by Tonia Brown
Dawn shook me awake with a loud crack of thunder. I rolled out of the small bed and went to the window to check for welcome signs of rain—but the sky was clear, without even the hint of cloud cover. Yet the sound of a lightning strike came again and again, short successions followed by long echoing rumbles. I turned my ear to the sounds and found they were coming from the back of the house as opposed to the skyline. Forgoing the offer to wear something more feminine, I threw on my filthy workhouse clothes and rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was about.
Just before I reached the back door, I realized my mistake. The sounds were not of lightning and thunder, but the rolling echoes of gunfire. Someone was setting off round after round, with the occasional pause to reload. (I assumed, at least.) My fears were confirmed when I pushed open the back door and looked out into the yard. Most of the cross-bound revenants were dead, truly dead, each one’s head a pulpy mess of brain and skull splattered across the wooden struts.
At first I thought it must be harvest time, that maybe this violent act was some final step in preparing the bodies for the skinning process. In the field across from me, the undead head of a blond boy exploded in a wet cloud of red, and I went pale with repulsion. Was there no other way to do this? Must his every act be so inhumane? While I lingered in the doorway, imagining the worst of my distasteful host, someone snapped me up by the waist, pulled me from the open doorway and pushed me to the floor. I kicked under the stranger’s weight, ready to defend my fleeting honor.
“Be quiet, child!” Mr. Boudreaux whispered fiercely. “Can’t you see we are under attack?”
“Attack?” I asked as I stared up at him in wonder. “What’s happening?”
“Someone is destroying my precious crop, that’s what’s happening.” Another shot sounded, and he rolled off me to crouch in the open doorway. There he peered about, seeking the source of the ongoing gunfire. “Who’s out there? Show yourself!”
Mr. Boudreaux was answered by another gunshot, which blew a fist-sized hole in the back door, just above his head. For a sniper who could pick off the revenants with such clean shots, this one seemed a most deliberate miss.
“Coward!” Mr. Boudreaux shouted as he ducked back into the kitchen.
“You are lucky he missed,” I said. “He seems a good aim otherwise.”
“Lucky nothing. He is toying with me. Domi! Damn it, Domi! Where are you?”
I waited for more gunfire to pepper the house, but the gunman returned to picking off the undead bound to the crosses. It seemed the gunman was more interested in killing the revenants than us. This was good, or so I thought. Before I could make sense of what was happening, Dominic burst into the kitchen, rolling into the open doorway under a scatter of buckshot. He rose to his knees and scrambled out of the line of fire, at which the gunman calmly returned to firing at the remaining revenants.
“Well?” Mr. Boudreaux asked.
Dominic shoved a trembling finger toward the barn.
“It is really him?” Mr. Boudreaux asked.
The manservant nodded, his eyes wide with naked fear.
“I figured as much,” Mr. Boudreaux said. “He must’ve followed us here and set up in the loft. I thought we were being tracked, but I couldn’t be sure. Damn him! He killed off the revenants in the fence as well. It will take me weeks to replace them.”
The manservant grunted for his master’s attention as he made a series of quick signals. Pressing his fists beside his temples with his forefingers extended to the ceiling. Slipping one palm against another. Pointing off into the distance. They seemed nonsensical motions to me, but his master understood well enough.
“Bastard!” Mr. Boudreaux yelled. “He’s set my goats free as well. They’re probably miles from here by now, the disloyal beasts that they are. I’ll never catch them again.” Mr. Boudreaux gripped Dominic by the arm and pulled him low. “Go and get my guns. And be quick about it. I will not let him ruin our hard work.”
Dominic slipped off into the belly of the house while Mr. Boudreaux leaned into the doorway again.
“Jackson!” he shouted. “I know it’s you! Come down here and face me man to man!”
This was met with another off-center gunshot, too high and too wide to damage anything more than the rotten wood that made up the back porch. Mr. Boudreaux bowed away from the shower of splinters.
“Bastard!” Mr. Boudreaux shouted again.
I peered over the sill again to see that the gunman had returned to shooting at the revenants. “What is his game?”
