by Lee Collins
"It is ours," her husband said, standing to his full height.
"Not anymore, it's not."
The soldier spurred his horse toward them. Her husband pulled the woman out of its way, then turned back to the man. The soldier had taken the donkey's lead rope in his hand. Her husband reached for it, and the man cracked him across the face with his other hand. "Don't you threaten me, boy."
Her husband staggered back a pace, then stood to face the man. "It is ours."
"Then come take it," the solider said, drawing a revolver.
The gunshot echoed off the nearby mesa, followed by the woman's scream.
"Well, I guess that means we're walking back to town."
Victoria could only nod in agreement. She was afraid of bringing her breakfast back up if she tried to speak.
In front of them, Victoria's horse lay in its stall. Its eyes were frozen in the same terrified look she had seen the night before, but rust-colored blood now covered the straw beneath it. Looking at its lifeless corpse, Victoria felt a stab of pity for the poor creature. It had carried her faithfully out to this place, and she had let it die.
"Why did they do this?" she finally asked.
"Just making themselves a point, I expect," Cora said. "Can't have things go too easy on us." The hunter frowned, looking around the barn. "Sure wish they'd left me some of Our Lady behind. Seems fitting I should bury her proper-like."
"Maybe she isn't here," Victoria said. Cora shot her a questioning look. "Think about it. If the Indian woman really was in the form of your horse, she must have been with us back in town when we started. That woman must have killed your horse before yesterday morning."
"I reckon so," Cora replied. "Guess that means I got to have words with them livery boys when we're done with all this. No-good fools just let squaw spooks make off with horses like that. It's a wonder they ain't got my horse killed before now."
Victoria stifled a groan as she contemplated the long day ahead of them. "Do you really think we can walk back?"
"As long as your pretty little self can keep up," Cora said. "Won't be something you're like to go doing again just for the fun of it all, but it can be done."
"Won't we die of thirst before we make it back?"
"Won't die of it, but won't be turning down a bucket of trough water by the end, neither. We've got our skins, and I reckon the folks here left us some canning bottles or some such. We ration our water out like we should, we'll do okay."
"Easy enough," Victoria said, rolling her eyes. "Shall we get on with this lovely parade, then?"
Cora nodded. "Daylight's wasting, and I sure ain't going to be caught around here come nightfall. They know this place too well, and we don't."
The two women returned to the house and set about gathering what few supplies they had. The fire had dried out their riding clothes well enough that they could be worn with only minor discomfort. Victoria had expressed her concern when they'd woke to find them still slightly damp, but Cora assured her that an hour in the desert sun would finish what the fire had started.
Filling their water skins from water pump's spigot, they shouldered their packs and set out into the rising sun. Victoria's pack weighed more than she liked, Cora having burdened her with jars of preserved vegetables they'd found in the cellar. She gritted her teeth and bore the extra weight, determined not to give Cora the satisfaction of hearing her complain. The hunter had given her the functioning revolver as well, but that was one burden Victoria no longer minded.
The rest of it grew heavier as the morning dragged on, and the blisters on her feet ached with every step. Her vision grew bleary. Above them, the sun climbed higher into the cloudless sky, making the horizon shimmer with false promises of water and shade. The water skin bounced against her side, teasing her with promises of cool relief for her parched throat.
When the sun neared its zenith, Cora called for a halt. The two women took shelter beneath an overhang that jutted out from a nearby cliff. It wasn't much shade, but any relief from the glaring sunlight was an improvement.
"No more than a few mouthfuls," Cora said. "It's got to last us awhile yet."
"How much farther, do you think?" Victoria asked.
Cora squinted at the horizon. "We ain't made much progress today. I'd say we got us at least another day, maybe two."
"You mean we will need to spend the night outdoors?"
"Of course," Cora said. "Took us a full day's ride to make it out here. You wasn't thinking you could make a horse's speed all on foot, was you?"
Victoria shook her head. It seemed silly to her now, but some part of her had still hoped they would make it back to Albuquerque before nightfall. "Will we be safe from them if we sleep out?"
