by John Bowers
“No you don’t!”
“I sure do. Don’t I, Suzanne?”
“That’s right, and that’s not the worst of it. I have to oil his legs, too.”
“His legs!”
Suzanne nodded, her face serious. “He lost his real ones in the war, and I have to oil the artificial ones so they won’t rust. Takes about an hour for each one.”
Maggie’s smile disappeared as she looked from one to the other. Her friend was grinning, but for a moment Maggie wasn’t sure if they were serious. Her youthful exuberance finally won out.
“Aw, you’re funnin’ me, Marshal! Both of you!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! You didn’t lose your legs in the war! And your teeth are real, too. You’re just trying to scare me off.”
Nick couldn’t suppress a grin, but Suzanne took a step forward.
“I’ll tell you what isn’t a joke,” she said. “When he wakes up in the middle of the night screaming, covered in sweat and fighting the sheets. That isn’t a joke, and it isn’t fun, either.”
“Why does he do that?”
Suzanne turned and pointed at the bell tower at the far end of the park.
“Because of what happened up there. He still has nightmares about it, and that was eight years ago.”
Maggie’s enthusiasm bubbled down and her eyes turned serious.
“No kidding?”
“No kidding,” Nick said. “Doesn’t it bother you that I may be the one who killed your father?”
“You are the one,” Maggie said. “Everyone says he was killed by the man in the tower.”
“And you want to marry that man?”
“It wasn’t your fault, Marshal. They would have killed you if they got the chance. You had to fight back.”
Nick felt a little numb. This whole scene was surreal. Even Suzanne seemed to have run out of words. He rubbed his face with both hands.
“Look, Maggie… Do you know what polygamy is?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, in the Federation, polygamy is illegal unless you belong to a religion that practices it. For you to become my second wife, I would have to convert to your religion.”
She blinked in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Is that what you want?”
“I want to marry you…”
“But you want to get out of the Groaners, don’t you?”
She nodded. “I hate it. I hate everything about it. All the rules and the punishments.”
“I thought so. But if you became my second wife, you and I would both be stuck in that religion. It’s the only way we could do it, because I’m a lawman and I can’t violate the law just to marry you.”
Maggie glanced at her friend.
“That would totally blow!” Patsy Morehead said.
“Yeah,” Maggie agreed. “It would.”
“So I suggest you go home and think about it,” Nick said.
“And you better go now,” Suzanne added, “before you get caught. Getting stoned would blow, too.”
The two girls stood there a moment, looking abashed. Maggie’s excitement had faded completely and she looked a bit forlorn.
“Maggie! Maggie! What are you doing!” A woman’s shrill voice echoed down the street. The girls spun in terror.
“Oh, God!” Maggie cried. “It’s my mom!”
Christ! Nick thought. What else can happen today?
A split second before he heard the shot, the bullet hit him right between the shoulder blades.
Chapter 13
“NICK!!!!”
The impact flung Nick forward, off balance, and he hit the sidewalk face down; he barely managed to get his left hand out in time to prevent his face from hitting the starcrete, but it was still a painful landing; his laser pistol launched out of its holster and skidded into the gutter. The sound of the shot passed over him—it didn’t sound like a rifle, which made a crack—this was more of a boom.
But he couldn’t move. For ten seconds he lingered between darkness and death, unable to draw a breath, his eyes open, unable to speak. The two girls were screaming—actually shrieking—jumping up and down in their horror, too shocked and disoriented to move.
“NICK!!!”
Suzanne was on her knees, leaning over him, her long blond hair dangling above him. He felt her hands on him, probing, feeling, looking for the wound. Her voice was as close to panic as he had ever heard it.
“Oh, my goddess! Nick! Nick…!” Her voice trailed into sobs as she gave up her perfunctory exam and bent down, kissing his face. He felt tears on his cheek, her hand still on his shoulder.
