by Tom Abrahams
Women were better shots, he told her. They could slow their heart rate and steady themselves better than men.
“I could swear I saw something,” said one of the voices. It was a high-pitched voice, nasal-infused. “Right around here.”
“I don’t see anything,” said another voice, deeper and more resonant.
“Maybe there ain’t nothing,” said a third, thick with a Southern twang.
“We gotta head west,” said the deeper voice. “We don’t have time for this.”
Lou had thirty rounds in the fully loaded magazine, she had three knives, and she had the high ground. She exhaled slowly, hoping she wouldn’t need any of them.
“Nope,” said the first voice, “I see some tracks. Right here. They’re leading to the barn.”
“Where?” asked a fourth voice.
“Here.” Then the first of the men appeared at the barn’s entry.
Lou cursed to herself as a second man materialized. Then a third and a fourth. All of them stood in the daylight outside the barn. Two of them had pistols drawn. One shouldered a rifle like the one through which she targeted him. The fourth started to move inside the barn.
“If there’s a horse,” he said, “there’s bound to be—”
Lou didn’t wait. There was no point. She applied pressure to the trigger, and the rifle punched a round into the man’s chest. The crack pierced the dry air before she fired another round that found the target’s stomach. The man clutched his gut and staggered backward. Without waiting for him to hit the ground, she pivoted and fired a trio of rounds into the man with the rifle. Then she drilled a pair into one of the other two guards and then a single shot into the other.
One of the downed targets squirmed on the floor, kicking his legs, his arms reaching for the sky. Lou sighted the man’s head and plunked a single shot into his temple. He stopped moving.
Her eyes darted across the floor at the motionless quartet of bodies. A sticky web brushed against her forehead. She dipped her chin and used her shoulder to wipe it free. Her pulse thumped against her neck, her chest, her temples. Perspiration formed on her cheeks, the back of her neck, the small of her back.
She glanced at the tarp under which her son hid. It was undisturbed. Again, she swept the barn with her eyes and found the bodies near the entrance. Four down, four to go.
She kept her aim at the opening. Nobody appeared. The adrenaline spread through her, reaching her fingers and her toes. She was hyperaware now. Her senses tingled. Time stretched, Any second now, a barrage of gunfire would erupt at the opening. She’d be ready. What felt like minutes was only a few seconds.
But when the return fire exploded, it didn’t come from the doorway. It was all around her.
Daylight sparked through the holes in the wooden walls. It was coming from everywhere, a deafening barrage that engulfed the barn in a hail of hot metal projectiles that splintered wood, clanged off metal, and produced clouds of debris and shrapnel. The entirety of the space bloomed with dust. The Appaloosa whinnied, tugging at its line. It shook its head wildly. It kicked, and then it dropped, falling to its side.
Instinctively Lou buried her head and squeezed her eyes closed. She wanted to curl into a ball against the relentless onslaught. She let go of the rifle with one hand and used it to strengthen her hold on the rafter upon which she was precariously perched. She felt the percussive cracks in her body, vibrating through the cedar as the barn somehow withstood the attack.
Then it was over. The gunfire stopped abruptly. The barn groaned, a prolonged creak signaling the weakness of its structure. She opened her eyes and squinted against the brightness of the light that filled the space.
Lou wiped the dust from her face and took hold of the rifle, settling herself. Her finger found the comfortable curve of the trigger, and she readied her aim. Then, from behind her, a stuttering creak blossomed as part of the wall collapsed and she was bathed in light.
Two figures were climbing through the large gap. They didn’t seem to notice her, their rifles sweeping the room. She wasn’t in a position to fire, unable to shift her aim or her body without making too much noise. Lou waited.
The men crossed the space cautiously, the weapons’ aim following their eyes as they moved toward the collection of bodies near the entrance into the barn. One of them stood watch while the other knelt to check on the dead men.
That man was in her sights now, but the other was directly beneath her. If she opened fire, he’d have a clear shot. And there were two more men whose position she didn’t know.
