by Nathan Jones
Tom would hate to do it, but if it meant reaching his son in time to save him, he'd run his faithful steed until he collapsed dead beneath him if he had to.
* * * * *
Skyler squeezed off a shot at a bush a few hundred yards upslope of him, where he'd seen a flash of motion disappear. He was rewarded by a swiftly muffled cry of pain, which brought a surge of grim satisfaction.
Unfortunately, he was also rewarded by the sharp crack of half a dozen rifles going off, and the shrill whine of a bullet whipping past him to thud into the tree trunk beside his head. He bit back a curse and scrambled deeper into the cover of the trees, zigzagging between the trunks at the ground-eating trot Trapper had taught him.
The problem was, the soldier he'd shot had been on the path he'd been taking, which meant the enemy had somehow managed to get ahead of him. If that was the case, it was equally likely they'd gotten around to the sides, too, and he might be running towards danger as well as away from it.
Although that was nothing new.
For the last day and a half or so he'd been running nonstop. At first losing Sulky, while it had been a blow, hadn't seemed dire. After all, he was confident he could outdistance anyone in these mountains, and be hard to track and harder to spot while he was doing it. He'd expected that with an hour or two of pushing himself hard, he'd leave the bloodies that had ambushed him and killed Sulky far behind.
Only he hadn't. Skyler didn't know if these soldiers were some sort of elite squad, or if by some coincidence a bunch of guys who were above average when it came to physical shape and fighting skill had just ended up together. Either way, they were keeping up with him and pressing him hard.
It was taking him everything he had to stay out of their sights, as this last exchange had shown. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it up.
He needed to try something new.
The opportunity came sooner than he'd expected, about ten minutes later. Practically by accident, in fact. Skyler wasn't as familiar with this area as most in these mountains, especially farther south closer to the ranch. Even so, he should've known enough about the way mountain terrains worked to predict that the increasing number of outcrops he'd been passing on an ever steeper slope would lead to an obvious obstacle.
It wasn't a tall cliff, less than twenty feet. At the bottom was a forested slope, blanketed by a deep bed of pine needles. It actually reminded Skyler of the almost impassible slope beneath the cliffs overlooking Trapper's winter lodge, where he'd lived for the last five years. That slope had been mostly cleared, considering it had basically become his family's front yard and directly overlooked the ranch flat.
This one, however, was still a nice thick tangle of half-fallen evergreen trees, deadfall, underbrush, and of course a neck-breakingly steep incline leading down to a small stream.
Skyler skidded to a halt ten feet from the drop, glancing over his shoulder at the less dense forest he'd just emerged from. He cringed and dropped when the distant crack of a rifle reached his ears, although he didn't see or hear any sign of the bullet hitting anywhere nearby.
His pursuit had come from the same direction he had. This cliff was a barrier for them, too, and he didn't see any easy way down along its entire length. So even if the bloodies were keeping to their trend of somehow finding a way to get in front of him and cut him off, this would've prevented them.
It was an opportunity.
Twenty feet wasn't an impossible drop. He could land it, he thought. That was something Trapper had taught him, landing softly among deadfall from a high drop. As the mountain man had told him once, being able to jump high was only half of jumping: the landing could be just as important. Not just picking where, but how. If you did it right, crouching as you hit, you'd barely make a sound.
Of course, landing at the bottom of a twenty foot cliff was more about avoiding injury than making noise, although he didn't exactly want to crash around like an elephant with enemies on his trail. The soft bed of needles was actually a mixed blessing, since it could be hiding rocks or holes or other dangers that would mean he ended up with a broken leg. He almost would've preferred flat, hard dirt.
Cursing quietly, Skyler ducked back into the trees and began running along the cliff, weighing his options.
Even a sprained ankle would probably mean death considering the enemies hounding him, but he wondered if any of them had the guts or the skill to make the same drop without injury. This could be his chance to put some real distance between him and the bloodies, and maybe even allow him to get away entirely.
He had to try it.
He heard a few more shots from behind, and more worryingly from ahead. That suggested he might be trapped, or at least his pursuers thought he was, but he didn't think they had a good bead on him yet. So he kept his eyes peeled until he found a spot where the trees grew right up to the cliff, and did his best to move unseen as he made his way to the edge.
There was a spot below that looked reasonably flat, and he didn't seen any sign of branches poking up or suspicious bulges or divots in the pine needles that might indicate hidden hazards. That was the best he could hope for, so before he had a chance to think better of his decision he dropped his saddlebags over the edge.
Ignoring the thump of them landing below, he grabbed the side of the cliff and dropped down to hang for a second, then let go.
The landing wasn't as smooth as he would've liked, and he ended up sprawled with a painful bruise on his elbow. But he was alive, and as far as he could see his rifle was undamaged. That was good enough for him.
He snatched up his saddlebags and began picking his way down the treacherous slope, towards safety.
* * * * *
Brandon had led, or helped lead, plenty of groups of people back to the bowl valley, taking care to make sure they weren't followed and left no tracks. Even large groups, when necessary.
