Masked Cowboy (Men of the White Sandy)

by Anderson, Sarah M.

  Mary Beth tucked her knife in the back of her waistband and slowly walked toward the house, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear anything else.

  The unlocked door swung open, and there was Kip, nearly glowing white in the dark room as she sat silent and still.

  “Jesus, Kip—” she rushed up to the little girl sitting motionless on the bed, “—are you all right?”

  As her words hung in the air, the taste—rotting sage and flesh and unwashed fur—filled her mouth, gagging her.

  No, she thought as the door slammed shut behind her. As an evil laugh filled the room, she knew it was too late.

  The shadow had her right where it wanted her.

  Mary Beth spun, but she couldn’t see anything but a huge black shape moving across the room, a flash of lightning catching on the polished blade.

  “Show yourself,” she screeched. “You’re no bear. Bears don’t have knives, and bears don’t laugh.”

  “I am the Waka Sica,” the thing rumbled, “and I have come for your soul.”

  She barely had time to think, What the hell is a Waka Sika? before it flipped on the light. Mary Beth recoiled in sheer horror. Before her, a foot-long knife poised at the ready, was a seven-foot tall creature with the head and fur of a buffalo. The buffalo face was distorted, with the nose pushed to one side and what looked a hell of a lot like canine teeth jutting out from the lower lip.

  Mary Beth tripped backwards over the chairs, nearly sitting on the immobile Kip.

  “Kip, get up,” she said, her tone urgent. “Get up and get behind me.”

  “She cannot save you now,” the Waka Sica said with a sneer. “She will be mine. When I possess the holy woman, I will know.”

  “When she’s yours? Jesus Christ, don’t you dare touch her!” Mary Beth screamed.

  The Waka Sica laughed, slicing the air with its knife in preparation, like it was showing off.

  “You lay one single hoof or claw or whatever the hell it is you have on her, and I’ll kill you a thousand times over,” she squawked, sounding anything but brave.

  The Waka Sica laughed again, but this time it did something else.

  With its free hand or claw or whatever that was, it grabbed at its waist like it was hitching up its pants, slowly rubbing its fur up and down over what might have been its crotch.

  Mary Beth blinked and then blinked again. She’d seen that gesture before. Only one man hitched up his pants like that.

  Buck McGillis.

  “Buck?” she whispered, unable to believe that it might just be a man—an insane man, sure—but just a man under that hideous hide.

  The thing froze.

  “Buck McGillis? What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind? You are terrorizing this little girl!”

  The deformed hoof-claw thing flipped the hood of the mask off, and it really was Buck standing there, his knife still flashing as his eyes bugged out of his head.

  “I’m going to kill you slowly, you nosy bitch,” he growled. “I’m going to kill you right in front of her, and then I’m going to make her drink your blood.”

  “Are you fucking insane?” Clearly the answer was yes. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I will own the Lakota,” he snarled, taking a menacing step toward her, the knife poised higher to strike.

  For a second, Mary Beth was sixteen again, trapped beneath Skeevy Brian Greevy while he pawed at her. Paralyzed. Even though she’d crushed his nuts when he’d let go of her to try and undo his pants, the thing that she’d always hated—always—had been that she’d let him pin her in the first place. She hadn’t fought back immediately—just like the last time Buck had tried to assault her. Her mistake both times had been to try and make nice, to talk her way out of it. It hadn’t worked with Skeevy Greevy and it hadn’t worked with Buck. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Jacob and his horse, she would have been in deep shit.

  Just like she was right now.

  Well, fuck it. She wasn’t about to try and make nice, not when it was both her and Kip’s lives on the line.

  For only the second time since Mary Beth had known her, Kip squeaked behind her. It was a noise of pure terror.

  Not happening, sweetie. He’s not going to get you.

  Mary Beth slipped her hand behind her back and felt where she’d jammed her Bowie knife into her waistband.

  The touch of the handle brought Mary Beth back to the here and now. She shook off the helplessness of a child—Kip’s helplessness as much as hers—and grabbed the knife.

  Wait for him to get closer. That’s what she needed to do—wait for her opening and then take it.

