The Wren

by Kristy McCaffrey

  She hung her head down in defeat. Perhaps Sawyer was right. Perhaps fate had brought her back to him.

  * * *

  Matt rode hard until nightfall, Nathan and Logan on his heels. He wanted to make as much progress as possible before it became too dark to see the trail left by Sawyer and Molly. Sawyer must have felt confident he wasn’t being followed because it was almost impossible not to track him. Even when he crossed water, he didn’t go very far downstream before hitting dry ground on the other side. Matt was hopeful they’d overtake them by dusk.

  The complete darkness now encompassing them, however, forced Matt to stop. They couldn’t risk getting too far from the trail. Reluctantly, he reined his horse in, swearing silently to himself and praying Molly would be safe tonight.

  In silence, Nathan and Logan made camp, tending to the horses first then offering Matt hardtack and dried beef since they would have no fire. The routine was a familiar one.

  Often when tracking a man or group of men, Matt and the other Rangers would stop to eat an hour or two before nightfall then ride beyond the evidence of the campfire to settle in for the night. But doing so now would cost precious time, and he was unwilling to do that.

  Not hungry, he forced himself nevertheless to eat and drink, knowing instinctively he wouldn’t be any help to Molly if he was weakened from hunger or dehydration. He knew his body needed sleep as well, but his restlessness made that difficult. He felt helpless, and he didn’t like it.

  “You should try getting some rest, Matt,” Nathan said as he positioned a bedroll onto a grassy patch of ground. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  “No, I’ll take first watch,” Matt replied. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

  “Then I’ll take second,” Nathan said. “You’re last, Logan.”

  Logan nodded from where he lay, then positioned his hat across his face and promptly went to sleep.

  Matt moved away from the two sleeping men and sat on a log. It had obviously been there for some time, for a thick mat of moss blanketed the wood. The sounds of the night filled the brisk air and the stars flashed in the cloudless sky.

  Matt wondered where Molly was, if she was scared, if she was hungry, if she was hurt. He took his hat off and scratched his fingers through his hair. He was frustrated, angry, and terrified like he’d never been in his life. If anything happened to her, he wasn’t sure he could bear it.

  Not doing anything was torture. Who knew what the hell Sawyer had done to her, what he’d do to her tonight. Grimly, Matt knew he would kill the man. There was no doubt in his mind. He just hoped when the deed was done, it would be in time to save Molly. He refused to even consider a second funeral for the girl who had become as much a part of him as breathing.

  * * *

  Sawyer gave Molly no food or water. After a while, he checked the ropes around her ankles and wrists. He then proceeded to vent his anger on her. She’d expected this, but it still didn’t prepare her any better for it.

  Repeatedly he kicked and slapped her, beating her to a point beyond pain. Torres had done this to her. She’d survived then, she could survive now. She wondered if he would force himself on her. He would have to untie her legs, and for the first time she felt hope. It might be the only opportunity she’d have to fight back and escape.

  Something warm ran down her face and she realized her nose bled. Every inhalation she took hurt. Closing her eyes, she waited for him to continue, but he stopped and walked to the opposite side of the fire.

  From her position on the ground, blood pooled in a puddle near the tip of her nose. She watched him pace back and forth, his contorted face wavering before her. Finally, he lay down on a smelly, dirty piece of cloth she suspected at one time had been a bedroll. After several long minutes, he began to snore.

  It was too much of an effort to get herself to a sitting position, so she remained where she was, watching the crackling of the fire as her breath came in painful, jagged gasps. At least she had warmth against the chill in the air. As Sawyer began to snore more loudly, Molly wondered why he hadn’t attacked her sexually. He’d certainly spoken of it enough throughout the day.

  But when he’d grabbed her breasts earlier it was almost as if the contact disgusted him. Although grateful he’d stopped, she wondered why he hadn’t followed through.

  Then it occurred to her. Perhaps he couldn’t stand to touch women. Maybe all he wanted were children. With a disgusted feeling, Molly realized Emma probably wasn’t the first, or the last, child he’d gone after.

