Cut Off (Book 3): Cut Loose

by Dalton, Charlie

He turned away from the others so they wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

  Isaac was gone.

  “Let’s get packed up and hit the road,” Quentin said as he emerged from the darkness.

  Michael threw up in his mouth.

  Quentin was red up to his elbows. He wiped his blade with a dirty handkerchief. Isaac’s handkerchief.

  Even worse, the others didn’t even doubletake.

  Michael stared at the blood on his friend’s arms, at the disinterested expression on his face and tried to reconcile the two. He swallowed the sick and didn’t even taste it as it went down this throat.

  He was numb. Dead to the world.

  “Hey, get a move on there,” Quentin said. He jabbed at Michael with the blade in what was meant to be a playful fashion. “Don’t make me stick you next.”

  His grin didn’t fade at seeing the shocked and disgusted look on Michael’s face.

  “You killed him.” Michael could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth and yet, at the same time, it was the most predictable thing he could have said.

  Put Quentin in a room with someone who displeased him, and what happened?

  But it was Isaac. It wasn’t a random guy or someone trying to cut in on his turf. But Isaac.

  “Please tell me I didn’t send him to you to die.”

  “I let him go. He’s at peace now. He kept harping on about his God and I decided to arrange a personal meeting between the two of them. Pack your things, we’re leaving.”

  “We have to bury him, for fuck’s sake! He’s just a boy. A sweet, innocent boy. A religious boy who never wanted to harm another living soul anymore. And you killed him. He was the best of us! He was young. He was sweet. He was what we all could have been if we’d only been brave enough.”

  “He was weak,” Quentin said. “He wouldn’t even put up a fight. We don’t need someone like that in our gang. We need strong people. Like me, like Jack, Jill, Gregory, and you.”

  No, not like me.

  All desire to be one of the gang seeped out of him. Quentin didn’t miss it.

  “Or perhaps you’re not so strong after all,” he said.

  Quentin drifted closer, clutching the short blade in his hand. The others drew alongside him. Jack and Jill on one side, Gregory on the other. In their eyes, Michael saw no humanity, no mercy. He saw wild animals desperate for a hunt.

  And that made him the prey.

  Michael took a step back.

  He’d never been so terrified his entire life. He’d never been afraid of death before. But he felt it now, like an ice-cold breeze seeping deep into his bones.

  Snap.

  The others turned to look in the same direction – over Michael’s right shoulder.

  “Someone’s out there,” Gregory said.

  Michael turned around and merged in with the rest of the gang, their thirst for blood momentarily forgotten.

  Momentarily.

  The sound came again. Snap.

  Not in the same place this time. Further to their left.

  “It’s them,” Jack said. “The people from the town. They found us.”

  Snap.

  Snap. Snap.

  “Everybody pull back,” Quentin said. “Pull back to the hostages.”

  The gang hustled back to the encampment, crouched, and aimed their pistols at the hostages. Those hunting them wouldn’t open fire if they thought they might hit their loved ones. But Michael could already see the situation playing out in his mind’s eye. The families would surround them, blocking off any potential escape route, and if the gang didn’t stand down, they would open fire.

  Better to take your chances with your own bullets than those of your enemy.

  But they had a chance if they left the hostages here right now and left on their horses. It would mean accepting defeat today but they would live to fight another day.

  Michael grabbed Quentin by the arm and yanked him away from the others and into the shadows. “They’re coming for their family. They’re not leaving without them.”

  Quentin shrugged him off. “They belong to me. No one takes my things.”

  Michael leaned in close. The others didn’t need to hear his next words. “They’re going to tear us to pieces.”

  His friend looked him dead in the eye and said: “Of course they are.”

  Michael blinked. “What?”

  “Did you think there was another way out of this?” He shrugged off his jacket and loaded his second pistol. “It’ll be a Mexican shootout like my old favourite old Western movies. A shootout to the death. Clean and clear. The kind of end someone like me deserves, don’t you think?”

  But it won’t just be you, Michael thought. You’ll be taking a bunch of other innocent people with you. And the not-so-innocent. Jack, Jill, Gregory.

  Me.

  And I’m not ready to die. Not yet.

  Michael stared into the eyes of the man he loved like a brother, the man he looked up to, even when he was in his cell, just a few hundred yards away. When he got out, the only thing he could think about wasn’t to escape and get away and save himself, but how he could break his brother out so they could be together again.

  Now, he saw his brother for what he really was – or was it what he’d always been but he’d been too blind to see?

  A mad dog.

  The foliage rustled on either side now. Their hunters were circling as he expected. But even now they were playing according to Quentin’s plan – even if it was a plan doomed to fail.

  “This whole time we worked to set you free,” Michael said. “And now you’re just going to throw it all away and let them shoot us?”

  “Every man chooses his destiny, Michael. Isaac knew that. And deep down, you know it too. Our destiny was never to rot in jail for the rest of our lives. It’s to be out here, in the heat of battle, fighting for what is rightfully ours.”

  Michael removed his pistol and tossed it on the ground. “No more. I won’t be a part of your gang any longer.”