“Oh, Nick! Please!”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He hurt all over, except where the bullet had hit—there he was numb. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and struggled for air. The twilight was getting darker.
Then, briefly, the paralysis in his lungs relaxed a fraction, and he managed to suck a little air.
“Suzanne…” His voice came out as a croak, barely audible, but she heard it. She leaned closer to his face. “…run!”
* * *
Dorcas Downing had been searching for her daughter for half an hour—the little wench had snuck out again.
Maggie was the devil’s child, Dorcas was certain; she had been brought up in The Truth and raised according to holy biblical precepts as defined by Father Groening, God’s end-time Prophet, but something had gone wrong somewhere. Maggie did not respond as a godly child should. Maybe it was the death of her father when she was only eight, or maybe it was the godless influence of living in town. The girl simply refused to consider any of the upstanding Christian men who wanted to court her, and God knew if she didn’t marry soon, she would bring shame and everlasting disgrace on the entire family. Father Groening always said that a child was the parent’s responsibility, and if the child turned out bad, it was the parent’s fault.
But Dorcas had tried everything. She’d spent countless hours on her knees in prayer, sobbing for mercy from the Lord, begging Him to turn the girl’s mind toward righteousness. She had punished Maggie for infractions, using the belt liberally; had tried grounding her, locking her in her room, forcing her to skip meals, pleading with her to repent—but nothing worked. Maggie was as headstrong as a young demon, and maybe she had one—or several—in possession of her mind.
As she searched the streets for her child, Dorcas tried hard not to think of her deepest fear of all—that Maggie’s wickedness was her fault, that the real problem was with Dorcas herself…and God would hold her accountable.
All day long Maggie had been talking about the concert in the park, even though she knew such sinfulness was forbidden. No decent, God-fearing child would dare attend that orgy of decadence, and a pure heart wouldn’t even want to. But Maggie did, clearly—and what was her infatuation with that cursed U.F. Marshal, the very man who had murdered her own father…in cold blood?
It didn’t make sense, none of it, and Dorcas was terrified. Maggie was sixteen now, almost seventeen, and if she didn’t come to heel very soon, the church elders would judge her incorrigible…and that was the most terrible sentence this side of Hell itself.
“Maggie!”
She finally spotted her daughter, with that stupid, sinful girl next door, just outside the park. Thank God she hadn’t gone into the park, for it was now enclosed by the devil’s device and not even the demons inside could get out. The thundering noise inside that place must be like ancient Sodom just before the brimstone from heaven—Dorcas didn’t even want to imagine the debauchery that went on in there. But Maggie hadn’t gone in, thankfully.
Instead, she was talking to that murderer with the ridiculous hat and his harlot. Any woman who looked like that must be descended from Jezebel herself.
“Maggie! You come here this instant!”
Dorcas saw the girls turn at the sound of her voice; she couldn’t see them clearly in the twilight, but they’d heard, and t
hey seemed agitated.
Then she heard the shot and saw the murderer fall. The girls screamed, the harlot screamed, and Dorcas froze in horror—Maggie was right in the line of fire! Both girls were jumping up and down in panic, screaming insanely, spinning this way and that. They had absolutely no idea what to do.
“Maggie! Get down!”
Heedless of her own safety, hindered by her heavy dress, Dorcas lumbered across the street. Before she could reach her daughter, the second shot rang out.
* * *
Suzanne ran her hands over Nick’s back, looking for the wound, but she couldn’t find it. There was no blood either, but Nick wasn’t moving. What in goddess name had happened?
At least he was breathing now. He’d told her to run, but there was no way in hell she was going to leave him. She knelt beside him and gazed back to the east where the shot had originated. Across the street from the park sat a row of houses, indistinct in the twilight, dark silhouettes against the deep blue sky. The shot had come from that direction, but she saw no one. Probably the shooter had seen Nick fall and left.