“He’s destroying the brains so I will have nothing to tan with. This will ruin me. He knows it. He would rather I suffer financially then physically.”
I remembered Pete speaking of the secretive tanning process. A process that only those in the trade knew, that they took to their graves rather than reveal. Which meant the sniper was most likely a fellow member of the notorious skin trade. This Jackson fellow must’ve been a jealous rival. Or worse, a hired man sent to do a dirty job.
“Domi!” Mr. Boudreaux yelled. “Hurry with my gun. We haven’t much time.”
I peered over the sink again to see just how much time was left. Nearly all of the revenants were twice dead. There remained just a few, one of which I recognized the moment I spotted him. Pete’s undead corpse lay trussed up to a freshly pitched cross at the very end of the field. A twinge of panic rose in me, some morbid twitch of unrealistic concern. Pete was in line for destruction. Within moments, a shot would splatter his young brains across his sodden workhouse uniform. I knew I couldn’t suffer to watch him die again.
“Peter!” I shouted, and before I knew what I was doing, I was on my feet and heading for the door.
Mr. Boudreaux grabbed me just before I could make it through, pulling me tight to him. A hard coolness touched the nape of my neck, and all at once I was shoved into the bright morning sunlight. The moment we moved into the open air, the gunfire ceased.
“Come out, Jackson!” Mr. Boudreaux shouted as he pushed me along.
I stumbled in his arms, our forced proximity leaving both of our movements awkward and stilted. A quick glance back told me what I suspected: The man was holding me at gunpoint.
“Keep your eyes to the front,” he whispered through clenched teeth.
“Yes sir,” I said, and did as commanded.
“I swear I’ll shoot, Theo!” Mr. Boudreaux yelled. “You’ll have innocent blood on your hands! Do you want that?”
“You know what I want, Aleixandre,” a deep voice declared from the mouth of the barn. “I told you to stop this madness before you started. I warned you that if you didn’t, I would make you.”
“Why must it come to this?” Mr. Boudreaux asked. “Come on out, and we can talk about this like civilized men.”
“Civilized?” A low and throaty laugh drifted out of the barn.
Mr. Boudreaux moved the gun away from me and fired into the air. I almost leapt out of his grip at the proximity of the echoing boom. Was he trying to deafen me? He then returned the hot barrel to the nape of my neck and I hissed as the gun burned my flesh.
“I swear the next one will be true,” Mr. Boudreaux said. “Do you hear me? This child is alive. I can remedy that if you wish.”
“No!” the man shouted. “Don’t shoot.”
“Then toss out your weapons. All of them.”
A shotgun skittered across the ground, followed by a pair of pistols.
“And your blade,” Mr. Boudreaux said.
“That stays with me,” the stranger said.
“Then I’ll kill the-”
“Fine!” the man shouted over Mr. Boudreaux.
There came a glimmer in the bright morning sun as a large knife arced across the yard and landed point-first into the ground at Mr. Boudreaux’s feet. The madman’s grip on my collar relaxed.
“Good,” he said. “Very good. Now come out here where I can see you.”
Out of the barn stepped a tall, broad-shouldered Negro. He must
’ve stood at six foot six if he stood an inch, and dressed much in the manner of my host. Flannel shirt and denim trousers, with a broad-brimmed hat tilted low enough to hide his eyes.
“Theophilus,” Mr. Boudreaux said. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”
“Not long enough,” the man said. He raised his arms to show his empty hands and lifted his face to nod at me. His irises were haunting—an earthy brown so common to folks of color, except his were layered over with a weird frost, as though he had once stared into the heart of a blizzard without blinking. “You can see I’m unarmed. Let the kid go.”
“No. I don’t think so.” Mr. Boudreaux grabbed me tighter again. “And don’t think about rushing me. Even if you manage to get your hands on me, Domi is sure to have you in his sights.”
Theophilus smiled. “You still travelin’ with that son of a gun?”
“But of course. He has served me well, something you will never appreciate. I’ve told you many times that it pays to have friends. Someone to watch your back. To make sure you are covered. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”
“Your idea of friends, a good man can do without.”
