His men remained in the hall, staring at each other with befuddled expressions.
33
Lerah was back on the beach, but this time she wasn’t tied to the post. The post had been reserved for Hawthorne. His eyes were swollen shut. Perhaps he was unconscious. She couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem to notice her as Silas’ men drug her towards the tents. It appeared as if Silas had finally lost his patience with the boy.
She was placed under guard in a small, empty tent. Two Rebels stood outside the entrance, addressing each other in grunts and barks. As usual, she was given neither food nor drink. It was fine. It wouldn’t be long. She knew what was coming next. The final stage. She was tired of swimming against the current. Tired of circling the drain. Tired of people like Hawthorne pulling her back to the surface and teasing her with breath.
Not much time passed before Silas’ men collected her. She was marched down the beach and forced to kneel at the edge of the neon sea. Her hands were unbound. Silas stood behind her, his shadow long, covering her and rippling across the surface of the water. The few remaining men, along with the women and children, stood further back, watching her, waiting for the blade to drop.
Her end had finally come.
There was no shame in accepting the inevitable. She’d given it her best shot. She’d fought and refused to bend. Hopefully, she’d done the Union proud. The only fear that remained was for the boy, Hawthorne. How would he fare when she was no longer around to take up for him? Not well, she imagined. She’d done her best. She’d tried to smarten him up. She’d told him to stop sticking up for her, that it would do no good, that it would only bring more suffering. Her hands were clean.
“Anything you wanna say?”
“What is there left to say?” Lerah shook her head. She was tired of the banter. Tired of the verbal cat and mouse game.
“You could ask me not to do it. You could beseech my people and ask them to pardon you.”
There was no pardon waiting for her. She could hear the cruelty swimming in the black sludge oozing from his lips. It was his last attempt to get a rise out of her. As she looked around at the vacant eyes dotting the beach, she saw no mercy. The women looked bored. The men looked aroused. The children weren’t even paying attention.
“You’re not going to ask them? Do you not want to live?” Silas did his best to sound hurt by her silence.
She tried to sniff, but her nose wouldn’t work and it ached like hell. “A surprisingly considerate offer, seeing as how you’re about to cut my throat.”
“I was planning on shooting you. We can go with the blade if you’d like.”
“I’ll take the bullet.”
“Ladies choice.”
She tried to think of something clever. Some catchy phrase with which to make her exit, but she kept coming up blank. “You’ve taken from me all you’re going to get. My final thoughts are my own. Stop wasting my time and pull the trigger, my knees are starting to hurt.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Silas extended the pistol and touched the muzzle to the back of her head as his finger slowly took the slack out of the trigger.
***
Dominic had set up on the ridgeline above the Rebel encampment. He was lying flat on his stomach, staring down at the ceremony taking place on the beach through the scope of an LMG. He’d secured the big gun to a bipod and had it loaded down with a one-hundred round ammo belt that ran across the ground like a brass snake. The figures on the beach were small, but he could still recognize who was who. The tattered, animalistic Rebels. Their equally animalistic women. Their cursed offspring muddling through the dirt. Some spindly figure tied to a pole. And Lerah. It had to be Lerah. They had her kneeling by the water. Her blonde hair was streaked with dirt. Even at such a great distance, she appeared skinny and unwell. Behind her stood Silas. Dominic recognized him by his haircut and the way the rest of the men gave him such a wide berth.
Silas held a pistol.
Dominic watched as he raised that pistol and put it to the back of Lerah’s head. He placed the crosshairs on Silas’ back and he pulled the trigger.
***
Lerah closed her eyes and readied herself. She heard the shot and felt nothing. Then she heard another, louder than the last. Something hot and sticky splashed against the back of her neck. She opened her eyes and saw Silas lying on the ground beside her. His right shoulder was an open wound; blood was arching up out of some severed artery hidden within the mangled meat and splashing against his face. His sunglasses hung crooked on his nose. His mouth was open, producing strings of profanity and cries for help. He’d dropped the pistol by Lerah’s knee, too consumed by his own pain to notice the deadly opening he’d given her.
