Guns of Perdition

by Jessica Bakkers

  He didn’t flinch. His black stallion shifted from foot to foot and laid his ears flat but otherwise didn’t move. Behind the Gunman, bullets thwacked into wooden buildings, shattered glass windows, and ricocheted off an iron horse trough. Not a single bullet struck the Gunman.

  As the echo of Grace’s gunfire died away and cordite wafted from both barrels, the Darksome Gunman chirked at his mount and cantered forward. Grace stiffened, and Jessie noticed her fingers squeeze the triggers of her equalizers. They were shot dry already and coughed uselessly.

  The Gunman rode up to the cart and leaned on his saddle horn. He shook his head and tsked like a school ma’am.

  “Grace, Grace, Grace. When you gonna learn, girl? You cain’t hurt me. Cain’t shoot me. Cain’t do squat except take my direction with a good-humored smile on those pretty lips.”

  Kaga snarled and leaped up. He threw himself across the edge of the cart and snapped at the Gunman. Instead of flinching back from the wolf’s savage jaws, the Darksome Gunman chuckled.

  “Your wolf’s looking a bit worse for wear, girl. Been in the wars, has he?”

  Grace grabbed Kaga’s ruff and dragged him back in the cart. Jessie got the impression she was more concerned for his wellbeing than angry at his attempt on the Gunman. Kaga’s muzzle oozed fresh blood from his reopened wounds.

  “You promise to trade words. When?” Tokota’s direct and to-the-point question broke through the Gunman’s moment of levity. The Darksome Gunman eyed Tokota. His gaze shifted to Ruby, and her usual sunny expression darkened. There was deep hate in her eyes. She clutched her Derringer and aimed at the Gunman. He smiled in return. His gaze wandered back to Grace after a brief pause on Jessie.

  “Not when. Where.”

  Grace frowned.

  Jessie asked her unspoken question. “Where, then?”

  The Gunman’s eyes flicked back to Jessie. He cocked his head and said, “You still here? Why?”

  Jessie was momentarily caught off guard by the question, but it appeared rhetorical, as the Gunman continued without waiting for an answer. “Where. Where would we break words, Grace? Where? Where the end began. Where the beginning need end. Worm Wood.”

  Jessie glanced at Grace. She shook her head and turned back to the Gunman.

  “Worm Wood,” she said flatly.

  His answer was a smile. He slid one boot from his stirrup and pressed his weight down on the other stirrup. As he swung his leg over the stallion’s broad back, his spurs jingled. Jessie shivered at the sound. The Gunman dropped to the ground and gave the stallion a sharp slap on the rump. The horse nickered and moved closer to the cart. Uzeblikblik snorted in greeting.

  The Darksome Gunman gestured to the horse. “A gift. For our Mister Boothe.”

  Grace eyed the horse, then peered at Aaron Boothe. When she turned back to the Darksome Gunman he touched the brim of his hat in farewell.

  “Worm Wood, Grace. Make for Worm Wood. Where the end began.” He turned and strolled away, jingling with every step.

  Abigail and Joseph, as though prompted by the fading jingle, rose from the other side of the cart. Their faces were blanched and they gripped one another for support. Jessie’s gaze drifted over them to the black stallion, then lowered to Aaron Boothe. Boothe...the Fourth Horseman.

  Steeling his resolve, Jessie sucked in a deep breath and called out, “We know who they are.”

  The Darksome Gunman paused. He looked over his shoulder and Jessie felt the full impact of his stare like a sucker punch to his stomach. He drew in another breath before continuing, “We know why you gave them each a horse.”

  He had the Gunman’s full, undivided attention now. Radiant heat choked Jessie. It was like standing too close to a bonfire. He swallowed and tried to draw moisture into his dry throat. He forced his next words over his swollen tongue, “They’re the Four Horsemen.”

  Beneath the Gunman’s withering stare and ignoring the gasps from Abigail and Joseph, Jessie gestured at Ruby. “Conquest.” He waved at Tokota. “War.”

  The Darksome Gunman took a step back toward the cart.

  Jessie felt his resolve shake. He prodded Aaron Boothe with his boot. “Famine.”

  The Darksome Gunman stared Jessie in the eyes. “And Grace?”

  Jessie looked sideways at Grace. Her face was pale, her jaw clenched.

