Flame

by Jim Heskett

  After another ten minutes of wandering while her stomach grumbled, Rosia came upon a bakery. Better than nothing. She opened the front door, making a bell above her head jingle. A wizened man with ruddy cheeks and a broad smile stood behind the counter, with an apron stained a deep red with blood. Judging by the cuts of meat all around him, this baker was also a butcher.

  "Hello, young lady,” the old man said.

  Rosia strutted up to the counter and laid a gold bar onto it. "I need to feed four people for several days. We might be stuck here in Rock Springs for a while."

  "I see," the old man said, staring down at the bar of gold. "You ought to be careful, waving around your treasure like that. There are plenty in this town who wouldn't think twice about cutting your throat for such a prize."

  Although Rosia didn't get any sense of danger from the old man, her hand instinctively tightened around the grip of her pistol under her cloak. "Thank you for your concern. We plan to keep to ourselves."

  How long would they be here? How long would it take Tenney to heal before they could move him? She had no idea.

  The man leaned forward and placed his elbows on the counter. His wrinkly face widened as he flashed a toothless smile at her. "Young lady, that don't matter. Once those White Flames pendejos get their sights on you in Rock Springs, there won't be anywhere good to hide."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Yorick watched the animal doctor withdraw the thermometer from the sleeping Tenney’s mouth. The man frowned as he studied it, which did not instill Yorick with confidence.

  “Better?” Malina asked as she gripped Tenney’s hand.

  The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” He dug into his medical bag and withdrew a bottle of pills, then he held them out to Yorick. “One of these every four hours. Change his bandage tomorrow, let him rest, and hope the stars will heal him. That’s all I can do.”

  “When will he be up and around?” Yorick asked.

  “I can’t say for sure. His wound is clean, but he needs to stay off his feet for several days. It all depends on how he takes to the treatment. Could be up to a week.”

  A shot of anxiety stung Yorick. The entry to Colorado would seal in five days. Maybe even not that long, depending on how reliable the information had been back in Pinedale.

  Yorick accepted the pills and gave the doctor a hunk of gold he’d shaved off one of the bars. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll come back in a couple days to check on him. If his fever continues to worsen, you might have to consider getting him to the hospital in Rawlins, but in his current state, I don’t know if I would advise moving him. But, then again, if it gets bad enough, you may not have that choice.”

  Malina stood up, looking shaky on her thin legs. “Thank you, doctor.”

  “Good day and kind weather,” he said. Then, to Yorick: “I can be discreet. I don’t know how many have seen you already, but it bears mentioning. There are some in this town who would…” he trailed off, casting eyes at Malina. Yorick knew what he meant. They would be a target as long as they were with the light-skinned girl.

  When the doctor left, Malina slumped onto the edge of the bed. She scooted up next to Tenney and nestled into the crook of his shoulder. Tears streaming down her face.

  “He’s my step-stool,” she said behind a wall of tears.

  “He’s what?” Yorick asked.

  Malina didn’t take her eyes off Tenney. She cleared her throat and continued. “There was a rake sitting on top of a shelf in the eastern shed at the plantación. I was supposed to get it, but I wasn’t tall enough. Tenney came into the shed to get something else while I was there. We’d seen each other in the fields, but we’d never actually spoken. Not once before that day. He saw what I was trying to do, and he lifted me up to get the rake. He said he was my step-stool. And, when he set me back down, he kissed me. I’ve never been apart from him for more than an hour or two since then. My step-stool.”

  “I’m sorry, Malina. He’s going to get better. We’re going to help him, and it’s going to work out.”

  “You should go,” she said. “You and Rosia. Go find your parents. If he can’t move, then I don’t move, either.”

  For a moment, Yorick entertained the idea. Then, he shook his head. Leave an injured Tenney and a distraught Malina here to fend for themselves? With the looks they’d gotten as they’d entered, that would be a death sentence for the both of them. “No. We stay together. We let him rest, then we leave together when we’re all able.”

