by Hayley Stone
Almena went behind me through the doorway, per my request. If the passengers were going to focus on one of us, I’d rather it be me than her. At least I could defend myself against witness accounts later. Explaining the presence of outlaw royalty, on the other hand… That was a pleasure I could do without. So long as Almena didn’t perform any miracles to set herself apart—such as taking a bullet and spitting it from her skin—she could rest easy in anonymity. For my part, I had to be the more memorable actor.
A narrow walkway bisected the two lanes of forward-facing benches, forcing Almena and myself to walk single file. The car was surprisingly empty, nowhere approaching capacity. Small mercy, I thought.
The passengers’ attention didn’t shift to us all at once, but slowly, like the heads of wild horses going up in response to danger. Those who’d been gazing out the window took longer to notice us. Eyes jerked to our masks. A quiet gasp rattled the lips of one woman who clutched her husband’s arm. On her other side, she pulled her daughter close, dropping her arm down in front of the girl like it were a steel bar, capable of bulletproofing the child. I almost gave in to the urge to look behind me to locate the source of their fright.
Their unease settled into my stomach like week-old chili. I wanted to rip off the kerchief, claw it away from my face. This wasn’t me.
But that was the whole point. Right now, my badge was useless. Right now, man named Apostle was useless.
This must’ve been how Almena had felt on the battlefield, surrounded by greasy plumes of smoke and the thunder of cannons. An invasion of calm settling on her like cold morning fog as she came upon the enemy, watching him scramble to load his rifle or flee backwards into the mud, telling herself the greatest lie of all when she touched him, repelling her own death. It’s for a good cause.
I pointed to the mother and daughter. “You there,” I said, relaxing into a deeper drawl, not necessarily to disguise my voice, but to lure Kingery’s boys into coming against me. Most underestimated a man who talked like he’d just rolled out of a field. This time, they’d do so at their peril. “Stand up.”
The woman quailed into her husband’s side. “Please, no,” she whimpered.
“Take me instead.” The husband lurched to his feet. He had short blond hair, but a long, pale face and trembling lashes. I tried to gauge whether he was a fighter and would give me any trouble, but just as quickly decided it didn’t matter. Best to ere on the side of caution.
“How’s about I take all three of you, then?” I gestured to Almena who squeezed around me and grabbed the girl first, pulling the family into the aisle, as if they were all connected by an invisible string.
I stepped out of the way as she took them into the next car, and then followed behind.
Once the door shut, the husband began an impassioned, if stuttering, plea for his family’s life. I waved him off and tugged my mask down. “I’m not going to hurt you or your family, sir. I’m with the United States marshal service. See, here’s my badge.”
“You’re a marshal?” His brows pinched. “Then why—”
“There are three wanted fugitives in that car with you.”
“Outlaws?” The little girl sounded more delighted than frightened.
I smiled at her but quickly returned to my explanation. “I’m sorry about the manner, but I needed a way to get your family out of the line of fire without the outlaws knowing I was on to them. Now, I want you to head up toward the front of the train. Pick a room in the compartment car, lock the door and keep your heads down. Stay there until someone comes and gets you. Uh, not the second room, though,” I added as they turned to go, thinking of the dead body pretzeled inside.
“Is he another marshal?” the wife asked, eying Almena hopefully.
“He’s here to help me,” I said. I started to move between them, out of an abundance of caution. These were cramped quarters, and I feared if the wife came any closer, she might notice a thing or two about “him.”
In the end, she grabbed Almena’s hand before I could stop her. “Thank you,” she said, and then again, “Thank you.” Then her husband bustled her and the little girl off.
I met Almena’s eyes. They were soft with a smile. “I’d forgotten what that’s like.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
We returned to the car, and a pair of men sprang apart. They’d been conversing shoulder-to-shoulder. Conspiring, most like.
“Listen up,” I barked, anchoring my boot on the seat of a bench. Time for some gun-waving. “Any of you try anything funny—and I mean anything—that family in there’s gonna pay the price. You wanna live with that on your conscience? Go ahead, try me. Otherwise, keep still, keep quiet, and don’t even think about making trouble.”
