back to his room.
Richie waited until he heard Mitch’s bedroom door shut, and the sound of his boots hitting the floor. At the muffled thump his bed made in connection with the wall, he snickered. “What do you know? Mitch is pregnant. He’s going to have a girl.”
Jessie snickered, then started laughing, muffling it behind her palm. “He’s a not a natural blond!”
“Both of you–! Shut up! Get inta bed before I smack you both,” Teresa grumbled, setting her things aside, and blowing out the candle next to her. “Jessie, I mean it. Who knows what’s goin’ happen, tomorrow? Old man might be gettin’ us to move on. Gotta get our rest.”
Jessie sighed tiredly, pushing up from the floor. Richie did the same, moving over to the window to close it. The women settled into their bed, and he crawled into his, blowing his candle out before pulling his blankets over him. As he settled, staring out into the darkness and hearing Teresa and Jessie whisper a hurried conversation in Spanish, he thought of a pair of green eyes–wondering if that cowboy was still alive; and, if he were, if they’d ever see each other again.
He felt miserable in that moment, shutting his eyes tight; he didn’t want to think of a man. He wanted to be able to do things right. He tried to make himself think more of Jessie–but he just couldn’t do it.
010101010110
Junior was annoyed with him. Frankly, Richie had to wonder when Junior wasn’t–even when the man was taking his turn on him, he’d complained. The younger Alva was obviously a very unhappy man.
The men, save for Alva, were gathered out in the correl, target practicing. Richie managed to ask for some guidance in the area, and Junior had actually agreed to it.
Even more surprising, he was the one showing Richie how to shoot.
“You do this, an’ take this, an’ hold it right here, you piece of shit–! How many times do I haveta tell you–? Fuck, I get so fuckin’ tired of tryin’ ta make ya lissen–! Hold it right here!” Junior angrily jerked Richie around into the proper position, jamming the rifle butt firmly against his shoulder. “When it kicks back, it gonna hit you in the fuckin’ face. In fact, why don’t you do it like that, huh?”
The others were laughing at him.
Junior pulled away from him, snarling angrily, and the men quieted. Junior looked back at Richie, then kicked the back of his knee, making him fall to the ground with a startled yelp. With intense frustration and short temperament, Junior yanked the boy to his feet.
“Aw, Christ–! Git back up–! Fucking piece of shit! Git this gun in position, an’ so help me, you miss, an’ I’ll make you pay–!” Junior stepped back, still snarling his threats as Richie straightened, positioning the rifle correctly, and taking aim at the coyote Jerry had trapped. The man collected coyote pelts, and figured it was okay to sacrifice one if it meant to better their numbers against another invasion.
Richie felt sorry for the animal, but he didn’t want to go through another one of Junior’s fits, so he fired just as the coyote tried to make a leap for the correl walls. It was such a shame to watch the animal slam hard against one of the posts, ripped from the side by the blast. His arms felt intensely shaky and weak---throbbing painfully with the wounds he'd gotten. Feeling the wetness start to soak his bandages, he grimly guessed that he'd opened a few with this. But he really didn't care---learning to shoot a gun was better than nothing.
Some of the men cheered at the lucky shot, Richie lowering the shotgun with a saddened expression. Junior grunted. “First timer’s luck,” he muttered, handing over a couple of shells. “Now, reload, an’ aim at that there bottle on the center left post.”
Richie did so, spying the lone bottle atop of the post. Once he’d had the weapon loaded, he positioned himself and aimed–catching the bottle easily. More cheers.
“Shit...” Junior snatched the rifle from him, and handed him one of his six-shooters. “Try wit’ that. Aim fo’ the coyote’s head. Better yet, aim for it’s eye.”
Richie stared at the hand gun for a few moments, then lifted his arm, aiming clumsily. Junior scoffed when the empty click of the barrel signaled the lack of a bullet. He slapped the back of the boy’s head, sending his glasses flying.
“Idiot! Only five barrels are loaded. Remember that! The first one’s always empty.” Junior frowned as he retrieved his glasses quickly, setting them right and aiming again.
His laugh was ugly when the kick of the weapon had the boy smacking his face with the gun. The other men laughed as well, throwing down some shots. Junior then frowned when he realized that Richie’s target had been met–the coyote’s head was a gruesome display of skull, flesh and brains. He began looking for other targets.
Pointing at a lizard perched atop of another fencepost six lengths down, he commanded a shot of that.
