Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Banditos ❯ All Falls Down ( Chapter 14 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Manga-Chick 
“Ebon has special needs,” he said gravely.
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Horror / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.30.2006 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.9K | Visits: 353 | Status: Completed
“Ebon has special needs,” he said gravely.
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Horror / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.30.2006 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.9K | Visits: 353 | 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.
Colddaye: Hey, there! Thanks much for the compliments, and for managing to make it past MM.Org’s fascist reviewing system LOL I heard it’s actually quite awful in trying to leave a review, so many just email, or whatever...er..inane rambling...But THANKS for dropping a line! I’m glad you enjoy it! ^_^
I’m Alive: I thought it would be an interesting twist...Madelyne was always rather pushy and reminds me of a guy, sometimes...(shifty eyes). V has always impressed me with his morals, yet he has his flaws–which makes him an enjoyable character! As much as I love playing with the others, V has always left an impact on me...I always feel that I can’t do him justice. And end up not writing very much about him (grimaces). As for the separation, well...it is the old ass West...no cell phones. (Bad joke XD) heh...
Um...I’ll shut up, now. (Winces)
Chapter Fourteen:
All Falls Down
Junior was exhausted–his mind was frantic over the situation presented to him.
They hadn’t any supplies, no ammunition (he had one bullet left in his right Smith and Wesson), no warm clothing, no food, and he really hadn’t any idea where he was going, where they were, etc., etc. His right shoulder was racked with pain–he figured he must have pulled a muscle while pulling Richie out of that house–and every movement the horse made seemed to jolt the area, leaving a dull, throbbing ache that radiated down his chest and back.
The horse needed to be rested, but Junior was still panicked that the monsters could be somewhere close by, and he was determined to put distance between them and those things. Even so, the unfamiliar animal fought him the entire way–coming to a complete stop, veering off the main road and into the surrounding brush that offered no hiding spots if they needed any. They were completely alone, and Junior didn’t feel like carrying any sort of conversation with his sickly companion. That made things a little more miserable–he could feel Richie trying to suppress heavy coughing, and could feel the unnatural warmth of his body heat; if the kid was sick, they had nothing to treat it, with. Junior wasn’t a doctor, and there wasn’t one in sight. Sickness was a ravaging trouble out in the West; and his plans pretty much needed the kid alive.
The weather was cold–wind tore through the open area with enough ferocity to have him shivering, the smell of moisture heavy in the air. The building storm that brewed over the mountains were leaving behind a heavy blanket of white, and currently blocked out the sun.
They were in hostile territory of Indians; mountain men were indifferent as to whom they made friends with, and Junior was completely lost; having never been this far from the world he knew.
Frankly, the younger Alva was miserable. He kept silent, staring glumly at the back of their horse’s head. There was nothing to look up, for–they’d ridden for the entire day since leaving Virgil and the others, and the mountains were small and cold behind them. Before them was a wide stretch of plains and a sad set of rolling hills that offered more plains. To their left was the continuing stretch of mountains, but they were at least a day’s ride from their position. The right offered the same option, but those were covered with snow.
Junior didn’t care that Richie was leaning heavily on him, arms slung around his waist–the kid was asleep, judging from the even breathing he could feel against his back. Every so often, Junior would feel the spasms that came from suppressed coughing, and would hear the barking escape of forced air if Richie didn’t cover his mouth or suppress it quick enough. He tried to ignore that, but he couldn’t for very long when he felt the movement.
His stomach rumbled noisily over the sound of the cold wind, and the horse’s hooves scraping over the loose dirt underfoot. His throat was dry, lips stiff–he looked up, glaring at the scenic landscape that surrounded them with both beauty and malice. He shivered, once again reminded that all they had was the clothes on their back–even then, they were nothing more than pants and button long-sleeve shirts. His hat had a tie on it, and had miraculously stayed in place that entire time in Runner’s Valley. Richie didn’t even have boots, bare feet swinging against the horse’s stomach.
Junior squinted, taking in the land once more, mind frantically trying to make some plans. He was trying to recall any survival techniques he may have overheard from conversations with his cronies, or from those frequenting the bar. He was quite stricken in that he knew nothing of the land. He’d lived in settlements his entire life–!
This vulnerability, this helplessness made Junior sick to the stomach. His mouth tightened, eyes narrowing with forcible thought as he tried to think of any sort of plan that would work in saving them both. Unfortunately...without much ammo–just one bullet–he wouldn’t be able to shoot any game. He didn’t know how to trap; and he wasn’t so sure about fishing...not that there was any source of running water, nearby. Looking around anxiously, he didn’t see any signs of rivers, streams, or lakes. They were at the edge of the plains, and moving further upward...his father was more experienced in that area than he was.
Junior found it excruciatingly horrifying that he’d relied on his father and the men more than he realized. To be alone...to be helpless...it was a new and terrifying feeling for him.
He was now on the other side–he wasn’t the one inflicting the torture, this time. It was Nature, and the Hell Spawn that spurned this hasty getaway.
The kid was useless, too. Straight out city, and Junior knew, just knew that he’d have no idea on what to do, as well.
He clenched his fists, reins resting around the pommel of his saddle. How were they going to survive when neither of them had any clue on any sort of method?
He worried his bottom lip, face scrunching up with a troubled frown. Junior started to realize that he felt as helpless as the whores had looked upon realizing their fates. It was a heavy sting in his chest to recall their expressions, their grief–how they were broken down by Junior and his cronies. Junior was now on that receiving end; he had to be thankful, though, that he wasn’t being forced into sexual acts. To have his dignity stripped away in that manner would have meant suicide. He would have never allowed that to continue.
He swallowed hard, once again scanning the horizon, hoping for some sort of miracle. His stomach rumbled noisily once more, and he curled an arm around his stomach, just above Richie’s arms. The horse gave an anxious toss of its head, neighing with discovery. At once, Junior saw the distant blur of riders coming over a hill, away from the main road.
He felt immense joy and relief well up in him at that instant, picturing Casey and the others coming after them. Giving a barking sound of joy, he urged the horse forward to meet them in the middle.
The sudden jolt the animal made as he was prodded startled Richie, whose arms tightened with surprising strength to keep himself on the horse.
The horse veered off the traveled main road, running with caution upon the open plains, Junior too excited to meet the others that he didn’t bother with looking for any dangerous obstacles that could injure the three of them.
“We got us some riders!” Junior said joyously, urging the horse faster. If they kept that pace, they’d meet the riders in an hour’s time. He hoped that they continued their path in their direction, rather than veering off to some other unseen road. “Mebbe it’s my father, lookin’ for us!”
“What if it’s not?” Richie asked with obvious reluctance, holding tightly onto him.
Junior elbowed him awkwardly, a frown on his face. “Don’t be draggin’ me down with that attitude of yours, boy. I don’t wanna hear that shit at this point an’ time!”
He thought he heard/felt a snort, but chose to ignore it–he was too exhausted to administer any sort of punishment for that derision.
His prayers were answered when it seemed that the group of riders continued to head straight for them–they were still a long way off, but each party was able to see them distinctively.
Some time had passed before Junior felt dawning realization in that he recognized none of the group of men that were heading straight for them. All of them were dirty, scruffy–leading and driving a pack of horses that were loaded with supplies.
Excited shouts filled the air, and horses panted hard with overexertion as the distance was closed.
Junior felt apprehension immediately, slowing his horse as they neared. It was a dozen men in that party, all of them loaded with weapons, and all of them obviously familiar with the terrain, surroundings. They were dressed warmly in variants of leather, cloth and animal skins–their hats were dark with moisture. Their animals were sleek and shiny with sweat, their smell reaching the pair before the posse did.
Apprehension turned into flaring despair and panic at the drawing of their guns, mean expressions weathering tanned, bearded mugs.
Junior cursed, and attempted to turn the horse, to try and make a getaway, but a flurry of surrounding gunshots forced his horse to rear, whinnying loud with protest. He almost lost his seat with the added weight of Richie holding tightly onto him, both of them panicked at the attack. They were surrounded immediately by the group of hollering men, some yipping with satisfaction and glee at catching them.
Junior caught his breath, looking with wide-eyed fear at the men surrounding them. It was obvious their intentions were of the mean sort. He could feel Richie’s arms tightening around him considerably, pressing against him as tired horses crowded them physically, flanks smashing against their legs and their horse startled by the abrupt closeness.
One of the men, bearded and menacing, spit slick brown before studying them intently from underneath the brim of his hat. He was dressed head to toe in brown, his clothing dusty and stained. His hair winged out from the sides of his head, giving him a sort of guarded appearance. The smell that wafted from him was odious–those of the other men and horses were just as thick, making the pair of them wince.
Their horse moved in an agitated manner, sensing their hostility, the other horses giving sounds that seemed almost mean and taunting at the same time.
One of the men closest to Junior jerked at the reins, yanking them roughly out of his grasp. Another leaned out to snatch Junior’s gun on his left hip, another taking the one on his right, leaving him to cry aloud with surprise and dread. His horse gave a restless whinny, jerking upward, its reins yanked from the side to keep the horse under control.
Suddenly, the first man guffawed, a loud sound that caught the others’ attentions, drawing Junior’s eyes toward him with a frustrated scowl.
“I know you!” he exclaimed, guffawing again as he drew his horse near, so that the pair of them were actually looking into each other’s faces. The bearded man was at least sixty pounds heavier than Junior, maybe a foot taller. The stench that wafted from him made Junior recoil, pulling away with a disgusted expression. Rotten teeth flashed him, foul breath making his eyes water.
The man looked around curiously, making a show of searching for others. He then slapped a man’s chest, making the man grunt with the unexpected blow. “We know this one, Jess!”
Jess studied Junior. This one was darkly tanned with a thick, discolored mustache. He was wearing a trench over a dirty yellow shirt, jeans ripped at the knees. A bandanna covered his head, hat shoved atop of that. One ear dangled with a bone that looked suspiciously like a chicken bone. He then laughed, a screechy sound that was unforgettable in its piercing sound. “We do, huh? Hah! Looks like he outta luck, now!”