Her vision narrowed. An overwhelming desire for revenge took hold of her. All she could see was the pistol and how she was going to use it. Before her fingers could close around the grip, geysers of splintered rock erupted from the ground around her and pelted her in the face, forcing her back. It was Silas’ men taking panicked shots at her, trying to keep their master from her clutches. But their accuracy was being hindered by a wall of bullets raining down on them from the cliffs. She couldn’t see the shooter, just a series of starbursts each time they pulled the trigger. Silas’ men were crouched and lying on the beach, rolling around, returning fruitless fire. Each time one of them would attempt to render Silas aide he’d get picked apart by the shooter on the cliffs. The men were all cursing and shouting, overwhelmed by confusion and fear.
“Kill that fucker!”
“I can’t get a shot on them!”
“Kill the bitch!”
“Which one? I can’t fucking kill ‘em both!”
“Do something!”
“I am doing something, you sonofabitch!”
The women and children had scattered, fleeing for their tents. Lerah got low, flinching as the bullets whipped and snapped above her head. As the fighting continued, she felt that ember of hope begin to warm her belly once more. Who was her savior? Who was on the other side of that glorious star twinkling atop the cliffs? The possibilities brought tears to her eyes.
***
The LMG ran dry. Dominic tossed it aside and stood. He was holding a rifle in his hands and had two pistols tucked into the back of his pants beneath the duster. The Rebels took advantage of the lull in gunfire and went for Silas. One of them grabbed Silas by his good arm and began dragging him across the beach towards the tents, pointing his sub-machine gun sideways at Dominic as he moved and holding down the trigger.
From what Dominic could see, there were about four or five Rebs left. He wasn’t accounting for the fact that there could be more hiding in the tents. The retreating Rebel’s bullets were chipping away at the cliffs around him. Their shots were wildly off target on account of their frantic movement, but they had more guns firing at him than he did at them; they were bound to get lucky. He had to move.
He took three quick shots with the rifle and leaped from the cliff. He fell five feet and came down hard on a steep incline made up of loose, jagged rocks. He began to slide down on his butt, firing from the hip as he went. One of the scrambling Rebs halted his retreat and turned to try to take up a more accurate firing position. Dominic put one in his chest and one in his belly. The Reb fell and curled into a ball, holding his guts in, screaming for death to take him.
Lerah was lying flat on her stomach. She was moving. She looked to still be alive and unharmed. At the bottom of the hill, Dominic stood and began running towards her. He kept his knees cocked, turning his field-of-fire every few steps. The beach was wide open, not a sliver of cover in sight.
***
He looked like a God. Her God. Outlined by the sun, duster catching the breeze, so confident and calculated in his movement, muscles stretching and contracting as he pivoted, dispatching every enemy from her doorstep as he moved ever closer. Her savior. All he lacked was a white horse. Oh, how she’d doubted him. Doubted his promises. But there he was. Her Dominic: broad shoulder
s, wild hair, and that hideous, beautiful scar that split the shallows of his beard. There he was.
A man of his word.
***
Dominic fired a few more shots at the Rebs as they retreated into the rows of ten-foot tall tents. They were most likely stabilizing Silas and planning a counter-attack. They weren’t just going to hunker down and let Dominic’s assault go unanswered. He reckoned he only had minutes before the bullets started flying again. When he turned back towards Lerah he saw a black robed figure running towards her with a long, rusty dagger. It was a woman. Flowing onyx hair. Leather skin. Feral eyes and bared teeth.
“Drop the fucking knife! I’ll blow you the fuck away!”
Twenty feet.
Fifteen feet.
Ten feet.
Dominic cut her down. She rattled a few times as she soaked up the bullets, stumbled a few more steps on leftover momentum, and fell facedown, the blade disappearing beneath her.
A child screamed, “Mommy!” A little girl.
Her brother stood behind her. He was older. Angrier. The same untamed rage that had burned in his mother’s eyes now burned in his.
