Fractured Steel

by T. J. Loveless

  We reached the gate, with Rupert opening it, shoving a black duffel bag into my hands, and throwing me into the pasture. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths, before getting to my feet. Dusting off the dirt, grass, and rock, I grabbed the duffel, inspected the contents and shuffled to Five.

  “Easy, boy, easy,” I crooned, putting a hand on his rump and sliding it along the dirty hide. He turned to watch. I put the duffel down, and lifted his head for a closer look. His pupils were like saucers, and the sluggish reactions were proof of the problems. I ran hands over his legs and body, finding swollen joints, especially the injured hip. He was hot, but not sweating, and I needed to get rid of the fever.

  Digging through the duffel and barking orders, I didn’t care who followed as long as it was done. Within ten minutes, I had four lackeys, a pile of supplies, and a small fire started. Dad taught me old school, which often included tea leaves and witch hazel, plus how to make ointments and care for a horse in the field.

  Wolfgang came through the gate, leaving the expensive suit jacket and tie on the gate, and rolling up the shirt sleeves. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of the shirt and joined me. I watched as he pulled out two garbage bags, yelled at the lackeys in German, and using the medical tape, fashioned ice bags over Five’s knee joints. One of the men returned with a bucket of ice, and Wolfgang iced Five’s legs where the joints were most swollen. He found the witch hazel ointment and began to apply liberally. The whole time, he whispered in German to Five.

  I was gobsmacked.

  “I didn’t realize you knew so much about horses.” Some of my fear left as he looked up with a friendly smile.

  “My father was an international champion equestrian, and I paid close attention. I loved the horses, often more than people.” His accent was thick, relaxed, in the company of Five Alarm.

  We spent all day outside with Five, ignoring the cool weather and threat of a late snow. I felt a fine thread of kinship develop with Wolfgang, witnessing his gentle ways with Five Alarm. I didn’t trust him, but couldn’t fully hate the man when he handled Five with such ease.

  I worked to get Five's fever down, and around four o’clock, finally succeeded. He relaxed a little, giving soft snorts. I lifted his head, put a pillow case with the end cut off over his muzzle, and kept a football hold to ensure he inhaled the smoke. The burning leaves helped his breathing and metabolized the tranquilizers.

  Wolfgang picked up a soft bristled brush, and went over Five’s filthy coat. “Do you think you’ve saved his life?”

  “He was not in immediate danger of dying, he was in danger of being permanently lame and sterile.” I stroked the copper colored hair at the top of his neck, feeling the muscles twitch lightly, but the temperature was normal. “Now he needs a stall and some rest, at least three days’ worth, before you move him again.” I lifted my chin and met the blue eyed gaze.

  “If that is what you wish, Miss.” He nodded, “It is not often I meet a person with an iron will.”

  “Iron will? You mean cares for another? You must have had a very stark life.” I scratched behind one ear.

  “No. Tell me, Miss Barnes, what would you do for the animal?” He held my gaze, intent.

  “I bred and raised him, he is, above all else, my colt. I will always take care of him.” I lifted my chin.

  “He is mature, no longer a colt.” He raised one black eyebrow.

  “Why do you care?”

  “I have many reasons to care and to ensure certain things are accomplished.” He shrugged lightly.

  “Hmm. I still don’t understand why you would want Five Alarm. He is far too well known.” I waited, wondering if he would answer.

  “The information you seek has deadly consequence, Miss Barnes. I suggest you ensure the stallion remains healthy.” He nodded once, turned on a heel, and left. On the way out, he shrugged into the suit jacket, shoved the tie into a pocket, and without looking back, went into the house.

  “It seems you have caught Wolfgang’s full attention, Karen,” Rupert called from the gate. “Johnny and Jake are going to be so disappointed, they looked forward to using you.” He laughed and walked away.

  I shrugged. Dad’s words came back to me after a talk about what to do if I were to be assaulted, “Don’t get yourself hurt worse, Karrie-girl, you can be healed. Survival is the most important thing.” I could envision his brown eyes, filled with intent, making me promise to think of survival first.