The first man grinned rotted teeth again, looking at Junior. He stared at the younger Alva with hostility, mustache twisting as his horse nipped at theirs. “You remember me, punk? Huh? Do I look familiar to you, you lil’ shit?”
Junior stared back, angrily helpless as he clutched the saddle’s pommel, feeling wretchedly vulnerable amidst this crowd of men. Richie’s grip hadn’t let up, making it awkward for Junior to breathe. It hit him, then, the face of this man.
“Last year,” the man barked, giving him a fierce glare. “You an’ your posse decided to kick us out of your lil’ shitty bar, cuz’a some trouble with one of your dirty whores! You remember?”
Fuck, Junior thought, knuckles whitening, remembering the incident.
“Little gal Mirage,” Jess drawled, smacking his lips. “Can’t ever forget that one, eh?”
“Paul always talks about that one,” a man laughed.
Paul frowned, looking around again. Junior’s face welled with frustrated red, breathing hard. “You all alone, boy,” Paul then observed out loud. “Don’t look like ya’ll got someone to boss around.”
“What’s it feel like now, Alva?” Jess asked, cackling. “You all alone, brutha!”
“That’s a nice horse you got there, friend,” another man, Smith, said as he reached out to pat the flank of Junior’s horse. “My horse is getting tired of carrying my bag...”
Junior swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the pommel once more. “This here’s our horse,” he muttered. Richie was starting to grow more scared as tension started to mount with suffocating pressure. Feeling all those hostile stares made him wholly uncomfortable, pressing his face against Junior’s back and staring at the material that reeked of the younger Alva’s musk and sweat.
“They ain’t come far! Only got the clothes on their backs!” Paul announced. He tsked, giving Junior a fake look of concern. “You be the ones in the fire we saw, last night?”
“Still burnin’,” one man noticed, looking beyond them, at the faint trail of color in the sky beyond the mountains Junior and Richie had left.
“Pity.” But Paul grinned at Junior, an ugly smile on his weathered face. “‘Fraid I still feel that pissed about bein’ kicked around, for teaching that whore a lesson, buddy. I still wake up feelin’ bruised and humiliated. All for slapping some little slut cuz she deserved it.”
Junior grit his teeth. “You deserve that beatin’! Ain’t no one but me slaps those whores!”
Paul guffawed again, others chiming in. He then quieted, the others following suit. He stared at him for a moment, tension building with immense force. Suddenly, at an unseen prompt, one man reached out to pull Junior from the horse. Richie nearly fell off as well, but someone pulled him back, keeping him seated.
Shouts erupted as Junior was forced away from Richie and the horse, one of the men using his horse to push the younger Alva forward. Richie was starting to panic, severely distressed as they were separated. The men that stayed glanced at him with casual regard, frowning at the fear on his face. The reins were passed away to another man, and the horse was led away from the group of men by another that grumbled with the task. Thinking that things were going to get bad, considering how violent they were with whores, Richie numbly wondered if he was going to get what Mirage had apparently gotten. The very thought made his blood run cold, for a blessed numbness to weigh down his limbs. The man gruffly warned him to stay put; Richie was too terrified to think of escaping.
He watched as Paul and Jess dismounted their horses, reins passed to someone still on their horse. Others followed suit, Junior looking around anxiously as he faced the group on his own. Paul removed his hat, slapping it against Jess’s chest, cracking his knuckles. He was still grinning that ugly grin, menacingly standing over Junior with his taller height. Invading his personal space and enjoying Junior stumble back from him, obviously troubled with the situation.
It was a joy for Paul to intimidate someone that had abused his power over others. He had to laugh aloud once more, in pure delight.
“‘Bout time I get my revenge!” he cackled. “Been awhile! Always wanted ta fuck you up, you snotty shit!”
The others chimed in with their shouts and add-ins, Junior looking around them anxiously. He swallowed hard, looking for something to interfere. He’d take zombies and monsters at that moment–facing men that really wanted to hurt him because of something he’d done made him entirely sick. He’d never given thought to revenge and retaliation from anyone. The situation was horrifying.
He was starting to realize how truly helpless he was without the others–inadequacy hitting him hard. Rendering him just as defenseless and vulnerable as the whores; as the boy. He looked over at him, a little relieved in that they weren’t paying any attention to him. He then looked up at Paul as he laughed again, head thrown back.
He threw off his hat and rushed at Paul, knocking him off his feet and into the dirt. Men cheered and roared their approval as the pair rolled about, throwing fists and expletives at each other.
When they finally climbed back to their feet in a mess of dirt, scrapes and disheveled clothing, Junior was immediately pushed around by the others that had surrounded them. Paul regained his second wind, darting forward just as Junior caught his footing from a harsh shove, landing a clean punch upside Junior’s chin. The audible crack made the men roar much more loudly in approval. Before Junior had a chance to recover from that, Jess kicked him with the heel of his boot, sending him down into the dirt. Paul jumped on him, raining punch after punch into Junior’s face and chest while he tried to defend himself. Jess jumped in at that moment, joining Paul with the unfair advantage. The others jumped in as well, until Junior had six to seven men kicking and punching at him, refusing to let him leave their circle or even rise to his feet.
Richie looked away, sickened by what he saw. But he couldn’t help but remember how Casey, Junior and the others had held him down that night, and taken their turns on him. It was an inward uplift of satisfaction in seeing Junior beat–but it made him sick with how many people wanted to hurt one person for the thrill of it.
He looked up to see most of them turning away, satisfied with their physical violence. Anxiety tore through him at that point–wondering if he were next. Fear tightened his every limb, breathing growing short–he looked at Paul with a scared expression, hoping that it was only Junior they wanted.
Paul seemed to suddenly notice him, visibly startling.
Then he grinned, rotten teeth barely visible underneath that bushy mustache. Fear twisted Richie’s gut, and he found it hard to swallow, unable to look away.
“How old are you, boy? 10? 12? Somethin’ like that?” Paul asked, all attention on him. He walked up to the horse, staring up at Richie curiously.
Richie was too frightened to get indignant, but instinct told him to stay silent. Paul shrugged, waving at him to get off the horse. For a few moments, Richie couldn’t move, but Paul gestured once more. Richie awkwardly slipped off, leg stiffening immediately, making him wince. He almost buckled at the pain, giving a light gasp as he clutched at his thigh. Paul noticed this, hands on his knees to face him, as if Richie was a small child.
“What’s wrong with you, boy? Looks like yer hurt,” Paul pointed out. He looked at Richie’s leg, studying the dried blood over his pants. He looked back up at him, squinting, as he’d lost his hat during the fight, and the sun had managed to push through the clouds to warm the area briefly. His stench was much more odious than before, and Richie involuntarily closed his nose, turning away to try for some fresh air. Paul didn’t seem to notice this, or ignored it completely. “Lost your momma an’ poppa, recently? Did those big, bad monsters eat ‘em?”
Richie was starting to feel indignant at the way he was being addressed, but the pain and fear kept him from showing that expression. He merely nodded, just to appease that line of questioning.
“Aw,” one of the others muttered. “That sucks, kid.”
Paul straightened, hands on his hips. He made a node to where Junior was lying, obviously unconscious. “He pick you up?”
Richie nodded again, unsure of where this was going. Having all those eyes on him made him intensely nervous, enough to eventually start to ignore the pain.
Paul shifted, weathered face starting to harden. Richie swallowed again, looking at Junior, then back at Paul when he moved. The crack of palm connecting with his face made drove the breath out of him. His glasses flew, and he buckled, already covering his head with his arms.
“That’s fer bein’ stupid, and gettin’ on with strangers,” Paul growled. “‘Specially that one. Didn’t your mommy an’ daddy ever teach ya to never run off with strangers? Shit, you don’t look dumb, kid. You shoulda found someone else, ‘steada some cold-hearted snake. Now, get up. I didn’t hit you that hard. That was a love tap. Done to clear yer senses.”
When Richie didn’t comply, Paul reached down, grabbing an arm and hauling him to his feet. He forced down his arms when they whipped up to cover his head, Paul growling in frustration. Once he was facing Richie again, hands on both upper arms, he said with a tilt of his head, “Sorry kid, we can’t help you. But don’t you worry, none. We pick on women and boys that deserve it. ‘Fraid yer just gonna haveta wait here til someone comes along. Don’t know how long that’ll be.”
“Prolly won’t, anyway,” Smith spoke up, mounting his horse. “Towns up north taken over, too. Maybe some savages’ll take pity on ya and kill ya quick. Them Cheyenne’re nice about kids. They kill boys real quick. So’s they won’t grow up and make some kids to keep killin’ them off. No sufferin’ guarantee.”
Paul laughed as he let go, walking over to his horse. He mounted, giving Richie a stern look. “Watch out for them mountain men. They don’t care what sex comes along.”
Some laughed with disgust, starting off in the direction Junior and Richie had come from. Paul and the others stared their way, preparing to take their horse along with them. With a flurry of dust, the posse rode off, laughing over their accomplishment.
Richie watched them go, then exhaled in heavy relief that he’d escaped basically unharmed. He looked over at Junior. He found his glasses quickly, then hurried over. Junior was lying face down in the dirt, his blond hair dirtied with various weeds and dust, his clothing covered with the same variants. He had a split eyebrow, blood darkening with dirt, trickling over his freckled skin. Blood dribbled from his nose as well, and that was only from the side profile.
Crouching, Richie winced at the dried blood, the splits in skin and contusions. Awkwardly, he managed to turn Junior onto his back. At the low moan of anguished pain, Richie quickly let him go, hearing the ugly cackling of sound under his palms as he’d done so. He figured Junior had a few ribs painfully bruised or busted, and he really didn’t like the angle his left forearm laid in–as if completely disconnected from his elbow. While it gave him immense satisfaction in that someone messed Junior up good, Richie felt he shouldn’t be lowering himself to that level.
Then he stiffly dragged Junior underneath the small shade of sagebrush, panting with effort. His leg throbbed at the activity, and he sat slowly.
He looked over the flat expanse of land, desperation hitting him hard. The mountains where they’d left the others was at least a day’s ride. A storm was coming in–chilly wind swept through, bringing with it the smell of rain. He shivered, covering his mouth to hack into his hand, alarmed at what he heard.