  But Mary Beth couldn’t just stand there and wait. No, her mouth began to motor as she poured out all of her fury at the position this man had put her in. This man was demented. Demented and armed.

  “Seriously, Buck, you are bringing new meaning to the term criminally insane, and your impression of Andre the Giant leaves a lot to be desired. I mean, have you even seen The Princess Bride?”

  “You talk now, but wait until I cut your throat, you wench,” he growled. “Then you won’t even be able to scream.”

  “If you think hurting her is going to help you take over the world, you’ve got another think coming,” she mocked as Buck’s face twisted with rage, making him barely recognizable. “You think she’s some mystic or something, but she’s just a little girl, and when I drag your sick ass back to town, they’re going to lynch you for what you tried to do, what you did to Mrs. Browne.”

  “I am the Waka Sica!” he screamed, his voice so loud it shook the thin curtains over the bed. “My father was the Waka Sica before me, and his father before him. It is my destiny to destroy her! We have stolen souls for generations, waiting and watching for the chance to destroy the Lakota!”

  Do villains really do this, this exposition thing? Mary Beth wondered as he shouted at her. I thought that was just in James Bond movies.

  “We knew when the white child came, we would finally be able to wipe out this miserable people and take what was ours!” The words ended in a roar so powerful that Mary Beth had to fight the urge to cover her ears.

  She couldn’t let go of the knife handle.

  Where was Jacob? She had to keep talking, keep him distracted until Jacob could get there. “She’s no mystic and you’re nothing but a bully. And you know what, Buck? All bullies have one thing in common. Tiny dicks.”

  That did it. Buck lunged at her, but she effortlessly stepped to the side, pulling Kip with her. Now their backs were facing the door, and Buck was pushing them towards it. Nobody would be proud of her. She’d pointed herself to the one and only exit.

  So she didn’t know what the hell a Waka Sica was. All she had to do was believe that she could get them out of this. “I believe,” Mary Beth muttered, a sense of calm radiating through her at the words. “I believe.”

  “You better believe,” Buck snarled, misunderstanding her. “She will bear my child, the next Waka Sica who will rule this world.”

  “No way, you freak,” she replied, unnaturally calm despite the revulsion that coursed through her stomach. “She’s seven. She’s only seven!”

  “I can be patient. I have waited so long, a few more years won’t hurt anything.” He laughed again, evil and haughty. Abruptly, his laugh died, and a perverted look that might have been desire flashed in his eyes as he looked Mary Beth up and down. “But you—I don’t have to wait for you. Yes,” he nodded, pleased with his new idea, “I think I’ll show Kip what I’m going to do to her when I do it to you first.” Mary Beth’s stomach tried to turn, but she was in this weird zen state.

  Because she believed. Suddenly, Buck looked more like Buck than he had all night.

  “Nobody says no to Buck McGillis.”

  Mary Beth saw the regular bully who, somewhere along the line, had mutated into a sociopath serial killer.

  “N-O spells no—didn’t your mom ever teach you that?” she sang.

 
“My father took her soul as soon as I was free of her!” he roared, morphing back into that not-quite-human thing again.

  “So what you’re saying is you’ve got mother issues,” she taunted, wondering how much closer he needed to be as he quickly covered the two remaining paces between them.

  But she didn’t worry. She believed.

  Buck’s knife flashed toward her face. Her instincts were to duck forward, but she knew that’d leave Kip exposed, so she leaned back. Mary Beth heard his knife slice the air so close to her ear that it burned, but she didn’t care. Kip was safe behind her as they took another small step back toward the door. Where the hell is Jacob? she thought again as Buck swung his blade back. It passed less than an inch from her nose.

  Mary Beth didn’t panic. All of her energy was focused on getting her knife out of the waistband and in front of her. Buck’s last pass left his right arm fully extended, leaving his chest wide open. Mary Beth lurched forward and drove her knife deep into his chest as she fell on top of him.

  Air rushed out of Buck’s nose and chest. Punctured a lung, her brain coolly assessed as she scrambled to get off of him and away from that horrid smell that permeated him.