  Five tugged, and I released him. I removed the pillow case, and he took steps back. I watched him closely, seeing he had balance, pupils weren’t dilated, and he seemed to have more control. Good.

  I cleaned up the mess, sending one of the black suits to grab a halter and lead rope. I burned the one he’d worn since Spade Farm. The lackey delivered a new one in moments.

  I removed the makeshift ice packs, noting the joints were normal size. I smiled, thinking Wolfgang would make for a great groom. He knew his way around a horse.

  Five Alarm tucked into bed, I was led into the house through the back door, a pile of scrubs shoved into my arms and tersely told to clean up for dinner by Rupert’s mother. Hatred burned in the hazel gaze, and I wanted to slap it out of her. To hate me, when her son and grandsons killed and created mayhem, made no sense.

  I thought of Gage and wondered how he was faring, if they were taking care of the massive wounds. My heart lurched at the thought of another human suffering, especially after surviving the torture of being partially skinned alive.

  I turned to follow instructions and found Wolfgang in the way. I had the distinct feeling he was used to his size scaring women and wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose or not. I raised an eyebrow.

  “You are a very strong woman. Many would have melted into puddles of tears if in your position.” He eyeballed me. I winced internally, the sympathetic expression he wore in the pasture replaced with one much harder. A new glitter in the blue eyes sent fear skittering down my spine.

  “You clearly don’t know a lot of women. Try rounding out your female acquaintances a little more,” I turned to the bathroom.

  “So it would seem.” He followed me and tried pulling off my clothes. I jumped and moved away, but the small bathroom left no room for escape. “No, come back here, let me see.” He put a hand on my neck, and I heard him rustle around in a pocket. The tip of a blade pricked the skin at the base of my neck.

  I stopped breathing. My brain couldn’t wrap around the situation, not after spending the afternoon with Mr. Caring.

  “Let’s see, Miss, how strong you really are.” He slid the knife through the scrubs and my skin. I bowed out, screaming. His hand moved into my hair, and he held fast. “Very good. Most women would have begged at the feel of the knife.” He pulled his arm around and showed the red tip. “Scars on a woman are beautiful. Did you know that?”

  I panted, body on fire. Tears rolled unheeded down my cheeks, and I held still. If he was going to slice me, I was going to try to keep him out of vital organs.

  “See, I prefer my woman scarred, branded so that no other male will think to take her. Our host is very reluctant to give you up, and now I know why.” The knife was lowered to my hip, and I felt him push the tip of the blade into skin, the blood welling in the wound. He pulled me into his chest, breath on my ear, “Now scream for me.” He ripped the knife backwards, the sound of material shredding mixed with instant agony.

  I obeyed.

  He stepped back and I collapsed. I knew the technique, enough to hurt and bleed, but not life threatening. Dad knew those techniques, too.

  Through the fire of agony, a faint thought slid through the fog. Memories of ten years earlier flashed across my inner HDTV, the sounds of men screaming, bullets hitting flesh, the flashes of light from muzzles with every shot. I stopped crying, shook my head, and concentrated on moving, not pain. If I ignored it long enough, I might be able to think a way into a few moments of safety. On my feet, I turned, ignoring the lack of clothing and the feel of drip
ping blood. Looking up to meet his eyes, I pulled on a long forgotten well of anger.

  “So, you are a sadistic misogynist who thinks women are toys, huh? Tell me, Wolfy, ever come across a woman who knew how to handle herself?” As the question fell out of my mouth, I curled my toes and kicked him hard in the groin. He immediately grasped the injured area, dropping the sharp hunting knife. I squatted down, grabbed the knife and stood, shoving it deep into the meat of his shoulders, pulling with all my strength, and feeling the blade leave his flesh in a jerking movement. He screamed. I kicked the side of a knee, and as he landed, I put my heel on his throat. “Suffocation is a bitch way to die. I heard a crushed trachea is a really hard way to go.”

  I changed my grip on the knife and let some of my weight fall onto Wolfgang’s throat. He gurgled, putting a hand under my heel. Blood spread quickly, and I listened for the sounds of others coming to his rescue. Nothing.