He looked at Junior helplessly, wiping his hand on his pants, then back at the surrounding landscape. Thoughts of monsters, mountain men and Indians hit him, then.
He gave a sound of despair, leaning over Junior awkwardly, looking for some comfort. It was mind-numbing how they were expected to die.
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Junior didn’t wake up–on the second night, Richie had to wonder if he was ever going to. His face was swollen with bruises and heady injuries–his left cheekbone had swollen considerably, dominating that side of his face. His eyebrow had shut his right eyelid, so both of the man’s eyes were swollen shut. The corner of his mouth was grotesquely swollen and cut, swelling considerably so that the bottom lip overlapped the upper.
Richie had tried to waken the man; shaking his shoulder, calling his name, letting the rain fall on him. In the middle of no where, with the weather as it was, they were terribly exposed to the elements and to danger. He heard wolves in the distance, howling their ghostly cries, and he was terrified that they’d find them.
He was also terrified that Indians were somehow monitoring them, waiting for a chance to move in. From all that he’d heard, they were terrible creatures that wrought pain and destruction on any honest man passing through their territory. He’d heard it all, and though he’d seen more than a few in Alva’s town, he hadn’t interacted with any. Those few he’d seen seemed entirely threatening.
Mountain men and more bandits made him frightened, too. Warnings of mountain men using anybody for sexual design made him think of them as terrible, savage creatures that resembled half animals. He knew better, but his imagination was running with him as he sat alone.
Snow was falling, and he huddled close to Junior, trying to keep him covered and to warm himself. It was a futile effort, of course–both of them weren’t wearing appropriate clothing, and there was nothing to hide under. The sagebrush that he’d dragged Junior under wasn’t that much of a shelter.
He was terribly despaired in that they were going to die slowly. From starvation, from the elements, from creatures and loathsome people.
He laid carefully over Junior’s upper torso, his arms wrapped around his shoulder and underarm. With the cold and moisture, he couldn’t smell urine anymore, the musk and sweat. Shivering tightly, he reflected how thickly silent it was when the snow fell. It was gentle and cold, landing fleetingly throughout the area, coating everything with its ghostly white. He stared in blind numbness at Junior’s swollen features, trying to think of what to do. He couldn’t move the man–not with his leg, not with his strength. There wasn’t a way he could do that.
He coughed violently into Junior’s chest, clearing out the phlegm that rattled his lungs. His body felt wholly weak–just the thought of moving the man exhausted him.
But he couldn’t just stay...he couldn’t just sit there and wait...the main road was miles off, and he figured if he walked to it, he’d run into someone passing through.
He could get help for Junior...but he also feared running into the wrong people.
He heard the ghostly cries of wolves, sending violent shivers up his spine. They were closer this time than they were the last. He lifted his head, shivering from the cold as he searched the white-coated landscape for the fearsome animals. He couldn’t see anything–the thick gray of light fog, dark night and falling snow made it difficult to see into any length of distance.
Blearily, he looked up at the sky, then back at Junior. Reaching up with stiff fingers, he adjusted the branches of weed over Junior’s upper torso, furtively keeping out the falling snow from the unconscious man. He felt his shirt sticking to him, his bones feeling as if they were hardening into ice. He was entirely cold...his bare feet buried under dirt and the hem of his pants. Shaking hard from the cold, he leaned over Junior again, trying to think.
He was reluctant to leave him–afraid that if he did, he would lose all contact with life as he knew it. Junior was his only link with the world–the man that looked after him. He’d gotten close to the man through their ordeals–Richie clung to him because he had no one else to do so. He felt terrible at the thought of leaving him–of possibly killing him because he left.
He felt scared of being on his own. He knew nothing of how to survive out in the West. He was always surrounded by people–living in a city. He knew nothing of basic survival techniques. Unfamiliar with the area, unfamiliar to the way of life–his mind was a total blank when it came to shelters, food, water sources...
Feeling terribly, as if he were being torn apart from the inside, he leaned over Junior once more, pressing his face into his neck. This made Junior exhale heavily, but he did nothing more–breathing raggedly as he continued to sleep. Richie feared that he was already dead–that he’d never recover.
He couldn’t just stay–! But he couldn’t leave, either.
So he laid there, listening to the silence of the snow falling, waiting for more sounds of the wolves. Terrible pressure seemed to weigh in on him as he coughed, feeling his entire body shake with the effort. His very bones ached, and it felt as if he were soaked through and through. The terrible cold seemed to freeze every bit of coherency and movement from his brain and body. His thoughts were starting to become jumbled, and he had a hard time understanding himself.
He swallowed hard, tasting fire–his throat was raw. Lifting his head, he opened his mouth, catching snowflakes atop of his tongue. He reached out and scraped off snow from Junior’s body and from his own, stuffing it into his mouth. He wished he knew what sort of roots were edible around here.
He looked at Junior again, calling his name and shaking his shoulder. He heard the crackle of cartilage and bone, and winced, pulling his hand back. Those men had beaten him well.
He wondered why he was still so compassionate to this man. He should have been happy to be free.
But as he thought about all the horrors he’d experienced, all the terrible bits and parts of human nature that he’d seen, Junior was his only root of sturdy familiarity that he felt safe with. It both troubled him, and resigned him.
He sighed quietly, then started coughing. The howl of wolves broke the silence once more–they were further away, this time. Yapping commenced, a playful sort of sound that told him they weren’t very interested in the dangers that he faced. He thought of their warm, heavy coats and wished he’d had one of his own.
He looked at Junior, blinking away snowflakes that rested on his lashes. He lifted his head, staring out into the gray, his head buzzing with numbed torture. He kept thinking about the wolves...kept seeing imagined versions of mountain men. He thought of Indians wanting to scalp him; wanting to torture him for all the wrongdoings the other white man had done to them. He thought of the monsters.
He thought of his parents, and felt himself break at that instant, giving a low cry that seemed to echo throughout the darkness. It hurt to think about them, hurt to know that he’d never see them. Feeling lost, alone and in despair, he started to cry loudly over Junior’s chest. He let it all out at that moment, ignoring Junior’s views and thoughts of him crying. He figured it was allowed at this point–the man couldn’t do anything about it.
They were going to die, anyway.
He started sobbing over the things he’d lost and experienced, over the things he wouldn’t see or experience again. He cried over the cold, how his clothes clung to him, how sick he felt, and how scary mountain men probably were.
He cried himself to sleep, and awoke, surprised that he did. By this time, the snow had stopped, and it was a little lighter–as if some layers of the storm clouds had been pulled back. The land was covered in a light layer of snow–he blinked swollen eyes, wiping his nose as he looked around himself. He could see further–putting on his glasses, he was able to see that he could spot the rolling hills and mountain line. The glass fogged, and he pulled them off.
He looked at Junior, hearing his labored breathing. He thought of the wolves that were howling earlier, and swept snow and dirt from his feet.
Trying very hard not to think, he lifted slowly from the man, dusting snow from his shoulders, head and clothing. His bare feet instantly prickled from the cold–he pulled his hems down, covering them with pointless effort. But it was the best he could do at this point.
He struggled to not look at Junior as he stepped over him, and struggled to filter out the sound of his ragged breathing. He began to walk in the direction straight ahead of him, figuring he’d find the road in this manner.
He walked and walked and tried very hard not to look back, or think of what he was leaving behind.
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Ebon snorted, Shiv giving a nervous giggle.
Kangorr lowered his glasses to give the man a disbelieving look. Hotstreak was too preoccupied with worrying over his saddlebag to give the surrounding men any attention.
“I said,” Paul repeated, aiming his rifle at the black man that refused to take him seriously, “git OFF your horses an’ hand over them fancy-ass guns.”
“Yer kiddin’ me,” Kangorr cried in disbelief. Leather creaked as he looked over at Ebon, who frowned at Jess as the man tried to reach for his scythes. “What th’ hell ya’ll think you’re doin’? Don’t you know who we are?”
“Buncha dead men, is all!” Smith shouted. “Kill ‘em, Paul! The world needs less niggers, nowadays! ‘Specially those with mouths!”
Paul snorted, spitting slickly at the dirt.
Kangorr sighed, horse shifting restlessly. Someone tried to grab his reins, but he shot the man a darkened look, making him recoil instantly. Hotstreak sighed as he realized that the precious books in his saddlebag were going to be soiled by the wet weather. He looked over to ask Shiv for some cloth when he spotted a leather pack one of the bandits was wearing. They’d suit the task perfectly.
“I don’t wanna hurt anybody here,” Kangorr said, frowning at Paul. “We’ve got us a mission–we need to pass, and we need all that we got wit’ us.”
“You just don’t get it, do ya? Nigger?” Paul asked, jabbing his rifle at the black man. “I ain’t tellin’ you again! Get OFF your horses!”
Ebon sighed. “I’m hungry, man...”
It was at that point that Hotstreak realized that he’d never seen the man eat. He looked over at him, before a gun barrel could jab his face. “You are?” he asked in surprise. “What ya’ll eat, anyway?”
Shiv heard the question, pushing a gun barrel from his back. “Ebon has special needs,” he said gravely.
“Special? What’s so special ‘bout you?” Hotstreak scoffed at the annoyed black man.
Paul grit his teeth, realizing that none of them were taking them seriously. He decided to teach them a lesson as Ebon opened his mouth to answer.
He nodded at them, the others pulling out their guns, aiming at the four men. Kangorr looked back at Shiv, who caught the signal.
With an annoyed sound, the man let go of his reins, face suddenly reddening.
“Kangorr told ya’ll that I’m a vampire, right?” Ebon said as all of Paul’s men reacted with surprise and horror at having their guns torn right from their hands–all on invisible prompt.
Shiv grit his teeth, veins throbbing fiercely as he concentrated at a point beyond his sight, feeling the weight of the metal from all their guns. Steel jangled loudly as he forced them away from the group, tossing them onto the road behind them.
“Yeah, but...dunno what that is,” Hotstreak said, used to Shiv’s fantastic display of telekinesis. He’d gotten over the thrill of seeing it–while amazing, it was just something that he’d seen since he met the man. His mind was occupied with other things, anyway–he could focus only on one thing at a time. “Seriously. Ya’ll never explained it.”