If Lilah could see me now, I thought. She would surely get a kick out of my acting, especially seeing as she’d always said I didn’t appreciate the theater.
My eyes swept over the benches. Who else?
A couple men sitting near the front sweated bullets, though that could’ve been owing to the suits they were wearing—probably bankers or investors. Not likely to put up much fuss, by the look of them. Neither could meet my eyes. Almost made me wonder if they’d been through this before.
“Turn out your pockets,” I ordered them, the business end of my Colt providing sufficient motivation. I continued scanning the rest of the car as they stumbled over themselves to obey.
To my relief, there were no other children present. No other families, far as I could tell. Most of the passengers were working men, their faces burned, clothes clogged with dust; the rest wore clean like shame. They must’ve missed the opportunity for honest pay, and headed home now with empty pockets. On the one hand, the disparity of women made it easy to pick out Ruth Kingery at the back, even with her eyes tilted to the ground. On the downside, I couldn’t tell who her compatriots were. I hadn’t gotten a good look at them before they’d boarded, and most of the men here had a mercenary look to them. Many of the braver ones sat glaring at me.
Well, only one way to find out.
I clomped down the aisle toward Kingery, each step feeling like a mile hike. Behind me, Almena continued to mutely menace the other passengers. They leaned away, rushing to toss her wallets and watches.
A single man sat beside Kingery, close enough for their knees to touch through the green fabric of her dress. I figured it a safe bet he was one of hers. She’d never allow anyone else that close.
“What do we have here?” Shucking every instinct to keep my distance, I leaned into their row and made as if to grab Kingery. At the same time, I deliberately left my gun hanging loose at my side.
The bandit went for it. I like to think I made a decent show of wrestling for it with him, but in the end, I let him take it. There was a risk here: if his partner remained silent, or shot me from the back, I couldn’t do a thing about it. But neither of those things happened.
“Give him a round, Johnny!” shouted one fella from my right.
And there was the reward. They knew each other all right. Johnny looked to Kingery for permission, which she gave by covering her ears. The outlaw’s finger tightened, the hammer came down, and he grinned, no doubt expecting me to jerk back from the force of a bullet slamming into me at such close range.
But nothing happened.
“What the f—”
I grabbed hold of his wrist and jammed my elbow into his arm until I heard a crack. He got to finish his curse, after all.
At the same time, a different gun went off—Almena’s—causing everyone in the car to flinch and cover themselves. The other bandit hopped on one leg, gripping the back of the bench in front of him and howling like the moon was out. Almena had shot him in the leg. Anywhere, I thought, somewhere in the back of my mind. She could’ve shot him anywhere, and she shoots him in the leg. Felt like progress.
Keeping one hand on the bandit’s arm, I delivered a solid punch to his face. His nose broke open, but he r
efused to go down. Instead, he threw into me, knocking me backwards against the wall of the train. Air shot out of my lungs, then returned a moment later, right as I dodged a blow that made an ugly, crashing sound as the man’s fist collided with the window.
I couldn’t get around the bandit. The benches prevented it, unless I wanted to climb over them. No way out but through. Lowering my shoulder, I rammed the man with enough force to send him spilling over the bench. He stopped shouting, making me think—hope—his stubborn head had met with something hard enough to knock him out cold.
My victory was short-lived as arms suddenly came around me. Someone pulled me back, turned and tossed me into another man, who imprisoned me with his bulk. He forced me against the wall, pressing my head into the wood paneling. I yelled—nothing coherent, just the mindless cry of an animal in pain.
The other passengers rallied then, turning on us. I had been gambling on their cowardice, or at least their shrewd indifference, hoping they wouldn’t interfere. Maybe I should’ve known better. The West wasn’t known for its delicate flowers.
“Try and rob us. We’ll show you what’s rough,” said the man holding me to the wall.
