Hell's Highwaymen

by Phillip Granath

  “But will it be enough to buy us our own tickets out of this place?” Oliver asked looking around the table.

  “I say...yes…we should…do this, thing,” Shinji said. The sudden words from the sullen warrior startling the men at the table.

  “What the fuck have we got to lose?” Oliver shrugged with a grin.

  “What the fuck do we have to lose?” Jamie shouted standing up suddenly and knocking his chair over in the process.

  “Fucking everything, don’t you bastards fucking see that! We rule these plains. We ride down whomever we want and take whatever we want. Paradox is offering us all of that, and with him, behind us, we’re going to turn this little group of shit kickers into a real fucking army. Demons, the Horde, none of them are going to be able to stop us. You're risking all of that on a junkie, a few lines in an old book and the chance for a ticket on a magical train to fucking heaven. You all to stop living in a fucking fantasyland!”

  Jamie finished his rant and then turning he stormed out of the double doors and into the street. The riders watched him go and then after a moment Cort shook his head and started to stand. Oliver leaned over and put an arm on the cavalryman’s arms.

  “Give him a minute. You know what he’s like when he gets like this,” the Brit said.

  “We’re all remembering things and feeling things that we haven’t for a very long time. And it’s easy to forget Jamie was a lot younger than any of the rest of us when he died,” the priest cautioned.

  “I think what Father Callahan is trying to say is that our gunfighter is a moody teenager,” Oliver pointed out.

  “Maybe I should talk to him?” Jerry offered.

  As a group, the riders turned to look directly at Jerry. They each wore expressions that ranged from confusion to mirth.

  “And just why in the hell would you want to do that?” Cort asked.

  “It’s not like the lad thinks very much of you Jer,” Oliver pointed out.

  “I’ve been dead the least amount of time as anyone here,” Jerry replied and then glancing over his shoulder to look at the passed-out Danny, “I mean not counting him.”

  “What I’m saying is that these feelings aren’t strange to me. They are just natural, maybe I can help,” Jerry said.

  The Cavalryman sat back down and then opening his hand in surrender said, “Give it a shot if you like.”

  Jerry stood and with a nod turned to follow Jamie outside.

  “They grow up so quick,” Oliver said raising a glass. Cort and the priest shared a laugh and lifted their own glasses.

  Outside of The Rose Jerry glanced up and down the empty street but saw no sign of the young gunslinger. With a shrug, he turned to his left at random and ambled down the dusty street. He wasn’t more than a dozen paces from the saloon when that pull deep in his gut returned with a fury. It took him by surprise, and Jerry staggered and nearly fell at the pull’s intensity. He took a breath steadying himself and then glanced back at The Rose. It seemed he had found the limit of Danny’s strange influence.

  “It kinda takes you off guard, don’t it?” Jamie called.

  Looking around Jerry found the young Gunfighter sitting on a low bench between two of the rotting buildings.

  “I’m a bit surprised, I expected Cort to come himself, not you,” Jamie sneered.

  Jerry nodded, and from his pocket, he pulled the pair of Lucky Strikes he had prepared for just this moment. He put both of the cigarettes in his mouth and then lit them at the same time. Jerry then took a few cautious steps forward offering the gunfighter one of the lit smokes. For a split-second, Jerry felt like a lion tamer offering a slice of meat to some dangerous beast. The thought made him feel ridicules at first, but as his eyes fell upon the worn grips of Jamie’s Scofield the comparison suddenly seemed a little less ridiculous.

  “He wanted too,” Jerry began as Jamie took the offered cigarette, “but I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “And just what in the hell makes you think I want to talk to you?” Jamie scoffed.

  “I just kinda figured after all this time, that you would already know what Cort would say,” Jerry explained.

  “Now isn’t that the fucking truth. You know I don’t think the Lieutenant has ever been able to let the Army go. First, he would start in with some nonsense about the mission and then the importance of team. Then he would try explaining to me again what he thinks makes whatever it is so damned important. But the conversation always ends the same way, with threats.”