Ebon sighed with heavy reluctance, hearing the snap of Paul’s mandible as Kangorr sent the butt of his rifle against it. Shiv released his power, giving a weak yip of joy as he withdrew his swords, swiping at various saddle hitches.
Men fell from their mounts with cries of surprise and panic as Paul fell from his, knocked cold from impact. Kangorr used his horse to ram Jess’s, whacking the man over the temple with the barrel of his weapon.
“Never mind, then,” Ebon decided, eying one of the men that had fallen close-by. “Check it–knowin’ you, you don’t think much. You a mite dumb.”
“Har, har,” Hotstreak said sarcastically, scowling. “I ain’t fuckin’ dumb!”
“Then don’t ask dumb questions!”
“I ain’t! I’m just askin’!”
“It’s a dumb question!”
“Well then–! Yer dumb!”
“Ooh, such an insult...”
Hotstreak huffed, sliding off of Charger. He reached for the man with the pack he’d been eying, jerking him off his feet. He ducked behind him as his stallion grew tired of all the horses crowding him, kicking viciously with his back hooves. He heard and felt the thud the stallion’s powerful hooves sent into the man, causing him to scream.
Hotstreak tossed him into the dirt, leaning down to rip the pack from his arms and shoulders, ducking at that instant to avoid his own horse’s kicks. Charger bucked and charged others, basically making himself into a terror as other horses scattered.
“Your horse is so fucked up,” Ebon decided aloud, sliding off his horse. “Just like you...”
“Flattery gets you no where, buddy.”
Kangorr looked up from his task, Shiv tired from his display of mental manipulation. Many of the men were scattering with panicked fright, horses running free as their saddles slid from their bodies. The supplies that the group of bandits had gathered were lying around, ripe and ready for the taking.
“You two, knock it off,” he complained tiredly. From the moment they met, he felt that Ebon and Hotstreak baited each other. There was tension between them, causing a sort of discomfort between the group. “Make yerselves useful, man! Get those horses.”
Shiv hurried off on his horse to chase down a couple, pretending to charge a few of the fleeing men in the process. Kangorr went to pick up the abandoned weapons, dismounting to load his horse with several rifles, and passing Ebon the rest. The black man began gathering weapons to stow on his horse, Hotstreak complying to load himself up, as well.
Kangorr then mounted, and chased down a few of the fleeing men, using his horse to correl them. He aimed his rifle at them, commanding them to stand still.
Hotstreak and Ebon stopped elbowing and baiting each other as Shiv came back, panting as he held the reins of a couple of horses. Seeing that the group of once powerful bandits were properly scattered, Kangorr dismounted. He and Shiv began to fix and tie supplies onto the horses, leaving the three men to stare at them with anxious regard.
Ebon nodded toward them, gesturing at Hotstreak to follow him. “I’ll show ya...y’know, for someone like you, you ain’t all that clever. You’d need all the demonstration you can get before gettin’ it right.”
“Aw, man, fuck you,” Hotstreak complained. He was stuffing the books into the pack, visibly cheered that they fit. He then adjusted the straps of the pack, shrugged off his Hound coat, and slung it onto his back. He then slid the coat back on as Ebon reached the three men that stared at him in curious regard.
Without saying anything, Ebon reached for the first, kicking his foot right out from underneath him. Hotstreak was a little puzzled, seeing the other two men start to defend their friend–he drew his guns and barked at them to hold still, smirking when they complied.
Then he watched as Ebon jerked the man up by his hair, tilting his head to the side.
When he saw the man lower his face into his neck, he was immediately disgusted.
“You homo?” he asked in bewilderment.
Ebon jerked up with insult, intending to snap at him when his face suddenly crossed with frenzied determination. He opened his mouth and sank his teeth into skin and muscle, the man eking out a frantic cry. It was quickly silenced, facial expression turning slack as Ebon started to noisily drink the life essence from him.
The other two men were quite aghast at this display–Hotstreak’s face was wrinkled with intense puzzlement and disgust, unsure of what he was seeing. Was Ebon chewing...? Was he sucking on blood...? Was he...?
Kangorr finished loading, tossing them a glance. Prompting his horse toward them, he asked in a commanding tone, “Ya’ll see anybody passin’ through here? Anybody? Men? Boys?”
The two men looked at him with intense confusion, then back at Ebon and their friend. Hotstreak was bewildered the paling look of the man’s skin, the way he seemed to die from the intense hickie he thought Ebon was giving him. The smell of copper was odious.
“HEY!” Kangorr barked, catching the pair’s attention. “You seen anybody?”
It took awhile, but one of them stuttered, “Yeah...yeah, we did. Ah...we...there was–a man. A man Paul hated. Beat the crap out of him. They the only two we passed through here. We come in from Fort...from the military-base town up north...didn’t pass no one for days til them.”
“Older man?”
“Ah...he...God, what’re you doin’ to him?”
Ebon straightened, smacking his lips. The man was dead–Hotstreak stared down at the slack features, the pale skin. The black man licked his lips in a way that was suggestive and gratified, sending an uneasy sense of heat through him. Hotstreak was disgusted that he’d feel such a way for a man he didn’t even like.
Ebon looked at the other two, and they noticed it. Terrified, they started to back away as they stared at him, seeing the blood of their companion smeared over his dark skin.
“E, hold on, man,” Kangorr ordered. “Let me talk to ‘em, a bit.”
“C’mon, man,” Ebon complained, uncharacteristically eager and whiny. “I haven’t eaten in fuckin’ days!”
“Just–hold on!” Kangorr repeated impatiently, looking at the pair. “What man?”
“God, we’re gonna die–!”
“What MAN?!”
“Dunno! Some man–! Had–had a boy with him! Small one.”
Eagerly, Kangorr leaned closer, the others stilling as they listened intently. “Tall? Black hair? Looks almost Indian?”
The two looked at each other, then shot him puzzled looks. “No. Blond, ‘bout...this tall. Was kinda a dick. His father owned some town down some South...some whore bar, I guess. Dunno. Paul and Jess were talkin’ about some whore bein’ all slapped by Paul, and this guy–this guy and his posse fucked them over for it.”
Kangorr and Ebon visibly sagged with disappointment, but Hotstreak thought suddenly of the Alvas, of Richie–the boy whose name he didn’t even know.
“Alva?” he questioned, eager. “Junior? His name was Junior?”
The man thought about it, then nodded tightly. “Yeah! Yeah, I think! Paul called him, uh, Alva! He had a boy wit’ him–kinda small. Like...like he were nine, or ten...somethin’...”
“Where? Where’d you–?”
“Paul took their horse! They beat Alva good, man. Don’t think he lived, anyway. Left the boy. Somewhere, ‘bout maybe...maybe two days’ ride from here,” the man said quickly, trying to think. He pointed off in the direction he remembered, and Hotstreak stared over with heavy disappointment at the rolling hills, the expanse of nothing. Surrounded by mountains, he knew the area was hostile with Indians, bandits, and wildlife. “Did’t think nothin’ of it, either. Just...just couldn’t take ‘im. Ain’t got no knowledge for lil’ kids...”
Kangorr sighed tiredly, looking up with surprise as Hotstreak quickly turned, calling for Charger. His brow furrowed with puzzlement as Ebon attacked the man, making him scream with startled fear, the other recoiling with a myriad of pleas to escape his friend’s demise.
“Where ya goin’, man?” Kangorr asked as Charger hurried over, shaking his mane with satisfaction.
Hotstreak mounted him quickly, adjusting himself onto the saddle. He shot Kangorr a puzzled look. “I’ma go find the kid.”
“What?! We’re on Caine’s ass, man! He’s prolly dead, anyway!”
“Nah.” Hotstreak shook his head, but he feared that notion with a twist of his gut. He didn’t want to see that kid as a zombie. He didn’t want to.
“You cain’t just leave!” Kangorr barked, turning to block Charger’s path with his horse. His unfortunate mount received the stallion’s teeth on his flank, and both animals pranced restlessly around each other as Hotstreak shot Kangorr an annoyed look. “We’re right there! We’re right on them, man! We could end all this! You cain’t just keep up an’ leavin’ all the damn time! We gotta make things right!”
Hotstreak studied him for a few moments, feeling shamed that Kangorr obviously didn’t trust his motives. He felt guilt hit him upon remembering the day of the train robbery, the trail of devastation Caine and this ‘him’ had wrought upon the West. He frowned, exhaling heavily as he looked off into the direction the man had pointed.
They’d gone in a north-eastern direction away from Runner’s Valley–the man had pointed off to the north-west. A ‘two-day’ ride, he’d said.
Frustration lit his veins, and his knuckles whitened as he thought of the kid–injured and alone. With possibly a dead man at his side. He kept thinking of the way he smelled, the way he blinked sleepily at him. The way he cringed, the way he made Hotstreak feel so many different things.
He grimaced, the confliction of things pulling at him making it difficult.
Kangorr didn’t know his torment. Hotstreak never spoke of the boy. He stared at the redhead intently.
“You can’t leave,” he repeated evenly, drawl subdued. “We got us a job to do. You an’ me were involved from the beginning. We haveta do this–! We have to do this, Red!”
Hotstreak felt desperation pull at every muscle–every minute spent doing this with Kangorr, was every minute away from the kid. Charger pranced restlessly, sensing his conflict. He tossed his thick head with a whinny, then focused on trying to bite at Kangorr’s gelding.
Shiv suddenly laughed at something beyond them, breaking that spell. “That guy poofed!” he howled. “Do again! Do again!”
Ebon shot him a disgusted look, wiping his mouth–second man down. He was feeling very full and content, shooting the third man a look. The third man promptly wet his pants at the attention.
Hotstreak looked at Kangorr, mouth tightening under his mustache. “Sorry,” he then said gruffly, steering Charger into the direction the men had come from. “I gotta do this.”
Kangorr angrily prodded his horse after him, shouting, “You cain’t just keep runnin’ away, damn you! We gotta job to do!”