Dominic pointed the rifle at them and gestured towards the tents. “Get the girl inside, now!” Dominic ordered the boy. In the Wastes, a child was as dangerous as any man or woman. In some ways, they were more dangerous. Folks had a tendency to underestimate children. To give them a pass based on age and appearance. He’d seen his fellow Rebs use them to kill more than a few well-meaning Union soldiers.
The boy didn’t move.
“I’ll count to three!” Dominic pointed his gun at the girl, but luckily he didn’t have to start counting. The boy grabbed his sister and retreated backward.
Lerah’s cry broke his trance. “Dominic!” She was crawling towards him, weeping.
He met her and fell to his knees, tossing aside the rifle and sweeping her into his arms. He wasn’t a man that cried. He could count the number on two hands. But there was no holding back the tears. He held onto her as if she were the source of his next breath. “I’m so sorry, Lerah. Please, forgive me.”
She was white-knuckling the back of his duster, her fingers clawing at the fabric as if she were trying to rip through, desperate to reach the warmth and comfort of the man beneath. Her entire body rattled as she sobbed, pausing only to catch her breath.
He took her face in his hands and finally saw the extent of the damage that Silas had caused: blackened, swollen eyes, split lips, her nose bloodied and crooked. He tried to look beneath her shirt, to see how deep the wounds went.
She grabbed his wrists and shook her head. “No, please.”
“Let me see.” Her hands slipped away. She turned her head and closed her eyes as he began surveying the destruction that had been wrought upon her body. Knife wounds had been etched across her belly and chest; long, angry slices that disappeared below the waistband of her pants. There were bruises, burns, and most likely a broken bone or two; she flinched hard when he touched her ribs. “That motherfucker! Did they…” He couldn’t bring himself to ask the question, but the way her chin dipped and trembled told him everything. He punched the ground and split his knuckles.
“It’s okay, Dominic.” She brought a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing the tears away as they fell. “None of this is your fault. I’m a soldier. I took the risk, same as you.”
“I was supposed to be looking out for you. I should have seen it coming. Maybe if…”
“Maybe what? Maybe they’d have shot us both dead. Maybe we could have escaped, but maybe lightning would have hit us on the way back. Or, maybe this was the best scenario we could have hoped for. You don’t get to beat yourself up over this. You don’t have my permission. I’m the one that was taken. I’m the one they tortured. I decide who gets the blame and, Dominic, it damn sure isn’t you.”
He choked and nodded. The beautiful blue in her eyes somehow still managed to shine through the hurt. “Then let’s get the one that is responsible.”
There was scuffling and shouting to Dominic’s left, near the tents where the women and children slept.
“No, Landon, don’t do it!”
Dominic came up to one knee and pivoted left, drawing a pistol, accomplishing everything in one fluid movement. He saw the boy. The son of the woman he’d cut down. He was clutching a submachine gun. His sister was pulling at his elbow, doing her best to stop him, but she was too weak and he was too angry. Dominic didn’t bother warning him this time. He double-tapped him in the chest before he could even raise his weapon. The little girl screamed and fell beside him. She cried as Dominic approached and retrieved the gun from the boy’s lifeless fingers. He walked back over to Lerah and removed the other pistol from his waistband, offering it to her. “Can you shoot?”
She came to her feet. “I think I can manage,” she said. She took the pistol and pulled the slide halfway back to make sure a bullet sat in the chamber. “Dominic, you’re shot!” she gasped. She pulled his duster back, examining the fresh blood staining the shirt beneath.
He shook his head. “It’s fine, a through-and-through. Must have opened back up on me. Happened in Skarwood. They got the worst end of it.”
“Don’t they always?”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope my lucky streak continues.”
They moved towards the tents that the Rebs had retreated to with Silas. Lerah was holding the pistol straight out in front of her body, gripping it with both hands, her finger already removing some of the slack from the trigger; she was jumpy and rightfully so. Dominic was more relaxed, he held a pistol in one hand and the Rebel boy’s SMG in the other. He was aiming from the waist, elbows bent.