  “Death.”

  All mirth had vanished from the Darksome Gunman. “Well, well, well. Ain’t you up to trap? Deduce that all by yourself?”

  An image of Clinton Cottonmouth Cross flashed through Jessie’s mind and he flinched.

  The Darksome Gunman inclined his head and breathed out deeply. “Oh...I see. Someone’s been filling your head with all kinds of crazy notions, eh boy?”

  Heat flooded Jessie’s cheeks and he dropped his gaze. It was crazy, wasn’t it? The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He flinched as Grace slipped her hand into his. Jessie turned and met her gaze. She smiled at him. Warmth and confidence surged through him. He straightened and faced the Darksome Gunman. “I will fear no evil.”

  The Gunman frowned. He seemed about to take a step forward, then stopped and shook his head. “No matter. Everything will become clear at Worm Wood. I look forward to seeing you there.” He nodded, though it was unclear if it was directed to Grace or Jessie. A smile touched his lips, then he turned and strode away.

  Jessie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Gummy.”

  Grace let go of his hand and ruffled his hair.

  An uncharacteristic smile touched Tokota’s lips. “You got spirit, hoksila.”

  Jessie shrugged. “Maybe so, but I don’t feel like I got a lot of brains though.”

  “No, cherie, it takes bravery and brains to know when to speak up.” Ruby’s smile washed over Jessie like a soothing balm, and he couldn’t help but expand his chest with pride.

  “Is there someone I can speak to—someone with a lick of sense who is not one step shy of a sanitarium—who can tell me what the hell is going on!” Boothe’s face was red as he glared up from the cart. He looked from Grace to Jessie to Tokota to Ruby.

  Grace gave a lopsided smile. “Got news for you, Boothe; if we’re one step shy of a sanitarium, then you’re standing on the road right beside us.”

  Ruby laughed a sharp caw of delight. Tokota reached out and took the reins of the black stallion. The horse was saddled and ready for his new rider. Jessie walked with Grace down the length of the cart and hopped off onto the ground beside her. They approached Joseph and Abigail who backed away as they neared.

  Jessie held up his hands and said, “It’s alright, Joseph. They’re the good guys.” He waved at Grace and the others.

  Abigail clutched her father’s arm and seemed to pull him backward, but Joseph stood true and faced Grace and Jessie. “I thought I’d seen true menace under his yoke,” he murmured and jerked his head toward Aaron Boothe, “yet there’s something about that man in black that chills me to the marrow. If you all intend to ride against the likes of him I will keep you in my prayers, regardless who—or what—you all are.”

  Grace shrugged. “We got no choice in the matter. Seems we gotta keep playing his game right to the rotten end.”

  “Worm Wood,” Jessie mused. “What do you think he meant by that?”

  There was something haunting Grace’s eyes. “Where the end began. That’s what he said.”

  Jessie’s brows knitted together. “Reckon you know what he meant by that?”

  “Reckon I do.” Grace swallowed. “Where the end of my life began. The farm where Ma and Pa were killed.”

  Jessie let a low whistle slide over his teeth. Truly? Would the Darksome Gunman choose to break words there? He snorted and tried to ignore the chills that traveled up his spine. Course he would.

  Joseph cleared his throat. His eyes darted about across all the riders and lingered on Boothe for a moment. He met Grace’s dark gaze and wrinkled his nose before he spoke. “This Horseman bosh...it’s all true, ain�
��t it?”

  Joseph and Abigail had had enough trouble swallowing the fact that the handsome native man who’d ridden behind Jessie the previous night was the very wolf who accompanied Grace by day. They were simple folk. Good folk. They didn’t need this hash in their lives. He watched Grace from the corner of his eye.

  She gave away nothing as she touched the brim of her John B. and nodded to Joseph. “We owe you all for the hospitality. You gonna be alright here in the Banks now?”

  Joseph’s troubled expression cleared. “You and yours done us a bigger favor than you could ever know. You freed us from his hold. From the hunger that was killing the town. If there’s an imbalance, it’s we who owe you.”

  Grace scratched her nose and said, “Let’s just call it even.”

  She turned to Jessie and jerked her head. They left Joseph and Abigail without another word. Grace turned to the cart and hauled Aaron Boothe up from his place on the floor. Jessie grinned at her rough treatment of the man. Horseman of the Apocalypse he might be, but to Grace Dyer, he was just another longrider.