Holding the gun with both hands and locking his arms, Richie aimed for that and watched, with intense guilt, as the shot sent the lizard flying into pieces.
Junior snatched his gun back. “That’s enough. Yer wastin’ my ammo.”
“C’mon, teach! There’s more ta be learnin’!” one of the men shouted, laughing. “I’m learnin’ a lot from ya!”
Junior turned, firing at him. The men scattered, falling from the correl posts and taking off with startled shouts. With a satisfied smirk, he lowered his gun and frowned at the boy that refused to meet his eyes. A little annoyed that he was actually a very good shot, Junior reloaded his weapon and slipped it back into its holster.
“That all you want? You know how ta use one,” he said gruffly. “I ain’t teachin’ those women nothin’. Women don’t got to know that stuff.”
“...It’s a men’s only club?”
“You ain’t no man, kid.”
“...Then...?”
“I’m just doin’ this cuz we might, just mebbe need ya one day,” Junior muttered, hating that fact. “The women, they’d just fuck it up. Panic an’ shit. They’re a weepy lot. Can’t handle stuff like that.”
“Teresa and Jessie are actually–”
Junior whacked him across the head to shut him up. “Don’t back talk me, boy! I know what I know! I ain’t teachin’ those women nothin’, an’ you’d best not to, either! If I catch you tryin’ to show them how, I’m goin’ to work you over somethin’ fierce!”
“I’m sorry...”
“Damn right, you are.” Junior grumbled a bit more, then hefted up his belt, glaring into the distance.
Richie glanced at him to see what was next, a little more than tense standing next to him. He was waiting to be hit, actually. Junior was quite free with smacking the three of them around with no regard to their wounds or status. He viewed everyone as workers; slaves. He hadn’t any respect for anyone–perhaps just a little for his father.
Richie tried to think–he didn’t want to be locked up in their room, where Teresa and Jessie currently were. Being outside, with the others, felt great.
“What about a horse?” he asked quickly. “I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
Junior scoffed at him. “I ain’t givin’ you no horse! You an’ that spic-bitch are sharin’ one. Whether you fit on it, or not.”
“But...it would help–!” Richie quieted quickly when Junior raised a hand.
The younger Alva lowered it with a frown. “Why you wantin’ to know all this, alla sudden?”
“Well, um, so far, things haven’t been very organized–but the three of us, Junior, we know the value of sticking together. Some things are horribly unfair–”
“Git to the point.”
“Er, well, in other words–we want to help, too. We’re part of this group.” Richie licked his lips with uncertainty, judging the other’s mood. “Shouldn’t we be just as involved?”
“No.”
“...um, why?”
Junior gave him a disbelieving look, then began marching away, apparently annoyed by the conversation. Richie followed after him hurriedly, fearing any sort of consequence if he didn’t.
He didn’t get his answer.
That night, Alva allowed the three to sit with the others while a small dinner was served–the three were allowed only because Alva wanted the women to cook. He wanted to know just how educated Richie was, and actually began talking to him about finances and economics. The older Alva was pleasantly surprised that the boy was quite knowledgeable in the area, and spent some time discussing options in financial survival with the boy.
Junior, witness to the conversation, was sullen about it. Just seeing his father–who was very cold and concerned with matters pertaining to his financial successes than his own child–talk with the boy made him considerably angry.
Later on, Junior was nursing a bottle of tequila, sitting alone in the downstairs living room, where he had viewing access to the large window overlooking the front of the house’s property, the front door, and the single stairway. He held a rifle in one arm, his six-shooters were nearby, and he was getting quite buzzed as he sullenly went over everything he’d ever done for his father. Alva never seemed to respect him; he never seemed to give him the time of day, unless it was a matter for himself.
Junior hated that about him–he was the only living offspring of Alva, and Alva disregarded him as a simple, mindless worker. There were occasional moments in which Alva treated him more, but the man was cold, a stonewall concerned only with himself.
Junior wasn’t looking for love–he’d gotten too old for that childhood yearning. He was just looking for acceptance. Respect. Acknowledgment.
Brooding, he swirled the liquid around in the bottle.
Later that morning, he was dragging Richie out of bed and yelling at him to follow along. Drunk, Junior had come to the conclusion that his father wanted someone like the boy to be his son, and Junior was going to put a stop to that. He ignored the startled women’s inquiries, and those of his cronies as he herded the boy out from the house. He wasn’t walking straight as he grabbed random bits, reins and a couple of guns from the stockpile in the living room.