Charger was faster than his mount, pushing hard as Hotstreak fought to ignore Kangorr’s shouts. As they raced off, Hotstreak felt his guilt and abandoned duties chase after him.
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.
Colddaye: Hey, there! Thanks much for the compliments, and for managing to make it past MM.Org’s fascist reviewing system LOL I heard it’s actually quite awful in trying to leave a review, so many just email, or whatever...er..inane rambling...But THANKS for dropping a line! I’m glad you enjoy it! ^_^
I’m Alive: I thought it would be an interesting twist...Madelyne was always rather pushy and reminds me of a guy, sometimes...(shifty eyes). V has always impressed me with his morals, yet he has his flaws–which makes him an enjoyable character! As much as I love playing with the others, V has always left an impact on me...I always feel that I can’t do him justice. And end up not writing very much about him (grimaces). As for the separation, well...it is the old ass West...no cell phones. (Bad joke XD) heh...
Um...I’ll shut up, now. (Winces)
Chapter Fourteen:
All Falls Down
Junior was exhausted–his mind was frantic over the situation presented to him.
They hadn’t any supplies, no ammunition (he had one bullet left in his right Smith and Wesson), no warm clothing, no food, and he really hadn’t any idea where he was going, where they were, etc., etc. His right shoulder was racked with pain–he figured he must have pulled a muscle while pulling Richie out of that house–and every movement the horse made seemed to jolt the area, leaving a dull, throbbing ache that radiated down his chest and back.
The horse needed to be rested, but Junior was still panicked that the monsters could be somewhere close by, and he was determined to put distance between them and those things. Even so, the unfamiliar animal fought him the entire way–coming to a complete stop, veering off the main road and into the surrounding brush that offered no hiding spots if they needed any. They were completely alone, and Junior didn’t feel like carrying any sort of conversation with his sickly companion. That made things a little more miserable–he could feel Richie trying to suppress heavy coughing, and could feel the unnatural warmth of his body heat; if the kid was sick, they had nothing to treat it, with. Junior wasn’t a doctor, and there wasn’t one in sight. Sickness was a ravaging trouble out in the West; and his plans pretty much needed the kid alive.
The weather was cold–wind tore through the open area with enough ferocity to have him shivering, the smell of moisture heavy in the air. The building storm that brewed over the mountains were leaving behind a heavy blanket of white, and currently blocked out the sun.
They were in hostile territory of Indians; mountain men were indifferent as to whom they made friends with, and Junior was completely lost; having never been this far from the world he knew.
Frankly, the younger Alva was miserable. He kept silent, staring glumly at the back of their horse’s head. There was nothing to look up, for–they’d ridden for the entire day since leaving Virgil and the others, and the mountains were small and cold behind them. Before them was a wide stretch of plains and a sad set of rolling hills that offered more plains. To their left was the continuing stretch of mountains, but they were at least a day’s ride from their position. The right offered the same option, but those were covered with snow.
Junior didn’t care that Richie was leaning heavily on him, arms slung around his waist–the kid was asleep, judging from the even breathing he could feel against his back. Every so often, Junior would feel the spasms that came from suppressed coughing, and would hear the barking escape of forced air if Richie didn’t cover his mouth or suppress it quick enough. He tried to ignore that, but he couldn’t for very long when he felt the movement.
His stomach rumbled noisily over the sound of the cold wind, and the horse’s hooves scraping over the loose dirt underfoot. His throat was dry, lips stiff–he looked up, glaring at the scenic landscape that surrounded them with both beauty and malice. He shivered, once again reminded that all they had was the clothes on their back–even then, they were nothing more than pants and button long-sleeve shirts. His hat had a tie on it, and had miraculously stayed in place that entire time in Runner’s Valley. Richie didn’t even have boots, bare feet swinging against the horse’s stomach.
Junior squinted, taking in the land once more, mind frantically trying to make some plans. He was trying to recall any survival techniques he may have overheard from conversations with his cronies, or from those frequenting the bar. He was quite stricken in that he knew nothing of the land. He’d lived in settlements his entire life–!
This vulnerability, this helplessness made Junior sick to the stomach. His mouth tightened, eyes narrowing with forcible thought as he tried to think of any sort of plan that would work in saving them both. Unfortunately...without much ammo–just one bullet–he wouldn’t be able to shoot any game. He didn’t know how to trap; and he wasn’t so sure about fishing...not that there was any source of running water, nearby. Looking around anxiously, he didn’t see any signs of rivers, streams, or lakes. They were at the edge of the plains, and moving further upward...his father was more experienced in that area than he was.
Junior found it excruciatingly horrifying that he’d relied on his father and the men more than he realized. To be alone...to be helpless...it was a new and terrifying feeling for him.
He was now on the other side–he wasn’t the one inflicting the torture, this time. It was Nature, and the Hell Spawn that spurned this hasty getaway.
The kid was useless, too. Straight out city, and Junior knew, just knew that he’d have no idea on what to do, as well.
He clenched his fists, reins resting around the pommel of his saddle. How were they going to survive when neither of them had any clue on any sort of method?
He worried his bottom lip, face scrunching up with a troubled frown. Junior started to realize that he felt as helpless as the whores had looked upon realizing their fates. It was a heavy sting in his chest to recall their expressions, their grief–how they were broken down by Junior and his cronies. Junior was now on that receiving end; he had to be thankful, though, that he wasn’t being forced into sexual acts. To have his dignity stripped away in that manner would have meant suicide. He would have never allowed that to continue.
He swallowed hard, once again scanning the horizon, hoping for some sort of miracle. His stomach rumbled noisily once more, and he curled an arm around his stomach, just above Richie’s arms. The horse gave an anxious toss of its head, neighing with discovery. At once, Junior saw the distant blur of riders coming over a hill, away from the main road.
He felt immense joy and relief well up in him at that instant, picturing Casey and the others coming after them. Giving a barking sound of joy, he urged the horse forward to meet them in the middle.
The sudden jolt the animal made as he was prodded startled Richie, whose arms tightened with surprising strength to keep himself on the horse.
The horse veered off the traveled main road, running with caution upon the open plains, Junior too excited to meet the others that he didn’t bother with looking for any dangerous obstacles that could injure the three of them.
“We got us some riders!” Junior said joyously, urging the horse faster. If they kept that pace, they’d meet the riders in an hour’s time. He hoped that they continued their path in their direction, rather than veering off to some other unseen road. “Mebbe it’s my father, lookin’ for us!”
“What if it’s not?” Richie asked with obvious reluctance, holding tightly onto him.
Junior elbowed him awkwardly, a frown on his face. “Don’t be draggin’ me down with that attitude of yours, boy. I don’t wanna hear that shit at this point an’ time!”
He thought he heard/felt a snort, but chose to ignore it–he was too exhausted to administer any sort of punishment for that derision.
His prayers were answered when it seemed that the group of riders continued to head straight for them–they were still a long way off, but each party was able to see them distinctively.
Some time had passed before Junior felt dawning realization in that he recognized none of the group of men that were heading straight for them. All of them were dirty, scruffy–leading and driving a pack of horses that were loaded with supplies.
Excited shouts filled the air, and horses panted hard with overexertion as the distance was closed.
Junior felt apprehension immediately, slowing his horse as they neared. It was a dozen men in that party, all of them loaded with weapons, and all of them obviously familiar with the terrain, surroundings. They were dressed warmly in variants of leather, cloth and animal skins–their hats were dark with moisture. Their animals were sleek and shiny with sweat, their smell reaching the pair before the posse did.
Apprehension turned into flaring despair and panic at the drawing of their guns, mean expressions weathering tanned, bearded mugs.
Junior cursed, and attempted to turn the horse, to try and make a getaway, but a flurry of surrounding gunshots forced his horse to rear, whinnying loud with protest. He almost lost his seat with the added weight of Richie holding tightly onto him, both of them panicked at the attack. They were surrounded immediately by the group of hollering men, some yipping with satisfaction and glee at catching them.
Junior caught his breath, looking with wide-eyed fear at the men surrounding them. It was obvious their intentions were of the mean sort. He could feel Richie’s arms tightening around him considerably, pressing against him as tired horses crowded them physically, flanks smashing against their legs and their horse startled by the abrupt closeness.
One of the men, bearded and menacing, spit slick brown before studying them intently from underneath the brim of his hat. He was dressed head to toe in brown, his clothing dusty and stained. His hair winged out from the sides of his head, giving him a sort of guarded appearance. The smell that wafted from him was odious–those of the other men and horses were just as thick, making the pair of them wince.
Their horse moved in an agitated manner, sensing their hostility, the other horses giving sounds that seemed almost mean and taunting at the same time.
One of the men closest to Junior jerked at the reins, yanking them roughly out of his grasp. Another leaned out to snatch Junior’s gun on his left hip, another taking the one on his right, leaving him to cry aloud with surprise and dread. His horse gave a restless whinny, jerking upward, its reins yanked from the side to keep the horse under control.
Suddenly, the first man guffawed, a loud sound that caught the others’ attentions, drawing Junior’s eyes toward him with a frustrated scowl.
“I know you!” he exclaimed, guffawing again as he drew his horse near, so that the pair of them were actually looking into each other’s faces. The bearded man was at least sixty pounds heavier than Junior, maybe a foot taller. The stench that wafted from him made Junior recoil, pulling away with a disgusted expression. Rotten teeth flashed him, foul breath making his eyes water.
The man looked around curiously, making a show of searching for others. He then slapped a man’s chest, making the man grunt with the unexpected blow. “We know this one, Jess!”
Jess studied Junior. This one was darkly tanned with a thick, discolored mustache. He was wearing a trench over a dirty yellow shirt, jeans ripped at the knees. A bandanna covered his head, hat shoved atop of that. One ear dangled with a bone that looked suspiciously like a chicken bone. He then laughed, a screechy sound that was unforgettable in its piercing sound. “We do, huh? Hah! Looks like he outta luck, now!”
The first man grinned rotted teeth again, looking at Junior. He stared at the younger Alva with hostility, mustache twisting as his horse nipped at theirs. “You remember me, punk? Huh? Do I look familiar to you, you lil’ shit?”