  I frowned, “What did you tell them? Not to disturb you if there is screaming? Good thing you scream like a girl, because I just got my way out of here.” I raised my foot and stomped his throat, feeling the trachea give. He couldn’t make a sound, hands digging at his throat.

  I smiled. I took a quick shower and grabbed the remaining gauze in an attempt to stem my own bleeding. “Damn it,” I whispered at the mirror. I looked into the dead eyes of Wolfgang. “Moron, if it meant survival, I’d have fucked you and we could have at least parted peacefully. Now I’ve got to figure something else out.” I wanted to kick him. Pummel his body, scream, blame him for it all. But the real blame lay with the Psycho Family downstairs. I needed a plan.

  Finding the last remnants of the medical kit they gave me, I gritted my teeth against the pain of stitching what I could reach. I was limber, but a few more stitches were needed and I couldn’t reach. My back was out of the question, but he’d sliced shallow, and the bleeding was slowing. The injury would bleed again during the shower, but I had to take the chance and try to clean the wound. I would worry about it later. I could Scarlett O’Hara anything if survival was on the line.

  I put both hands on the sink and leaned into my arms. Exhaustion filled every pore and hair follicle, making it hard to think logically.

  Too many people, too many problems, too many to worry about.

  I wasn’t meant for this kind of thing, but neither would I leave a victim to the hands of Rupert and his family. Not if I could help it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wasn’t heavily muscled and carrying Gage was out of the question. Five wasn’t in any shape to ride or run, and I had to figure what to do with Wolfgang’s body.

  I berated myself, and stood straight. Feeling self-pity never got a thing done. I looked in the mirror, seeing my father’s eyes, mouth and chin, but looked more like my mother, from pictures I'd seen. I pulled my hair into a tight French braid and wondered when they would take me to dinner. Or had Wolfgang made excuses so I didn’t need to show? He’d cut me up, knew he was going to. I shouldn’t be expected downstairs.

  I walked on the balls of my feet to the window, looking over the yard. I glanced at the body on the bathroom floor. First priority: hide the body. Wolfgang weighed close to two twenty and dragging the body into the small shower forced me to contort into various positions. He didn’t fit well, and I rearranged the body until it was a pretzel. Rigor would set in soon, making it hard to remove from the enclosure. I closed the curtain, not needing to see what I’d done. Nightmares would remind me soon enough. It would have to do and gave me enough time to get out of the house.

  The acrobatics of hiding the body reopened the back wound, the crude stitches popped. My arm throbbed, reminding me it was still broken, despite efforts to stabilize it. The constant throbbing agony was fast becoming a good friend, reminding me to move quickly.

  Satisfied, I returned to the window. I needed proper shoes, not the crocs. I’d have to go barefoot across the cold, green shingled roof. I caught two guards walking below the window and ducked. Peeking over the sill, I watched them turn the corners. I counted the time until they returned. Approximately six point four minutes. Enough time.

  Raising the window, wincing as it gave a small squeak, I crawled through the opening, letting a foot slide until it hit the small edge. I tiptoed across to the roof, to the next bedroom and peeked into the darkness.

  The room was empty. I opened the window and crawled inside. The door was open with a view into the darkened hallway. Nothing moved, but I could see two bodies standing on either side of the doorway to the room I’d occupied. I slipped into the shadows of the empty room.

  I had a better idea of the layout of the house and left by the window. I couldn’t be seen from the ground, one less worry. I crawled higher on the roof, crossing to the other side of the house and down to one of the windows. I found Jake arguing with Rupert, the hand gestures a good indication he was pretty ticked off. Rupert’s body remained relaxed and at ease, unperturbed by Jake’s tirade.

  I moved to the next window. The little bastard was naked in his bed, masturbating to a picture. Ragged scars covered his lower body.

  I turned away and scampered to the roof. The west wing of the house was a little different, and I hoped to find a way out. Two more windows faced the west side of the property and I checked the one with no light.

  Gage was on the bed, tossed and left. What was left of the skin on his torso shone a pale white in the weak moonlight, but I could see waves of heat thrown by his body. Crap, he was fighting a fever. I opened the window and snuck inside, hoping Gage was too out of it to make loud noises.