  Jamie took a long drag on his cigarette and then for the first time he turned to look up at Jerry.

  “You know I’m not afraid of him. I could kill him easy enough if I wanted. Shinji and Olly too for that matter and then drink them all dry,” Jamie said.

  Jerry sat quietly at first not sure exactly what to say to the dangerous young killer, but a moment later Jamie asked the question for him.

  “You want to know why I haven’t?”

  “Why not?” Jerry asked almost mechanically his, cigarette long forgotten.

  “Then I’d be stuck here alone,” Jamie admitted.

  “We’re all afraid of something. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, the things I did in my life. The decisions that I made, and the ones that I regret the most, are the ones that I made out of fear. I’m not going to make that mistake again, and you shouldn’t be either,” Jerry said realizing the truth in the words as he spoke them.

  The young gunfighter turned to look directly at Jamie again, “You don’t know shit! You’ve been here like all of five goddamned minutes!”

  “But If Father Callahan is right…” Jerry began only to be shouted down by Jamie.

  “If the priest is right then I’m properly fucked!”

  Jamie stood then and stared openly out at the horizon, and Jerry quickly realized his eyes were fixed on a single point. The source of the pull and if Father Callahan was right, judgment.

  “You see carpetbagger, the thing is I don’t give a fuck about that kid. Cort and the others want to believe they can buy their way into heaven with the boy, but it aint that simple. It’s like they just want to forget that deep down, we are all just bad men.”

  Jamie paused then for a long moment, but just when Jerry thought perhaps the gunfighter was done speaking he said.

  “They all fell asleep and had themselves some awfully pretty dreams. They saw their wives and their children, and it put the idea in their head that they can somehow change things. It gave them hope for something better, and it convinced them that they don’t deserve any of this. You want to know what I saw Jerry?”

  Not sure how else to respond Jerry shook his head, but he knew Jamie was about to tell him no matter how he responded.

  “I was 12 years old again and back in those fucking canyons. My brother William was nearly 15 and my Pa…my Pa…” Jamie repeated shaking his head.

  “My Pa had started calling my brother a young man and not just boy anymore. He promised him his own saddle horse after we sold the cattle that year. William was always the favorite you see, he was older, taller, stronger, even smarter to I reckon. I guess I thought if William was gone I would be the favorite. So, after a lot of begging and pleading, I convinced him to follow me into the canyons, where we had played together just a few years before.” Jamie paused again as if dwelling on that for a moment.

  “I told him I had found something in a shallow cave under a rocky overhang, but I wouldn’t tell him what unless he came and looked himself. When he bent down to have a look, I hit him in the back of the head with a rock. He went down right away, he didn’t even make a sound. I hit him again and again until the back of his head was caved in. He was the first person I ever killed. I just stood there and looked down at him for a time. I think I was a little surprised that he was actually dead. That I had killed him.”

  For a moment Jamie paused the story and took another long slow drag from his dwindling cigarette.

  “What happened then?” Jerry asked, immediat
ely regretting the question. Jamie glanced at him and before continuing.

  “I ran all the way home and told Pa the lie that I had made up. It was a stupid lie, but shit I was 12, and at the time it seemed alright. I told him that William and me had been playing and climbing in the canyons. That he had fallen and was hurt. Pa threw me up on the back of his horse, and he rode like hell back towards them canyons. As we got closer, I started to realize that it was going to be pretty obvious that William hadn’t died in a fall. I panicked and so when Pa reached the canyons and asked me which way to go, I lied. At first, I led him in circles and then I told him I wasn’t sure anymore. We spent the night in them canyons wandering through the dark both of us calling William’s name, though I knew he was dead.”

  “By the next morning, Pa had stopped asking me for directions. I think he had started to realize I wasn’t telling him the truth. He found William on his own, right where I had left him. The coyotes had been at him a bit, but it didn’t take much to see exactly what had happened. Pa never said a word, never asked me about it, and never accused me of anything. I think maybe part of him just didn’t want to believe it, that one of his sons could kill the other.”