Junior stared back, angrily helpless as he clutched the saddle’s pommel, feeling wretchedly vulnerable amidst this crowd of men. Richie’s grip hadn’t let up, making it awkward for Junior to breathe. It hit him, then, the face of this man.
“Last year,” the man barked, giving him a fierce glare. “You an’ your posse decided to kick us out of your lil’ shitty bar, cuz’a some trouble with one of your dirty whores! You remember?”
Fuck, Junior thought, knuckles whitening, remembering the incident.
“Little gal Mirage,” Jess drawled, smacking his lips. “Can’t ever forget that one, eh?”
“Paul always talks about that one,” a man laughed.
Paul frowned, looking around again. Junior’s face welled with frustrated red, breathing hard. “You all alone, boy,” Paul then observed out loud. “Don’t look like ya’ll got someone to boss around.”
“What’s it feel like now, Alva?” Jess asked, cackling. “You all alone, brutha!”
“That’s a nice horse you got there, friend,” another man, Smith, said as he reached out to pat the flank of Junior’s horse. “My horse is getting tired of carrying my bag...”
Junior swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the pommel once more. “This here’s our horse,” he muttered. Richie was starting to grow more scared as tension started to mount with suffocating pressure. Feeling all those hostile stares made him wholly uncomfortable, pressing his face against Junior’s back and staring at the material that reeked of the younger Alva’s musk and sweat.
“They ain’t come far! Only got the clothes on their backs!” Paul announced. He tsked, giving Junior a fake look of concern. “You be the ones in the fire we saw, last night?”
“Still burnin’,” one man noticed, looking beyond them, at the faint trail of color in the sky beyond the mountains Junior and Richie had left.
“Pity.” But Paul grinned at Junior, an ugly smile on his weathered face. “‘Fraid I still feel that pissed about bein’ kicked around, for teaching that whore a lesson, buddy. I still wake up feelin’ bruised and humiliated. All for slapping some little slut cuz she deserved it.”
Junior grit his teeth. “You deserve that beatin’! Ain’t no one but me slaps those whores!”
Paul guffawed again, others chiming in. He then quieted, the others following suit. He stared at him for a moment, tension building with immense force. Suddenly, at an unseen prompt, one man reached out to pull Junior from the horse. Richie nearly fell off as well, but someone pulled him back, keeping him seated.
Shouts erupted as Junior was forced away from Richie and the horse, one of the men using his horse to push the younger Alva forward. Richie was starting to panic, severely distressed as they were separated. The men that stayed glanced at him with casual regard, frowning at the fear on his face. The reins were passed away to another man, and the horse was led away from the group of men by another that grumbled with the task. Thinking that things were going to get bad, considering how violent they were with whores, Richie numbly wondered if he was going to get what Mirage had apparently gotten. The very thought made his blood run cold, for a blessed numbness to weigh down his limbs. The man gruffly warned him to stay put; Richie was too terrified to think of escaping.
He watched as Paul and Jess dismounted their horses, reins passed to someone still on their horse. Others followed suit, Junior looking around anxiously as he faced the group on his own. Paul removed his hat, slapping it against Jess’s chest, cracking his knuckles. He was still grinning that ugly grin, menacingly standing over Junior with his taller height. Invading his personal space and enjoying Junior stumble back from him, obviously troubled with the situation.
It was a joy for Paul to intimidate someone that had abused his power over others. He had to laugh aloud once more, in pure delight.
“‘Bout time I get my revenge!” he cackled. “Been awhile! Always wanted ta fuck you up, you snotty shit!”
The others chimed in with their shouts and add-ins, Junior looking around them anxiously. He swallowed hard, looking for something to interfere. He’d take zombies and monsters at that moment–facing men that really wanted to hurt him because of something he’d done made him entirely sick. He’d never given thought to revenge and retaliation from anyone. The situation was horrifying.
He was starting to realize how truly helpless he was without the others–inadequacy hitting him hard. Rendering him just as defenseless and vulnerable as the whores; as the boy. He looked over at him, a little relieved in that they weren’t paying any attention to him. He then looked up at Paul as he laughed again, head thrown back.
He threw off his hat and rushed at Paul, knocking him off his feet and into the dirt. Men cheered and roared their approval as the pair rolled about, throwing fists and expletives at each other.
When they finally climbed back to their feet in a mess of dirt, scrapes and disheveled clothing, Junior was immediately pushed around by the others that had surrounded them. Paul regained his second wind, darting forward just as Junior caught his footing from a harsh shove, landing a clean punch upside Junior’s chin. The audible crack made the men roar much more loudly in approval. Before Junior had a chance to recover from that, Jess kicked him with the heel of his boot, sending him down into the dirt. Paul jumped on him, raining punch after punch into Junior’s face and chest while he tried to defend himself. Jess jumped in at that moment, joining Paul with the unfair advantage. The others jumped in as well, until Junior had six to seven men kicking and punching at him, refusing to let him leave their circle or even rise to his feet.
Richie looked away, sickened by what he saw. But he couldn’t help but remember how Casey, Junior and the others had held him down that night, and taken their turns on him. It was an inward uplift of satisfaction in seeing Junior beat–but it made him sick with how many people wanted to hurt one person for the thrill of it.
He looked up to see most of them turning away, satisfied with their physical violence. Anxiety tore through him at that point–wondering if he were next. Fear tightened his every limb, breathing growing short–he looked at Paul with a scared expression, hoping that it was only Junior they wanted.
Paul seemed to suddenly notice him, visibly startling.
Then he grinned, rotten teeth barely visible underneath that bushy mustache. Fear twisted Richie’s gut, and he found it hard to swallow, unable to look away.
“How old are you, boy? 10? 12? Somethin’ like that?” Paul asked, all attention on him. He walked up to the horse, staring up at Richie curiously.
Richie was too frightened to get indignant, but instinct told him to stay silent. Paul shrugged, waving at him to get off the horse. For a few moments, Richie couldn’t move, but Paul gestured once more. Richie awkwardly slipped off, leg stiffening immediately, making him wince. He almost buckled at the pain, giving a light gasp as he clutched at his thigh. Paul noticed this, hands on his knees to face him, as if Richie was a small child.
“What’s wrong with you, boy? Looks like yer hurt,” Paul pointed out. He looked at Richie’s leg, studying the dried blood over his pants. He looked back up at him, squinting, as he’d lost his hat during the fight, and the sun had managed to push through the clouds to warm the area briefly. His stench was much more odious than before, and Richie involuntarily closed his nose, turning away to try for some fresh air. Paul didn’t seem to notice this, or ignored it completely. “Lost your momma an’ poppa, recently? Did those big, bad monsters eat ‘em?”
Richie was starting to feel indignant at the way he was being addressed, but the pain and fear kept him from showing that expression. He merely nodded, just to appease that line of questioning.
“Aw,” one of the others muttered. “That sucks, kid.”
Paul straightened, hands on his hips. He made a node to where Junior was lying, obviously unconscious. “He pick you up?”
Richie nodded again, unsure of where this was going. Having all those eyes on him made him intensely nervous, enough to eventually start to ignore the pain.
Paul shifted, weathered face starting to harden. Richie swallowed again, looking at Junior, then back at Paul when he moved. The crack of palm connecting with his face made drove the breath out of him. His glasses flew, and he buckled, already covering his head with his arms.
“That’s fer bein’ stupid, and gettin’ on with strangers,” Paul growled. “‘Specially that one. Didn’t your mommy an’ daddy ever teach ya to never run off with strangers? Shit, you don’t look dumb, kid. You shoulda found someone else, ‘steada some cold-hearted snake. Now, get up. I didn’t hit you that hard. That was a love tap. Done to clear yer senses.”
When Richie didn’t comply, Paul reached down, grabbing an arm and hauling him to his feet. He forced down his arms when they whipped up to cover his head, Paul growling in frustration. Once he was facing Richie again, hands on both upper arms, he said with a tilt of his head, “Sorry kid, we can’t help you. But don’t you worry, none. We pick on women and boys that deserve it. ‘Fraid yer just gonna haveta wait here til someone comes along. Don’t know how long that’ll be.”
“Prolly won’t, anyway,” Smith spoke up, mounting his horse. “Towns up north taken over, too. Maybe some savages’ll take pity on ya and kill ya quick. Them Cheyenne’re nice about kids. They kill boys real quick. So’s they won’t grow up and make some kids to keep killin’ them off. No sufferin’ guarantee.”
Paul laughed as he let go, walking over to his horse. He mounted, giving Richie a stern look. “Watch out for them mountain men. They don’t care what sex comes along.”
Some laughed with disgust, starting off in the direction Junior and Richie had come from. Paul and the others stared their way, preparing to take their horse along with them. With a flurry of dust, the posse rode off, laughing over their accomplishment.
Richie watched them go, then exhaled in heavy relief that he’d escaped basically unharmed. He looked over at Junior. He found his glasses quickly, then hurried over. Junior was lying face down in the dirt, his blond hair dirtied with various weeds and dust, his clothing covered with the same variants. He had a split eyebrow, blood darkening with dirt, trickling over his freckled skin. Blood dribbled from his nose as well, and that was only from the side profile.
Crouching, Richie winced at the dried blood, the splits in skin and contusions. Awkwardly, he managed to turn Junior onto his back. At the low moan of anguished pain, Richie quickly let him go, hearing the ugly cackling of sound under his palms as he’d done so. He figured Junior had a few ribs painfully bruised or busted, and he really didn’t like the angle his left forearm laid in–as if completely disconnected from his elbow. While it gave him immense satisfaction in that someone messed Junior up good, Richie felt he shouldn’t be lowering himself to that level.
Then he stiffly dragged Junior underneath the small shade of sagebrush, panting with effort. His leg throbbed at the activity, and he sat slowly.
He looked over the flat expanse of land, desperation hitting him hard. The mountains where they’d left the others was at least a day’s ride. A storm was coming in–chilly wind swept through, bringing with it the smell of rain. He shivered, covering his mouth to hack into his hand, alarmed at what he heard.
He looked at Junior helplessly, wiping his hand on his pants, then back at the surrounding landscape. Thoughts of monsters, mountain men and Indians hit him, then.