The old hunter sighed. "Probably not, but ain't like we got a choice. We'll trade watches and keep the fire built up."
"What good will fire do?"
"Critters of the night usually don't take to it," Cora said. "That goes for regular critters and them that ain't so regular. Fought me a monster a few years back that was right scared of no more than a candle if you waved it in its face."
"Is that how you defeated it?" Victoria asked. "With fire?"
Cora shook her head. "Ain't what finally laid it out for good, but it played its part sure enough."
The hunter's face clouded over, and Victoria thought better of any more questions. Instead, she peered up at the sky, wishing a cloud or two might appear to offer some respite from the heat. The blue expanse stretched from one horizon to the other, unmarred by even the thinnest wisp of white.
Victoria took a small sip from her water skin. It already felt dangerously light. Replacing the stopper, she sloshed the water around inside to reassure herself that it would see her through this ordeal. The sun had evaporated what rainwater had lingered in pools that morning with frightening speed. Her concern grew as the puddles shrank, but she tried to reassure herself that they had brought enough.
All too soon, Cora stood. "Best get moving," she said, taking one final sip of water. "Don't want to waste any daylight if we can help it."
Victoria made sure the stopper was firmly wedged into the neck of her own bottle before standing. Tucking her uneaten hardtack into her satchel, she took a deep breath and nodded. The hunter returned the nod, then stepped back out into the unrelenting light.
Cora muttered under her breath as she held the match to the pile of sticks and twigs. Despite the heat of the day, the wood was reluctant to catch. She waited a few moments before throwing the match aside in disgust.
"Go find some leaves or something," she said.
Victoria sighed. Her arms and legs ached from the day's long march, and she wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the ground and let them rest. She looked around their small camp and shook her head. "I don't think I'd be able to find any out here. I haven't seen a tree since I arrived."
"Either you find us some leaves, or I'll start this fire using that pretty braid of yours," Cora replied.
Clutching at her hair, Victoria took a step backward. "You wouldn't dare."
"We got to have us a fire," Cora said, "and what we got here ain't going to take. Ain't the first time I've had to use hair to keep myself from freezing to death during the night. Leaves burn better, but I'll make do with what I got. Now, you want to move your rump, or should I take out my knife?"
Victoria threw up her arms, but she moved away from the camp to search for Cora's leaves. Above her, the sky had turned a deep blue. The sun had already set, but the western horizon still burned orange where it had slipped away. One or two stars glittered in celebration of the coming night. Only a few days ago, she might have stopped to admire them before going about her task. She'd always loved the stars, but she never knew they could be as bright and clear as they were in the American desert. It almost felt as though she could gather them in her palm if she pushed up on tiptoes and reached for them.
Surprisingly, it didn't take her long to fill her satchel with dark gree
n leaves stripped from one of the larger bushes that stood near their camp. Cora nodded in approval when Victoria presented them, and within minutes, a small fire was snapping and hissing at their feet.
Victoria sat down beside it with a groan and worked her boots off, wincing with each tug. The blisters on her heels and the bottoms of her feet glared at her like dark red eyes. A few strips of white flesh still clung to some of them like grotesque eyelids.
"Best to let those air out for the night," Cora remarked.
Victoria blushed and tucked her feet under her, ignoring the renewed screeches of pain. "They aren't so bad."
"Sure they ain't. First few days in a new pair of boots are the hardest. You'll toughen up in a week or so. If not, the sawbones back in town can take your feet off for a decent price."
Victoria knew she wasn't serious, but the thought still made her shudder. She inched closer to the fire. Feeling the hunter's dark eyes on her, she reluctantly pulled her feet back out and clasped her hands around her knees.
A silence fell between the two women. Victoria gazed skyward, watching the stars grow brighter in a sky the color of a drowned man's lips. The sight brought to mind memories of the night her parents died, and she was suddenly fighting back tears. She kept her head upturned so Cora wouldn't see them glistening in the corners of her eyes. The same stars that had watched her parents die now looked down on her in disapproval. It had been almost two months since their deaths, and she had done nothing to avenge them.
