“Husband? Are you still alive?” Tamara called taking a single tentative step forward.
Through the ringing in her ears, she could barely make out a very faint sound. She took another step forward straining to hear, tilting her head. It sounded almost like a whimper. She smiled and took another few steps forward.
“Oh dear husband, does it hurt really bad?” she called out to him with glee.
She paused for a moment focusing again on the faint….whimper? Hearing it again, she realized, it wasn’t a whimper, but the sound of steel squeaking upon steel.
“Shit!” She exclaimed and began to clumsily work the bolt action again. She just made out the sound of a bolt and a nut hitting the floor, as she looked up the mattress sprang to life. With the last bit of his fading strength, Coal rushed her, keeping the blood-stained mattress in front of him like a shield.
Tamara raised the rifle again but was immediately struck by the wall of bloody bedding. The rifle fired again, striking the floor just at Coals feet. Tamara tried to plant her feet and stay up against the charge, but even in his weakened condition Coal’s weight and momentum were too much. She fell backward and tumbled down the stairs tangled with the bloody mattress. Coal collapsed at the top of the stairs in a heap. His vision was fading around the edges, his head swam, he felt impossibly tired.
A few moments passed before Coal heard movement from down the stairs, painfully he turned his head and saw Tamara slowly climbing to her feet. Her long golden hair was a mess, it was spotted with patches of blood, her lingerie and hose were torn several places from their struggle. She bent down and retrieved the knife Coal had kicked away. She looked up at him, hate still plain in her eyes as she started climbing back up the stairs. Coal’s hand reached over to his left, to where Tamara had dropped his rifle, he pulled it close to him and made sure it was where she could see it. She stopped where she was on the stairs.
Coal reached up, undid the buckle on the ball gag and spit it out. “I want a divorce,” he called down to her in a raspy voice.
Tamara smiled. “Absolutely not, I’m Catholic,” she replied.
“Till death do us part then,” Coal said and then worked the rifle bolt again.
Tamara paused for a half a heartbeat and then fled back down the stairs. Coal didn’t even try to take aim at her, his vision was swimming so much he doubted he could even hit her. She reached the double doors and paused just long enough to yell back.
“Oh Dear, I almost forgot, I invited guests over to help us celebrate,” and she was out the door running into the night.
Coal rolled on to his back his vision was hazy around the edges, his leg ached terribly, the wound still oozing blood. His stomach at least seemed to have stopped, though he wasn’t necessarily sure that was a good sign. He looked around, his knife belt lay a few feet away from him. He used the rifle to hook it and drag it within reach. His hands were still cuffed together with the ridiculous pink fur cuffs, making his grip awkward. He wrapped the belt around his leg and tightened it into a tourniquet. The bleeding slowed immediately but wasn’t stopped completely. Looking over, his duster and the rest of his clothing was too far out of reach to even try for. Though a discarded tequila bottle did seem just within reach of his rifle. Ever an opportunist Coal stretched painfully and was able to bat the bottle within reach. It held just a few fingers width of golden liquid.
“Well shit, things are looking up already,” he mumbled weakly.
He clumsily spun the cap off with his teeth and then took a long swig from the bottle. He choked a little and then came up for air. He looked down at his wounds, eyeing his stomach in particular. He was wondering how deep it was when his guts suddenly filled with a sharp burning sensation. He doubled over in pain crying out.
“Oh, It’s deep,” he mumbled. His eyes came to rest on his leg, and he quickly splashed the wound with Tequila before he could lose his nerve. It burned as well, and he hissed through clenched teeth.
“One for you, one for me,” he said and took another drink. As he swallowed, he realized his mistake, and his guts flared with fire again as he doubled over in pain.
“That’s it, I’m cut off,” he mumbled to himself and dropped the bottle.
The pain seemed to help him focus at least for a moment, and Tamara’s parting words came back to him.
“Honey, who did you say was coming over?” he shouted down to the empty stairs.