By the time they were riding out from town, the others had given up trying to find out what he was doing.
Richie had no idea what was running through Junior’s drunken mind, wondering anxiously what the rush, and the meaning of this unexpected journey was about. He was having trouble keeping up with the younger Alva, struggling to stay atop of his horse as Junior led the way through the valley floor. As they drew further and further away from the town, Richie grew more and more anxious.
Finally, Junior stopped in a rocky passageway between two large mountains. The sound of birds, insects and wind sweeping through the area was a welcome cacophony of sounds. Looking around himself, Junior found the area satisfactory, and ordered Richie from his horse.
Slowly, Richie dismounted, eyeing him with wariness. Unsure of what he was going to do.
The younger Alva was swaying atop of his horse’s bareback, and he was loading his rifle. Without further questioning, Richie knew what his intention was.
He started to shake, feeling his eyes burn with tears as he felt the situation was very unfair. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong–! Hadn’t he done everything they’d said? Everything they’d wanted and asked?
...well, true, he did prove it hard for them from time to time, but that was before the zombies. He’d been nothing but a well-behaved prisoner since then. He hadn’t done any acts of rebellion since that horrible night.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, then took a deep breath. At least he wouldn’t have to submit his body, anymore. That was a wondrous relief. But the things that drew him down once more was that he’d never see his parents, again. He’d never see that cowboy. He’d never have the happiness he’d dreamed of.
It was all so unfair that, rather embarrassingly, he burst into tears.
Junior looked up from his actions, where he was trying to align the shells within their chambers. He scowled drunkenly at the teen that was sobbing with loud hiccups and gulps of air.
“What’cha cryin’ fer, ya big baby?” he growled, his voice echoing off the rock walls that surrounded them. He waved the weapon at him, the shells falling out of the chamber, making him grumble with severe irritation. He found matching shells and reloaded. “I ain’t even done anythin’ ta ya, an’ yer cryin’ like a fuckin’ gurl.”
“Please–! Don’t–kill–me!” Richie sobbed. “I–! I haven’t done anything–! Wrong!”
Junior rolled his eyes, heaving a massive sigh. “Stop your fuckin’ blubberin’, boy. An’ quit movin’ all over th’ place. I’m just gonna maim you, a bit. It all makes sense!”
Richie cried harder at that.
“Thinkin’–I got ta thinkin’, whore. I mean, you only about...what? Thirteen? Fourteen–?”
“SIXTEEN!”
220;...Whatever. An’...an’ I was thinkin’...you, when daddy got ya’ll out here? Ya’ll said you wuz gonna teach, right?”
Richie paused, furrowing his brow. Wondering where this was going. Junior wasn’t making any sense.
“So...figurin’ on that...you smart, right?” Junior swayed atop of the horse, snapping the chamber shut and propping it carefully into position. “Well...what if you WEREN’T smart, eh? What then?”
Richie stared at him in intense disbelief, then wiped at his eyes. “I...I’m not following...”
“O’course, not! I didn’t esplain it ALL!” Junior snapped at him. “Now, shaddup! Shaddup wit’ all that smart talk! Jush lissen! Jush fuggen LISSEN!”
Satisfied with the boy’s silence, Junior glowered at him, then started off quietly, “If you weren’t smart no mo’, ya can’t teach. Now....not that you were EVER...seein’ as daddy got ya workin’ som’thin’ else...where was I? Shit...now lookit what ya made me do! Made me–lose my thoughts. Fuckin’ kid...”
Richie listened to him, thinking quickly. Junior was much too drunk to think clearly, and it was obvious. He wiped his face, not taking his eyes away from the younger Alva for a second. He realized that Junior viewed his education and smarts as a threat–found it a little flattering. And a little sorrowful in that Junior would think so.
He suddenly recalled keeping up conversation with Alva last night, and tried to think of Junior feeling jealous. Alva never paid much attention to his son, and it was obvious Junior strained to satisfy the old man.
It hit him suddenly that Junior just wanted attention from someone that was never going to give it. And Junior saw him, Richie, as a threat.
It made sense. He swallowed hard. He tried to think–tried to think of something to distract the man from carrying out his intention.
Nothing came to mind. It felt that the realization he had for Junior and his father overwhelmed all else.
