by Tom Abrahams
Lou reconsidered her plan. How could she risk her son’s life for the lives of strangers? Did that make her a horrible mother? Probably. But what if they’d seen her and David moving toward the funeral home? What if they had binoculars and had seen she was pregnant? What if they came after her, got the drop on her before she knew what hit her? She couldn’t risk that possibility. Better to be the attacker than the victim. Nonetheless, the risk was certain if she attacked. It wasn’t if she waited and moved along. On horseback, she could run from them if need be, galloping away before they could ensnare her. Her mind raced. She could run now.
Yet she couldn’t live with herself knowing she had the chance to save others and did nothing about it. She remembered something her father had once read to her when they were holed up in a library, surviving the apocalypse. It was from a collection of essays and speeches her father said were the work of a great leader in the second half of the twentieth century. He’d been a preacher and a man who advocated peaceful protest. He was beloved, and then a man shot and killed him at a hotel in Tennessee.
Her father had read to her, his feet propped on the long study table, and she sat next to him with her head resting on his shoulder, listening intently, reading along with him, following his finger as it underlined the words on the page.
Sometimes she’d ask him to read a passage again and again so she could commit it to memory. This was one of those passages, and it bloomed in her mind as she thought about what she had to do.
“Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable… Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.”
Sacrifice for human progress. Could she sacrifice herself, possibly her son, for the betterment of society? Of course she could, although it pained her to do it. A thick knot twisted in her stomach as she hoisted her son onto the sill and into the dusty, dark innards of the funeral home.
She reached to the small of her back and withdrew a knife, flipped it over in her hand, and then reached across the sill. “Take this. You know what to do with it if you need it.”
David took the knife by the hilt and measured its weight in his hand. He turned it over and the blade glinted in the faint light that found its way into the building. He nodded. “Like you taught me?”
“Like I taught you.” A knot in Lou’s throat joined the one in her gut. “I love you. Stay quiet.” Then she left him alone in the relative dark.
Lou plucked at the front of her shirt as she moved toward the horses. She could feel the sweat under her arms, in the small of her back, under her breasts. Cupping the underside of her belly as she moved, adrenaline filtered through her body and replaced the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. This would not be easy. She cursed at herself and twice stopped, started back toward her son, and decided against it.
She unthreaded the lead that held her horse to the pole. She rubbed his flank and then managed, with difficulty, to hoist herself into the saddle. Her thighs and butt immediately protested. The familiarity of the position exacerbated the soreness that had only gotten worse during the course of their long ride. She regretted not having spent more time on the horses at home in Baird. She’d left the task of running them to Dallas.
Lou checked the positions of her knives at the tops of her boots. She removed the magazine from a nine millimeter and replaced it, slapping it into the grip and chambering the first round. She slid the weapon into a handgun holster on the side of the saddle.
From a brown leather scabbard, she withdrew a semiautomatic rifle. Checking the position of the safety, she set it to semiautomatic and laid it across the saddle between her belly and the horn. She was ready.
Lou backed the horse from the others and it nickered. She soothed it, leaning as far forward as she could to tell the Appaloosa everything was okay and she’d take care of him.
The horse neighed, shook its head as if it understood her, and then trotted forward onto East Main Street. Lou kicked her heels into the horse to pick up the pace.
Within two minutes they were back on the cracked earth desert that marked the evaporated reservoir. When they hit the dry ground, moving past the sloped edge and onto the flat open expanse, she urged the horse to a gallop. It obliged immediately and its force pushed Lou back in the saddle.
She hung onto the reins wrapped tightly around her left palm, and leaned into the wind, her hair blowing into and out of her eyes. Guiding the horse directly toward the water’s edge, she saw the men and women already there. Some were sitting, others standing, and a couple were in the water up to their ankles. The men with guns stood watch, but they weren’t at the ready.
Lou bounced in the saddle, her toes turned outward against the stirrups, her heels kicking into the horse as it took her closer to her targets. She lifted the rifle as she neared the water.
The targets were coming into focus. She saw the men clearly now. One of them wore a green ball cap. There were children with the women. And yes, they were chained together.
Lou clenched her jaw. Time slowed. Maintaining her hold on the reins in her left hand, she gripped the underside of the barrel and settled the stock into her shoulder. Her right hand found the trigger guard and then the trigger itself. She tilted her head to the right and sighted the first of the targets. She pulled the trigger.
***
Warner heard the approaching horse before he saw it. He stood at the edge of the water, his eyes squarely on Andrea and her boy, Javier, as they washed themselves and filled their canteens. In the distance, above the splash of water, he heard the rhythmic thump. It was more like a drumbeat.
He adjusted the bill of his cap and saw a horse barreling toward them, a wake of dust pluming around and behind it, curling skyward.
Aboard the horse was a single rider. Warner couldn’t tell if the rider was a man or a woman, but the slight build and long hair whipping gave him the impression it was a woman or teenage boy.
He didn’t notice the rifle until the muzzle flashed and Blessing grunted in pain. A second flash popped before Warner turned to see his partner stagger, a hand at his chest.
