After the Fall

by Darrel Sparkman

"Watch your ass, Gunny."

  Glancing around the clearing, littered with bodies and the smell of death, Gunny replied, “Yeah, I hear that."

  "Ready, John.” Katie's voice was subdued, but her chin was up and her gaze steady. The smell of cordite reeked in the moisture-laden air, and the morning sun was already promising the oppression of another hot day.

  As they left the clearing, Gunny's voice stopped them. “Trent? If I don't get fragged bottle feeding these damned killers; I'll come by to see you."

  "You are welcome anytime, Gunny."

  * * * *

  Midmorning found them on a bluff overlooking the river. They were still following Eleven Point Creek and Trent knew they would have to turn away from the river soon to head northeast toward the Currant River and Big Springs.

  They were walking in a pine forest. The needles on the ground muffled all sound of their passing and the whispering breeze hissing through the trees at the top of the bluff was soothing and cool on their faces. Trent dropped his pack and stretched, looking out over the hills and valleys. Glancing back, he noticed Katie sitting on her pack, arms around her knees, just staring at the ground. She had not said much since the attack earlier that morning, and now as she sat there, she trembled and shook. The aftermath was starting to set in.

  Kneeling, Trent wrapped her in his arms, holding her head to his shoulder. “It's all right, Katherine. Your body is just reacting to losing all that adrenalin. The shakes are normal."

  He handed her his canteen, and she gratefully put it to her lips.

  "I never knew my mouth could be so dry. Do you get the shakes too?"

  Trent's expression softened. “Sure, but I usually do it late at night when no one can see. I have to protect my image.” He stroked her hair. “Your first time?"

  "Yeah.” The one word was full of emotion.

  "You did good."

  "Did I, really? I killed some of those men. I've never killed a man before.” Her voice was a mixture of loathing and wonder.

  Trent roughly pulled away, hands still on her shoulders. His gaze held steadily to her blue eyes until he was sure she was through feeling sorry for herself. He watched it all march past, by the expression in her eyes. He could count the emotions. Loathing. Despair.

  No one should ever have to kill. It was not fair.

  Slowly, reality set in, with her new knowledge of the real world. Then resolve. But, not pride. He knew she was not proud of it, but also knew deep down the killing was unavoidable. It was simply the price of survival.

  The hands that had roughly held her away from him started caressing her arms and shoulders. Trent's voice was gentle. “How did you do today? Let me evaluate you as I would a soldier, Katherine. Most important of all, you were quiet and did not ask stupid questions. You did what I asked you to do without hesitation, and yes ... you had the guts to kill when you had to. There was no choice. Those people who attacked our camp were not going to stop and let us take a vote about whether we wanted to die, and they sure as hell were not going to debate the morality of the situation. They were going to kill you. Or worse. Or both. Remember that.

  "Look at how the recruits did. They ran like rabbits. If more of them were like you ... they might not have lost so many men. Besides,” he chuckled, trying to get her mind off the attack, “you even saved my tail. That last raider would have put lead into me if you hadn't nailed him."

  Katie smiled at him, her gaze burning with something he had seen in her before when they met at the clearing. “Then you owe me. Right? There's bound to be a code of the forest, or something like that?"

  "You bet."

  "Then pay up."

  His lips started to form a question, but it just made things easier for Katie. Her lips found his, softly clinging, then grinding with hunger. Her arms went around him as she entwined her fingers in his hair and held him against her.

  "Are you sure about this?"

  Her answer was another kiss. This one softer and full of promise.

  All his resistance to her, which was not much, fell away as his hands cupped her buttocks and pulled her tight against him, crushing her breasts against his chest.

  Breathing heavily, she broke away, chuckling as his mouth found her throat and his hands worked on the laces of her shirt. “Why, Marshal,” she said breathily. “The things you do ... and right here in broad daylight?"

  Chapter 10

  THE FOLLOWING DAY found them high on a tree-covered mountain, overlooking a natural basin about two miles across. Although he could not see it from their vantage point, Trent could hear the rumble of water erupting from the spring below.