Tamara ran across the dark ranch in her torn lingerie. Already torches and lanterns were being lit, in front of the little shakes and RVs the workers called home. The braver ranch hands stepping outside to look around. The timider staying in, expecting Coal to be able to handle whatever the shooting had been. Several startled voices called out to her as she ran, some offered aid, others just in surprise, but Tamara ignored them all. She ran directly for the ranch gates.
In the light of a burn barrel, a single sentry stood at the gate. He clutched a crossbow and was staring in the direction of the main house when Tamara spotted him. She recognized him immediately, and without breaking stride she ripped the front of her silk teddy open, exposing her breasts as she ran.
“Riley, Oh Riley!” She called out to him running out of the darkness.
Riley lowered the crossbow as soon as he recognized her and then frozen when he saw that she was half naked.
“Tamara? Are you, are you alright?” he stammered as she rushed up to him sobbing and buried her head into his chest. The young man instinctively wrapped his arms around her.
“It’s going to be alright,” he said softly.
“I know,” she said and stabbed him in the gut. Riley gasped in pain and looked down at her knife in confusion. She stepped away from him and twisted the knife out in an arc as she did. Riley let her go, dropping to his knees suddenly much more concerned with holding in his intestines that comforting her.
She stepped around Riley and then turned back, she kicked him once squarely in the side, and the young man toppled over in a whimper of pain as he clutched at his innards.
“It’s Mrs. Coal to you, fuck head,” she shouted at him.
Tamara left the dying Riley to his pain and stepped up to the ranch gates. A thick steel slide bar secured them at night. She grabbed the bar and slid it open with an ear-splitting squeal of rusty metal. With the door now unsecured she dropped her shoulder and began pushing at the huge gate. As she grunted in the effort a half dozen ranch hands cautiously stepped out of the darkness. Several women seeing Riley down quickly ran to his side. The gate slowly began to swing out, and Tamara pushed even harder.
“Ma’am are you okay?” asked one of the hands in a heavy Spanish accent.
“Come on you bitch!!!!!” Tamara screamed in frustration as the gate continued its slow swing.
“Did somebody hurt you?” another voice asked her, the man was looking down at Riley.
The gate finally swung fully open, and Tamara leaned heavily against it.
“Help, Help!” she screamed.
The ranch hands looked at each other for a moment in obvious confusion. The accented man took a cautious step forward. “It’s all right Ma’am we're here, it’s okay,” he said in a reassuring tone.
She slid down the wall, crouching half naked and utterly exhausted. “Help, Help, Help…. Oh, come on, where the fuck is everybody?” she screamed in frustration.
The rancher knelt next to her, obviously concerned. “It’s going to be okay, you just had a…scare is all,” he said, looking down at her blood covered body.
“Fuck!” She screamed at him, and he jumped back at the intensity of her words. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she continued as she got to her feet and turned to face the darkness outside of the gates.
“What the fuck do I have to do? Kill everybody myself,” she demanded of the darkness.
The gathering group of people took a step back, confusion now turning to concern. Then out of the darkness came the sound of galloping horses. For a few tense heart beats the ranch hands a
nd Tamara all stood motionless. Like a rising wave, the sound grew in intensity and then broke violently as the riders charged out of the darkness, entering the glow of torches light and then flooded through the open gates. The Rangers screamed like devils, every one of them had a sword in hand as the fell upon the small gathering of workers.
Tamara ducked behind the wall into the darkness and crouched watching violence explode to life around her. Ranch hands ran into the darkness, and the Rangers chased them down, their passing only marked by bloody screams. One rider spotted the two women that had been trying to help Riley. They now struggled to drag the dying man away from the gates and into the shadows. The single Ranger gave a yell and charged after them. The women dropped Riley and turned to run, but it was too late for that. The charging Ranger trampled Riley’s crumpled form with a sickening crunch as he chased the women into the night.