"Yet," she murmured to them. "When the time comes, you will get your justice."
"That right there is a dangerous habit," Cora said.
Startled, Victoria snapped her head toward her. "What is?"
"Talking to them that's dead," she replied. "Don't go making it a habit, or you won't be able to tell that they're dead before too long."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure, and I'm the Queen of England." The hard lines of Cora's face softened as the old hunter gazed into the fire. Her brows twitched, and her eyes flitted about the flames like moths. Confused by this change in her companion, Victoria held her tongue and watched. Somewhere in the distance, the cry of an animal echoed off the darkened cliffs. Others raised their voices in reply like a chorus of wailing banshees. Victoria hugged her knees tighter to her chest.
Across from her, Cora sighed. "I reckon I ought to let you in on what's going on here."
"What do you mean?" Victoria asked.
"Well," Cora said, "like it or not, you're caught up in this whole mess now. Before last night, I didn't figure things would get as complicated as all this. My plan was to ride out to that ranch, beat my answers out of that blue-eyed feller, and be done with it. Saw no need to tell you any more than that, neither."
The hunter paused to rummage through her satchel. Finally emerging with a piece of hardtack, she tore off a bite. Her eyes glittered in the firelight as she regarded the young woman, chewing thoughtfully. Victoria fidgeted under the hunter's gaze. Pebbles grated against the hardpacked earth as she shifted her weight. She tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear. Still Cora watched and chewed.
Victoria was on the verge of speaking up when the hunter finally swallowed. She didn't speak right away, but her eyes finally left Victoria's face. The fire snapped, sending a flurry of sparks toward the stars.
"Ain't easy for me to admit," she began, "but I ain't no closer to puzzling out who that feller was. All I know for sure is who he ain't, and that's Fodor Glava."
"You're sure?" Victoria asked. "Couldn't he have come back from the dead if he was a vampire like you say?"
Cora shook her head. "No vampire could stitch his own head back on his shoulders, no matter how strong he was. I know I sent that bastard on down to hell where he belongs, and that feller last night done confirmed my thinking in that regard. No matter what he says, he ain't Glava.
"But," she continued, "he ain't just nobody, neither. He's got himself the same tricks and traps that old Glava had, what with the vryko-whatevers and all."
"The what?"
"Nasty ones," Cora said. "Them ones as couldn't speak and was all fangs and such. George had a fancy name for them, too, but it's gone right out of my head. Before I met him and Glava, I done figured them badgery ones was the only kind of vampires out there. Never knew they came in a speaking variety, and it ended up that I paid a price for not knowing."
"What price?"
"I'm getting to it," Cora said, rubbing her brow as if soothing an aching head. "Point is, not knowing what you're fighting is usually a one-way ticket to an early grave, and that's if you get lucky. Some folk ain't so lucky and get themselves turned into some nasty piece of work like them fools back at the ranch."
"I remember James Townsend saying something similar," Victoria said. "About knowing your enemy as best you can."
"King George has him a head for facts, I'll give him that. Thought he was just a big bag of wind when we first met him, but he ended up being useful. All of his book learning about vampires and such is what helped me put an end to that Glava bastard. Just came a bit too late is all."
Victoria's brow wrinkled. "Too late? What do you mean?"
The hunter paused. Her hand snaked into her satchel as if it had a mind of its own, emerging with a small flask. Cora unscrewed the stopper and took a swig. Her eyes never left the fire as she swallowed the first mouthful, then the second.
"Well, if I'd have met old George sooner rather than later, I might have spared myself some powerful unpleasant business."
Victoria could hear the liquid in the flask sloshing as Cora took another drink. A large piece of kindling collapsed in the fire, creating a shower of sparks. The hunter bent over and tossed a stick into the flames. "Part of it was my own yellowness. Ain't nobody in this wide world likes admitting they're yellow, but there it is. If I wasn't such a coward, maybe it wouldn't have happened."