  "How did all this come about, Katherine? I had it pictured in my mind as being a lot bigger."

  With a sigh, Katie dropped her pack to the ground and came to stand by Trent, appearing happy to take on the role of tour guide. Trent had not stopped all morning, and by her moans and groans, he could tell her tail was dragging.

  "You hear that noise from below?” she asked. “That's the spring. I found some old tourist brochures that told all about it. Millions of gallons of cold, clear water comes bustin’ out from under this mountain every day. It forms a river for about two miles, then ducks into a cave in the limestone, and disappears. It finally feeds into the Currant River several miles from here."

  Trent stood with his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath, taking in the cool, moist air coming up from below. Katie came to stand in front of him, fitting into him like a spoon.

  "That's what started the settlement? The water?"

  "Yep. There were some small towns nearby, but when the plague started no one knew what caused it. People were scared. Some of the locals thought contaminated water caused the sickness, so they holed up here in the basin. This water was the cleanest around, I guess. At least, it was clean enough that people did not die. Of course, there weren't many people here until the last few years."

  "How did they keep everyone out? I would think once the word got around everyone would want to come."

  "You'd remember this more than I, anything us young folk know is just hearsay.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “But with people dying so fast it was pure panic. Not many thought of Big Springs, and a lot that did died before they got here. Then, of course, there was the road."

  "Road?” He glanced at her quizzically.

  "There was only one road into this place, so they blasted it out. All this limestone is soft. A few sticks of dynamite in the right spot made it disappear under tons of rock. Now, the only way in or out is game trails, on foot or horseback. Those can be watched, if need be."

  Katie stared into the basin, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his hands, which were locked around her.

  "Katherine, about yesterday."

  She leaned back into him, pushing against him with her buttocks. “What about yesterday? You feel you were cheated or something? Got took advantage of? What?"

  "Be serious."

  "I am dead serious, John."

  "I just want you to be sure, that's all. I'm no bargain."

  "That is a matter of opinion, old man,” she said with a chuckle. She picked up her pack. “Come on. We go around this bend and you can see the town."

  A few minutes later, Katie stared in awe at the settlement. “Where did all...” Her voice faded with the question.

  Trent pulled a pair of binoculars from his pack. Focusing the instrument pulled a vision of the town right up to his nose. The settlement had one street, with buildings lining each side. A few houses randomly dotted the basin floor and off to one side stood a small country church, complete with steeple and bell tower.

  The street, lined with men, and horses and wagons tied to rails and posts, was a well of inactivity. No one seemed to be doing anything. Then, a group of men erupted from one of the buildings. Trent saw the puff of smoke long before he heard the insignificant sound of the shot. The group turned and trooped back into the building. The body left on the ground did not move.

  Trent
turned to Katie with a grim expression. “Looks like you have a lot of new residents."

  "Raiders?"

  "Raiders, mercenaries, survivors, who knows? It doesn't make much difference what you call them."

  Holding her own set of glasses, she said, “I don't see any of the locals, and I can't figure how they got those wagons in."

  Abruptly, she started down the pine-needled trail skirting the basin.

  Following, Trent asked, “Where are you going?"

  "There is a ranch a couple miles from here run by Connie Sanchez. She is a friend of mine and has a bunch of riders right out of old Mexico. They're all descendants of the Maya, whatever that is. All I know is, nobody messes with them. Connie keeps her ear to the ground. She'll know what's going on."

  * * * *

  The Sanchez ranch lay in a high, narrow valley next to the Big Springs basin. The land was not quite as rough, with the forest broken by small glades full of grass. In the distance, Trent could see cattle grazing on a plateau, and on another were horses. All the animals had guards. Someone had been very smart. Cattle represented food. Anyone controlling a herd of cattle could have about anything they wanted. Provided they could hold it.

  Coming out on a wider trail that led to the main house, Trent saw a low bungalow with a red-tiled roof and wraparound porch. They hitched up their packs and started toward it.