  Continuing to gaze into the fire, she contemplated how she might get loose. She had a knife inside her right boot, but there was no way she could reach it since the ropes were bound too tightly. She hadn’t seen Sawyer carrying a knife, so even if she could scoot herself over to him, the awkwardness from her secured limbs would surely awaken him if she tried to search his body for something sharp.

  The fire continued to lick the few pieces of wood remaining, the flames swaying back and forth, hypnotizing her.

  That was it.

  She could burn the ropes off.

  Moving as quickly as possible, she struggled closer to the fire. The pain from her ribs was excruciating and she tried desperately to keep from crying out, always watching Sawyer for any signs of awakening.

  She would have to burn the ropes around her feet first since she knew it was impossible to get herself to a standing position otherwise. Breathing heavily, her body shaking from the pain and the effort, she swung her legs over the fire while lying on her back. Immediately the smell of scorched rope, cloth, and leather filled the air. She gritted her teeth and hoped it wouldn’t rouse Sawyer.

  Her feet became hot inside her boots, but luckily they protected her flesh from being scorched directly. Her weakened state caused her legs to fall twice into the fire. The bottom of her pants burned. Rolling to the side, she smothered the flames in the dirt, but she wasn’t fast enough. The back of her legs began to sting.

  For what seemed an eternity, she kept alternating between holding her feet over the fire and pulling them to the side to extinguish her trousers catching fire.

  Tears and sweat ran down her face. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming. Finally, the ropes started to loosen. Molly twisted her feet against each other, working the bindings off. One strand snapped apart, and after more ankle-twisting her feet were finally free.

  Exhaustion threatened to consume her, but she knew she couldn’t give in. Fighting to a standing position, her hands still tied tightly behind her, she stumbled into the night in search of the cave.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Matt was certain now. He smelled smoke. And it wasn’t just from firewood. Something else burned.

  Moving quickly, he awoke Nathan and Logan. Jerking his head slightly, he motioned for them to follow. Without a sound they swiftly shook off the remnants of sleep, gathered up their gear, removed the ropes from the horses, and trailed Matt into the darkness.

  They didn’t ride but guided their animals to a large cottonwood and tied them off. Quietly, each man pulled extra ammunition from his saddlebag. Matt and Nathan checked the cylinders of their six-shooters. Logan strapped on a second gun, then all three pulled Sharps rifles from their scabbards. They left their hats with the horses.

  By now the smell of smoke was strong. The three of them fanned out, approaching the encampment from several directions.

  Moving through a wooded area, Matt slowed only when he saw the glow from a fire. Taking cover behind a tree, he crawled on his belly until he could view the camp clearly. Although a low flame still burned brightly, there was no one in sight, only an old worn bedroll visible.

  Matt stood, still taking cover from the large tree. Off to the right, he caught a glimpse of Nathan. Following his friend’s line of sight, he saw the two horses grazing beyond the firelight. Even in the black of night, he recognized Pecos.

  Where the hell are Sawyer and Molly?

  Off to the left, Logan gave him
a hand signal. The perimeter was clear. Matt left his cover and approached the fire.

  He froze.

  The blood on the ground was unmistakable.

  Panic and fear gripped him, but he pushed it aside, replacing it instead with a rage that consumed him.

  Molly! Don’t leave me! Tell me where you are!

  He motioned to Nathan and Logan to spread out and search. Sawyer and Molly couldn’t be far.

  * * *

  Molly ran toward the hill, faltering when the ground shifted upward, and a sob escaped from deep inside her chest. She needed to be quieter, but terror and pain rang in her ears, and she wasn’t sure if what she heard was real or in her mind. The climb became steeper. She found it extremely difficult trying to clamber up with her hands tied behind her. At the same time, the familiar terrain unleashed memories from the past.

  “Cactus Bird,” Running Water yelled. “Wait for me!”

  Molly turned and smiled as her young Comanche sister ran after her. Running Water moved quickly, hence her name. The girl was often just a blur of motion.

