Thick Black Theory: A Symbiont Wars Book (Symbiont Wars Universe)

by Chogan Swan

  Kaitlin nodded, thinking. “I have two questions. You start with your hand on your gun, I would be diving for cover the second I saw someone do that. My first question is.... Can you accomplish the same thing without telegraphing your draw? The second.... Can you do it without using your off hand to cock the hammer? I would hate to find myself in a position where I had to shoot, but lost time because one hand wasn’t free.”

  Jordan laughed. “Oh, thanks, Kaitlin. Now I have to rethink years of training, but yes, I know other ways to do that. I haven’t used them in competition, and haven’t practiced them as much, because they aren’t quite as fast as the slap-cock method, but they work.”

  “That’s good,” Kaitlin said, grinning. “Because, even if it weren’t for those objections, I don’t think I could make myself practice a method with a name like that anyhow.”

  Chapter 18 — Bad penny

  The sweltering, late-August air—twice baked as it rolled across the highway and the asphalt parking lot—sifted through the screen door of the Wet Gulch town hall and bunkhouse.

  The names of the building were interchangeable and based on usage. Meetings were held in the town hall; sleeping took place in the bunkhouse, but both referred to what had been the store. It was, of course, Bernice’s idea.

  How to make a metropolis of one structure, she called it.

  Kaitlin stacked another box of canning jars on top of the two already on the checkout counter. Sammy hustled in from the parking lot and scooped them up before pushing his way out the door on his way to the solar oven where the jars would be sterilized. “Twenty-five gallons of fig preserves,” he crowed. “I can hardly wait.”

  Bernice chuckled. “I do like it when folks are enthusiastic about my cooking,” she said, as she packed the spices from the shelves into the boxes bound for Hidden Creek.

  “People are always enthusiastic about your cooking, Bernice,” Kaitlin said. “Sometimes I think you could turn grubs and caterpillars into high cuisine... but I do hope it never comes to that.”

  “That’s right—because we need to leave something for the birds to eat.”

  Bernice closed the box and moved it to a shelf for Sammy to load in the buckboard. She tucked a stray lock of her white hair back into place beneath her ‘canning and cooking’ bandana before turning to the next row of spices.

  Kaitlin continued stacking the boxes of mason jars on the counter.

  In the eleven weeks since the power grid had collapsed, Bernice had made a full recovery from the traumas of captivity. She’d also gained several steps on the tired but determined woman who’d served Welsh teacakes to Kaitlin the day they’d met.

  These days, it took a lot more than preparing breakfast and a couple of hours of conversation to make Bernice lie down and rest. Bernard still kept a close eye on her, but Bernice kept telling him she felt better than she had in years... decades.

  Kaitlin had asked her if Ayleana had treated her when she’d been working on Cleo the day they’d all been captured. Bernice had replied that all the alien girl had done was bring her a bottle of water and open it for her.

  Kaitlin, considering what Ayleana had done for Fredrick with just a kiss, suspected she might have opened the bottle a bit sooner than Bernice suspected—in addition to dosing it with something that had certainly done her no harm.

  Kaitlin put the last box on the counter. “Where has Sammy gotten to? He’s awfully quiet,” she said, stepping from behind the counter and striding toward the door.

  At that moment, Sammy appeared in the doorway, standing stiff with his hands in the air.

  Kaitlin stopped. Someone else stood behind him, holding a fistful of Sammy’s collar and pushing a gun into his ear. “Pull the door open, fool,” the hidden man snarled. “Don’t think I won’t blow your brains out if you don’t cooperate.”

  Sean, damn him.

  She’d never expected him to come back. It wasn’t a rational act, but he knew the terrain and the sentry stations. He’d figured out how to get through the line. She should have considered the possibility of non-rational behavior.

  “Don’t touch that gun, bitch. If you so much as make me nervous, I will shoot you, then him, then her.”

  Sammy shuffled forward—Sean pushing him—and hooked the screen door open with his fingers. Sean propelled him into the room.

  “Now tell me,” Sean said. “Where is my wife? She’s coming with me.”

  “Cleo isn’t here, Sean,” Kaitlin said, keeping her voice calm and low. “She won’t be coming back.”