  But he wasn’t dead. His knife still in his right hand, he grabbed the back of her hair with his left and, grunting in pain, stood. “You can’t kill me. I’m the—”

  “Yeah, I got it, you sicko. You’re the Waka Sica.” She tried to twist out of his hand. It didn’t work—her feet were a good six inches from the ground. She knew she should be terrified, but there was no fear, only the rebellious smart mouth that had gotten her this far in life. “You shouldn’t have drunk the Kool-Aid, Buck. You’ve gone completely round the bend.”

  Buck grinned demonically at her, his mouth filled with blood. “Say goodbye to that albino” he sprayed into her face, “because she’s the last thing you’re going to see.”

  “Gee, and miss your pretty mug? What a disappointment, Buck. I would have given you a whole thirty-five cents for that mask. A definite improvement over what you’ve got going on here.” A strange humming surrounded her. Her hair—the pieces he wasn’t holding—felt like it was standing on end. This must be it, she thought, although the idea didn’t seem to bother her as much as it should. She was distracting him. Jacob would come—he had to. Jacob would save Kip. That’s what mattered.

  Mary Beth had never seen a face as contorted as Buck’s was as he went apoplectic with rage. “I’m going to eat your liver for—”

  The door to the small house flew open, and there stood Jacob, his weapons drawn. Oh, thank God.

  Buck barely hesitated a second before he spun, holding his knife against Mary Beth’s throat. The pressure of the blade hurt, but the rest of her skin seemed to be crackling.

  “Good. Excellent,” Buck said with a sneer. “You’re just in time to see me kill her, and then I’m going to take your other eye, and your lips, and your ears, Plenty Holes. I’m going to leave you so many holes, they’re going to have to come up with a new name for you.”

  Jacob looked frozen somewhere between terror and fury. His eyes flicked down to the bloodstains, over to Kip and back to Mary Beth’s face. He took a step back and away from the door. “No,” he whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

  “Oh, yes.” Buck laughed. “That’s right, just like last time when I cut that bitch Susan’s throat. Remember? The blood sprayed all over you and you screamed like a girl. You couldn’t save her then and you can’t save them now. Not this time, No Nose. This time, I win.”

  “Let her go and you can have me,” he demanded, strong and weak at the same time.

  “I’ll take you both,” Buck replied as he began to draw the blade slowly across Mary Beth’s throat.

  As she felt the blood gush down her neck, Mary Beth tried to scream. Nothing came out before she saw white.

  Then the darkness took her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Good. Excellent.” Buck was completely unafraid of the gun Jacob had drawn. And why should he be? He had Mary Beth by the throat, a huge knife digging into her skin. “You’re just in time to see me kill her, and then I’m going to take your other eye, and your lips, and your ears, Plenty Holes. I’m going to leave you so many holes, they’re going to have to come up with a new name for you.”

  No. No. This was not happening, not again. His eye flicked down to the bloodstains, over to Kip and back to Mary Beth’s face. “No.” His voice wasn’t working right. He sounded scared, even to his own ears.

  Maybe because he was. He’d thought the last time had been a nightmare? This was worse. A hundred times worse.

  “Oh, yes.” Buck laughed. “That’s right, just like last time when I cut that bitch Susan’s throat. Remember? The blood sprayed all over you and you screamed like a girl. You couldn’t save her then and you can’t save them now. Not this time, No Nose. This time, I win.”

  “Let her go and you can have me.” Anything to save them. He couldn’t lose Mary Beth. He’d given her a piece of him that was too big. Without her, he’d never be whole again.

  “I’ll take you both.” Buck drew the blade across Mary Beth’s throat, sending a stream of blood onto the floor.

  In that instant, Jacob didn’t think, because thinking was a death sentence. Before he could make sense of the movement, he leveled his gun at Buck’s face and pulled the trigger. The room shook with the sound of the explosion.

  What was left of Buck staggered back and collapsed on the floor, pulling Mary Beth with him. Her blood spurted across the room as she fell onto Buck in a heap. So much blood. The unreal déjà vu of the whole thing had him paralyzed. How could this be happening again?

  Then Kip let out an ear-piercing scream that broke through Jacob’s dumbstruck horror.

