Hell's Highwaymen

by Phillip Granath

  “Here they come Leftenent!” Oliver screamed.

  “Mount up, mount up!” Cort screamed and then added, “Oliver you got Shinji!”

  The big Dragoon cursed and then ran forward scooping up the wounded man.

  “Danny, horses!”

  The boy nodded and then raced back from the wall with the priest close behind him. Throughout the battle, the ghostly horses had stood by silent and motionless. The boy held the reins as Oliver arrived a moment later to throw the wounded Shinji over the back of his wooden saddle.

  “Fuck you…Oliver…” the wounded man wheezed out in pain.

  “Your welcome!” the Dragoon barked back and then found his own mount.

  Cort stood at the wall alone, watching as the bikers surged upwards towards him. With his saber still clenched in his right, he drew out his heavy pistol with his left. He made a show of cocking the big gun and then with a wide grin pointed it down at the charging line, at this range no one could miss. The bikers directly in front of him looked up, and upon seeing him, the line started to slow. The men behind them fell forward, and half dozen bikers went down in the mud. Cort waved the pistol to his right and then to the left and the bikers there also scrambled to get out of the way.

  “He’s full of shit, he ain’t got no bullets left!” a voice in the group shouted.

  Cort released the grin that he had been holding back and the line of men started to advance forward a few cautious steps at a time. The cavalryman turned and ran from the wall holstering his empty gun as he moved. Behind him, the biker’s surged forward once again and charged up the hill. But the Cavalryman’s bluff had worked as intended, and it had bought his men the time they needed to mount their horses and prepare to flee.

  Oliver trotted forward leading the cavalryman’s mount, and Cort ran alongside for a few strides before leaping into the saddle. Not wasting another moment, the riders surged down the length of the wall with Cort leading the way and with Oliver and the rest following close behind. As they galloped past a dozen or more bikers reached the wall and began to scramble over the top. But the attackers were all but helpless to stop the fleeing riders, furious the bikers were left with only hurling knives, stones, and curses as the men galloped away.

  “Better luck next time boys!” Oliver shouted with a grin.

  Only a dozen or so yards of overgrown grass separated the stone wall from the walls of the once great house. As the troop thundered past Father Callahan found his eyes were drawn and wandering over his childhood home. In this twisted place, the estate was little more than a ruin now with most of the second floor having collapsed in on the first. In fact, it appeared as if only a single upstairs room remained intact at the far end of the Western hall. Just then as if summoned by his very thoughts the single remaining window was suddenly lit by the unmistakable glow of candlelight. The priest let out a gasp and quickly looked away, as a feeling of dread settled over him.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Danny asked from behind him.

  “What? Nothing, it’s nothing,” the priest managed to reply.

  At that moment, the riders rounded the estate’s Eastern wing and were now mercifully were out of sight of the solitary window. The feeling of dread passed and Father Callahan felt as if he could breathe again. The wooden gate leading to the cart path came into view just a few dozen yards ahead, and the priest allowed himself to hope that perhaps he had seen this place for the last time.

  Then suddenly ahead of him both Cort and Oliver reined their horses in hard, and it was all Father Callahan could do to keep from riding right into the back of their horses. Before he could let out a curse or a question the answer to both appeared suddenly on the far side of the gate.

  “Howdy boys, did you miss me?” Jamie called.

  Then with a pistol in each hand, the young gunslinger opened fire.

  Any port in a storm

  Acting on pure instinct, Cort just managed to turn his horse’s head and shield the other riders before Jamie’s rounds tore into his body. The cavalryman was immediately hit in the stomach, arm, shoulder, and chest. He screamed and slumped forward in the saddle the sound of gunfire and Jamie’s laughter ringing in his ears. Through all of it Cort still had the peace of mind to turn his horses head and kick the beats into a run away from the ambush, and the sound of laughter was quickly drowned out by the running hooves.