  “Sits on Ground is coming,” the young girl squealed. “Let’s hide.”

  Molly laughed and waited for Running Water to reach her, then they both climbed the hill and searched for a good hiding place. They were practically upon the cave before they realized what it was.

  “In here,” Running Water exclaimed, running past Molly into the darkened interior.

  The girl’s sudden shriek jolted Molly. She rushed inside and stopped, hearing the rattling noise before she could see the snake. As her eyes adjusted, a very large, coiled rattlesnake was but an arm’s length from them, poised to strike at any moment.

  Molly gripped Running Water’s shoulders to hold the girl still. “Don’t move,” she whispered, her heart beating at a frantic pace.

  The girl trembled. Molly knew she didn’t have much time. Slowly, she began to inch backward, guiding her Indian sister with her. “Careful,” Molly murmured.

  Watching the snake, she fixated her gaze on its large head, its tongue flicking in and out. They were almost to the threshold of the cave. It was just a little bit farther.

  Then Molly saw the snake coil tighter, and she knew it would strike. There was just enough time to turn around and push Running Water out of the cave, but it wasn’t quick enough for her. The snake bit the heel of her right foot.

  She and Running Water ran and ran, not stopping until they reached the Kwahadi camp. It was then she realized she’d lost all feeling in her leg. As she comprehended what had happened, she fell forward to the ground and into blackness.

  As Molly approached the opening of the cave, she paused. Breathing loudly, she contemplated the memory of the rattlesnake. She’d been very ill after being bitten, and there was talk among the elders that she might lose her leg.

  Closing her eyes, she braced herself. She couldn’t go inside that cave, not helpless as she was without the use of her hands. The damn snake was probably still there. She imagined he was even bigger and meaner than he’d been all those years ago.

  Molly struggled to push her rear end through the space between her arms. With clenched screams, she strained her arms downward in frustration, feeling as if they were coming out of the shoulder sockets. Heaving and sweating, she fell backward but managed to drag her legs through the opening created by her bound wrists. Shaking, she fumbled for the knife in her boot. As she attempted to position it between her hands, she dropped it twice, the tears in her eyes blurring her vision. Finally, she gripped the blade between her boots and for several long minutes worked the rope against the sharp end.

  When enough of it frayed, she yanked her wrists from the bondage entirely.

  She was free.

  Rubbing her wrists, she felt the weight of her aching arms and the lack of feeling in her fingers. Her ribs throbbed and her face stung. As she stood, raw pain shot through her feet and calves. She picked up the knife, carefully, and staggered toward the cave.

  A dark mass rushed her and knocked her hard to the ground. Dazed, she struggled to breathe. No air.

  “Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” Sawyer hissed.

  Shoving her onto her back, he sat astride her as she labored to fill her lungs. Suddenly, the pain was too much. Screaming, she let all of the fury and helplessness she’d felt since encountering him—since the last ten years—pour out of her. Sawyer might kill her, but she’d be damned if it happened without a fight.

  In a burst of energy and frenzied anger, Molly raised the knife above her head with both hands and drove it deeply into his chest.

  A stunned silence engulfed them. Time slowed until only the ebb and flow of life could be heard, one heartbeat after another. And within the stillness, the end came to George Sawyer.

  What have I done?

  He slumped onto her, and Molly wailed as she tried to push him from her like an unwanted attack of red ants. Coughing and choking, her body tried to expel the contents of her stomach but it was empty.

  Crying, she slammed her hands into his shoulders and pushed at his dead weight. He wouldn’t move, and she had no strength left to fight him, even in death. She closed her eyes. Her mind whirled chaotically, pulling her away from the wretchedness, extracting her from this place. The voices of the past greeted her, and in gratitude she went toward them.

  * * *

  Matt raced up the hill at the sound of a woman’s scream. When he saw Molly lying on the ground, he immediately dragged Sawyer’s body from her. Nathan and Logan arrived. Matt was only half-aware of them moving the bastard’s body even farther away.