  Jamie crushed what was left of his cigarette between his fingers and tossed what was left aside. Then the gunfighter stood, still staring out at the horizon.

  “Things were never the same after that. I was not the new favorite son. In fact, Pa hardly even spoke to me much at all anymore. I’m not sure if he ever told Ma but she knew something was wrong. Two more years I stayed on at the ranch, like a ghost haunting my own home. Mostly ignored, barely tolerated. When I had finally had enough, I left. I stole Pa’s good horse and his old gun, and I never went back.”

  His story told Jamie went quiet giving Jerry a moment to try and understand all that he had just heard.

  “That’s why when you summon up those canyons, and we ride through…” Jerry began.

  “I always know the way out. I just have to keep turning away from my brother William. I knew right where he was in life. Here in death, I’m not allowed to ever find him,” Jamie explained with a nod.

  “Jerry I’m not afraid of judgment if that is what’s even out there. I already know where I’m going and it don’t get any better than this right here. Cort and the others want to take a chance on forgiveness, they want to try for something better, that’s fine, let them. I’m going to take my chances here, and that means handing Danny over to Paradox.”

  Jerry shook his head, “Corts not going to allow that.”

  “I know, but how about you let me worry about that,” Jamie said looking down at Jerry where he sat.

  “Besides you aren’t going to care none.”

  Faster than Jerry’s eye could follow the young gunfighter’s right hand shot out. For a split-second Jerry thought he was about to be shot, then that idea was crushed from him as Jamie’s hand clamped tightly around his windpipe. Before Jerry could even try and croak out a curse he was struck again. This time it was by the gunfighter’s tremendous willpower as Jamie began to suck the very life out of him. Feebly Jerry tried to fight back grabbing at his attacker’s wrist trying to pry free of his grip. Jamie easily pushed him backward until Jerry was flat on his back in the dirt. As color began to fade from the little man’s face, he realized he was simply outmatched and trying to escape was useless. So, he closed his eyes and tried to fight back in the only other way that he could.

  Jerry could feel his very life flowing out of him like a bathtub being drained. The water circling down and away from him and into Jamie. Jerry urged and begged and mentally pleaded for it to stop, but the flow paid him no heed. In fact, the flow seemed to increase as his life receded. His cheeks were growing sunken, his vision starting to grow dark at the edges. He began to realize he would die here, not his body physically but his soul, his very being taken from him. For a moment, he saw Rachel again, and he recalled all the regrets he still carried. And with her in his mind’s eye, the flowing waters of his life started to slow.

  He grasped desperately to her memory now trying to recall all of the joys they had shared and the essence of his life stopped draining away. The flow now became a frantic and churning pool. Somehow as if connected by the flowing water’s Jerry could sense Jamie’s rage, his anger and below that his fear. Steadying his mind Jerry forced himself to picture Rachel on their wedding day and as he felt his heart soar he pulled back at the current. The water slowly and steadily began to rise as bit by bit Jerry began to take back all that he had lost. Jamie continued to mentally struggle against him, but Jerry began to believe that he may actually be able to win this battle of wills. Unfortunately for him, Jamie had been doing this a lot longer and had never counted himself above cheating.

  The gunslinger punched Jerry firmly in the stomach. Lying flat on the ground Jerry’s body took the full brunt of the powerful blow and one of Jerry felt one of his ribs crack. The pain inflicted to Jerry’s physical body was so intense and unexpected that it shattered his concentration. And with his mental willpower vanished as Jamie began to leach the life from him at a terrifying rate. What had once been a drain before was now a waterfall as Jerry’s life force cascaded out of him and into Jamie. Jerry’s face, his arms, his entire body began to shrivel as he was sucked dry. His eyes flashed open but his vision was already dark, he opened his mouth to scream but no sound escape.

  Jamie dropped the desiccated corpse to the ground and stood up straight wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked down at what had been Jerry for a moment, he had to give the runt credit; Jerry had put up more of a fight than most. The gunslinger turned and stepped back into the street he looked in the direction of The Rose for a long moment. Then turning away, he walked down the dusty street, gathered his horse and rode out onto the desolate plain alone. Behind him, Jerry’s desiccated corpse began to stir. The faded blue suit hung loosely from his now gaunt shoulders, but he was beyond caring. He took one faltering step and then followed it with another as he began to walk towards the horizon.