“You think you are better than everyone else? Think you’re such a good man?” Mr. Boudreaux snorted and hocked a wad of snot toward Theophilus’s feet. “An upstart nigger is all you ever were and all you ever will be.”
“Is that so? And how does it feel to owe your whole livelihood to an upstart nigger?”
There came a silence at the question, and in the emptiness, I could sense Mr. Boudreaux’s temper rising. This dark stranger had struck some kind of nerve in the Frenchman. I only wished I knew what it was all about so I could deliver the same blow at a later date. (That was, if I had a later date.)
“Do you know why you’re always alone?” Mr. Boudreaux finally asked. “It isn’t because you eschew the safety of numbers. It’s because no one will dare travel with you. It’s because you’re a danger to yourself and everyone around you. You’re a cursed man, Theo.”
“I’m a danger?” Theophilus asked. He gave a chuckle. “This from a man who cut out his own servant’s tongue rather than hear him talk back?”
“What good are the famous Theophilus Jackson’s skills when he couldn’t even keep his family alive?”
Theophilus dropped the humor, his face growing cold and hard. His eyes seemed to frost over even more with this change in mood. “You want to talk business? Let the kid go, and we can talk.”
“The only business you have is with death.”
Mr. Boudreaux slid the pistol over my right shoulder, taking aim at Theophilus. In that moment, in that half-second before Mr. Boudreaux fired, I made my move. (Did he think I would remain his passive pawn?) Pitching my weight to the left, I knocked the weapon from his hand just as he squeezed the trigger. His wild shot struck the frame of the door instead of the intended target. I ran across the yard, putting some distance between me and Mr. Boudreaux, only to lose my footing and end up backside over ears. Before I could rise again, a second shot sounded, missing Theophilus by a few scant inches, and leaving me frozen to the ground with fear.
At this second gunshot, Theophilus ducked and rolled across the space between himself and Mr. Boudreaux. In one smooth movement, he yanked the blade from the ground, leapt upon Mr. Boudreaux, twisted behind the man and pressed the edge of the knife against Mr. Boudreaux’s exposed throat.
“You were saying something about dying?” Theophilus asked.
“Th-Th-Theo,” Mr. Boudreaux stammered as he lifted his hands into the air. “I was only joking. Oui?”
Another gunshot cracked the morning air, throwing up dust and dirt only a few feet away from the pair of men.
“Call out your dog,” Theophilus said. “Out here where I can see him, or I swear I’ll cut your throat.” A pearl of red appeared at the edge of the blade and dripped down Mr. Boudreaux’s open collar.
“Domi!” Mr. Boudreaux cried. “Come out here. Now!”
Dominic appeared in the kitchen doorway, a pistol primed and aimed.
“Throw it down and kick it toward me,” Theophilus commanded.
“Do as he says,” Mr. Boudreaux said. “You were always a lousy shot.”
Dominic did so, and didn’t look happy about it one bit.
Theophilus dipped low to retrieve the gun as he pushed Mr. Boudreaux toward the manservant. Lifting the gun to the pair, he asked, “Do you have anything else clever to add before I end this?”
Mr. Boudreaux gave a nervous laugh. “You won’t shoot us. Not in cold blood.”
“There is nothing cold about killing you two.” Theophilus waved the weapon to the field of revenants around us. “After everything you two have done, shooting you outright is far more merciful than anything you deserve.”
“If you kill me, the Syndicate will crush you, Theophilus Jackson. You know they will. They will find you and destroy you.”
“Over your death? You think they care that much about your flabby hide? You may count Dillard and his minions as your friends, but rest assured, they do not feel the same of you.”
“Friends, mais non. But comrades in arms? Yes. This game is all about give and take, Theo. You just never understood what one must give in order to take his share.”
“It don’t matter how much you give the Devil; in the end, he’ll take everything you have.”
“Always so witty, aren’t we? It’s easy to espouse virtues when you’re on that end of the gun, isn’t it?”