Lou held her breath, unaware she was doing it until her lungs burned. Slowly, she let it out through her nostrils.
A third man appeared at the entry. He said something she couldn’t hear, her ears still muted and ringing from the gunfire moments earlier. Then he saw her.
His eyes locked on her like an animal about to pounce. Before he could alert the others, Lou put two quick shots in his chest. The man stumbled backward, dropping his semiautomatic rifle.
Lou trained the rifle on the squatting man at the bodies. A single shot to his head snapped his neck sideways, and blood sprayed out the back. He toppled onto the body next to him, his eyes wide, his feet twitching.
The man beneath her looked up and pointed his rifle at her. She met his gaze and saw his true aim and his finger already on the trigger. Time slowed again. Her mind raced with memories and questions.
David. Dallas. Marcus. Rudy. Norma. Her father. Her mother. A funeral pyre. A library. The feel of a blade in her hand. The power of it hitting a target. A house on a river. The baby growing inside her. Her Astros ball cap. Rudy’s dog Fifty. Dallas. Her boy inside the cabinet. Trapped maybe. Who would find him? What would happen? How could this be how it ends?
Lou was frozen. She couldn’t move. Not with the rifle in her hands. Not with her belly. Her focus narrowed on the end of the man’s barrel as he squeezed the trigger. Lou braced herself.
Click.
She took the rifle and threw it at the guard. Its butt hit him in the shoulder and staggered him. He dropped his rifle and reached for the handgun at his hip. It was holstered and he struggled with it, giving Lou the time she needed.
She reached the small of her back and found the single throwing knife. In a fluid motion, she grabbed the handle, withdrew the blade from its sheath, rolled onto her side for momentum, and rolled back as she shot the knife at her target.
The weapon spun twice end over end, whipping across the short distance and accelerating with gravity. It drove hard into the man’s neck where it met his shoulders. He cried out in pain, shrieked, and flailed, grabbing for the blade.
Lou drew her knee up and pulled a second blade from her boot. As the man dropped to one knee and turned, she flung the knife at him. The flat throw drove the knife between his shoulder blades.
He shrieked again, his back arched, and he lost his balance, falling back. He hit the concrete, the force of his fall driving the blade deeper into his back. He gargled something as he looked blankly up at Lou. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth and trickled from his nose as his last gasp rattled from his throat.
Lou looked behind her, through the gap in the wall, then snapped back to face the barn’s opening. There was still one man alive. She didn’t see him. Unarmed aside from her one remaining knife, she couldn’t stay exposed on the rafter. As quickly as her body allowed, she swung herself from the rafter onto the A-frame ladder. Incredibly it still stood despite the hail of gunfire that had shattered much of the place.
She slid down the rungs, and her boots hit the concrete. The solid connection shot through her legs and lower back. Lou winced with pain. Then a cramp swelled low in her body. It tightened, sending waves of clenching pain through her gut and back.
She doubled over in pain, sweat dripping into her eyes.
Lou grunted and grabbed at the underside of her belly. “Now?” she growled. “Are you kidding me?”
As inconvenient as the cramps had been at
Marcus’s place the night before, this was absurd. It was as if karma was telling her something.
Lou staggered forward and bent over to pull the knife from the dead man in front of her. Instead, though, she took his handgun from the brown leather holster at his hip. His dead eyes stared at her as she freed the weapon and checked the magazine.
Where is the eighth man?
Lou stood against the undulating tension that pulsed through her body. Gripping the gun with both trembling hands, she stalked the empty space. The carnage in front of her was still. There was no breeze. The smell of cedar and dust was pungent, and Lou coughed against the particulate in the air, moving forward one careful step at a time.
Splinters of wood crunched and dust slid under her boots as she moved. The handgun trembled in her hand as she struggled to keep it leveled in front of her. The swells of pain threatened to drop her to her knees. She swung from one side to the other, trying not to leave herself exposed.