Blessing held his rifle in the other hand until he dropped to his knees. A burst of red sprayed from his back an instant before the echo of a third shot, a crack barely louder than the mix of water and hooves, reached Warner’s ears.
Screams filled his ears. Women dove to the ground, into the water, the chains that bound them stretching and tugging. Warner spun fully toward the rider and lifted the rifle to his shoulder. He sighted the target and fired two quick shots.
But the rider had turned the horse, running parallel to the water’s edge. The twin rifle shots missed, zipping behind the rider and the horse. It was now he could see the rider was a woman. And in profile, realized she was pregnant.
Warner dropped to one knee to steady himself and tracked the rider with his rifle. He took another shot and missed as the rider cut back to the left. He cursed her, flipped his hat from his head, and took aim again.
The horse turned toward the water and was coming straight at him. He had her in his sights now. Even a sudden move to either direction would result in a hit. Warner applied pressure to the trigger just as something heavy and hard knocked him off balance, sending the shot wide of its mark.
His face slapped against the cake-batter-like ground, jarring his neck, and his shoulder slammed into it. A jolt of pain ran along his spine and in the joint connecting his arm to the rest of his body. Then thick jabs punched at his ribs and back.
Warner still had his rifle, and he tried to use it to free himself from his pinned position on the ground. It took him a couple of seconds, which felt like minutes, to get his wits about him. It was then he understood Andrea was on top of him, trying to pummel him.
***
Andrea saw the horse before she heard it. It was a large horse, the kind she recognized belonged to the Pop Guard. It picked up speed on the flat ground t
hat separated clusters of dead trees and low-slung buildings from the water’s edge. The dust plumed skyward, like smoke from a truck’s exhaust, as it galloped toward them.
Andrea opened her mouth to say something, thinking they were under attack, but thought better of it. If it was a lone soldier of the Pop Guard, maybe it would be better to deal with him than her captors. She’d let him ride, approach without warning, and deal with the consequences. Nothing the Pop Guard could do to her and her children would be worse than what a tribe would inflict.
So she kept a wary eye on the rider as she filled her water bottle. The canteen gurgled on the water’s surface as it filled. Light trails of film were sucked into the container’s mouth, and the canteen grew heavier.
Javier splashed in the water next to her. He made puttering sounds and created waves that crested and fell as he twirled in the water. His shirt clung to his body, and Andrea tensed at how thin he’d become. The wet fabric traced his ribs, and through it she could see the flutter of his heartbeat. The horror of it almost drew her complete attention, for an instant redirecting her from the approaching horseman. She blinked past it and stole another look at the rider at the moment a bright light flashed from what Andrea recognized as a rifle. She also saw the long hair whipping around the rider’s face. It was a woman. A woman was coming for them.
She knew it when the first shot, and then the second, hit Blessing. He grunted. His mouth agape, a wide-eyed look of disbelief and surprise dominating his expression, he staggered back to the water’s edge. Then his body jerked and he dropped his weapon onto the dirt.
Blessing was on his knees, grasping at his body as if trying to pull off his clothing. He was clawing at himself when another spasm rocked his body, and he collapsed face-first onto the dirt, water lapping at his boots. All of this happened in seconds. It was so fast, Andrea noticed that Warner didn’t have time to react.
He was taken off guard by the lone attacker. By the time he raised his rifle to fire, she’d turned her horse away from his aim and circled back. Andrea’s eyes flitted repeatedly between Warner and the rider.
The women around her screamed in fear and dove to the ground, covering their children and holding their bellies with both arms. They struggled against their binds. The woman connected to Andrea started moving from the water, dragging Andrea with her. The tug against her ankle dug the metal cuff into the back of her leg and she winced. But she moved with the woman, taking Javier with her, and decided as Warner took a knee, she would use her momentum and her window of opportunity to help the mystery rider in her quest.
He took two more shots as the rider adjusted her path and came straight at them. Warner had a bead on the rider. Andrea did the only thing she could. She dove straight into him, toppling him as he fired an errant shot. The crack of the rifle was next to her ear. A deafening ring disoriented her as they fell to the ground, but she swung wildly at Warner, driving her tightly balled fists into him again and again.
She vaguely heard Javier’s cries behind her. They were muffled and muted underneath the loud ringing in her ear, but it was there.
“Mami!” he called. “Mami!”
Andrea ignored his cries and kept punching. She was on top of Warner. His hat was gone and he was on his side, the rifle still in his hand. He grunted. He cursed. His body shifted underneath hers, and then he freed his rifle and jabbed the butt upward. It connected with her side underneath her rib cage.
He hadn’t gotten a clean hit, but the blunt force of the butt knocked the wind from her, and she toppled from him. Momentarily paralyzed, gasping for air that didn’t come, she lay on her back in the dirt. The bright sun above blinded her and she closed her eyes. Javier was on top of her now, his little hands on either side of her face.
She opened her eyes and the dark shape of his head blocked the sunlight. His fingers raked at her cheeks. He called her name over and over. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.