  She made a face that he had a hard time reading. Maybe a little fear, mixed with gratitude. Impossible to tell. The tears twisted her face into a mask of pain.

  Tenney groaned and shifted in the bed. Sweat glistened on his forehead. But, his eyes stayed closed.

  “Where is Rosia?” Malina asked.

  “Good question. I’ll be right back. Maybe I can fetch some ice to cool his fever.”

  Yorick armed himself with an easily concealed pistol. He backed out of the room as Malina wept. She didn’t say goodbye, and he didn’t expect her to do it. Her shuddering body stayed focused on Tenney.

  Out alone in the hallway, he paused for a moment. The silence of the hall was like a deafening boom in his head. So many thoughts swirled. All the trouble they’d seen so far. All the complications. Every moment felt unpredictable and ready to explode with danger.

  “The outside world sucks,” he muttered.

  Everything at the plantación had been simple. Not easy, but simple. They’d spent so much time trying to escape, they hadn’t considered what life would be like on the outside of the plantación walls. The immediacy of peril had not stopped since they’d been on their own, not for one second.

  With a sigh, Yorick continued down the hall to the staircase.

  As he descended the stairs of the inn, he couldn't keep the thoughts away. These three people—his friends—were following him. Embarking on a dangerous mission across the state to find his parents. And what had they lost so far? Tenney had been shot. All of them harassed. They'd seen people die in front of them. Possibly, innocent people.

  Maybe pursuing his parents was a terrible idea. Maybe they should all go north, away from all of this.

  But, was there anywhere to go? King Nichol’s reach was vast. That's what Yorick had always heard. It didn't matter if they were in Wyoming or Colorado or the northern territories, or even if they tried to escape east. They would never be out of reach of the king’s soldados.

  No, they would continue on. They would find his parents and get answers. Shelter. Then, they would all four decide what the next phase of their lives would be.

  “This has got to slow down at some point,” he whispered to himself.

  When Yorick stepped into the lobby of the inn, he could see into the street, and he knew something was wrong right away. Rosia was there, surrounded by a tight group of people. Men and women of all ages, anger written on their faces. Some of them looked like regular townspeople in plain dress, and some were clothed in the shabby yellow and brown rags of the White Flames.

  Yorick gripped his weapon and hustled across the lobby. He could see Rosia with her cloak on, and he knew she was armed underneath it. If she pulled out her pistol and started shooting, everything would change.

  Yorick threw back the door to the inn and raced down the steps to the street out front. Just then, a woman gave Rosia a shove on her shoulder.

  "You're going to bring them all down on us," the woman said, seething. "You think we want the Royal Army here in Rock Springs?"

  “I don’t know who you think I am,” Rosia said, rage in her eyes, “but you’re mistaken.”

  Yorick pushed his way through the crowd to join Rosia. "Easy," he said to his girlfriend as he backed up to her side. He could see the intention on her face. She wanted to pull out her gun and blast a few warning shots into the sky. Maybe do more than that.

  "I've got this under control," Rosia said.

  Yorick wasn't sure about that
because the crowd swelled and converged on them as additional people joined the edges. Some of them shouted about the wanted posters and the bounty. Some of them simply yelled for Yorick and his people to leave as soon as possible.

  A moment later, the first rock hit. It beaned Yorick on the side of his head, forcing his eyes shut. A line of blood dribbled down his temple, blotting at his eyebrow.

  Rosia now did whip out her gun as the second rock whiffed above her head. A few people gasped, others pulled back, and even more took out weapons of their own. Yorick had no choice but to draw his gun and pull closer to Rosia.

  "We don't want any trouble," she said. "Our friend is injured. As soon as he is better, we will be on our way. That's a promise. There's no reason our presence here needs to bring any attention to this town."

  "That's a bucket full of mierda,” said a young man with a long wooden stick in his hands. "You need to get out of here now. Not tomorrow. Not next week. When the soldados come, we don’t want you getting us in trouble, too.”