He gave a sound of despair, leaning over Junior awkwardly, looking for some comfort. It was mind-numbing how they were expected to die.
010101010110
Junior didn’t wake up–on the second night, Richie had to wonder if he was ever going to. His face was swollen with bruises and heady injuries–his left cheekbone had swollen considerably, dominating that side of his face. His eyebrow had shut his right eyelid, so both of the man’s eyes were swollen shut. The corner of his mouth was grotesquely swollen and cut, swelling considerably so that the bottom lip overlapped the upper.
Richie had tried to waken the man; shaking his shoulder, calling his name, letting the rain fall on him. In the middle of no where, with the weather as it was, they were terribly exposed to the elements and to danger. He heard wolves in the distance, howling their ghostly cries, and he was terrified that they’d find them.
He was also terrified that Indians were somehow monitoring them, waiting for a chance to move in. From all that he’d heard, they were terrible creatures that wrought pain and destruction on any honest man passing through their territory. He’d heard it all, and though he’d seen more than a few in Alva’s town, he hadn’t interacted with any. Those few he’d seen seemed entirely threatening.
Mountain men and more bandits made him frightened, too. Warnings of mountain men using anybody for sexual design made him think of them as terrible, savage creatures that resembled half animals. He knew better, but his imagination was running with him as he sat alone.
Snow was falling, and he huddled close to Junior, trying to keep him covered and to warm himself. It was a futile effort, of course–both of them weren’t wearing appropriate clothing, and there was nothing to hide under. The sagebrush that he’d dragged Junior under wasn’t that much of a shelter.
He was terribly despaired in that they were going to die slowly. From starvation, from the elements, from creatures and loathsome people.
He laid carefully over Junior’s upper torso, his arms wrapped around his shoulder and underarm. With the cold and moisture, he couldn’t smell urine anymore, the musk and sweat. Shivering tightly, he reflected how thickly silent it was when the snow fell. It was gentle and cold, landing fleetingly throughout the area, coating everything with its ghostly white. He stared in blind numbness at Junior’s swollen features, trying to think of what to do. He couldn’t move the man–not with his leg, not with his strength. There wasn’t a way he could do that.
He coughed violently into Junior’s chest, clearing out the phlegm that rattled his lungs. His body felt wholly weak–just the thought of moving the man exhausted him.
But he couldn’t just stay...he couldn’t just sit there and wait...the main road was miles off, and he figured if he walked to it, he’d run into someone passing through.
He could get help for Junior...but he also feared running into the wrong people.
He heard the ghostly cries of wolves, sending violent shivers up his spine. They were closer this time than they were the last. He lifted his head, shivering from the cold as he searched the white-coated landscape for the fearsome animals. He couldn’t see anything–the thick gray of light fog, dark night and falling snow made it difficult to see into any length of distance.
Blearily, he looked up at the sky, then back at Junior. Reaching up with stiff fingers, he adjusted the branches of weed over Junior’s upper torso, furtively keeping out the falling snow from the unconscious man. He felt his shirt sticking to him, his bones feeling as if they were hardening into ice. He was entirely cold...his bare feet buried under dirt and the hem of his pants. Shaking hard from the cold, he leaned over Junior again, trying to think.
He was reluctant to leave him–afraid that if he did, he would lose all contact with life as he knew it. Junior was his only link with the world–the man that looked after him. He’d gotten close to the man through their ordeals–Richie clung to him because he had no one else to do so. He felt terrible at the thought of leaving him–of possibly killing him because he left.
He felt scared of being on his own. He knew nothing of how to survive out in the West. He was always surrounded by people–living in a city. He knew nothing of basic survival techniques. Unfamiliar with the area, unfamiliar to the way of life–his mind was a total blank when it came to shelters, food, water sources...
Feeling terribly, as if he were being torn apart from the inside, he leaned over Junior once more, pressing his face into his neck. This made Junior exhale heavily, but he did nothing more–breathing raggedly as he continued to sleep. Richie feared that he was already dead–that he’d never recover.
He couldn’t just stay–! But he couldn’t leave, either.
So he laid there, listening to the silence of the snow falling, waiting for more sounds of the wolves. Terrible pressure seemed to weigh in on him as he coughed, feeling his entire body shake with the effort. His very bones ached, and it felt as if he were soaked through and through. The terrible cold seemed to freeze every bit of coherency and movement from his brain and body. His thoughts were starting to become jumbled, and he had a hard time understanding himself.
He swallowed hard, tasting fire–his throat was raw. Lifting his head, he opened his mouth, catching snowflakes atop of his tongue. He reached out and scraped off snow from Junior’s body and from his own, stuffing it into his mouth. He wished he knew what sort of roots were edible around here.
He looked at Junior again, calling his name and shaking his shoulder. He heard the crackle of cartilage and bone, and winced, pulling his hand back. Those men had beaten him well.
He wondered why he was still so compassionate to this man. He should have been happy to be free.
But as he thought about all the horrors he’d experienced, all the terrible bits and parts of human nature that he’d seen, Junior was his only root of sturdy familiarity that he felt safe with. It both troubled him, and resigned him.
He sighed quietly, then started coughing. The howl of wolves broke the silence once more–they were further away, this time. Yapping commenced, a playful sort of sound that told him they weren’t very interested in the dangers that he faced. He thought of their warm, heavy coats and wished he’d had one of his own.
He looked at Junior, blinking away snowflakes that rested on his lashes. He lifted his head, staring out into the gray, his head buzzing with numbed torture. He kept thinking about the wolves...kept seeing imagined versions of mountain men. He thought of Indians wanting to scalp him; wanting to torture him for all the wrongdoings the other white man had done to them. He thought of the monsters.
He thought of his parents, and felt himself break at that instant, giving a low cry that seemed to echo throughout the darkness. It hurt to think about them, hurt to know that he’d never see them. Feeling lost, alone and in despair, he started to cry loudly over Junior’s chest. He let it all out at that moment, ignoring Junior’s views and thoughts of him crying. He figured it was allowed at this point–the man couldn’t do anything about it.
They were going to die, anyway.
He started sobbing over the things he’d lost and experienced, over the things he wouldn’t see or experience again. He cried over the cold, how his clothes clung to him, how sick he felt, and how scary mountain men probably were.
He cried himself to sleep, and awoke, surprised that he did. By this time, the snow had stopped, and it was a little lighter–as if some layers of the storm clouds had been pulled back. The land was covered in a light layer of snow–he blinked swollen eyes, wiping his nose as he looked around himself. He could see further–putting on his glasses, he was able to see that he could spot the rolling hills and mountain line. The glass fogged, and he pulled them off.
He looked at Junior, hearing his labored breathing. He thought of the wolves that were howling earlier, and swept snow and dirt from his feet.
Trying very hard not to think, he lifted slowly from the man, dusting snow from his shoulders, head and clothing. His bare feet instantly prickled from the cold–he pulled his hems down, covering them with pointless effort. But it was the best he could do at this point.
He struggled to not look at Junior as he stepped over him, and struggled to filter out the sound of his ragged breathing. He began to walk in the direction straight ahead of him, figuring he’d find the road in this manner.
He walked and walked and tried very hard not to look back, or think of what he was leaving behind.
010101010110
Ebon snorted, Shiv giving a nervous giggle.
Kangorr lowered his glasses to give the man a disbelieving look. Hotstreak was too preoccupied with worrying over his saddlebag to give the surrounding men any attention.
“I said,” Paul repeated, aiming his rifle at the black man that refused to take him seriously, “git OFF your horses an’ hand over them fancy-ass guns.”
“Yer kiddin’ me,” Kangorr cried in disbelief. Leather creaked as he looked over at Ebon, who frowned at Jess as the man tried to reach for his scythes. “What th’ hell ya’ll think you’re doin’? Don’t you know who we are?”
“Buncha dead men, is all!” Smith shouted. “Kill ‘em, Paul! The world needs less niggers, nowadays! ‘Specially those with mouths!”
Paul snorted, spitting slickly at the dirt.
Kangorr sighed, horse shifting restlessly. Someone tried to grab his reins, but he shot the man a darkened look, making him recoil instantly. Hotstreak sighed as he realized that the precious books in his saddlebag were going to be soiled by the wet weather. He looked over to ask Shiv for some cloth when he spotted a leather pack one of the bandits was wearing. They’d suit the task perfectly.
“I don’t wanna hurt anybody here,” Kangorr said, frowning at Paul. “We’ve got us a mission–we need to pass, and we need all that we got wit’ us.”
“You just don’t get it, do ya? Nigger?” Paul asked, jabbing his rifle at the black man. “I ain’t tellin’ you again! Get OFF your horses!”
Ebon sighed. “I’m hungry, man...”
It was at that point that Hotstreak realized that he’d never seen the man eat. He looked over at him, before a gun barrel could jab his face. “You are?” he asked in surprise. “What ya’ll eat, anyway?”
Shiv heard the question, pushing a gun barrel from his back. “Ebon has special needs,” he said gravely.
“Special? What’s so special ‘bout you?” Hotstreak scoffed at the annoyed black man.
Paul grit his teeth, realizing that none of them were taking them seriously. He decided to teach them a lesson as Ebon opened his mouth to answer.
He nodded at them, the others pulling out their guns, aiming at the four men. Kangorr looked back at Shiv, who caught the signal.
With an annoyed sound, the man let go of his reins, face suddenly reddening.
“Kangorr told ya’ll that I’m a vampire, right?” Ebon said as all of Paul’s men reacted with surprise and horror at having their guns torn right from their hands–all on invisible prompt.
Shiv grit his teeth, veins throbbing fiercely as he concentrated at a point beyond his sight, feeling the weight of the metal from all their guns. Steel jangled loudly as he forced them away from the group, tossing them onto the road behind them.
“Yeah, but...dunno what that is,” Hotstreak said, used to Shiv’s fantastic display of telekinesis. He’d gotten over the thrill of seeing it–while amazing, it was just something that he’d seen since he met the man. His mind was occupied with other things, anyway–he could focus only on one thing at a time. “Seriously. Ya’ll never explained it.”