The door of a nearby shack opened, and light poured out into the darkness. A ranch hand was silhouetted in the doorway, he held a crossbow in his hands, but just as he made to raise it a shot rang out, and the man fell backward into his home. A moment later a rider emerged from the dark and ducking low he rode into the shack sword in hand. A woman began screaming, but those cries were quickly cut short. The rider rode from the shack and fire quickly filled the little structure behind him.
“What the fuck are these animals doing?” Tamara asked out loud. Didn’t these idiots realize they had to secure this place, then they could take all night raping and killing? Fucking amateurs she scoffed.
As the bulk of the riders made their way deeper into the ranch, spreading screams and fires before them, Tamara spotted a small knot of Rangers gathered just inside of the gate. One, in particular, was shouting and pointing, he must be the leader she guessed. Tamara stood, taking a deep breath and walked from the shadows. She walked with a purposeful stride, she held head high though she was still half naked and covered in drying blood.
As she approached the riders, one finally noticed her and shouted. “Holy Shit! Boys it looks like this job is about to pay us a bonus.”
“Which of you assholes is supposed to the one in charge of this mess?” she demanded nodding her head toward the burning ranch buildings.
None of them spoke, but several turned and looked at one older man. He turned his head to regard her and Tamara could see even in this light that his eye socket was empty.
“Is it you cyclops?” she demanded, not taking her eyes from his face for a moment.
“The name's Rory sweet tits. I’m guessing you must be Murphy’s man on the inside…so to speak," Rory replied.
“Good fucking guess, now let’s finish this fucking job," Tamara insisted.
“My men are rounding up the Indian’s little herd of ponies now and quelling any “resistance” along the way. My job is done, what about your end?” it was now Rory’s turn to make demands.
Tamara paused. “His bitches are all dead..," she began and then Rory cut her off.
“I don’t care about his wives, what about the fucking Indian?” Rory shouted.
“He’s mostly dead, bleeding out right now, back at his big house," she replied.
“What the fuck does mostly dead mean?” the Ranger demanded.
“He was naked, handcuffed and unconscious when I left him. I thought he would make a good prize to hand over to Murphy," Tamara explained, improvising her story as she told it.
“I was just waiting for you big dumb bastards to come along to help me haul him out," she said.
“We’ll see about that," was all Rory said in reply.
He rode over in front of Tamara and held a hand down to her. She paused for just a moment and then taking his hand was hauled up onto the horse behind him. A heartbeat later he kicked the horse into a run and followed by a pair of Rangers rode for the big house and the dying Indian.
Coal was awoken by a gunshot, he had fallen asleep or more likely had passed out sitting up, the Tequila bottle still lay nearby. He turned his head and looked out across his ranch. He could see the light from a dozen small fires, some came from torches, others from buildings being engulfed in flames. Even from here he could hear men yelling, women screaming and the sound emphasized by the occasional gunshot. The half-breed didn’t even have to guess.
“Murphy," Coal whispered to himself.
It was over he realized, this little dream he had carved out for himself. He had tried to play the role of the big man, the Honcho, the responsible one and look what it had gotten him. He looked away from his dying ranch down to his dying body. Why couldn’t he have just given the man what he wanted? Why had he taken it upon himself to meddle with the man’s plans? Even now Coal couldn’t help but grin.
“Because fuck him," Coal said weakly.
The Indian pulled his rifle close to him, he checked the chamber and then pulling three fresh rounds from his belt turned tourniquet, he reloaded and racked the first round into the chamber. He had seven rounds left in the bloody belt and his knife, he smiled. Between that, his rifle and his swinging cod he still was rather wealthy he chuckled to himself but the waves of pain it sent across his stomach made him immediately regret it.
They would come back for him, they had to, he was too dangerous to leave alive, they had to know that. Murphy would want to see his body. When they came for him, he would die. He raised his rifle and looked down the sights, his eyes wouldn’t even focus on the front sight post, he wouldn’t be able to even aim when the shooting started. He couldn’t stay, he had to get away, wait for his time and then kill the bastard. But the first thing was, how the hell was he going to get out of the building?