“I’m not smart,” he said quickly, eyeing the gun. “It’s an act, Junior. I–I’m not. I mean...I...yeah, I know how to read and write, but–I...I’m not half as intelligent as the rest of you, are.”
Junior looked up from trying to keep his balance atop of his horse. He eyed the boy with heavy eyes, frowning. “Huh?”
“I mean...I can’t–without you, I can’t make it out here. I wouldn’t know what to do,” Richie said, a half confession. “If I were smart, don’t you think–don’t you think I would have left, by now? Found my own way out of here? Escaped?”
Something snapped in Junior’s drunken mind, and he frowned. He gave visible thought about that, looking up at the sky. Then he scowled, aiming the rifle at him. The barrel wavered quite obviously as he struggled with the task. Richie wondered how fast he himself could move.
“I know what yer tryin’ ta do,” Junior mumbled from behind the gun. Richie vaguely registered that if he fired the weapon, the kick was going to knock the man right off of his horse. “Tryin’...tryin’ ta talk me out of my set decision. Well...it ain’t gonna happen....all set ta do this.”
Richie swallowed, feeling his knees weaken. Slowly, he lowered himself into a crouch, Junior getting angry about it as he had to follow with his weapon. His horse also shuffled a bit, and while the younger Alva cursed it, Richie looked around himself. He grabbed a hold of a rock, testing the weight in his hand. He wasn’t about to get shot by this man–maybe Junior wouldn’t remember it after he’d passed out.
Well, Richie figured he’d help him along in that aspect.
Junior looked up just in time to see the underside of the rock, and the crack it made with his head was horrendous. It seemed to echo throughout the small canyon.
Junior dropped his rifle, blinking stupidly while Richie watched him with a horrified expression.
The impact the rock had made with the upper part of his forehead had torn skin–blood welled immediately and began to drip, surprising the man. Richie felt appalled in that he had sped up Junior’s intentions on killing him–Junior was supposed to be knocked unconscious by that blow.
The man looked at him, scowling, then slid off his horse. Before he took another step, his legs gave out on him, and he hit the ground with nothing more than a grunt.
It was quiet all around him as Richie stared at the man, wondering if he had killed him. Wondering if Junior was just playing with his head.
He glanced around himself, the horses shuffling casually nearby; there was no one around them for miles, and he was sure that no one had followed them.
He swallowed hard, looking back at the unconscious man, then heaved a sigh. Fiddling with the bandages around his forearms, he tried to think. If he somehow managed to load Junior onto the back of the horse and walked them both back to the house, what would Alva say?
Richie figured he’d be quite disgusted and annoyed at his son, and that would just encourage Junior’s hate for him. That option wasn’t viable.
Still...what should he do?
010101010110
Junior awoke with a raging headache. His head was much too heavy for a human body to possess, and it throbbed in tempo with every beat of his heart.
He groaned aloud, then coughed, sputtering as he lifted his pounding head with superhuman strength. He spat dirt with a great amount of disgust, blinking heavily as he tried to remember where he was. It was quite dark, out. The air was cold.
Realizing he was outside, he tried to remember what it was he’d come outside for; the last thing he remembered was sitting in the living room. Other than that, it was a blank.
Movement was sluggish, and his head raged with incredible pain. He hadn’t had a hangover like this one, before. This one overcame all else. He reached up to help his neck support his skull, then cursed aloud as fresh pain raced down his spine and spread throughout every cell around his face. When he withdrew his hand, he was surprised to see blood caked with dirt on his palm. He reached up to touch his head again, and realized he had a thick, swollen knot just above his left eyebrow.
Just as he was wondering how that had happened, his eyes dropped to the two horses standing nearby. Richie had the reins of both, and the boy was watching him warily. Looking wholly guilty and sullen.
Junior blinked, looking at him, wondering why he was out. Wondering what in the world they were doing outside, in the middle of no where.
He rose shakily to his feet, feeling immensely light-headed as he did so. The world spun dangerously for a few moments, and he was suddenly leaning over, vomiting into the dirt he was just laying upon. After several violent heaves, he rose again, spitting and wiping his mouth. Looking over at the horses, he realized they were bare of saddles, blankets–they were outfitted only with reins.
He looked at the boy again, and realized that he was being regarded cautiously.
Junior really had no idea what they were doing out here, and he was too embarrassed to ask. Frankly, he’d lose some face if he admitted such a thing.
He looked around himself–he had no idea where they were, how and why they were here... he straightened his posture and asked gruffly, “When the others comin’ back?”