  The crowd closed in. Yorick watched Rosia lower her pistol, pointing it at random people in sequence.

  Her finger moved to the trigger.

  No. No more violence today. He grabbed her by the hand and tugged her toward the edge of the crowd. Waving his gun around, he forced them to make a hole for him and Rosia to exit. Yorick practically dragged her up the steps of the inn.

  The innkeeper was standing behind her counter, chewing on a fingernail. Yorick shut the door, locked it, and drew the shades down over the windows.

  “What do we do?” Rosia said. “We can’t move Tenney.”

  “Maybe we have to move him a little. Maybe we don’t have a choice.”

  Rosia eyed him. “What do you mean?”

  He rushed up to the innkeeper, Rosia following. “Do you have a secure place?" Yorick asked. "Someplace we can be protected? Someplace fortified in the building so they can’t get to us."

  The woman tilted her head back and forth, her lips pursed. “I don't know about this. I don't like the idea of harboring dangerous fugitives at my inn.”

  Rosia pulled a bar of gold from underneath her cloak and slapped it down on the counter, making the guestbook and a collection of pens rattle. "Find us a spot to hide. Now."

  The innkeeper's eyes flashed at the gold. "Well, since you put it that way, I could hide you down in the basement. No one knows about it. I’ll close up the inn for a few minutes to give us some privacy. If you can find a way to move your injured friend, I suppose I can make that happen for you."

  Yorick and Rosia looked at each other. It would have to work.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next morning, Malina awoke before everyone else. She’d slept apart from Tenney last night for the first time in forever. A year or two, at least. But, she understood. He needed space to breathe in his tiny cot in the basement of the inn.

  This room was damp and dark and smelled like stale plumbing, the way the classrooms above the cafeteria smelled back at the plantación.

  The plantación.

  Malina tried not to think of it, but there was no way to permanently erase it from her memory. Years of doing the same thing over and over, every day, working in the fields. Every day, enduring looks and snide comments from the guards. Watching her peers go up against the wall to face the firing squad for such minor infractions as sneaking food out of the cafeteria.

  Tenney had been her salvation. Her step-stool. Tenney gave her a reason to continue when she had spent so many days and nights thinking of ways to kill herself. With him in her life, she wanted to continue living.

  And now, in the basement of this rickety inn, she sat on her cot and looked at him. He slept with a wince on his handsome face. She reached across and felt his forehead, and it wasn’t as bad as it had been. Still warm, but not the same lethal-warm as it had felt the day before. The ice chips helped, but the t-shirts they wrapped the ice in didn’t let enough of the coolness through.

  She sat up straight as the idea exploded in her head. Her bandanna. It was much thinner than a t-shirt, and it would be perfect to fill with ice and rest on his forehead. Plus, it smelled like her, so maybe having that touching his skin might bring him some comfort, if only unconsciously.

  But, she had lost her backpack out the window of the car yesterday morning. It was a kilometer from town, and she wasn’t supposed to venture out alone.

  There were other things in that backpack she needed. Personal things that couldn’t be replaced like the locket she’d had since before coming to the plantación.

  As Yorick slept, his pistol sat on the floor next to his cot.

  Malina stood, crossed the room, and picked up his pistol. She stuffed the weapon in her back pocket and left the room. The only way in or out of the basement was a wooden ladder leading up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Getting Tenney down here yesterday had been a beast of a chore involving ropes and a bedsheet wrapped tightly around his frame.

  Malina climbed the ladder and left the basement, then replaced the trapdoor. She was now in a laundry room, the stinging stink of bleach and cleaning supplies.

  Out into the lobby, there were a few people in the bar, eating breakfast. Soft piano music drifted from the back corner of the room. A few of the breakfast-eaters looked up at her, but no one said anything or made any motion to move. Maybe Yorick and Rosia had exaggerated their account of the altercation in the street the day before. No one was rushing out to grab her. This town didn’t seem any more menacing or odd than Pinedale.