  Quentin stared at the gun in the dirt. When his eyes rolled up to Michael’s they were filled with rage. “Pick up your pistol now and I’ll forget this happened. You only get this one chance.”

  Michael squared his shoulders. “No.”

  Quentin pulled his fist back and smacked Michael hard across the face. He staggered back a step but did not fall. He wiped at the blood with the back of his hand.

  “You’re not my brother,” he said. “Quentin died in that prison. I’ll never fight alongside you again.”

  He turned and walked into the shadows and pitch darkness.

  “Michael?” Quentin said. “Michael? Don’t think you can leave me now, not when I need you most. We made a pact, you and I. Don’t think you can just walk away from me. Michael?”

  Michael didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, didn’t turn back. He kept on walking and would continue to do so. He had enough. He would not pretend to be anything other than what he was, the man Isaac saw the entire time.

  He walked forever into that eternal darkness.

  57

  Camden glanced around the camp. The remaining members of the gang moved in a circle, pistols raised, half facing them, the other half facing the darkness.

  “Can you see them?” Jack said.

  “No,” Gregory said. “Jill?”

  “Nothing but walls of black.”

  With their attention focused on the darkness, Camden took the opportunity to squeeze himself into a ball, tuck his knees in tight to his chest, and rolled his arms under his feet so they were now in front. But his actions weren’t entirely unseen.

  Jill tore her eyes from the darkness and turned to him. She looked him over with those dark eyes of hers and, seeing nothing amiss, focused back on the forest.

  Snap.

  Jill snapped her gun up, pointing at the shadows. Her arms were calm and steady.

  “How many do you count?” she said.

  Jack kept his eyes facing forward. “Too man
y.”

  “Where’s Quentin?” Gregory said, panic lining his voice. “We can’t make a stand without him.”

  “I’m here, ladies. Don’t worry.” Quentin stepped from the darkness and joined them at their side, forming a rough square with the hostages in the centre.

  The horses were skittish and danced on the spot, pulling against their reins tied to low hanging branches.

  “We need to get to the horses if we want to get out of here,” Gregory said.

  “The horses aren’t going anywhere,” Quentin said. “And neither are we.”

  Gregory appeared to be alarmed at this turn of events. “Where’s Michael?”

  “He’s a coward and no longer with us. But we don’t need him. We can take care of this situation ourselves.”

  Gregory cast a concerned look at the others. He didn’t seem to think it was something they didn’t need to worry about.

  Camden shrugged his shoulders and moved his legs and hips to work the gun free. Then he would roll over, grab it, and open fire on the figures standing around them. Taken by surprise, they would open fire at the surrounding darkness, and those out there would retaliate.

  All they needed to do was stay down. So long as the gang didn’t get it into their heads to assassinate the hostages where they lay.

  “Hello down there,” a voice from the darkness said.

  The gang turned toward it. There was a slight echo and it made identifying the speaker’s location difficult.

  “We don’t need to kill you,” the voice said. “We only need the kids.”

  Gregory looked to Quentin, who kept schtum and didn’t say a word. Michael usually handled the negotiations. He licked his lips.

  “If we hand them over,” Gregory said. “What assurance do we have that you won’t just shoot us in the back?”

  “You’re the ones who kidnapped our kids. We’re the ones who should be asking that question.”

  It was a fair question and one Gregory didn’t have an answer for.

  “Here’s the deal,” the voice said. “You let the hostages go. Once we have them, you’ll lay down your weapons and we’ll come collect you.”

  Jack raised his weapon. “I’ll be damned before I go back inside.”

  “Same here,” Jill said. “No way.”

  “Do you know what they do to former policemen in there?” Gregory said.

  Quentin still hadn’t said a word yet.

  “The only other option is for you all to die,” the voice said.

  Quentin aimed his pistol randomly at the hostages. It turned out to be Louisa, who burst into tears. “If we die, we’re not going alone. Once we’re done with them, we’ll take as many of you with us as we can. All the way to the gates of hell. Or, you let us walk and take the kids with us. It’s the only way we all get out of this alive.”

  There was a long pause. Camden imagined the response would come in the form of hundreds of biting metal shards.

  “So be it,” the voice in the darkness said.

  But no one fired the first round.

  I guess it’ll have to be me.

  Camden rolled over, seized the pistol, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet slammed into Quentin’s gun arm. It hit him with such force that his gun flew from his grip and knocked him out of the circle of light, disappearing from view.

  Camden turned the pistol on Jack, but the man had responded fast and already had his barrel trained on him. As he pulled the trigger, he gritted his teeth, and in the same instant, half a dozen bullets tore through his chest and throat, dousing the hostages with his blood. He staggered and fell on top of Louisa, who screamed to high heaven.

  Eyes wide at how close death had come, Camden froze. Aged hands pulled the gun from his grip, shifted perspective, and opened fire on Jill. Once, twice, three times. She danced a dangerous jig, tripped, and fell in the fire.

  Gregory was the only one standing. Barely. He already sported three bullet holes, each one seeping large pools of claret. He held up his hands. “Okay, I surrend–”

  He never finished his sentence as another barrage of bullets slammed into him.