  Oliver raced down the length of the curving wall leading Cort’s horse by the reins. One of the Dragoon’s arms hung limply at his side, his shoulder and forearm shattered by Jamie’s bullets. Next, to him, Father Callahan rode hard leading Shinji’s horse, the wounded warrior barely able to cling to his wooden saddle.

  “The gate, the gate is the only way out!” Father Callahan shouted.

  “I know!” Oliver shouted in reply.

  “If we keep following the wall around you’ll just lead us in a damn circle!” Danny pointed out.

  “Don’t you think I fucking know that?” Oliver shouted back.

  Cort fought to sit upright but his body refused to obey him, he opened his eyes and looking down saw his own blood dripping from his body and staining his horse’s mane. As his vision began to fade and darkness filled his eyes a thought came to mind. Jamie could have killed them all easily enough if he had wanted to, he realized now that the gunfighter just wanted them to suffer. Cort tried to smile and then mumbled to himself.

  “That was stupid…mistake …should’ve…killed me…when…you could.”

  With that, the Cavalryman let out a long bloody gurgle that for a moment sounded like a dark laugh. Then Cort slumped forward and nearly toppled from the saddle.

  “Danny, quick grab him!” the priest shouted.

  The teen’s arm shot out, but he found the dying man’s shoulder was just beyond the reach of his fingertips. Mounted behind the priest he would never be able to grab ahold of Cort before he fell.

  “Danny, you’ll have to jump!” the priest shouted.

  “I can’t, I can’t ride, I…” Danny began to protest.

  “Just fucking jump!” Father Callahan demanded.

  The teen got a foot underneath of him, took half a breath and then before he could consider what he was about to do, he jumped. For a heartbeat, he felt as if he was suspended in the air as he leaped between the speeding horses. For some reason, it reminded him of dying, of being weightless again and just floating. For a moment, Danny felt a brief sense of peace. A moment later he landed awkwardly on the horse’s back and broke two of his ribs.

  “Fuck!” Danny screamed.

  The teen just managed to pull himself up behind Cort and then grabbing hold of the man’s gun belt hauled him back into place.

  “Cort? Cort?” Danny shouted and when no reply followed.

  “I think he’s dead!”

  “Lucky bastard!” Oliver shouted back.

  Father Callahan looked up and realized that their desperate flight had already run them nearly the entire length of the estate again and the end of the western hall was coming up quickly. In a few more moments they would circle back around the end of the building and be right back where they had started. Somehow, he doubted the dozen or so angry bikers they had left in their wake had just packed up and gone home.

  “Oliver, we are running out of road!” Father Callahan shouted.

  “I fucking know that, but it’s not like we have a lot of fucking options!”

  Father Callahan looked reluctantly up at the second floor and again found the window of the last room lit. That room would sit just above the kitchens he realized, and the kitchens had a single exterior door. It was used for deliveries and the comings and goings of servants. Even in the priest’s youth, the thing had looked ancient, it was heavy oak and set into the end of the Western hall.

  “We go inside!” the priest shouted.

  “They’ll have us cornered!” Oliver protested.

  “Well, out here they have us surrounded! Pardon me if I don’t see much of a difference at the mome
nt!”

  Oliver shot the priest a look and then just shook his head. Taking that as consent Father Callahan took the lead and as the riders rounded the corner, he led them directly towards the buildings stonewall. The wall was densely overgrown with a layer of brown and yellow hanging vines. But the priest never faltered, he pulled his horse up short and then leaped from the saddle. Racing forward he began to pull away handfuls of dead vines.

  “Danny, help me!” he shouted.

  The teen hesitated for a moment and then stepped down from the saddle. Cort’s body sat upright for a few seconds on its own and then toppled forward to land on the ground with a wet thud. Danny winced at the sound and then stepping forward pulled the saber from the dead man’s belt. He then turned and raced forward to help the priest. Oliver dismounted awkwardly still dragging his useless arm and then fought to unshoulder his flintlock rifle.

  “I don’t see a door priest!” he bellowed.

  “It’s here, I know it’s here,” came the priest’s frantic reply.