Nick was trying to move. His hands twitched and he was coughing, but he hadn’t the strength yet to push himself up. His body vest had apparently stopped the bullet, dispersing the energy across his back, but it had still damn near killed him. He needed to see a doctor and would probably be sore for days.
The two girls were still screaming in mindless panic. Across the street Maggie’s mother was also shouting, and Suzanne could hear her heavy shoes clattering on the pavement as she ran to claim her daughter, but before Suzanne could turn to look, she saw the flash.
It came from the darkness between two houses, at ground level. The boom that followed sounded like a shotgun, but was more likely a heavy pistol like the one Nick carried. Suzanne ducked instinctively, but even before she could react she heard a wet smack and a grunt...then something heavy hit the sidewalk.
“MAGGIEEEE!!!”
“OMIGOD-OMIGOD-OMIGOD!!!”
Suzanne stared in detached horror at the dead girl on the sidewalk—Maggie was still there, but Patsy Morehead was down, her chest blown open. Suzanne hesitated only an instant, then sprang into action.
She reached across Nick and jerked the Ru-Hawk .44 out of its holster. She had spent most of her life in Sirian cattle country, where everyone carried a gun and knew how to use it. She was no stranger to firearms, laser or lead, and without hesitation she flung herself face-down on the sidewalk, the .44 extended before her, firmly gripped in both hands. She knew there was a danger of hitting innocent bystanders, so she fired high, making sure her shots cleared the roofs of those houses. Maybe just returning fire would scare the killer off, giving them time to find cover and get help.
She squeezed off four shots as fast as she could, fighting the massive recoil each time. The night echoed with explosive reports, and inside the force field the music suddenly stopped. But thankfully the force field remained in place—the last thing anyone needed was for the crowd in the park to be exposed to gunfire, and the force field would deflect bullets as easily as it did laser light.
Suzanne kept two shots in reserve as she waited. Behind her, Dorcas Downing reached her hysterical daughter and flung her to the ground, covering her with her own body. Suzanne didn’t look around, her eyes still straining into the gloom between the houses. She heard a sudden clatter of garbage cans and a cry of pain. Dogs were already barking in all directions, but after thirty seconds that was the only sound.
Suzanne turned back to Nick, still holding the smoking .44. He was lying on his side, eyes narrowed, panting through his open mouth.
“Did you get ‘im?”
* * *
At the prison van in front of the church, patrol officer Carrie King finished logging information on her fourth prisoner of the night. Four other officers were inside the park, unable to leave until the force field lifted; at the next music break, if they had made any more arrests, they would bring them out. Until then she didn’t have much to do.
She heard the first shot and perked up, trying to identify the direction, wondering if it was really a gunshot or something else. She stepped out of the van and was walking to the corner when she heard the second; this time she drew her weapon. She reached the corner and stared down the length of the park. She could see figures at the far end, but wasn’t sure how many—they were all on the ground. She heard shouts, dimly audible over the music from the park, and what might have been screams.
The next four shots, one right after the other, left no doubt in her mind. She saw the flashes from whoever was on the ground, and the reports were unmistakable.
Carrie King now faced a dilemma—as a police officer it was her job to respond to trouble, but tonight she was in charge of the prison van, and policy dictated that the van never be left alone with prisoners inside. She holstered her weapon and ran back to the van, thinking she would drive it to the scene, but again caution prevailed—she had no right to expose her prisoners to possible gunfire.
Damn!
Eager for action, but frustrated, she did the only thing left to her—she activated her implant.
“Control, this is unit 9. Multiple shots fired at Main and 5th near the park! Possible casualties, respond Code 3, and send paramedics.”
* * *
Nick was sitting up when the first patrol car came screaming down the street, lights flashing and siren warbling. Dogs were still barking and now began to howl as the siren assaulted their ears. Thirty seconds behind the police car was an ambulance.
Chief Dwyer was the first man on the scene. He ran toward Nick with his own gun drawn and knelt down beside him.
“Are you all right? Were you hit?”