From the corner of her vision, she caught movement. Whirling in that direction, she saw another flash on the outside of the barn. It moved beyond the gaps and holes in the standing wall, the shadow of its figure blocking out the light as it passed from one space to the next.
Lou tracked it with the gun. Her finger on the trigger, she steadied herself until another tsunami of contracting agony forced a grunt from her throat, and the weapon wavered. She backed up. Her vision blurred and she tightened her jaw. Teeth digging into her cheek until she tasted blood, Lou kept her composure and silence until the wave subsided.
The release of pain was almost as jarring as its sudden arrival. It was as if someone holding her up had let go. Her knees weakened and she stumbled as the eighth man stepped into view.
Lou fired a shot before he saw her. Then a second. She missed both times. The first drilled into the edge of the opening, ringing off a metal hinge. The second zipped between the doorframe and the hostile.
The man had his rifle at his shoulder, a hunter stalking prey, and swung to face the source of the incoming fire. He shifted to avoid her errant shots and lowered the rifle for an instant. His finger was on the trigger, and the crack of his rifle rode on the echo of her twin shots. The thick sound of metal on metal thunked behind her.
It barked twice and Lou felt a punch to her leg. The hit was followed by searing heat. She cried out and returned fire before losing her balance.
This time her aim was on target. A quartet of shots hit the man one after the other. It was a wide pattern, but it was enough. He popped off another series of rounds that sprayed wildly into the air as he fell.
Lou was on the ground, the hard concrete jabbed at her hip, and she watched the man stagger forward and drop. His was the last of the eight lives she’d ended single-handedly.
She needed to get to David. He was still in the cabinet. Alone and likely frightened.
“David?” she called.
No answer. A thick lump caught in her throat.
“David?” she called, recognizing the tremor in her voice.
Lou rolled onto her back, not wanting to look at her injury. The heat gave way to a bruising ache that took her breath away. She sat up on her elbows and prepared herself for the worst.
A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth when she saw the bloodstain at the outside edge of her thigh and the torn fabric at its center. Lou tugged at her pants and saw the wound was a nick. She was grazed at her thigh. A small chunk of flesh was gone. She needed to stop the bleeding, but it was minor. A bandage and some painkillers would do the trick.
“David?” she called again. “Are you okay?”
Convinced she could stand, Lou struggled to her feet and tested her injured leg. It hurt, but she could put weight on it. Limping, she made her way to the tarp. The barn was spinning. Her balance was off. Her heart pounded.
“David?” The worry was panic now. Her hands trembled as she tugged free the tarp. It pillowed, floated, and drifted to the ground as her eyes fell to the sheet metal. Her heart nearly stopped.
It was pockmarked with bullet holes. Lou counted five of them.
“David?” Panic was abject fear now.
Lou ignored the pain, adrenaline coursing through her as she flung back the metal plate. It slapped against the concrete, forcing up a cloud of dust. Lou coughed against it, dropped to both knees, wincing against the explosion of pain in her thigh, pulled open the door, and looked inside the small space. Her vision blurred, and she nearly lost consciousness.
David was inside. His eyes were closed, his body pulled into a tight ball, his hands pressed against his ears.
“David!” Lou shouted, reaching for his arm.
He opened his eyes and dropped his hands, diving at his mother with wide arms. She enveloped him in hers.
Both of them cried, sobbing, as they embraced. Lou kissed his head again and again. She inhaled the stink on his head, laughing at it through her veil of tears.
Lou pulled back and grabbed both sides of his face, cupping his cheeks with her sweaty palms. Her eyes studied him. He was okay. No injuries, no scratches, no blood.
The surge of adrenaline that had powered her through the violent encounter and the uneven stagger to free her son faded. Instantly, exhaustion washed over her, and she wanted to collapse on the floor, her son in her arms.
“You’re okay,” she said finally. The words came like hiccups. “You’re not hurt.”
David wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
Lou swiped his hair from his forehead. “But you didn’t answer me when I called you,” Lou said softly. “I was so scared.”