  Danny arrived at his side a moment later and began hacking away at the thick vines with his borrowed saber. The blade struck steel on the third swing, and the two men momentarily froze. Father Callahan met the teen’s eye, and he grinned.

  “And a little child shall lead them,” the priest said grinning.

  “Screw you, I’m not a child!” Danny replied and began hacking away with renewed vigor.

  As the teen and the priest attacked the wall of vines, the ancient looking door began to emerge. Oliver could barely raise his heavy rifle with his offhand, but that didn’t stop the Dragoon from moving to the building’s corner and having a look. Sure enough, nearly two dozen bikers now massed along the wall where they had made their stand. The men were covered in mud, some were wounded, but above all, they looked angry. Just then a man on horseback appeared trotting from the direction of the gate at a leisurely pace. It was Jamie, and Oliver held no doubt that the gunfighter was about to rally the troops and put them on the hunt again.

  “The bastard is dragging this out, he’s enjoying this,” Oliver said aloud as he watched the way Jamie casually approached the bikers.

  Turning back towards the priest Oliver called, “Best hurry with that door. I got but one shot and company is on its way!”

  Danny slashed away at the last of the hanging vines as Father Callahan dropped to his knees and began to dig away years of dirt and weeds that now buried the foot of the door.

  “You know, this was the doorway I departed from. The day I walked away from this place forever,” the priest said as he worked.

  “Ok,” Danny said with a shrug.

  “Leaving by the servant’s door. You see, I thought I was making a grand gesture about equality,” Father Callahan continued,

  “Were you?” the teen asked.

  “I told myself I was, but in truth, I did it because I knew it would make my father that much angrier. That if he wanted to try and convince me to stay or threaten me or scream at me,” he said pausing to smile.

  “That he would have to do so in front of the servants.”

  “And he gave a shit about stuff like that?” Danny asked.

  Father Callahan actually laughed just then, “Oh yes, quite.”

  Whatever Jamie said to the mass of bikers, it was simple and direct. Within a minute of his arrival, the men began to spread out and move down the wall towards the building’s western end.

  “Get that damn door open, they’re coming!” Oliver shouted back over his shoulder.

  Using the tip of the saber, Danny helped the priest scrap away the remaining dirt and then helped the man to his feet. With a grin, Father Callahan took hold of the door’s rusted iron ring and gave it a pull. The door gave the slightest of shudders but would move no further.

  “Danny, help me,” the priest called.

  The teen reluctantly set the saber down and then gripping the ring in both hands alongside the priest began to pull as well. This time the door let out a low groan, but still refused to budge.

  “What kind of fucked up doorknob is this anyway?” Danny said and then kicked the door again for good measure.

  “It’s nothing of the kind, this is from before doorknobs, and the like were a common thing. This is a servant’s door it would have just a simple…,” the priest trailed off for a moment and then finally said.

  “Well fuck.”

  “What is it?”

  “It would be secured with an iron bar,” came the reply.

  “You’re saying it’s locked from the inside?” the teen demanded.

  “It would seem so,” he replied.

  “We are fucked!” Danny shouted.

  Taking up Cort’s sword again Danny began to hack away helplessly at the thick door in desperation. From behind them a voice weak and yet still resolute whispered, “No…no sword.”

  Both Danny and the priest turned to find the wounded Shinji still slumped across his horse. The warrior was still alive it seemed, and he looked up at them now.

  “No sword,” he said again and then with a groan raised a bloody arm and pointed to where Oliver knelt.

  “Gun,” he said.

  As the mob of bikers neared Oliver eased the hammer back on his flintlock. He had hoped to kill Jamie with his last shot, but the gunfighter had dismounted and was now somewhere amongst the crowd it seemed.

  “Curse you, you coward,” Oliver said under his breath as he aimed down the long barrel praying for a glimpse of his one-time friend. Suddenly Danny and the priest ran up from behind him.

  “Oliver, don’t shoot,” Danny shouted.