  “Too bad for you,” Sean said. “Someone else will tell me.”

  Sammy’s face suddenly changed from just-controlled fear to panic. “Bernice, no!” he shouted as Bernice stepped in front of Kaitlin, blocking Sean’s line of fire.

  Sammy lunged forward and Kaitlin moved sideways to take Bernice out of the line of fire, but at the double cough of Sean’s suppressed pistol, Bernice staggered and fell.

  As Sammy broke free, Kaitlin registered a target centered on Sean’s chest. A dark circle the size of a dime appeared on the target as smoke billowed at her side, and thunder sounded in her ears. Another target appeared between Sean’s eyes as he staggered back, and another hole appeared there as Promisekeeper’s sight picture crossed the target and she bucked again in Kaitlin’s hand. Kaitlin cocked the hammer and stepped forward, trapping Sean’s hand and gun beneath her foot. She kicked the gun away and considered whether another slug in his head would improve his appearance.

  Rule eight.

  Her hands seemed to move on their own, flicking the two spent cartridges onto the floor and replacing them.

  Running footsteps pounded across the parking lot outside, and Kaitlin covered the door as Bernard appeared and threw it open.

  Not a target.

  He ran to Bernice and knelt next to her. “Oh, love, my love, stay with me.”

  “It will be ok, Bernard,” Bernice’s voice—strained but certain—made hope leap in Kaitlin’s chest.

  “Kaitlin, come here, please,” Bernice said.

  “Sammy, watch the door,” Kaitlin said as she backed to Bernice—kneeling beside her but still facing the door. Sammy scrambled to pick up the discarded gun then ran to the door.

  Bernard held a bandana to Bernice’s chest, just below her collarbone. Red stained the bandage and seeped across her blouse. Bernard’s hand supported her from behind, pressing on the exit wound. Bernice’s eyes clenched tight, as though she were concentrating.

  “I’m here, Bernice,” Kaitlin said.

  Bernice opened her eyes. “Kaitlin,” she said, reaching out to touch Kaitlin’s face. “My girl, you will make a difference in this world. And, now, I’ve made a difference too,” she said, touching Kaitlin’s hair then moving the finger over an inch to wipe the tear from Kaitlin’s cheek. “Don’t doubt my choice in this, Kaitlin. Keep it up. You’re doing fine.”

  Bernice’s eyes widened, and she stared at the ceiling. ”Bernard!” she called. “Bernard, I need you.”

  “I’m right here, love,” Bernard said, his strong voice fighting not to crack. “I’m right here, like always.”

  “Yes, of course you are,” Bernice said. She took a shallow breath then sighed without drawing another.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  Bernice’s funeral and memorial service took place the next day at Jordan’s family cemetery at Hidden Creek. The sky was blue and cloudless, and a mockingbird sang from the branch of a nearby tree, joining in the a capella chorus of Bernice’s favorite hymn, I’ll Fly Away.

  Even though all Kaitlin wanted to do was curl up and cry, she managed to write an acceptable eulogy, delivering it with only one pause to get her voice under control. She owed it to Bernice. She owed it to Bernard.

  When Jordan came to her during the wake to tell her Greg had radioed to say someone was at Wet Gulch asking for her, she rose woodenly. “Would you mind giving me a ride?”

  “They need to make some repairs to their vehicle and scrounge up so
me diesel fuel before they’re ready to go. We can head over tomorrow.”

  Kaitlin nodded, sat down again and closed her eyes to rest them.

  Chapter 19 — Demands of living

  Kaitlin opened her eyes to morning light streaming in the window. She was in a queen-sized bed. Danielle—on the other side of the bed—was still asleep, snoring quietly. Bed space was no doubt scarcer at Hidden Creek, considering their new immigrees. Well, they would have one more space tonight, but there was no knowing when, or if, she would ever have another night sleeping on memory foam.

  Danielle continued snoring. Kaitlin stretched and sat up, wondering how she’d gotten here. That part of the evening was fuzzy, and she didn’t remember putting on the men’s large tee shirt either. Kaitlin slid from the covers and stood, finding that the shirt only almost covered her butt cheeks. She recognized the room as Jordan’s—from the two weeks she’d been here training in ‘the art of the fast draw’. But then she’d been bunking with the ranch’s three other single girls.