“There any innocents in those tents?” Dominic asked.
“No one on this beach is innocent.”
“So we kill anything that moves.”
The first volley of gunfire came from the Rebels. They were shooting blindly from inside the tents. The bullets tore through the brittle, weather worn fabric and went too high, coming nowhere near their intended targets. Dominic and Lerah charged in, guns blazing, emptying everything they had into the tent city. There were yelps of pain and cries for mercy. One of the Rebels came stumbling out into the open, trying to plug a spurting neck wound with one hand, while holding fast to his submachine gun with the other. Lerah fired and one side of his face caved in as the round tore through his cheekbone.
“Get down.” Dominic pressed down on the back of Lerah’s neck as they got closer.
“Think we got all of them?”
“Hard to say. Given our luck, probably not.” Dominic looked down the beach to make sure they weren’t being ambushed by what remained of the women and children.
Lerah checked the magazine on the pistol. “I’ve got five shots left.”
“I’m probably not far behind.” Dominic sighed. “Fuck it.” He dropped his guns and started rummaging through his pockets for the pack of matches he’d picked up when he was in the saloon with Ronan.
“What are you doing?” Lerah sounded exasperated.
“Making sure all of them are dead.”
“How?”
“I’m gonna burn the goddamn place down.”
She thought about it for a second and nodded. “They come running out and we take them down.”
“Exactly.” He produced the book of matches. “When the fire gets going, fall back and wait.”
He lit a match and used it to ignite the rest of the book. He set the hungry flame against the fabric of one of the tents and it went up like kindling, making a whoosh sound. Dominic and Lerah worked their way backward, staying low, shielding their faces from the intense blast of heat. The fire quickly leaped to another tent, then another, until there were none left, just a giant cone of flame stabbing at the sky. A minute passed. There was no evidence of life. Just the roar of the flames and the crackling of wood.
Dominic was ready to proclaim victory when a bellow filled the air. Silas stumbled from the inferno. One side
of his body was completely engulfed in flame.
“Help me!” He fell to the ground and began trying to extinguish the flames, pushing and pulling against the jagged beach, leaving skin behind with each movement.
Dominic and Lerah took their time reaching his side.
“Cocksucker,” Lerah sneered, spitting on him as he continued to burn and squirm. Her saliva sizzled and she laughed. “Well, I tried, sorry. Afraid I’m all out of spit, perhaps if you’d given me more water.” Her smile was twisted. Her eyes were wide, jerking around in their sockets, taking in every moment of Silas’ agony.
“Help me!” he wailed.
Dominic felt an uncomfortable tug in his gut. Watching a man slowly melt, no matter his crime, was tough. But Lerah was the victim. It was her show and he wasn’t going to interrupt.
Silas was starting to look like an old candle. The flames had jumped across his body and cauterized the wound on his opposite shoulder. The entire left side of his face was overdone meat, with hints of deep, dark red. His left eyeball had boiled out of his skull and his hair was completely gone. He was no longer forming words, just tossing his head back and screaming at the sky as the flames consumed him alive.
Lerah slammed a foot against his chest and held him to the ground. “Stop moving, it just makes it worse,” she mocked. “Don’t worry, what the flames don’t finish, I will.”
“Lerah, I think that’s enough.” Dominic had sworn he wouldn’t get involved, but she was losing herself in an all-too-familiar darkness.
She didn’t seem to hear him. She was twisting one-foot back-and-forth against Silas’ chest and kicking him in the side of the head with the other. “Louder, Silas! I know you can go louder for me!” And he did, so loud that his voice became a shrill squeak, before snapping completely out of existence. He was going in and out of consciousness, his remaining eye rolling back in his head.
“Lerah, that’s enough!”
“Fuck you, Dominic!” She pointed her pistol at him. “You have no idea what I’ve been through! No idea what this animal did to me! How many men have died bloody because they’ve wronged you? How many have you made suffer?”
The Glass Mountains: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 2 Page 24