  No, this wasn’t the same. He’d shot Buck, by God—if he could, he’d shoot him again. Although, given the way his face had collapsed into a red pulp, Jacob doubted he’d need to pull the trigger a second time.

  His feet spun out from under him as he scrambled down to Mary Beth. Jesus, so much blood. Then he heard the sweetest sound—she sucked in a breath. It was wet and sloppy and half-strangled sounding, but it was a breath and she was breathing.

  He had to stop the bleeding.

  “Jesus,” was all he could say as he held her throat together, only vaguely aware that he was sobbing. Blood gushed out from between his fingers. He needed something else to try and stop the bleeding.

  The vet packs. She’d thrown them back on Jezebel before they’d ridden hell for leather. “Kip!” The little girl let out an agonizing scream again, but he didn’t have time for the mother of all flashbacks. “Kip, get over here. Hold her neck!”

  The girl looked at Buck—that was something—but the horror in her eyes wasn’t helping anyone. “Honey, don’t look at him. Look at me. Now move!”

  That got through to her. She skittered around Buck, his own pool of blood spreading out from where his head used to be. “Hold her head like this, honey. Real tight. Whatever you do, don’t let go. Okay?”

  He thought she whimpered, but he didn’t have time to wonder at that. He struggled to his feet with Mary Beth in his arms, moving slow enough that Kip could keep up with him—could keep her head from doing things he didn’t even want to think about.

  The three of them straggled out of the house. Jacob didn’t see the horses—the gunshot must have scattered them. Damn it. He let out a long whistle, which made Mary Beth jerk a little in his arms. “Hold on,” he told both her and Kip as the horses came walking up.

  He laid Mary Beth down on the ground as Kip held her neck. “Hold on,” he repeated, almost like it was a mantra. Holding, he thought as he let her go. Keep holding.

  He ripped the packs off Jezebel and began frantically digging for the gauze and the suture pack.

  “Dear God in Heaven,” he prayed, his voice raw with pain, “please.” Please let her live. Please let this work. Please don’t take her from me—from us. Please.

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nbsp; Hastily, he wrapped her neck in at least twenty layers of gauze and bandages. Finally, he took a layer of bandages and wrapped her head to her chest. Underneath the gauze, she moaned. God, he hoped he hadn’t screwed that up. “Don’t you dare give up on me,” he told her as he hefted her up again. “Not going down without a fight, babe.”

  Now he had to get her out of here. “Kip, up,” was all he said as he lifted the little girl onto Jezebel. Shit, what was the best way to do this? He didn’t think Kip could help hold Mary Beth up for the ride back and he didn’t think he could hold Mary Beth still while he tied her to the saddle by himself, and he damn sure didn’t want to flop her over Mick’s haunches like she’d already died. That’d put too much stress on her neck. What the fuck was he supposed to do?

  Then he heard it—hoof beats coming in fast from the south. “Jacob?” a voice shouted. “Where are you?”

  Rebel—and with him, Nobody. “Here!” he shouted, his voice growing hoarse. “Here! She’s hurt. He cut her throat!”

  The two men rode out of the shadows, dismounting before their horses had stopped.

  “Buck—all along,” he said.

  “Where?” Nobody’s voice was a thing of pure hate.

  “Dead. Shot him in the face. When he cut her.” Jacob lifted Mary Beth, just a little. “We need help.” His throat caught and he was, once again, aware that he was crying.

  Rebel pulled—was that a walkie-talkie? Yes, it was. He pushed a button. “Madeline, neck wound. Serious. We’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Who?” Dr. Mitchell’s voice crackled on the other end.

  “Mary Beth.” Without waiting for a response, he shoved the walkie-talkie back into his pocket. “Give her to me. Get up behind the saddle. I’ll hand her up to you, we’ll tie her on, and I’ll ride back with Kip. Nobody, give me a hand.”

  Nobody nodded. Jacob climbed up behind Mick’s saddle, then Rebel and Nobody got Mary Beth’s legs over the horn and up into Jacob’s arms. They lashed her feet to the stirrups. “Hold her tight,” Rebel said.