He pummeled my lower back, causing my knees to buckle. Almena’s name nearly broke from my lips. I sought her wildly in my periphery, my view partially obfuscated by a big, sweaty hand. “Wait,” I started to say, but the man boxed me again before I could fumble my badge out.
Only a gunshot interrupted the assault. My attacker jerked back to see what the fuss was, and I went with him, unwillingly. He had me by the hair. My hat had tumbled off at some point, and my kerchief had slid down, now slouching around my neck.
Having fired into the ceiling, Almena now stood beneath a tiny grate of light, funniest angel I ever saw. Her intention was clear: if anyone moved, the next one wouldn’t be going into the roof. She wagged her gun in my direction, and the man released me. I staggered to my feet.
That should’ve been the end of it, but of course, it wasn’t.
Almena casually turned her gun on Kingery, motioning her toward the rear exit of the car. Ruth eased out of her row with her chin high. She pinched her dress between her fingers, with all the solemn dignity of a nun. All she’s missing is a habit. And a soul.
Some of the male passengers balked at the hostage-taking, but Almena silenced them by aiming her gun in their faces as she followed Kingery out back.
Finally, I managed to get to my badge. I flashed the star at the passengers, swishing it back and forth like I was attempting to drive the darkness out of a cave with a torch. “Marshal,” I croaked, hurrying down the aisle, touching each bench to help support myself. “All an act. Long story.” There’d be time later for a proper explanation—trusting Almena didn’t lose her mind and shoot me, too.
Just in case, I retrieved my gun from the floor. I liberated the Colt’s bullets from my pocket and thumbed them back into the chamber before burying the gun in my holster and throwing the flap of my coat over its deadly shape. Lord, I hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.
I staggered off the train, which was still at a dead stop, emerging from the car’s shadowy lip into the hard line of daylight. For a few moments, as my eyes adjusted, I couldn’t spot either woman against the bright horizon. They materialized like apparitions in the desert, heat pouring over them in wavering lines.
Almena and Ruth stood several paces apart, holding one another at gunpoint. Both pieces looked dull in the sun, where I’d expected them to shine.
“Al!” I shouted, using her nickname in case anyone should overhear.
Almena’s back was to me and the train, but Kingery saw me clearly. Her chest heaved, but her voice sounded calm when she said, “That was a wonderful trick on the train, Marshal.”
I trudged forward through the grass.
“Almena,” I said, quietly now, so only she and the lizards underfoot would hear me. I needed her to look at me.
She remained frozen, not adjusting her grip on the gun.
“Almena?” Ruth said. “Almena Guillory? Is that who you brought along, Marshal? You’re even dirtier than I thought. I would say I’m disappointed, but that would be redundant.”
“Why are you doing this, Ruth?” I asked, stepping closer.
“Miss Kingery,” she corrected.
“That night in Baxter. Was anything you said true?”
Almena’s eyes shot to me. The question circled inside her gaze like a vulture above something rotten. Night in Baxter?
“I don’t drink,” she said. “That’s true.”
“God. Faith. Love. Those things mean nothing to you?”
The wind caught Kingery’s raven hair, sending it into her face like a shirt on a clothesline. Some strands stuck to her lips, others to her cheek, already caked with grit. She clenched her teeth. “They’re everything. When you have them.”
“You killed an innocent boy and his mother, among others.”
“I didn’t.”
“The men riding with you did.”
Her eyes sharpened, and she shrugged. “I can’t control what men do. They’re animals. They have been since Cain’s day. But for the first time in my life, men can’t control me either.” She looked to Almena. “That’s it, isn’t it? The reason you ride. Freedom from all those petty rules men make up for an excuse to whip us. People have forgotten that before Eve, there was Lilith. They need to be reminded of what happens when you deny a woman her due.”
“Lilith?” I almost laughed. This woman believed she was some symbolic Second Coming of an apocryphal demon from the Bible?
If there was any humor in the situation, Almena didn’t appreciate it. “Get back on the train, Apostle,” she said, her voice tense. “You don’t want to see this.”
“Come on now,” I replied tiredly. “If you’d wanted to kill her, you’d have already done it.”