Nick, still coughing and wheezing, nodded. Suzanne answered for him.
“The first shot hit him in the back, but he’s wearing a body vest. That poor girl, though…” She pointed.
Maggie and Dorcas were now sitting up, the girl sobbing hysterically into her mother’s breast. Dorcas cradled her like a child, swaying to and fro, singing Jesus Loves Me. It seemed to have no calming effect whatsoever.
Patsy Morehead lay absolutely still, strands of her hair straying in the breeze. She lay on her back, her head tilted to the right, her eyes still open as if staring at the stars. The blood pool had spread from beneath her in a wide rivulet toward the gutter. The large hole in her chest was dwarfed by the massive exit wound in her back.
Dwyer took it all in but didn’t leave Nick’s side—paramedics were already tending to the others.
“Did you see the shooter?” he demanded.
Nick shook his head and coughed again. He spat up blood.
“It came from between those two houses,” Suzanne said, pointing again. “I saw the second shot and returned fire.”
Dwyer’s eyes widened in alarm. “You returned fire? Those houses are occupied!”
“I fired high, Chief. I just wanted to scare him away.”
“Did you?”
“I think so. I heard someone knocking over garbage cans and he hasn’t fired again.”
A second police car howled to a stop and two men jumped out. Dwyer gave crisp orders that sent them toward the spot Suzanne had indicated. He turned his attention back to Nick.
“Okay, Marshal, let’s get you to the hospital, get you checked out.”
Nick coughed and shook his head.
“I’m…’m okay.”
“Bullshit. You’re going.”
The paramedics had stepped away from Patsy, who was beyond help, and were trying to talk to Maggie, but her mother kept pushing them away. Dwyer got up and went over to talk to her.
“This is silly,” Nick wheezed to Suzanne. “That vest took care of it. I’m okay.”
“Don’t make me slap you around,” she said, helping him to his feet. “You’re going to get checked, so just shut up about it.”
She led him toward the ambulance, slowly—he was walking like an old man. A few feet away, Dorcas was
resisting aid from the paramedics.
“She’s all right!” she insisted. “Get away from her! I don’t want you polluting her with your evil drugs!”
“Ma’am,” Dwyer tried to explain, “we just want to check her over—”
“She’s my child, not yours! Get your hands off her!”
Dwyer got reluctantly to his feet and looked at the medics.
“Leave her alone,” he sighed. “Doesn’t look like she was hit. What about the other one?”
“Eleven forty-four.”
“Shit!” With another sigh, he turned and strode across the street to join his men between the two houses. Nick and Suzanne climbed into the ambulance.
* * *
The Trimmer Springs hospital was a small medical facility, but well equipped. Nick was checked thoroughly by a doctor who determined that his heart and lungs had been bruised by the bullet’s impact, but no serious damage done. The blood he was spitting up came from the rupture of several small vessels and should go away after a day or two. In short, they pronounced him fit to live.
Luther Nelson appeared at the hospital before the exam was done and after Nick was released they all retired to the police station where one of Dwyer’s detectives took a statement and quizzed both Nick and Suzanne about the attack. By the time they were done it was nearly midnight, and they all went back to the U.F. Marshal’s office. As they entered the front door they could still hear music from the park.
“Dwyer wants to put a man on you,” Nelson said as Nick settled weakly behind his desk. “I think that’s a grand idea.”
“Not necessary,” Nick told him. “I have Suzanne.”
“I’m not kidding, Nick. This is serious shit. The guy tried twice in one day, and he isn’t gonna stop until he gets you.”
Nick adjusted himself in his chair to disperse the ache across his shoulders.
“I’m not laughing, Luther. I know it’s serious. But don’t you think it looks pretty damn silly for a U.F. Marshal to need protection from the city cops?”
“Who gives a rat’s ass how it looks! I’m supposed to be turning this office over to you and I can’t do that if you’re dead. I’d like to get home one of these years.”