  "Hold it."

  The voice had come from the side, next to a gigantic outcropping of limestone, and Trent silently cursed himself for not being more careful. Katie's confidence had lulled him into thinking they were safe.

  The man who rode around the rock was lean and dark. Both hands handled his rifle as he guided his horse with his knees. His wide brimmed hat sat on the back of his head, revealing shiny black hair. The smoke from the small cigarillo made his eyes squint at them, but Trent doubted he missed anything. This man looked to be all whang-leather and sharp spurs. There was no doubt about the M-16 pointed at them.

  "You have business here?” His voice was soft and musical, with no trace of an accent.

  Katie spoke up, sounding flustered. “You must be new here. I'm a friend of Consuelo's."

  Motioning them forward with the point of the gun, he said politely, “That we shall see. Today is not a good day for visitors."

  "Have you had trouble?” Trent asked.

  "Each day has its own.” The brusque reply was both philosophical and grim.

  As they neared the long porch, a woman burst through the door. Long black hair framed her eyes, and her low cut dress revealed a voluptuous body. Her dress was trimmed with so much jewelry, she looked more like an Indian princess than a Mexican land owner.

  "Katie,” she exclaimed as she hugged the tall blond girl.

  "How's it going, Connie?"

  Consuelo's expression sobered a moment. “It goes. How do you like my new foreman?"

  "He seems very capable."

  "Capable?” Connie laughed. “You have no idea."

  Trent was watching the retreating man on the horse when Connie turned to him. “And who is this very handsome man?"

  Katie pulled him by the arm as they moved toward chairs on the porch. “Connie, this is John Trent."

  "Welcome.” The black haired beauty let her gaze roam over him from head to foot. Her Mexican accent suddenly became thick as syrup. “I am the Contessa Maria Consuelo Gonzales Pelenque y Sanchez."

  Trent did not know whether to doff his hat, bow from the waist, or fire a twenty-one gun salute. Lacking the proper artillery, he compromised. “Damn!” He grinned.

  "That's what I said the first time.” A voice came from within the house. “Of course, I've been here a lot, so I'm used to it."

  The door behind them opened and a big man eased himself onto the porch. The truculent voice and mocking eyes set warning bells off in Trent's head.

  Trent looked at Katie for direction, but her gaze locked on Consuelo. Somehow, she had led them into a nest of snakes, and Trent decided to walk soft, not wanting to step on the wrong one. He had been in the woods way too long.

  Consuelo was obviously flirting with him, Katie was gearing up for an old-fashioned clawing match, and another man was staking out the Mexican girl as his own territory, leaving Trent in the middle. Trent couldn't stop the grin growing on his face.

  The man had stopped and was staring at Trent. “I know you."

  "A lot of people know me,” Trent replied evenly. “And you are?"

  "Pagan Reeves.” He said it as if it should mean something.

  And it did. Colonel Bonham had talked about this man. Brutal and ruthless, Reeves was supposed to have no side but his own.

  "I know the name."

  Apparently, Katie could not keep Trent's identity to herself. Pulling Consuelo to a table, she said, “John is a United States Marshal."

  "A marshal.” At first, the Mexican girl was unimpressed. “A marshal?"

  "The army assigned him to Big Springs,” Katie continued.

  "Alone? Are you crazy?” Consuelo said in incredulous tones as she shuttled her gaze between Katie and Trent. “Have you seen the town since you returned?” All trace of an accent was gone. “There are at least fifty mercenaries in town alone. They have just about run all the honest people off. We hear there is a big cheese raider camped out in the hills, just waiting for everyone to clear out so he can move his families in. We need an army here, not one man."

  "Guess I will have to do.” Trent was moving off the porch, getting ready to leave.

  "You won't last a day,” Reeves said with contempt, standing with his hand close to his holstered pistol. “I remember you now, Trent. You are the Army courier. Scout. Fast-gun artist."

  Reeve's mocking tone was pushing, and Trent did not want anything to happen here because of the women. Too many got hurt in shootouts, and not necessarily the people doing the shooting.