Almena shoved the gun forward, threatening, but still didn’t fire.
“It’s over, Miss Kingery,” I said. “Put down the gun, and come peaceably. You’ve got plenty of reason to be angry, but don’t make religion your excuse for evil.”
Ruth ignored me. I continued to watch her hand on the Derringer, not taking my eyes off it for even a second. The air pressed heavy around us, weighted with anger.
“We’re on the same side,” she told Almena. Something about Kingery’s expression was strange, almost reverent. It wouldn’t have looked out of place on a man crawling toward a cross. “You put the fear of God into men out here. You—a single woman! Imagine what the two of us could do. We could change history.” She smiled hopefully, and I confess I felt a little sad for her then. She seemed lonely, at least as lonely as she had when we’d first spoken in Baxter. I knew I’d be revisiting that quiet little conversation for years to come, wondering how much of what she’d told me was true, and what I’d missed that might’ve allowed me to stop her sooner.
Almena shook her head at Ruth’s words, and slowly, ever so slowly, lowered her pistol. “You think you can change history with a bullet. You’re not the first.” I knew she was thinking of Booth, but I doubt Ruth made that connection.
Her smile fell away. “Men get to achieve glory through violence. What do we get? Martyrdom. Women only mean something when we’re suffering or dead. I’m changing that narrative.”
“By becoming just as bad as the men you scorn?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“That’s not progress,” Almena said. “That’s imitation. But then you’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?”
“Hypocrite,” Ruth spat. “After everything you’ve done… you dare take the high ground with me? Where do you think I got the idea for all of this in the first place?”
Ruth didn’t seem to realize she’d just made Almena’s point, but instead of rubbing the other woman’s nose in it, Almena replied, “Don’t congratulate yourself on following flies to a grave. I don’t deny I’ve made mistakes, but that’s in the past now—and I’ll be damned before I
let you force me into making another. Find your own way to hell.”
Right then I knew: Almena wasn’t gonna kill Kingery. The Grizzly Queen had gone into hibernation at long last, while Almena Guillory was awakening to a new way of life.
Ruth took a long moment to respond, and when she finally did, her voice shook. “Oh,” she said, practically breathless with hate. “You are such a disappointment.”
The Derringer lifted out of the shadowy folds of Kingery’s dress.
I knew Almena could take a bullet, easy. But I also knew she’d fled before such a close-range delivery once—Lincoln’s injury. There were wounds even she couldn’t recover from, and I wasn’t willing to surrender her life to chance. My gut churned at the thought of losing her, or of Almena losing herself again, forced to kill again to survive.
“Don’t go this way, Ruth,” I said, but it was too late. She’d already made up her mind.
Well, so had I.
Kingery braced, still unaccustomed to the feel of shooting, betraying her intentions. I raised my own gun smoothly, like it was a weightless extension of my arm. I didn’t think about Wade, although I might’ve done. I didn’t think about Dempsey’s pulverized face, or the blood spilled in Coffeyville and Baxter Springs. The list probably ran a lot longer. Ruth Kingery had caused so much pain, but this wasn’t about me, or my sense of justice. Wasn’t about revenge neither. I refused to let myself repeat what I’d done to Casella. If I had to pull the trigger, I promised myself I would do it with my eyes open, and my heart clear. I needed it to feel necessary. Unavoidable.
With Almena standing across from her, arms at her side, it did.
I aimed for Kingery’s center mass, as I was taught. Nothing fancy, like trying for an arm or a leg. There was too much of a chance I’d miss.
The shot caught her cleanly in the chest, narrowly avoiding the golden teardrop necklace that hung from her throat. She went down so fast, she barely made a sound. After the echo of the shot died away, I walked toward her, stepping carefully through the grass, and leading with my gun. The breeze blew a ripple across Ruth’s dark, stained dress. She was still clutching her gun in the rigor of death, but if she felt anything in that last moment—pain or fear or anger—it didn’t appear on her face. Her eyes showed an abyss.