  “Jessie!” Abigail called. Jessie turned and smiled at her as she approached.

  She reached into her sagging apron pouch.

  “Got something for you.” She pulled out a sharp pencil with a pretty red ribbon tied around its middle. She held it out to Jessie, and her gaze dropped from his face.

  Jessie grinned as he took the pencil. “Abbi! I cain’t thank you enough!”

  Abigail’s brow furrowed. She took a quick step forward and slid her thin arms around Jessie’s waist. He was so startled he stood there dumbly with his hands hanging uselessly by his sides.

  Abigail squeezed him, planted a quick peck on his cheek, then pulled back. “Be careful, Jessie.” She seemed about to say more but shook her head and stepped back behind Joseph.

  Jessie searched Joseph’s eyes for some clue as to how he should respond. The older man merely shrugged and lowered a hand to Abigail’s shoulder.

  “C’mon, Jessie. While there’s still light.”

  Jessie glanced over his shoulder and drew in a quick breath.

  Tokota, Ruby, Grace, and Boothe sat atop their horses in a row. The morning sun was a fiery ball above Grace’s head. Their features were darkened with long shadows, and the coats of their horses seemed to glimmer in the sunlight. Dazzling white. Glossy black. Fiery red. Ghostly pale.

  Jessie sensed movement beside him and he turned to see Joseph cross himself at the sight. If Grace hadn’t clarified things for him, the sight of the four of them mounted up sure as hell had. Jessie bade Joseph and Abigail a final farewell, then turned to Paul. The gelding seemed drab and insignificant beside the four stunning creatures.

  Like me. Jessie chased the thought from his mind as he swung into the saddle. Grace chirruped and Crowbait sauntered off. Kaga weaved between Crowbait’s long legs. Tokota and Ruby followed side by side.

  Boothe glared at Barren Banks, and his gaze found the ruins of Boothe Manor. After a moment, he nudged his black stallion and took off after the others.

  Jessie shifted and felt something poke his leg. He patted his thigh and felt the pencil. What a journal entry his next would prove to be.

  Temerity. Barren Banks. Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Good. Evil.

  He clucked at Paul and the gelding began his gentle, soft gait away from Barren Banks and toward Worm Wood.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The swollen moon illuminated the barren landscape, making it seem like an overcast day rather than the depths of night. It was strangely predictable that they approached the farmhouse on the first night of the full moon, a night when Kaga sat behind Grace, his body pressed firmly against hers. If it hadn’t been so cliché, Jessie might have been overawed that their meandering saw them arrive now, on this night, with the fat moon above them. Instead, an eerie sense of déjà vu settled over him as though this was all just a preordained date with destiny. He didn’t know how or why he knew the crude wooden farmhouse up ahead was the place. Perhaps it was Paul’s nervous gait and agitated nicker. Or maybe it was some sixth sense that seemed to have awoken in him since he’d first laid eyes on Grace Dyer in the Bad Hoss Saloon so many months ago.

  The five horses pounded the hard-packed earth as they trotted along the dusty trail. Grace and Kaga, on the ill-tempered Crowbait, rode up front. Tokota came next on his fiery stallion, his gaze scanning the horizon as they rode, on the lookout for danger. Jessie and his gentle gelding trotted alongside Ruby and her ethereal palfrey. Though they’d had long conversations and discourse throughout their journey, they now rode in silence. The moon and the ambiance seemed to decree it. Behind Jessie, if he cared to turn and look, came the sullen Fourth Horseman on his equally sullen horse. Aaron Boothe hadn’t revealed much of himself on the journey east, and the few words he did share were waspish and petulant.

  As they neared the farmhouse, Jessie was taken aback by the warm shaft of light piercing the night from the ajar front door. It wasn’t just the moonlight that proffered up the farmhouse for their inspection; some kind of lantern was alight inside the ramshackle shanty. As he looked at the squat farmhouse, Jessie’s scalp tingled, and he lowered his hand to the Colt tucked in his trousers.

  Something was off here.

  Grace reined in and gazed at the little farmhouse. Jessie rode up beside her through the milk-mist night and frowned at her tightly clenched jaw and tensed shoulders. Kaga’s large hands shifted from her waist to her arms.