  I stood over Gage, watching the ragged breathing, trying to plan an escape which included him. I didn’t understand what was happening, and had a feeling I’d just put a spanner in the works by killing Wolfgang. That had been pure luck. If he’d actually expected me to fight back, I’d never have won.

  “Son?” Gage’s hoarse voice broke the silence.

  I leaned until my lips touched the outer shell of an ear, “Shhh. They never got him. Can you walk if you lean on me?”

  “No,” he tried to roll over, but groaned and went limp.

  I was going to have to carry him. I didn’t have long, someone was going to miss Wolfgang, no matter what they thought we were doing. Once the body was discovered, it was over. I walked to the window to get a good look at the west side of the property. I noted the truck and trailer, still hitched. Did they leave the keys in the truck? If so, it was possible I could get all of us out of here. But how would I carry a one hundred eighty pound man down a flight of steps and past the guards? I would lay bets several men were assigned night duty.

  I paced, stopping to give the constant pressure on the cuts some relief. The back of the shirt was soaked and stuck to my skin, the pant legs sticking and making it hard to move. If I calculated properly, losing blood at the slow rate, I probably had four hours before becoming too weak and useless. Trying to carry Gage and lead Five meant it’d cut my time to an hour.

  I had to get to Miles City.

  I opened Gage’s door a few inches and listened. No footsteps, breathing, or conversation. I pushed the door open, looking on the floor for shadows. Nothing. I dared to pop my head around the door and found a surprise. The west wing was cut off by a huge wall, and nobody stood guard. They’d dropped Gage in the room to die.

  I hustled to Gage and put a hand on an uninjured area of his cheek. I leaned forward, lips to ear, “Come on, handsome. I have a way out. If you’re lucky, my less than law abiding teenage years will mean I can drive us out of here. But I need you to wake up, to at least try.”

  A small moan filled the silence. I nodded once, and maneuvered him into position. An arm around my shoulders, and I pushed upwards, trying to keep all noises internal. He moaned, but they’d expect the sound. Once upright, I shuffled my feet a little, legs shaking from the added weight. The stitches broke free, and the cuts became leaky sieves. I adjusted the hold on Gage’s belt, pulling him close, and grabbed a wrist. The hol
d was awkward, and I would lose him on the stairs. Shifting, I dropped a little, letting Gage fall across my shoulders and into a fireman’s hold. I straightened. My legs wobbled, threatening to buckle. Several wounds, internal and external, spurted blood that puddled at my feet.

  “No, no, no, no, come on, you’ve carried foals twice his weight,” I whispered, scolding. I dropped a little more, scooted further under Gage’s abdomen, and pushed.

  Everything hurt, screamed at additional damage. Skin split further down my back, and the injury on my hips widened. Internally, Beth’s careful stitches ripped apart. Clenching my jaw, I barely suppressed the cries of agony.

  Settling my shoulders, I used the waves of pain as a focus. Clutching Gage tighter, his stitches broke loose, his blood mingling with mine.

  I had maybe ten minutes. One step, followed by another, and another. In the hallway, I moved to the north staircase. I looked around the corner, and not seeing anyone, leaned on the oak railing. One shuffling step at a time, breathing hard, I managed to get to the bottom.

  There was a shout from the southeast side of the house and I looked up. Someone yelled in German. Crap, they found Wolfgang. I adjusted Gage, and looked back to find bloody footsteps. Damn it!

  Metal caught the light to my right and I found a door. I opened it and looked down a long solarium to a door leading outside. Shuffling through the glass hot house, the door at the end was unlocked. I went outside, shivering from the cold and strain. The truck was parked across a small lawn, next to a small grove of trees. Deciding to take the long route, and use the cover of the trees, I walked from one to another, stopping every second tree to catch my breath and beg my body to keep going. Shadows in the window showcased the frenzied search, explaining the lack of the night guards.

  By the time we reached the truck, I could barely stand, was ready to throw Gage off and leave him. I opened the backdoor, wincing when the interior light pinged on. I turned, and with a sigh of relief, hefted Gage onto the seat and quickly closed the door. I counted to ten, when the light faded out. I tiptoed around the trailer, checking to see if they’d locked it. The padlocks from our trip to Rosebud were missing.