Ebon sighed with heavy reluctance, hearing the snap of Paul’s mandible as Kangorr sent the butt of his rifle against it. Shiv released his power, giving a weak yip of joy as he withdrew his swords, swiping at various saddle hitches.
Men fell from their mounts with cries of surprise and panic as Paul fell from his, knocked cold from impact. Kangorr used his horse to ram Jess’s, whacking the man over the temple with the barrel of his weapon.
“Never mind, then,” Ebon decided, eying one of the men that had fallen close-by. “Check it–knowin’ you, you don’t think much. You a mite dumb.”
“Har, har,” Hotstreak said sarcastically, scowling. “I ain’t fuckin’ dumb!”
“Then don’t ask dumb questions!”
“I ain’t! I’m just askin’!”
“It’s a dumb question!”
“Well then–! Yer dumb!”
“Ooh, such an insult...”
Hotstreak huffed, sliding off of Charger. He reached for the man with the pack he’d been eying, jerking him off his feet. He ducked behind him as his stallion grew tired of all the horses crowding him, kicking viciously with his back hooves. He heard and felt the thud the stallion’s powerful hooves sent into the man, causing him to scream.
Hotstreak tossed him into the dirt, leaning down to rip the pack from his arms and shoulders, ducking at that instant to avoid his own horse’s kicks. Charger bucked and charged others, basically making himself into a terror as other horses scattered.
“Your horse is so fucked up,” Ebon decided aloud, sliding off his horse. “Just like you...”
“Flattery gets you no where, buddy.”
Kangorr looked up from his task, Shiv tired from his display of mental manipulation. Many of the men were scattering with panicked fright, horses running free as their saddles slid from their bodies. The supplies that the group of bandits had gathered were lying around, ripe and ready for the taking.
“You two, knock it off,” he complained tiredly. From the moment they met, he felt that Ebon and Hotstreak baited each other. There was tension between them, causing a sort of discomfort between the group. “Make yerselves useful, man! Get those horses.”
Shiv hurried off on his horse to chase down a couple, pretending to charge a few of the fleeing men in the process. Kangorr went to pick up the abandoned weapons, dismounting to load his horse with several rifles, and passing Ebon the rest. The black man began gathering weapons to stow on his horse, Hotstreak complying to load himself up, as well.
Kangorr then mounted, and chased down a few of the fleeing men, using his horse to correl them. He aimed his rifle at them, commanding them to stand still.
Hotstreak and Ebon stopped elbowing and baiting each other as Shiv came back, panting as he held the reins of a couple of horses. Seeing that the group of once powerful bandits were properly scattered, Kangorr dismounted. He and Shiv began to fix and tie supplies onto the horses, leaving the three men to stare at them with anxious regard.
Ebon nodded toward them, gesturing at Hotstreak to follow him. “I’ll show ya...y’know, for someone like you, you ain’t all that clever. You’d need all the demonstration you can get before gettin’ it right.”
“Aw, man, fuck you,” Hotstreak complained. He was stuffing the books into the pack, visibly cheered that they fit. He then adjusted the straps of the pack, shrugged off his Hound coat, and slung it onto his back. He then slid the coat back on as Ebon reached the three men that stared at him in curious regard.
Without saying anything, Ebon reached for the first, kicking his foot right out from underneath him. Hotstreak was a little puzzled, seeing the other two men start to defend their friend–he drew his guns and barked at them to hold still, smirking when they complied.
Then he watched as Ebon jerked the man up by his hair, tilting his head to the side.
When he saw the man lower his face into his neck, he was immediately disgusted.
“You homo?” he asked in bewilderment.
Ebon jerked up with insult, intending to snap at him when his face suddenly crossed with frenzied determination. He opened his mouth and sank his teeth into skin and muscle, the man eking out a frantic cry. It was quickly silenced, facial expression turning slack as Ebon started to noisily drink the life essence from him.
The other two men were quite aghast at this display–Hotstreak’s face was wrinkled with intense puzzlement and disgust, unsure of what he was seeing. Was Ebon chewing...? Was he sucking on blood...? Was he...?
Kangorr finished loading, tossing them a glance. Prompting his horse toward them, he asked in a commanding tone, “Ya’ll see anybody passin’ through here? Anybody? Men? Boys?”
The two men looked at him with intense confusion, then back at Ebon and their friend. Hotstreak was bewildered the paling look of the man’s skin, the way he seemed to die from the intense hickie he thought Ebon was giving him. The smell of copper was odious.
“HEY!” Kangorr barked, catching the pair’s attention. “You seen anybody?”
It took awhile, but one of them stuttered, “Yeah...yeah, we did. Ah...we...there was–a man. A man Paul hated. Beat the crap out of him. They the only two we passed through here. We come in from Fort...from the military-base town up north...didn’t pass no one for days til them.”
“Older man?”
“Ah...he...God, what’re you doin’ to him?”
Ebon straightened, smacking his lips. The man was dead–Hotstreak stared down at the slack features, the pale skin. The black man licked his lips in a way that was suggestive and gratified, sending an uneasy sense of heat through him. Hotstreak was disgusted that he’d feel such a way for a man he didn’t even like.
Ebon looked at the other two, and they noticed it. Terrified, they started to back away as they stared at him, seeing the blood of their companion smeared over his dark skin.
“E, hold on, man,” Kangorr ordered. “Let me talk to ‘em, a bit.”
“C’mon, man,” Ebon complained, uncharacteristically eager and whiny. “I haven’t eaten in fuckin’ days!”
“Just–hold on!” Kangorr repeated impatiently, looking at the pair. “What man?”
“God, we’re gonna die–!”
“What MAN?!”
“Dunno! Some man–! Had–had a boy with him! Small one.”
Eagerly, Kangorr leaned closer, the others stilling as they listened intently. “Tall? Black hair? Looks almost Indian?”
The two looked at each other, then shot him puzzled looks. “No. Blond, ‘bout...this tall. Was kinda a dick. His father owned some town down some South...some whore bar, I guess. Dunno. Paul and Jess were talkin’ about some whore bein’ all slapped by Paul, and this guy–this guy and his posse fucked them over for it.”
Kangorr and Ebon visibly sagged with disappointment, but Hotstreak thought suddenly of the Alvas, of Richie–the boy whose name he didn’t even know.
“Alva?” he questioned, eager. “Junior? His name was Junior?”
The man thought about it, then nodded tightly. “Yeah! Yeah, I think! Paul called him, uh, Alva! He had a boy wit’ him–kinda small. Like...like he were nine, or ten...somethin’...”
“Where? Where’d you–?”
“Paul took their horse! They beat Alva good, man. Don’t think he lived, anyway. Left the boy. Somewhere, ‘bout maybe...maybe two days’ ride from here,” the man said quickly, trying to think. He pointed off in the direction he remembered, and Hotstreak stared over with heavy disappointment at the rolling hills, the expanse of nothing. Surrounded by mountains, he knew the area was hostile with Indians, bandits, and wildlife. “Did’t think nothin’ of it, either. Just...just couldn’t take ‘im. Ain’t got no knowledge for lil’ kids...”
Kangorr sighed tiredly, looking up with surprise as Hotstreak quickly turned, calling for Charger. His brow furrowed with puzzlement as Ebon attacked the man, making him scream with startled fear, the other recoiling with a myriad of pleas to escape his friend’s demise.
“Where ya goin’, man?” Kangorr asked as Charger hurried over, shaking his mane with satisfaction.
Hotstreak mounted him quickly, adjusting himself onto the saddle. He shot Kangorr a puzzled look. “I’ma go find the kid.”
“What?! We’re on Caine’s ass, man! He’s prolly dead, anyway!”
“Nah.” Hotstreak shook his head, but he feared that notion with a twist of his gut. He didn’t want to see that kid as a zombie. He didn’t want to.
“You cain’t just leave!” Kangorr barked, turning to block Charger’s path with his horse. His unfortunate mount received the stallion’s teeth on his flank, and both animals pranced restlessly around each other as Hotstreak shot Kangorr an annoyed look. “We’re right there! We’re right on them, man! We could end all this! You cain’t just keep up an’ leavin’ all the damn time! We gotta make things right!”
Hotstreak studied him for a few moments, feeling shamed that Kangorr obviously didn’t trust his motives. He felt guilt hit him upon remembering the day of the train robbery, the trail of devastation Caine and this ‘him’ had wrought upon the West. He frowned, exhaling heavily as he looked off into the direction the man had pointed.
They’d gone in a north-eastern direction away from Runner’s Valley–the man had pointed off to the north-west. A ‘two-day’ ride, he’d said.
Frustration lit his veins, and his knuckles whitened as he thought of the kid–injured and alone. With possibly a dead man at his side. He kept thinking of the way he smelled, the way he blinked sleepily at him. The way he cringed, the way he made Hotstreak feel so many different things.
He grimaced, the confliction of things pulling at him making it difficult.
Kangorr didn’t know his torment. Hotstreak never spoke of the boy. He stared at the redhead intently.
“You can’t leave,” he repeated evenly, drawl subdued. “We got us a job to do. You an’ me were involved from the beginning. We haveta do this–! We have to do this, Red!”
Hotstreak felt desperation pull at every muscle–every minute spent doing this with Kangorr, was every minute away from the kid. Charger pranced restlessly, sensing his conflict. He tossed his thick head with a whinny, then focused on trying to bite at Kangorr’s gelding.
Shiv suddenly laughed at something beyond them, breaking that spell. “That guy poofed!” he howled. “Do again! Do again!”
Ebon shot him a disgusted look, wiping his mouth–second man down. He was feeling very full and content, shooting the third man a look. The third man promptly wet his pants at the attention.
Hotstreak looked at Kangorr, mouth tightening under his mustache. “Sorry,” he then said gruffly, steering Charger into the direction the men had come from. “I gotta do this.”
Kangorr angrily prodded his horse after him, shouting, “You cain’t just keep runnin’ away, damn you! We gotta job to do!”
Charger was faster than his mount, pushing hard as Hotstreak fought to ignore Kangorr’s shouts. As they raced off, Hotstreak felt his guilt and abandoned duties chase after him.