Cora seemed to be speaking more to herself than to her companion now. Victoria looked down at her toes, her brow furrowing. The silence between them was almost tangible, a weight on her chest that grew heavier with each breath. She wanted to say something, anything to break it, but nothing sounded right.
"Anyhow," Cora finally said, "take two cuts of coward and stew it with a big mix of ignorance, and you got yourself a right fine recipe for making your own tragedy."
"What tragedy?" Victoria asked, relieved to have found her voice.
Cora inhaled sharply, as if she had just then remembered to breathe. She held the breath for several seconds, her jaw working in silence.
"Fact of it is," she said, "that Fodor Glava bastard killed my Ben."
It was Victoria's turn to inhale. Her eyes went wide as her fingers covered her mouth, but Cora paid her no mind. "Killed him and turned him into one of those things. There he was, coming at me like a rabid dog. There wasn't nothing left of him inside that body no more, but it still looked just like him. The monster wearing his skin would have done in for poor old Father Baez, but I..." she swallowed. "I done it in first. I pointed my gun right at my Ben's face and pulled the trigger."
Cora threw her head back and drained the contents of the flask in one long draught. When she finished, she tossed the empty flask aside and stared into the fire. Victoria watched her, unable to speak. The tough-as-nails hunter had been replaced by an old woman, shrunken and twisted by the weight of unfathomable sorrow. A breeze drifted through the flames, making the shadows around them sway. In that moment, Victoria felt as though they were surrounded by demons on all sides, dancing and laughing in unheard glee at all the agony and suffering they brought into the world. A hollow pit opened in her stomach, black and deep. Cora's pain, carved in deep lines across her face, brought Victoria's own loss back in a suffocating rush, and she fought to contain her tears.
She might have sat there until the fire had burned itself out, overwhelmed by her own helplessness, but the scraping of the hunter's boots across the ground cut through her stupor.
Looking up, Victoria found Cora's eyes glistening as they looked at her. "There I was, a widow of her own making, and after Ben and I swore to each other that we'd always watch the other's back."
"You took a vow?"
The firelight outlined the scars running along Cora's cheek as she shook her head. "Never was nothing formal, mind you, but it was there. We was married, after all, and part of having and holding was keeping each other alive, or so I figured. Then I went and broke that promise, and I never been able to make it right in my mind since.
"Anyhow, after I realized what I'd done, I rode down that son of a bitch Glava and made him pay. Shot him and stabbed him and cut his head off, so I know he's dead. George and a whole mess of others seen me do it, too, so I got witnesses. Whoever that feller was back there, he ain't Glava, and that's how I know."
Cora crossed her arms and leaned back against a rock, her eyes studying the younger woman's face. Tension flowed from those dark eyes, and Victoria shifted uneasily. She wasn't sure what the hunter expected her to do or say.
The enormity of what Cora had just told her defied understanding, yet her mind still wrestled with it, trying to make some sense of it. As terrible as the death of her own parents had been, she had at least been left with the cold comfort of knowing she couldn't have prevented it. She had also had time to mourn them, to make her vows of vengeance and travel to see them fulfilled. Cora had none of those comforts when her husband was killed, and she had to endure the horror of shooting him herself. Victoria couldn't fathom what that would do to a person. That the hunter could have carried on at all spoke volumes about her strength and determination.
Victoria's blue eyes finally lifted to meet the hunter's gaze. "I'm so sorry."
Cora snorted. "I don't need your sorry, missie. Didn't tell you my story for it, neither. I told you so you got a better sense of things when they come up again, as I expect they will. That blue-eyed feller and that woman both know a good deal more than they should, and that don't sit well with me."
"Why not?"
"Could be they know even more than they're letting on, for one," Cora said. "Good Lord only knows what else they learned about me, or even about you. Maybe they know what brought you out here to begin with, and they're planning on using that somehow."