  Sometime later Father Callahan and Shinji stood in the dusty street outside of The Rose. Each man wearing a look of concern. Danny sat on the wooden steps and watched the scene with mild interest as he rode the wave of his current high. A few moments later Cort and Oliver returned from the opposite end of town.

  “Anything?” Cort asked.

  Father Callahan shook his head, “Not a trace.”

  “Fuck!” Cort shouted again in frustration.

  “Where in the hell could they have possibly run off too?” Oliver asked.

  The priest just shook his head, but Shinji replied, “I not…know this.”

  “Now I could see Jerry maybe wandering off. He just gets a bit too far away from town and the whole thing just up and vanishes behind him. Don’t forget he’s little better than a babe in the woods out here,” Oliver offered.

  “And then what? Jamie got lost with him? Or maybe the two of them went for a little stroll together like a pair of sweethearts in the moonlight?” Cort mocked in reply.

  “That seems…unlikely,” the priest admitted.

  “Jamie…asshole,” Shinji pointed out.

  “Shinji has a point there,” the Dragoon said pointing at the warrior but looking at Cort.

  “He wasn’t a big fan of Jerry either,” Cort replied.

  “Or of our little escape plan,” the priest pointed out.

  Cort removed his hat and ran a hand through his dusty hair. He was frustrated, he should have been the one to go out and talk to Jamie. He should have been able to see something like this coming. He began to realize that having all of these emotions back wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The riders had managed to carve themselves out a meager existence here thanks in part to Cort’s ability to think clearly under pressure. Now even that seemed in jeopardy.

  “I think we have to assume Jamie has struck out on his own,” Cort announced steadying himself.

  “And Jerry?” Oliver asked.

 
“And Jerry has either gone with him or perhaps, more likely…he’s out for a walk,” Cort said nodding towards the horizon.

  “Why would he do that? Where would he go?” Oliver demanded.

  “I’m not as concerned with the why, as I am with the where,” Cort replied flatly.

  “Why? Where do you think he went?” Father Callahan asked.

  “I’m not sure, but if it’s where I suspect, then we may be in for a bit of trouble,” Cort explained.

  “What’s the plan then Leftenant?” Oliver asked.

  “Same as before. We just have to do it faster,” Cort said, his eyes settling on where Danny now sat.

  “Riders, mount up!”

  The City of Angels

  Jamie rode out across the desolate plain alone for the first time in many years. It left him feeling uneasy and perhaps if he had been a bit more honest with himself, vulnerable. He ran one hand down over the worn grips of his Scofield, and the familiar feeling of the pistol put him at ease, at least for the moment. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself onward, still not quite sure where he was headed.

  Jamie forced the feelings of doubt from his mind and forced himself to concentrate. Big AL had told them that Cesar and the Horde hadn’t been back to The Rose in some time. They had found themselves a new home, a place they had referred to as The City of Angels. Jamie had no idea where it was or what that meant, but he doubted very much it had anything to do with heaven.

  While the city was unknown to the young gunfighter, Cesar was not. The Riders and the Horde had crossed paths nearly a dozen times over the decades. The meetings had been random, brief and while ultimately peaceful they were always tense affairs. The two groups had reached a mutual understanding based on an abundance of souls walking the plain. Though if Jamie had his way that dynamic was about shift violently.

  As Jamie rode, he began to try and form a picture of Cesar in his mind. He concentrated, trying to remember every detail of the dangerous man that he could recall from their last meeting. The Mexican had a rounded face, and a head shaved smooth. It was the kind of face that liked to smile often and would have been at home on a baker or a barber maybe. Somehow it seemed to make Cesar all that more unsettling. He always wore ragged jeans and a black leather vest that he referred to as “His colors.” The vest failed to cover a belly that would have looked humorous on anyone half as fierce.