  Reeves continued. “Maybe I should just save the boys in town the trouble and run you off right now."

  Coldly angry, Trent turned, and his earlier caution gone, faced Reeves. Walking toward the man, he replied. “Why don't you do that, Reeves? You run me off. Do it right now. You have a gun. Use it."

  Trent kept getting closer. Finally, they were facing each other with less than a foot of space between them.

  "How about it, Reeves? Are you going to pull that shooter?"

  Trent could see Pagan Reeves was sweating. Any gunplay now would get them both killed. Neither could miss.

  "Enough of this."

  The man who had escorted them to the house stood a few feet away. He held a large bore Smith and Wesson as if it was part of his body. He pointed it at Pagan.

  "Sure, anything you say, Chico,” Pagan said.

  Pagan backed off slowly, making a show of being reluctant to move. Looking maliciously at Trent, he mounted his horse.

  "Trent. You come to town and you will die. Big Springs is mine. I have the town and the men to hold it. But you come on, Marshal. You just come on."

  Reeves whirled his horse and rode away in a cloud of insignificant threats and dusty bravado. He was gone in seconds flat.

  Trent turned to face the Mexican, the pieces of his memory finally clicking together. “Chico Cruz."

  "The same."

  "I have heard many things of Chico Cruz."

  "And I have heard of the courier John Trent."

  Katie broke in. “If this mutual admiration society could break up, it's time we left. It's getting dark, John."

  "All right, Katherine."

  "John?” Consuelo said. “John, is it? And Katherine? He gets to call you Katherine?” She looked at Katie, holding her hand to her mouth. “Now I see. I am so sorry, Katie. Now I know why you were getting so mad."

  Connie giggled softly into her hand. “Please, both of you, stay with me tonight."

  Katie shrugged. “All right, we'll stay. Let's go inside, Connie. We have some catching up to do."

  "Why was Reeves here?” Trent threw the question
out for anyone to answer.

  Consuelo turned and regarded him a moment.

  "He wants me,” she said. “He wants my land ... he wants my cattle. Mostly, he just wants. Up to now, it has been easier to humor him than to fight him.” She looked over at Cruz with a troubled gaze. “We may have to fight him, now."

  After the women went inside, Cruz turned to Trent.

  "He is a dangerous man, this Reeves."

  "He's got some yellow in him,” Trent said.

  "Yes, but he is all the more dangerous for it. With him, you have to watch your back."

  Trent finally breached the question that had been burning inside him. “Last I heard, you were Jeremiah Starking's second-in-command. Your name is on every army bulletin board in the territory."

  "So? Do you now challenge me, Marshal Trent? We have always been on opposite sides, my friend, but we know of each other and are very much alike, I think. There would be no gain for either of us, if we fight."

  "Sometimes, there is no gain,” Trent said. “I've been given a job, Chico. Now, I wear a badge. That doesn't impress anyone yet, but I have been thinking about it, and I like the idea. I have decided I am going to do the job that goes with the badge. If I do it well, then the badge will gain respect. If I can do this well, then the next man to wear the badge will have respect. I may not have a choice where you are concerned."

  "There are always choices.” Cruz scraped a line in the dust with his boot. “See? Between us is a line. You are on one side. I am on the other. What separates us, Trent? You have killed. I have killed. Now, suddenly, you have a badge. Do you now think your killings are somehow official? If you decide someone should die, you will perform your duty. There are no questions asked. If I decide someone has to die, and kill them, I am a criminal, and a murderer. I am wrong simply because I do not have a badge. My question for you is this: does the badge make you right, Trent? Or, is this badge simply the horse you ride to get what you want?"

  Chico Cruz stood straight in the evening sunlight, a tall man burned brown by the sun. “Do not show your badge to me and expect me to honor it. I will not. I will honor the man, and judge you by your actions."

  Both men had turned and were leaning against the fence railing of the corral. Trent watched as the horses nipped and played in the evening coolness, thinking of what Cruz had said.