  Promisekeeper waited for her, hanging in her holster on the arm of an ornately carved, high-back chair. A piece of paper, fluttering in the breeze wafting through the screened window was spiked with a T-Pin to a stack of clothes on the seat. She stepped closer.

  Kaitlin. Your other clothes are still drying.

  She pulled the note from the stack, picked up the blue jeans from the top of the pile and slipped into them. They were brand new, made for women from stretchy denim and they fit perfectly.

  But no one here is built like me.

  She shrugged and tried on the rest of the clothes. All of them fit. She settled on denim cargo shorts, a running bra and a sleeveless Tedeschi Trucks t-shirt.

  Everything fit as though made for her.

  Serendipity?

  She rolled all the other clothes into smooth tubes and stored them in the string bag that had waited for her at the bottom of the pile. Next, she put on clean socks. After letting her toes enjoy that sensation for a few moments, she slid her feet into her boots and laced them.

  Then, slinging the gun belt around her hips, she knotted the leg tie above her knee and checked to see if Blondie was riding easy in the pocket next to the line of bullets covering the back of the belt.

  Rule two.

  She checked to be sure five real bullets were in the cylinder and the hammer rested on an empty chamber.

  Danielle, still snoring, hadn’t moved.

  Kaitlin opened the door and headed down the hall to the dining room. The smell of steak, eggs and griddlecakes pulled her along.

  The demands of living push grief aside.

  A sudden vision—of Bernice laughing and making jokes with Sammy as she cooked—made Kaitlin double over and gasp for breath.

  For a few moments.

  She fought her way back up, wiping her eyes, and continued down the hall.

  Jordan and Bernard were the only others in the dining room. Both looked up from their conversation as she came through the trussed archway into the room.

  “I hope you slept well,” Jordan said, standing up.

  “I did, thank you. Now sit down, you’re going to give Bernard the notion he’ll have to stand when I come in the room.”

  “No, I’m sure that won’t happen,” said Jordan. “For Bernard, you are family—as he has just been making clear to me. But, for me, since you are here with your people, you are a visiting dignitary.”

  Kaitlin sucked the corner of her upper lip into her mouth, something she did when thinking. “So when I was here by myself...?”

  “Then you were an honored guest.”

  “Jordan, Thank you for your hospitality and everything else,” she said, tapping the string bag full of clothes. “It’s been a pleasure being all of those people while I was here.” She turned to Bernard. “Bernard, after breakfast, can I have some of your time before I have to go?”

  Bernard looked at her, eyes almost amused. “You can’t imagine you are going to ditch me, Kaitlin. What would I tell Bernice when I join her again? I just finished telling Jordan we were family and I meant it. You may be the sheriff, so I mostly follow orders, but I’m going with you, and you can’t order me otherwise.”

  Kaitlin sat across from him and filled her plate. “I wouldn’t dream of trying.” She smiled at him though her eyes felt damp.

  “Good,” Bernard said. “When you finish breakfast though, Cleo wants to talk to you before we leave.”

  Kaitlin nodded. “I wondered if she might. I’m glad. She needs to know what she’s opening herself up to if she decides to remember.”

  Bernard sighed. “Is it wrong for me to be glad I’m not the one who will be telling her?”

  “Is it wrong for me to be glad I don’t have to make her decision?” Kaitlin said.

  “No,” Bernard and Jordan said together.

  “But you would have already done it,” Bernard added. “It’s who you are.”

  Kaitlin shook her head. “No one knows that. But at least she can be sure all of them are dead. Along with Sean....”

  “She didn’t seem to feel his death was a tragedy did she?” said Jordan.

  Kaitlin nodded. “I think she understood Sean wanted to punish her because he had to watch. He blamed her for his humiliation while they raped her. I never realized that until he came through the door with a gun to Sammy’s head. If I’d figured that out earlier, I could have been ready for him.”