“This isn’t about virtue or wit. This is about keeping my word. I told you that this,” Theophilus paused as he waved his weapon at the estate, “wasn’t going to happen. I warned you that if you set it up, I would knock it down. And I aim to keep that promise.” The metallic clack of Theophilus setting the hammer on his gun echoed across the yard.
“You lie. You won’t shoot a living, breathing man. You don’t have it in you.”
“Are you certain about that? Because I think I can manage just fine.”
Genuine panic filled Mr. Boudreaux’s eyes. “Please, Theo. Surely we can work something out?”
“Come on, Aleixandre. Is that all you have to say? Those are piss-poor last words, even for the likes of you.”
“Get him, Domi!” Mr. Boudreaux shouted, then shoved the surprised manservant between himself and the loaded weapon.
Theophilus fired without warning or further discussion. Crimson bloomed across the manservant’s left shoulder as he reeled back from the blow. A look of shock came to Dominic’s eyes while he raised a red and trembling hand to his face, after which he slumped to the ground and went still.
“Domi!” Mr. Boudreaux yelled. He dropped to his knees and shook his manservant, but it was obvious that all life had gone from the man. (What did he expect when he used the poor fellow as a living shield?) Mr. Boudreaux snapped his anger-filled eyes to Theophilus again and cried aloud as he scrambled to his feet, “You bastard! I’ll kill-”
Before he could finish his pronouncement, a second shot cut him short. Mr. Boudreaux’s lips moved in some half-mumbled curse as he spilled backwards, clutching his now-bleeding stomach. He tried to roll over, to get to his knees, but after squirming in the dirt for a moment, the master collapsed beside his servant. A stain of darkened mud pooled around the pair.
“Never did like that man,” Theophilus said and tossed the spent pistol to one side.
He stalked across the yard toward me, and I remained frozen in place, unsure what to do or say. The man stood over me, eclipsing the morning sun and casting me in a cold, dreadful shadow for what seemed a very long time. I wondered what he would make of me, of how I fit into this puzzle of events. Would he just slay me as well? Or did he recognize my feminine value in the same manner as Mr. Boudreaux?
The man offered me a hand, reaching down to help me up. I took him by a few huge fingers, my entire being trembling with fear and uncertainty. Theophilus helped me to my feet, but continued to measure my worth in silence a fe
w moments longer. Without saying a word, he turned away and gathered his weapons. I watched in matching silence, still unsure of what to do.
After he had returned his weapons to their holsters and gathered his shotgun, he asked, “What’s your name, son?”
Son? He thought me a boy! I spoke a silent prayer of thanks for such a merciful blessing before I answered. “Samuel Martin, sir.”
“Thank you for your help, Samuel. If you hadn’t acted when you did, I’d be a dead man. Probably undead if that jackass had his way.”
I glanced to the bodies all akimbo in the ever-widening pool of red. “You killed them.”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, sir. I reckon it was justice. They deserved a lot more.”
A moan caught my attention, and I stepped across the yard to the spot where the last remaining revenant was bound. Pete writhed on his cross, unmoved by the recent happenings, spurred only by the sudden closeness of a fresh meal. I would have given anything at that moment to be the one on that cross instead of him.
“Pete,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry. It should’ve been me.”
“Friend of yours?” Theophilus asked from very close behind me.
I nodded. “He was my best friend.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Theo offered me a pistol. “Here. Put him at ease.”
“I can’t.”
“He’s suffering, son,” Theo said. “It’s an act of mercy.”
“I know, but isn’t there any other way?”
Theophilus holstered the weapon, retrieving his blade instead. Once the knife was in hand, he grabbed the revenant by the hair, pushing the undead’s head forward as far as it could go. With a quick motion, Theo shoved the blade into the back of Pete’s neck, then pulled it out again. All at once, Pete’s eyes cleared of that milky coating, and a serene look overcame him. He relaxed, and with his slackness, I knew he was at last truly dead. Truly at peace. I thought I might weep again, thought I might explode with rage or remorse, but strangely enough, I felt nothing. No anger. No fear. Just a remote guilt.
“Are you injured?” Theophilus asked.
“No, Mr. Theo.” I don’t know why I called him that, but the man didn’t correct me, so the name sort of stuck.