  Jessie quickly looked away, back toward the shack.

  “Why are we stopping?” Boothe’s voice was hard against the sleepy night chorus of cicadas and crickets. Jessie glanced back at the man but didn’t respond. Grace’s only answer was to slide from the saddle. Kaga dropped down beside her and took her elbow in his hand. It was a testament to Grace’s agitation when she shook off his gentle touch. Ruby and Tokota remained mounted, though their unease was clearly written across their faces.

  Jessie sighed and against his better judgment slid from Paul’s broad back. He shuffled along the trail to Grace’s side. When his boots scraped the gravel-coated earth Kaga glanced at him. Grace’s gaze was locked on the shack.

  “Grace?”

  She didn’t react.

  Kaga grimaced and brushed Grace’s arm. The fresh red scars across his cheek puckered as he winced. “Hanhepi wi, you do not have to go inside.”

  “Yeah, what’s in there for you anyways?” Jessie asked.

  Grace didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, she pushed off and strode toward the shack.

  “Regret,” she answered over her shoulder.

  Jessie and Kaga exchanged a look. Kaga shrugged and broke into a trot behind her. Jessie glanced at Tokota and Ruby. They returned his blank look and shrugged. He breathed out and made for the house.

  Grace reached the slightly cracked front door and raised a gloved hand to the wood. It swung open silently at her touch. Kaga and Jessie peered around her as she stood in the doorway.

  The warm glow came from a few candles dotted about the small shack. They blazed cheerily in their oyster-shaped holders and shed a gentle glow over the kitchen. An overturned table lay wrong-side up in one corner of the room. Broken crockery, cutlery, and food littered the floor. A dark smear of blood stretched from the front door to the middle of the room...and two bodies lay faceup amidst the mess and ruin, sightless eyes open and devoid of all life. There was no stench beyond the coppery tang of blood and a faint aroma of a cooked meal. There were no flies, maggots, rats, or other vermin, even though the door had been left ajar. The scene looked as though it had only just happened, yet by Grace’s reckoning, her parents had been killed by the Darksome Gunman when she was just a sapling. This had to be the wrong house. These had to be some other poor, unfortunate victims of brutal thuggery.

  Jessie turned to Grace to say so. He saw her expression and bit his tongue.

  It wasn’t the wrong house.

  Grace’s dark eyes were round and her com
plexion had gone the color of sour milk. Her lower lip hung open and quivered, and her hands were balled into fists. Kaga took one of her hands in his and stared at her. Jessie swept up her free hand and squeezed. He might as well have squeezed a stone for all the response he got from her.

  “Grace?” Jessie pitched his voice low so as not to intrude on her grief. She still didn’t respond.

  “Grace?”

  “Hanhepi wi?” Kaga tried.

  Grace shook her hands free of theirs and spun around. She strode out the farmhouse without a backward glance. Jessie and Kaga looked at each other with mirrored confusion. As one they turned and headed after her.

  Grace was already at Crowbait’s side when they caught up to her.

  “Hanhepi wi? Are you alright?” Kaga asked.

  Grace ignored him. She tugged Crowbait’s cinch and reached up for the saddle horn. She swung up into the saddle and settled herself.

  “Hanhepi wi?”

  Grace lowered her gaze to Kaga. Both he and Jessie flinched at the sight of her forbidding eyes. Jessie swallowed and was content to let Kaga handle this one.

  “Tell me what I can do to help,” Kaga said softly.

  Grace’s upper lip twisted. “Help what? There ain’t anyone can be helped here. We gotta get moving.” She didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. She dug her boots into Crowbait’s sides and urged the pale mare into a trot.

  Kaga frowned after her, glanced at Jessie, eyed the shack, and finally turned back to Grace. “Should we at least bury them?” he called out, exasperation and hurt heavy in his voice.

  Grace didn’t look back. “Already buried them once, Kaga. I ain’t doing it again.”

  Kaga and Jessie exchanged a look. Jessie shivered, and his gaze was drawn to the shack. The yellow glow that seeped from the doorway no longer seemed cheery and welcoming. Instead, it seemed sickly, diseased.

  Jessie rubbed his hands on his chaps and said, “We should just go.”

  Kaga nodded. His own gaze was locked on the farmhouse, and there was muted horror in his eyes.