  “No, Kaitlin, don’t do that to yourself,” Bernard said, pausing when his voice choked. “Sammy told me exactly what happened. If you or Bernice had done anything different, you would all have been dead. God help me, Kaitlin, but she made the right move and so did you. She saved you and Sammy, and you made sure her sacrifice wasn’t wasted.”

  Kaitlin stirred her eggs with the fork, then put the fork down and took a sip of coffee. The hunger she’d felt as she’d come into the room had vanished.

  It’s fuel, not entertainment.

  She cut a piece of steak and bit into it hard, glad for the distraction of turning the meat into something to swallow. Slowly, her appetite returned as she worked her way through the plate.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  It was past nine o’clock when Kaitlin finished talking with Cleo, and ten before everyone finished their goodbyes. Kaitlin assured the Wet Gulch folks that her phone’s SD card had been copied onto one of Jordan’s tablets when she’d been here on her visit. They were all relieved that they’d have something to listen to besides country music.

  Kaitlin had tried to assure them their new home was more sophisticated than they were assuming, but she knew that in spite of the doubts they had lingering, eventually everyone would come together. Jordan was a good leader and a good man. He’d take care of her people, and they would do well here.

  As she was getting ready to mount up, Milo—followed by most of the ranch hands—approached her. “Sheriff Kaitlin, we have something we wanted to give you before you left,” he said.

  “Sure Milo....” Kaitlin handed the reins to Bernard then turned to Milo and the group crowding in behind him.

  “First off, we want you to know we all voted and agreed that Hidden Creek Ranch should be part of the Wet Gulch Territory, so as you would be our sheriff too.”

  Kaitlin looked around at their faces. All were smiling or nodding. She turned to Jordan who shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Don’t look at me. I know nothing about this.’

  Milo forged ahead. “So you know, when you get back this way again, you’ll always have a job.”

  Kaitlin grinned, and chuckles circulated both through the ranch crew and the original Wet Gulch citizens.

  “So we got together and wanted you to have this, so people wherever you go will know that you’ve got folks who stand behind you.” He held out a small box. “You’ve got to put it on.”

  Kaitlin opened the box to see a beautifully worked, copper, five-pointed star hammered into a gentle concave curve. Each pointed ray ended in a tiny circl
e. The front was engraved and enameled in blue with the words, Wet Gulch Territory on top and SHERIFF KAITLIN on the bottom. The whole piece was polished to a mirror-sheen and lacquered. A sturdy brass pin was soldered to the back.

  “Did you make this, Milo?”

  Someone spoke up from the back. “That he did, Sheriff. He’s a wizard with just about any metal, but we all pitched in to cover his chores while he was working on it.”

  Kaitlin smiled. “Thank you all then, but I think the artist should pin it on.” She handed the star to Milo.

  “Careful, Milo,” cautioned Greg. “If you stick her with it, she’ll likely break your arm this time.”

  While everyone laughed, Milo grinned and took the badge in his meaty hands and deftly pinned it just under Kaitlin’s collarbone and above the ‘K’ in ‘TRUCKS’.

  The send-off crowd cheered. Kaitlin waved and gave Milo a kiss on the cheek—to the accompaniment of loud whoops from his buddies. They pelted him with thunderous backslapping as Kaitlin launched herself into the saddle.

  As she gathered the reins, Kaitlin was glad Beauty had held still for her while she’d levered herself into the saddle. She was also glad Jordan had taught her how to ride when she’d been here last. It let her stay in the saddle when Beauty took it upon herself to stand on her hind legs and kick her forefeet prettily before galloping away down the trail. It would not have been a good exit for her to bounce off—the way she had during her first lesson.

  Her legend was safe. She’d realized that when Cleo had asked her if it was true that she’d whipped all the men on the ranch at wrasslin’ when she’d last been at the ranch. It was a generous interpretation of demonstrating a little Krav Maga and Brazilian Jiujiitsu.

  The way she had it figured, all the citizens of the new Wet Gulch Territory had a stake in making the Sheriff Kaitlin legend grow. Let them have fun, there was little enough of it to go around. All organizations were built on their own mythology. Her friend’s contribution to that wouldn’t hurt anyone.