“It was too loud,” David said. “I covered my ears. I tried to pretend I was somewhere else. I closed my eyes and pretended.”
Lou’s heart sank. David’s innocence was gone. There was no avoiding it. Being a child was tough enough in a drought-ravaged existence. Add to that the violence he’d witnessed over the past few days, and his childhood was evaporating before her eyes.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, streaking clean the dust and dirt that covered her face. Lou forced a flat smile and leaned in to kiss his forehead again.
“What happened?” he asked. “Are all the bad guys gone?”
Lou nodded. “They are. I want you to close your eyes again. Take my hand. I’ll take you back to the horses.”
“What about our horse?”
Lou shook her head. “I think we need a new one.”
David stood, reaching for his mother’s hand. He found one and laced his fingers between hers.
Lou stood unsteadily, using the tool chest to support her weight. She grimaced against the dull throb at the outside of her thigh and led David through the mess of bodies. As they passed the Appaloosa, Lou checked to make sure the poor animal was out of its misery. It was. Still and silent, the horse somehow retained its majesty even in death.
Lou bit into her cheek and led David out into the daylight. Each step sparked a bolt of pain in her leg, but she managed to get him outside and to the collection of eight horses standing at the edge of the road, picking at weeds and desert brush with their teeth. They swatted at the odd fly with their tails.
“Okay,” said Lou. “You can open your eyes. It’s bright out here though, so open them slowly.”
David let go of his mother’s hand and shielded his eyes from the sunlight. He surveyed the horses and glanced back at the barn. His face was contemplative, but he didn’t speak.
“All right, David, pick a horse. Whichever is your favorite, that’s the one we’ll take. I’m going to get the rest of our stuff from inside the barn. Okay?”
David nodded. He stepped back and then glanced at his mother’s leg. The boy did a double take and frowned. “Momma, you’re bleeding.”
Lou looked down at her leg. Her pants were soaked with blood now. It leeched across her thigh toward her crotch and down below her knee. “I’m okay. I’ll clean it up in a second.”
David focused on the wound. “It doesn’t look okay.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s a flesh wound. It nicked me. Looks worse than it is.”
David locked eyes with her and then looked again at her leg dubiously, but he nodded and didn’t say anything else.
Lou turned on her good leg and limped back toward the barn. As she rounded the corner to walk inside, she glanced back at her son. He was studying the horses with his hands on his hips.
She checked the road, the horizon, looking for any threats. Seeing none, she dipped back into the barn.
It already smelled different. The strong scent of cedar was mixed with blood and death and excrement.
Lou crinkled her nose at the odor and maneuvered her way across the bodies toward her horse. The large beast was on its side, its legs awkwardly tucked underneath its body.
Thankfully her pack was next to it and not trapped on the underside of the Appaloosa’s frame. But its strap was stuck, still attached to the saddle.
Lou limped the few steps to the man whose body still held two of her knives. She put her boot on his shoulder and used the leverage to pull free the one in his neck. She wiped the blood clean from the blade on the man’s shirt and used the blade to cut the strap from the pack. That freed the bag and she yanked it loose. She dragged the bag back to the dead man closest to her. Her third blade was still in his back.
Lou dropped to her knees, withstanding the pain in her thigh, and reached across the man to pull his arm over his chest. She sat back and pulled on his arm, rolling him onto his side. The dead weight was heavy. It tugged at her lower back, which ached from the pressure of the pregnancy and was additionally sore from the contractions she’d endured.
Lou freed the knife and wiped it clean on his arm. She slid the pack next to her and used the blade to cut away the fabric at her thigh. She set the knife beside her and tugged at the fabric, tearing it wide enough to reveal the full wound.
Bile rose in her throat as she looked at the damage to her leg. Swallowing it, she unzipped the pack and found the first aid kit. She cleaned the wound and dressed it, wrapping an Ace bandage around the circumference of her thigh. It held both the dressing and the torn pants in place.