  “You alright, dear?” the innkeeper said.

  Malina turned to face the older woman, and for some reason, she had a hard time lifting her eyes to meet the woman’s gaze.

  “Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded meek and lifeless. She hated the way her voice sounded at times. As thin as a spider web and fleeting, like the wind. Tenney had a deep, booming voice. She loved that about him. How he spoke with confidence and didn’t even think about it.

  “Do you need something?” the innkeeper asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s just that I thought you were all going to stay down in the… you know. Your privacy and all that.”

  Malina now did meet the woman’s eyes, and a flash of anger ran through her. She didn’t want to explain herself to this woman. The innkeeper had no right to make accusations at her.

  The woman’s face changed, her mouth pulling down in a show of concern. “Well, if there’s nothing I can do for you…”

  Malina didn’t feel the need to respond. Out the front door of the inn she went. Burgeoning daylight made her blink several times per second. The experience jarred her after so many hours in that underground dungeon.

  The sun was crawling over the mountains, casting a yellow glow to the fading darkness. As she wandered through town, there were almost no people present. Good, since—according to Rosia—they’d received an order to leave town the day before. A rabble-rousing crowd who may or may not have already moved on to caring about something else.

  She decided to stick to the side streets, and she came upon one building that seemed lively, despite the early hour. A three-story brick building with a glowing sign out front that read Girls Girls Girls.

  A woman in a revealing outfit sat in a chair out front, with her legs spread, as if inviting the world in. Malina sucked in a breath when she realized this woman was a puta1. The building had to be a brothel. Malina averted her eyes, but it was too late. The woman had already noticed her.

  “Hey little mariposa2,” the puta called out. “Looking to earn some money? We can put a light-skinned girl like you to work right this minute.”

  Malina turned her face to the ground and hurried along the street. Up ahead, the street turned. She would be out of this woman’s view in ten more seconds.

  “Got nothing to say?” The woman stood and hustled down into the road, blocking off Malina from exiting at the end of the street.

  “I don’t think you understand the business oppo
rtunity I’m offering you,” the woman said.

  “Please,” Malina said. “Let me pass.”

  The door to the brothel opened, and a couple of men burst forth. Bleary-eyed, staggering, arms around each other in a drunken show of fraternity.

  “Who’s this?” shouted one, a runty redheaded guy with a mustache. He squinted down into the street.

  Malina turned, so her body faced both the puta and these two new guys. She reached back behind her and placed a hand on the pistol, sticking out of the back of her pants.

  The woman’s eyes dropped to Malina’s hand. “What you got there?”

  “Nothing,” Malina said. “I’m out for a walk. I don’t want to talk to you, so I’m going to keep on moving.”

  The puta shook her head and took a step closer. “I don’t think so, my little mariposa. It’s rude to start a conversation and then walk away like this.”

  Malina gripped the pistol. “I didn’t start it. You did.”

  “Well, that’s a matter of perspective, ain’t it? The thing is, we’ve started now, so I think you need to hear me out.”

  Malina gritted her teeth, air whistling in and out of her nose faster and faster. Wetness bloomed on her cheeks, and it took her a moment to realize she was crying. “I said no.”

  “You haven’t even heard what we have to off—”

  It happened before Malina had a chance to understand. Her hand lifted the pistol, pointed it at the woman’s chest, and pulled the trigger. Just as it had done when she’d killed the scientist back at the plantación. A blip of thought, a swirl of confusion inside her mind, and then her body moved on its own.

  The shot rang across the street as the woman stumbled back. A circle of red spread out across her chest. She gulped for air. Her hands, which had been raised, fell to her sides as her expression indicated she now understood what was happening to her.

  Wide-eyed, the woman dropped to her knees, then she fell forward, face-first onto the street. Her head thunked onto the pavement.