  Matt’s entire life became sharply focused to this one instant in time. He knew nothing would ever be the same after this, that he would never be the same. He was afraid to touch Molly’s lifeless body, for a part of him simply couldn’t handle knowing if she truly was gone, but compelling need pushed him forward.

  He sank to his knees and reached out to touch her. Her skin felt warm. Thank God. He sucked in a ragged breath.

  “Molly,” he whispered, his voice rough, uneven. “Open your eyes. I’m here. You’re safe now.”

  No response. Carefully, he placed a hand on her stomach and felt a faint, shallow breath. She was alive.

  Open your eyes.

  In the distance, the staccato of pounding hooves filled the silence.

  “Rider,” Nathan said matter-of-factly. “I’ll go.” He slipped away into the darkness.

  Matt hardly noticed.

  A faint movement, however, brought his finely-honed fighting reflexes back in a flash. He jerked his gaze to Logan, who immediately leveled his rifle in response.

  “It’s all right,” Nathan said, reappearing. “It’s Cale.”

  “How’d you find us?” Logan asked.

  “Long story,” Cale replied. “What happened?” He stopped short when he saw Molly.

  “It looks like Sawyer beat her up pretty bad,” Nathan said, his voice empty. “We just found her.”

  Panic shot through Matt, and with it an agonizing glance into the future if he lost her. He couldn’t imagine having to live through that again. He’d endured so much misery and destruction in the last ten years, including a crushing imprisonment that had nearly destroyed him, but the madness skirting the edges of his mind would certainly take him this time if Molly slipped beyond him for good.

  A muscle in Cale’s jaw twitched. “Sawyer?”

  “Dead,” Logan responded quietly. “Molly stabbed him in the chest.”

  Cale swore under his breath. “Let me have a look at her, Ryan.” Kneeling beside her, he examined her face.

  “Careful!” Matt shot back.

  “I need some light,” Cale said.

  Nathan and Logan retreated, then quickly returned with two hastily made torches. In the flickering firelight, Cale examined Molly.

  Matt noticed the many cuts and bruises on her face and a swollen lower lip, caked with dirt and blood. Cale lifted her shirt from the bottom and insp
ected her abdomen.

  “He must’ve kicked her several times,” he said tightly. When he applied slight pressure to her ribs, she moaned and stirred briefly.

  Hope flared in Matt.

  “Some of the ribs might be broken,” Cale stated. He moved to her feet. “Help me pull her boots off.”

  Matt held each of her legs as Cale removed Molly’s footwear. Cale shook his head when he saw the blistering flesh on the back of her calves. “She’s been burned. I don’t think we can move her tonight, except maybe off this hill to lower ground. I’ll need to clean these.”

  In the orange haze of the torchlight, Matt glimpsed Cale’s grim expression, not unlike the look on the man’s face when he’d returned with the burned body of a girl everyone had assumed was Molly. Angry, Matt refused to accept the same horrific fate for the girl he had once adored and the woman he now couldn’t live without.

  “Damn you!” Matt said through clenched teeth. “She will survive.”

  Cale fixed him with a stony gaze, revealing nothing in the shadowed contours of his face. In silence, he nodded. “We Walkers are a tough lot.”

  Matt saw the acceptance in the other man’s face, the knowledge that Molly was his sister. With quiet resolve, he knew Cale would protect one of his own.

  Chapter Thirty

  Matt helped Cale move Molly to a grassy area near the fire Sawyer had built. Using what blankets and bedrolls they had between them, they fashioned as comfortable a bed as they could for her. Nathan and Logan took care of Sawyer’s body, wrapping and stashing it until they could ride it to Fort Richardson. They also took care of food and water needs.

  Cale cleaned Molly’s feet, legs, and face, applying a juice brewed from dried purple coneflower to prevent infection. He wrapped the back of her legs in strips torn from each man’s shirt and also had Matt bind her ribs.

  While a batch of coneflower tea brewed, Cale took a small buckskin bag from inside his saddlebag and sprinkled a yellow powder over her body.

  “Ha-dintin,” he told them. “A pollen the Apache hold sacred.”