  “Shut the hell up…” Oliver began but was cut off as a round splintered the stone just above his head.

  The dragoon cursed and ducked back behind the edge of the building. The bikers let out a terrible yell and surged towards them.

  “We need your gun come quickly!” Father Callahan shouted and turned and ran back towards the door.

  “But I need my gun!” Oliver shouted in protest but followed reluctantly.

  The Dragoon reached the heavy door blinked for a moment and said, “That’s a big door.”

  “Shoot it,” the priest instructed.

  Behind them, the roaring voices of their attackers were quickly building. The bikers would come pouring around the corner at any moment.

  Oliver shrugged and hoisted his rifle, “Where?”

  For a moment the priest didn’t respond, and instead, he took a step closer to the door. His eyes narrowed, his mouth twitched, and it was clear the man was desperately trying to recall something of grave importance. Oliver and Danny shared a nervous glance. The Father Callahan stepped forward and placed two fingers on the door a few inches above the Iron ring.

  “Here,” he said and then stepped back.

  The Dragoon pressed the muzzle of his rifle against the door just where the priest had indicated. The big man closed his eyes and then turned his head. The heavy flintlock kicked something terribly on a good day. Now pressed flat against the door and with his other arm already wounded Oliver had no doubts that this was going to hurt badly, but just then the first of the charging bikers rounded the corner, Oliver took half a breath and jerked the trigger.

  The sound was deafening, and the big man was thrown to the ground. For a moment, his left shoulder hurt more than his wounded right, something he hadn’t been sure was entirely possible. His head went very light for a moment, and he nearly passed out. Then Danny was standing over him. Just the disembodied head of a boy at first, shouting, scream, pleading with him. But to do what he couldn’t say. His ears were filled with only a high-pitched ringing. Through the haze, he sat up, and a doorway was open in front of him. The boy was pulling on him now, and so he thought it best to stand. Then he was being shoved through the doorway.

  “Grab Shinji!” the priest shouted to Danny as he pulled Cort’s lifeless body towards the doorway.

  “No, take horse! Take horse!” Shinji shouted fighting the boy to stay in t
he saddle.

  “Damn you!” Father Callahan cursed.

  Danny looked up then just as a knife sailed past his head. The horde of bikers was just dozens of feet away now screaming as they ran.

  “No time, lead the horses inside, just go!” the priest shouted at him.

  Danny did as he was told and scooping up the reins he led the ghostly mounts inside at a run. Shots rang out, and Danny didn’t know if it was Jamie or one of the bikers firing, but he heard the thuds of the rounds hitting the opposite side of the undead animal. He bolted forward and through the door with Shinji still clinging to his saddle slipping through after him. The heavy door with its now twisted latch slammed shut just behind them.

  The kitchen wasn’t a small space, but with four horses and their respective riders it had quickly filled up. Oliver was on the floor clearly still stunned by the blast that had opened the door, and was forced to crawl hastily to the side to keep from being trampled.

  “Watch it!” Oliver shouted.

  “Help me, both of you Danny screamed from the corner.

  Just to the left of the doorway sat an old and heavily rusted cast iron stove. Danny had his back against the stove, and his legs propped up against the wall, and he was now pushing against it with all of his worth. Father Callahan saw the teen’s plan immediately and ran to help him.

  “Oliver, Oliver get up and help!” the priest shouted as he joined the teen.

  At first, the stove did nothing but groan in protest, then it started to creep across the floor releasing a terrible screeching sound as it reluctantly moved. The big Dragoon joined them a moment later and gritting his teeth shoved with everything he had left. The oven’s stove pipe groaned loudly and then in a cloud of rusty coal dust the pipe broke free. The oven suddenly lunged forward and slammed into the opposite wall blocking the doorway. A moment later a wave of bangs and curses assaulted the door from the outside. Oliver slumped forward onto the dusty floor and then rolled onto his back and said, “If it’s okay with everyone, I’m going to just pass out right here for a while.”