He tried propping himself up to his feet, using the rifle as a crutch and then a cane. He managed to make one step and then another before, his injured leg failed him, and he collapsed. He fell face first, his cheek flat against the hard floor. His eyes lifted and he began crawling towards the girl’s room, the only other room on the second floor. Definitely not going to make it down the stairs he knew, perhaps he could hide?
From his belly Coal used the rifle to turn the L shaped handle, he crawled forward pushing the door in. It moved freely for a few inches and then hit something, the room was completely dark. Coal got into a sitting position and then shoved harder, the door swung in, and Bobby’s body fell from behind it and nearly landing in Coal’s lap. Her head was still attached, but just barely, It rested flat on her shoulder, her eyes were open just a crack.
Coal stared down at his dead wife for a long minute. He had been a pig, a bastard, he hadn’t even been faithful to them. He held no illusions to what kind of marriages his had been, it had been about convenience, need and survival. But he had cared for each in his own way. He laid Bobby down gently, he took a breath and then pushed her head back up so at least her body lay a bit more naturally. Then he crawled forward into the room, across the floor sticky with black congealing blood.
The place was a mess, the girls had definitely put up a struggle before they died, they hadn’t gone peacefully. Coal was proud of them for that. The crack of candlelight the door allowed into the dark space prevented Coal from seeing very much, he was thankful for that. He crawled slowly, dragging his rifle along with him through the dark towards the back of the room, towards the faint square of lighter darkness on the back wall. There just below the small window, he found Tina and Sophia. In the darkness, they looked as though they held each other in a lover’s embrace. Coal then realized that at the end Sophia had used her body to try to shield Tina from their attacker. Sophia’s back was riddled with dozens of stab wounds. Tina lay with her back against the wall, her eyes wide, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her neck had been viciously opened much like Bobby’s had been. Tamara had made sure that Tina had seen her death coming.
Coal rubbed his face with a bloody forearm, it came away with streaks of clean skin, he hadn’t realized he had even been crying. He sat sobbing in the darkness for a moment. From somewhere outside he heard the clatter of hooves and the whi
mper of a horse being pulled up short. His killers had come.
“They’ll die screaming, all of them," Coal promised the darkness in a whisper.
He again used his rifle to leverage himself up against the back wall, the window was just at his shoulder level. He used his cuffed hands to smash out the glass, welcoming the pain that came from the fresh cuts. From outside he heard the front doors opening and boots on the stairs. He heaved the rifle through the window, followed by his cuffed hands and his head. He tried to leverage the rest of him up as well, but he was just too weak. With his good leg, he tried to push off of the wall, but his bare foot couldn’t find purchase, the wall was slick with blood. He took a breath and then moved his foot to the right, he found Tina’s cold dead shoulder. He pushed against her and with a grunt of effort and wave of regret. He squeezed through the window, only darkness filled his vision as he fell.
Rory kicked the only door on the second-floor open, his pistol gripped shotgun in one hand a lantern in the other. The bedroom was a disaster, he stepped over the first body without a second thought and then moved into the room. He found two more bodies at the back and kicked them apart. He held the light up and looked at both faces making sure neither was the Indian playing possum. The two were definitely dead, and both were definitely female. They looked as if they had tried crawling out the back window when the bitch got them. They had even managed to break out the glass. Rory turned and checked a few more places in the room where a man could hide and then walked out.
Tamara was standing at the top of the stairs still looking at the bloodstained spot where she had left Coal. Another ranger stood by, he held the bloody Tequila bottle and was taking a swig from it as Rory approached Tamara.
“Was he in there?” she demanded of him.
“Handcuffed, unconscious, nearly bled to death you said," Rory shouted. Tamara didn’t reply, she just stared back at him with murder in her eyes.
To Cross a Wasteland Page 22