***
Lou saw the woman on her back, a child on top of her. Next to them, the rifleman coyote was finding purchase on the ground. But they were too close together for Lou to risk a shot. If she missed, she could hit the mother or the child, whose movements were wild and unpredictable.
She was close enough now to see the man’s eyes. They were black. The sneer on his face was pure hatred. It sent a shudder along Lou’s spine even as she steadied herself in the saddle and tossed the rifle. It spun from her hand and landed behind her in the dirt.
The man was wobbly, disoriented. Lou could see that as he groped, struggling to find his rifle. It was inches from his hand.
Lou was twenty feet from him now, closer still to the screaming women, the crying children, and the dead coyote. He reached the rifle and quickly pulled it up to take aim.
She reached into her right boot at the same moment she jerked the horse to the right. As the man with the black eyes lifted his rifle, finger already on the trigger, Lou flung a knife at him. End over end it flipped, zipping the distance between them until it found its mark, and the blade drove deep into his chest beneath his neck.
Still, he managed a shot and the horse jerked wildly, unexpectedly, and tossed Lou from the saddle. The earth and sky spun, flipping positions, one over the other and then under, until she hit the ground with a thick sucking sound. She was at the edge of the water on her back. Her head cracked against the ground, dizzying her. Her vision sparked with stars, and bolts of electric pain shot through her hip and the back of her shoulder.
If she hadn’t landed at the edge of the water, she’d be unconscious or worse. The spongy ground at the water’s edge cushioned her violent fall enough to lessen the damage.
Immediately, and despite her confusion, her hands went to her belly. She felt herself, as if she’d find something there that told her she’d hurt the baby. But there was no pain, no cramping. She felt her crotch and then raised her hand toward her eyes. She tried to focus but couldn’t. Nonetheless, she knew her hands were dry as she rubbed her thumbs across her fingers and palms. There was no bleeding. That was something.
Lou lay there for long minutes before she managed to struggle to her feet. In front of her was the dead man she’d shot three times. He was facedown, his feet in the water, his hands caught underneath his motionless body. Splotches of dark red stained his back where the rounds had exited. Lou kicked him. His body jiggled but didn’t otherwise move.
She winced at the pain in her hip and shifted her weight to the other leg. She limped past the whimpering women and children, who said nothing, but whose expressions told Lou they were confused and frightened.
Lou cleared her throat and tried to speak. At first all she managed was a squeak. Then the words came. They were breathless but intelligible.
“I’m here to help you,” she said to the women. “Don’t worry. You’re safe now.”
The women’s expressions didn’t change. The fear lingered, as if painted indelibly on their tired, pallid faces.
Then one of them, the one who’d dived onto the second coyote, buying her the time she needed, lifted an arm from her prone position and pointed at her. She said something Lou couldn’t hear, so she limped forward, the pain lessening with every step.
Lou stood at the other coyote’s head now. He was on his back. His eyes were open, no more lifeless than they’d appeared moments earlier when he’d stared into her soul. The knife was buried in him to the hilt. Its blade had found the soft spot above the collarbone to the side of his neck. Blood leaked from his nose and mouth.
She bent down to pull the knife from his neck when she realized the woman on her back wasn’t pointing at her. She was pointing past her, behind her.
With her hand still on the knife’s grip, Lou looked over her shoulder to see six men on horseback racing toward them. They’d come from the highway and were closing in on them quickly. Pop Guard.
“This is not happening,” Lou muttered. “Not happening.”
Her mind flashed to David alone in the dark fun
eral home. She’d told him she’d be back soon. It had already been ten minutes if not more. And now she had an unwinnable fight on her hands. The Pop Guard would be on them in less than five minutes.
She turned to the woman on her back. “Keys,” she said. “To the chains.”
The woman pointed at the dead man at Lou’s feet. Lou fished through his pockets until she found a set of keys. She leaned across the body and unlocked the cuff at the boy’s foot. Then she did the same for the woman.
“Can you move?” asked Lou.
The woman nodded. “I think so,” she said, her voice airy, the sound of someone who’d just caught her breath.
“Unlock your friends. Quickly. And can you fire a weapon?”
The woman nodded again. “Yes.”
“Take his,” she said. “There’s another one over by the other dead guy. Give it to someone who can use it.”
“I’m Andrea,” said the woman. “Muchas gracias por su ayuda. Thank you for your help.”
“De nada,” said Lou. “I’m Lou.”
“You speak Spanish?” the woman asked once on her feet.
“Nope,” said Lou. “That was the extent of it.”
The woman tried to smile. It looked more like a nervous twitch.
“Get to work,” said Lou. “We’ve got a minute or two at most. Then we’ve traded one evil for the other.”
Lou wiped both sides of the blade on the dead man’s shirt. His black eyes gave her the impression he was still alive, like a dead fish staring at her unblinkingly. She swallowed hard and got to her feet.
She turned from the dead man and scanned her surroundings. The horse was alive, on its side and struggling. It made sounds that forced Lou to cringe. As she approached it, walking as quickly as her throbbing hip would allow, she saw the rifle she’d tossed to the ground.