  The silence that answered was deafening. After thirty seconds or thirty minutes – it was difficult to tell in the vast silence that yawned before them – figures edged into the light and the burning reek of the body in the fire. Pistols aimed at the fallen men and woman. They checked they were dead before pulling Jack off Louisa and setting her free.

  Their ordeal was over.

  58

  The graves were shallow and barely covered the bodies. The stink of burnt flesh hung thickly over the area and moonlight glinted off night animals high in the upper tree branches. It wouldn’t be long before they came down to investigate those who had died.

  Two men on either side of the family took bullets, none of them fatal. They were nothing but lucky shots fired in panic at the darkness. Two leg wounds, one arm, and one in the arse. The bullets passed right through on the arms but buried in deep on the fleshier leg and rear. They saw to the wounds beside the dying embers of the fire, each wounded man competing with the others to see who could make less noise, and therefore be crowned the manliest man.

  Camden shook his head as he approached a small huddle of men on the other side of the camp.

  Preston hugged his son, Luke, and kissed him on the top of the head. “It’s over.”

  “It’s done,” Wesley agreed, wrapping his arms around his niece, Louisa. It took some time to get her to calm down after their ordeal.

  Luke and Louisa moved to step around their families to reach for one another, but the two families blocked them off.

  “There’s to be no more of that,” Preston said. “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for you kids. In future, leave well enough alone. Wedges aren’t for Thornhills and Thornhills aren’t for Wedges.”

  “Two great families,” Wesley said. “But separate families.”

  After everything, things were going back to the way they were. No advancement, no development. The same old status quo, and even Luke and Louisa, though desperation painted their features, did not argue.

  The families parted, but before they could leave the clearing, someone else spoke up.

  “Is that the valuable lesson we learned from this whole experience?”

  A figure stepped from the darkness and walked into the middle of the clearing. She reached up and lowered the cowl from her face. It was Yasmin Wedge, Louisa’s aunt.

  “We have our kids back,” Preston said. “What else is there to discuss?”

  “What do you think is going to happen when the children miss each other? They will run into each other’s arms and run away again.”

  “No, she won’t,” Wesley said. “I’ll give her so many chores to do she won’t have time to do anything else.”

  “And all the while, she will be thinking of him and how she can escape from her tyrannical uncle.”

  Wesley looked at the girl, and by the way she didn’t shy away from his glare, he knew Yasmin was right.

  “What is the alternative?” Wesley said.

  “Look what we achieved together. We wiped out one of the worst gangs in recent history. We wipe them out, and we did it because we worked together. No bickering, no arguments for argument’s sake. No more murders for some forgotten reason. The world has changed and we must change with it. We need to end this blood feud and we need to end it now.”

  “You’re asking for the impossible,” Preston said.

  Yasmin approached him. There was a searching, beseeching look in her eye. “The impossible only seems impossible from the outside. It’s easy to let others make decisions for you, to relax into the same old rut we and our forebears fell into. These two children didn’t fall for that. They rose above their fear.” She swallowed and looked between the two family heads. “The truth is… I was in love with a Thornhill once. Deeply in love.”

  Members of both families gasped.

  “It�
��s true. I was. But I lacked the courage my young niece has. Maybe times have changed enough that we can all live together and be happy and at peace. Or maybe this is a pipedream and I’m talking out of my arse.”

  “An ugly horse’s arse talking arse!” one of Preston’s boys said.

  The Wedges stiffened at the insult but before they could move a muscle, Preston spun around and smacked the boy so hard he hit the ground. The boy looked up at his father and wiped the blood off his lips.

  Preston’s eyes were burning vats of fire. “You will maintain a civil tongue when you’re in my company.”

  “Y-Yes, father.” The boy got to his feet, still a little unsteady, and kept his head bowed after that.

  “Despite the crudeness, my son is right,” Preston said. “None of this changes the way people are. It changes nothing about the situation we find ourselves in. It is as it has always been.”

  Yasmin fingered her shawl. She looked crushed.

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” another voice said.

  Camden recognised Steve as he emerged from the darkness. He hopped down off his horse and handed the reins to a random Wedge man and joined the others in the centre circle.

  His eyes caught on the pools of blood. “Did I miss something?”

  He shrugged and reached into his pocket. He brought out a piece of paper yellowed with age. “For the past week, I’ve been in the local library. I’ve been looking up some of the oldest documents they have on the town.”

  Ronnie snorted. “I like that. While we’ve been fighting and risking our lives, he’s been in the library reading.”

  Tanya jabbed her in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Let him speak.”

  Ronnie rolled his eyes. “Only because you fancy him.”

  “What can I say? He’s hot.”

  Unperturbed by the interruption, Steve opened the document and held it above his head. “This is a receipt of sale, dated one hundred and fifty-seven years ago. It proves the Wedge family bought two pigs from the Thornhills. Then, according to this police report, one of the pigs escaped and ran back to the Thornhill estate. The Wedges learned this and, sensing a conspiracy, demanded the pig back. The roughness of his tone was what set the Thornhills off. Having lost face, the Thornhills refused to give the pig back, denying the pig was the same as the one that returned.”