Richie stared at him for a few moments, rising cautiously from the dirt. He’d been holding onto the reins of the horses for hours–afraid that if he’d let go, they’d run off.
“Um...there are no others,” he said slowly. His mind raced–he realized that Junior didn’t remember anything. It would work in his favor. “You...you fell off your horse. You were–we were out there, and you were trying to teach me how to...how to hunt.”
Junior blinked. He was? He tried to think of the reason why he’d want to teach a whore to hunt, and couldn’t think of any. He was quite befuddled. He himself didn’t even know how to hunt.
He cleared his throat. Hocked a loogie into the dirt, and tried to resume his tough stance. But it was hard doing so, considering that he had a busted head and no memory of how, what, where and why.
He cleared his throat again. Then looked around himself. “Wit’ no guns?”
Richie bit his lip. “Um...you...you ended up bawling me out. Because...I’d...forgotten to pack one.”
Junior speared him with a furious look. “We’re out huntin’, an’ you don’t have a gun?”
“...I’m sorry. It was all my fault. You were yelling at me when your horse tripped.”
Junior could see that happening. But he just could not fathom why he’d be teaching this boy to hunt.
Richie was very thankful that he’d taken the time to hide the rifle behind some rocks before Junior woke up. Though, he thought it worked rather well in that Junior had no memory of why they were up here. Happiness shot through him, and he cautiously handed the reigns of Junior’s horse to him.
“Can we go back, now?” he asked. “It’s...it’s a little creepy out here.”
Junior took the reigns, and was terrified for a moment in that he had no idea in how to get back. As he tried to think, he began to realize how quiet it was out here. There was absolutely no sound. No insects, no animals, no wind. The moon was set, providing some light, but the shadows were too dark and this area was foreign.
Chills swept through him.
He looked at the boy. “We–you didn’t bring no supplies?”
“Ah–it was supposed to be a couple of hours. We–I forgot to bring things with us.”
Junior frowned at him, then whacked him across the head. “Yer such a friggin’ idiot! How on Earth did two people conceive of something like you? You’re fuckin’ worthless! No wonder yer a whore!”
His horse suddenly pulled back, reigns slipping out of his hand as both animals began to fret noisily. Junior tried to recapture the reigns, but the animals quickly turned, and tore out of the area with mad whinnies and snorts.
Gaping, Junior and Richie stared after their quickly disappearing forms. Junior turned to inflict some abuse on the boy for his incompetence when something incredibly abnormal caught their ears. The two animals were suddenly giving squeals of pain–mixed with those sounds were the loud growls of something far larger. Shrieks of animalistic agony filled the night air, Richie clamping his hands over his ears. Dust flew, and growls escalated to that of victorious screams–an animal proudly announcing its success.
Junior gaped–he’d never heard an animal like that, before. Bears, wolves, mountain lions–this was none of those. Terror shot through him, but he couldn’t act on it. Following those screams came the telltale knowledge of bones being broken, of flesh being rendered. More growls of unknown nature hit the air, and more dust flew.
He abruptly turned, and started walking away from the sounds. Richie, confused, followed closely, staring over his shoulder.
Junior was vaguely aware that they had to get to some sort of safety–but he had no idea on how to accomplish that. No weapons, no animals, no knowledge of where they were–he looked over to see Richie hurrying away from him, and he had the thought that the boy was running because they were being pursued. He whirled around, but those animal-things were still preoccupied with the horses, and there was nothing following them.
He looked over to see the boy hurrying back to him, carrying a rifle, and a very familiar ammo bag. He started to curse violently at him when those growls stopped. Taking both, he forgot about the tales Richie was springing on him, and checked the chamber. Loading the thing, he began walking faster, urged by the human instinct to run.
Snapping the chamber shut, he reached out, ensnaring blond locks within his fingers. “When we git someplace safe, you tell me the fuckin’ truth,” he snarled, shoving him away. “No mo’ of this lyin’, you filthy shitbag. You unnerstand?”
“Yes, sir,” Richie replied sullenly, sticking close to him, anyway.
The rocky canyon twisted narrowly for nearly a mile, the walls steep and high. It looked as if this were a common flood path for snow melting off the mountains. Their hurried footfalls echoed around them, and Junior was starting to panic. The mouth of the canyon reached them quickly, and Junior was grateful, expecting to see the town they were staying in, or perhaps other people.
But instead, his eyes fell upon the darkness of a small, shallow valley. The moon provided them with just enough light to see that it was moving–crowded thick with moving objects.
At first, Junior thought they were buffalo–he had half a mind on the money made from killing as many as he could; help the government wipe out the Indians’ food source.
Then he realized that the moving herds weren’t buffalo–they were people.
The smell hit him, then. The smell of multiple dead things, dead things that had been in the heat and sun. He slapped a hand over his nose with a sound of disgust, regarding the constant movement below with that of irritation and fear.
If the zombies were here...then where was their house? Where were the others?
He looked at Richie, who had both hands clamped over his nose and mouth, giving a sound of distress as he looked over the moving mass of zombies. Some were so close that Junior could see the detail of their clothing, the color of their rotting skin. He shook his head, turning, wanting to go back the way they came–but stopped short.
There, ambling slowly through the canyon walls, were three large creatures. They were bigger than bears, and moved quicker than horses. They had round, human-like heads, save for a bald plate of bone atop of their crowns. Their eyes glowed a demonic red, rimmed with black, sunken deep within their skulls. Their cheekbones jutted outward, skin sunken deep, forming hollows and ditches throughout the face, making them appear even more demonic. Their teeth were bare–it didn’t look as if they had lips.
Huge shoulders rolled with every motion they made, and Junior could see that their skin was actually short, thick fur. Their front legs resembled those of a human’s–but they were longer, their feet ending in fingers that extended with each step, the knees bending inward with each movement. Their back legs resembled those of a dog’s–the hips were high, and a long, curving tail kept their balance.
Once the creatures caught sight of them, the leader stopped, raising its head.
Junior felt himself shake violently, lost in utter terror. Those faces...those faces were more memorable than anything, much more frightening than the creatures themselves. It seemed as if their eyes just burned right into him. He clutched his rifle tightly, feeling every muscle lock stiff as he stared at them.
Next to him, Richie was just as terrified–stock still as his mind blanked of any thought, of any registering for a getaway. Those eyes seem to skim right over them, though, and that little observation made him aware. The three creatures continued to move, and though Richie was terrified and couldn’t move anyway, he began to realize that their eyes were moving beyond them.
As if totally disregarding them, or...unable to see them.
“Don’t....move...” he whispered, trying very hard not to move his lips. One of the creatures lifted its head once more, staring at him–he froze, not breathing, wondering with panic if Junior even heard him. Two of the creatures swept past them, bellowing ear-piercing shrieks of discovery upon seeing the zombies. The third lost interest in the pair of men and scrambled after them, echoing their shriek.
Richie wanted to laugh, bewildered in how he and Junior were disregarded so casually, but at the same time, he was in complete shock.
Almost a minute after the creatures had bypassed them, Junior slowly turned, staring out into the moving river of undead bodies. The monsters had swept through them, taking with them in their wake enraged zombies that attacked them viciously for bumping into them. They were attacking random zombies, tossing them around like a dog with a toy– not interested in meals.
But the strange thing–also the most terrifying–was that the creatures were unaffected. Their tough pelts prevented any injury.
Junior was in such a state of mind-numbed shock that he didn’t realize he’d wet his jeans. His fingers had curled around his weapon so tightly that he couldn’t feel them. There was much he couldn’t feel–his eyes registered everything before him, but he couldn’t prompt himself to move.
Richie turned to watch, taking in the sight of the monsters that were unaffected by zombie attacks. He felt his brow furrow, wondering what it was that kept the creatures safe from teeth, inhuman strength–thoughts of wonder and design hit him, and he wondered if those pelts were safe for human use.
If humans could wear animal fur...could they wear the fur of demons?
He watched the zombies–most of whom were not bumped or bothered continued walking. Any one nudged by some physical object–bumping into a tree, another zombie, those creatures–were subjected to immediate zombie rage.
Instead of fear, analytical thoughts started to race through his mind.
He reached up to capture Junior’s attention, pulling at his sleeve. He wanted to point this out–maybe they could use the information rather than continuing their helplessness and fear with the arrival of these things.
Junior jumped upon contact, looking at him wildly.
Richie pointed out his findings, and it took him awhile–but Junior began to see what he did. And once he did, he began to lose that mind-numbing fear. He found himself gazing in puzzled wonder as the three creatures lazed within the moving river, unaffected by zombie attacks. He watched the zombie rages prompted by touches.
He looked back at the boy, and realized he wasn’t so worthless after all.