He seriously doubted he was doing it well enough to prevent Sangue trackers from finding them if they had the time to closely follow the trail, something Camptown's fighters had kept them from doing up til now. But hopefully this time would work out as well as the previous times.
It had to, with Gray no longer there to push the bloodies back if they came sniffing around. The thought filled him with a fresh surge of despair, eating away his relief at being home and seeing it still there and in one piece.
What were they going to do now?
He spent a while getting the freed slaves settled in the Grand Junction settlement. Mostly in one longhouse, since it had enough room to squeeze in more and it allowed all the exhausted, traumatized men to stay together. Brady was quick to take over there, making sure everyone had food and blankets. He also provided hot water and soap to wash up, followed by distributing what spare clothes were available, mostly uniforms looted from Emery during the raid.
Carl and the others didn't seem overjoyed about wearing the uniforms of the soldiers who'd tormented them for so long, but they couldn't complain about having something clean to wear.
“As long as a mob of your townspeople don't get the wrong idea and try to run us out of town at the end of pitchforks,” the freed men's leader said dryly.
“We'll make sure they know what's happening,” Brandon said, clapping him on the shoulder. He paused, reluctant to leave.
In spite of the weariness and grief over lost friends, there was a celebratory mood among the freed slaves at reaching this safe refuge. A sense of hope, that the nightmare was finally over and they could start new lives with some sort of future.
Brandon would've loved to share that with them. He also wanted to take part in the memorial service Jonas planned to hold for Gray, pay his final respects to the man who'd saved his life and done so much for all of them.
But more than either of those things, he was eager to get back to his family. Make sure they were still safe and healthy. Hold his wife and son in his arms.
Brady noticed and gave him a tired smile, making shooing motions. “I'm su
re Fiona will be happy to see you back safe,” he said. “I've got things in hand here.”
“Thanks.” Brandon turned and hurried away.
He'd only gone ten feet before a voice called him back. “Gerry.”
He paused, turning to look back at Jonas, who was standing outside the longhouse staring at him grimly. “What?”
The militia fighter waved towards Camptown. “Not sure if you're planning on coming to the memorial service, but either way I'm heading over to talk to Mitchells about the valley's defense, now that the Sheriff is gone. You're going to get some decent sleep tonight, and at the crack of dawn you'll be at the command building to step in as my second-in-command.”
He blinked. “I'll what, now?”
Jonas scowled. “Our leader's dead, Gerry. Trapper's in the wind chasing his tail. Brady's a fine organizer, but he's no fighter. And Mitchells would rather knock out his teeth with a rock chisel than step into any significant role defending the valley.” He laughed a bit bitterly. “As for yours truly . . . I'm not going to pretend I don't know that half the non-Grand Junction fighters hate my guts.”
Brandon snorted, but didn't comment.
The militia lieutenant pointed an almost accusing finger his way. “I need you here leading the Emery people and these new arrivals you freed. You're not just the best pick, you're pretty much the only reasonable one, unless of course Trapper comes wandering back here with his runaway stepson. Camptown can't afford to have you running off carrying out more harebrained schemes right now.”
For a very long minute or so he just stared at the other man. “You have a point,” he finally said. Jonas smiled slightly in triumph and started to answer, but Brandon kept going. “I can see why people might not like you.”
He turned away as the man's smile turned into a scowl, calling over his shoulder. “See you at the memorial.”
Fiona must've heard that he was back and wondered where he was, because on his way to the retreat he spotted her coming from Camptown headed towards Grand Junction's new town. She must've got one of the other women to watch Thomas because he wasn't with her, and as soon as she spotted Brandon out in the meadow between the retreat and the town she immediately sped up to a run to meet him.
He was too tired to run himself, even though the sight of her was like water after days in the desert. He did his best to smile weakly and held open his arms as she arrived.
His wife threw herself into them, holding him tight. “Judging by your expression, it didn't go well?” she asked gently.
Brandon hugged her back for all he was worth and buried his face in her hair. “It's good to be home,” was all he said.
Fiona looked up at him, green eyes full of sorrow. “I'm sorry, honey. I wish these reunions could be happy ones, that you were able to come back with the news that you succeeded and nobody had to die for it. But that's not very realistic, is it?”
He knew she meant the words supportively, that she wished that for his sake. But they still stung, with the knowledge of his failures. And the fact that he never seemed to be the one who paid the price for them. “Gray's dead,” he whispered.
Fiona sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, no.”
He continued woodenly. “Sangue caught us halfway here. Two squads. We were out in the open, they were all set to butcher us, but Gray and his fighters had been running themselves ragged to follow them. He charged them, alone, to buy the rest of his people time to set up.” He felt his eyes sting and blinked quickly. “Most heroic thing I've ever seen.”
She didn't answer, just buried her face in his chest and held him tight. Finally, though, she took his hand and led him towards the retreat. “Let's get you washed up, a hot meal in you, a few minutes of quality time with our son, and then straight to bed.”
Brandon went along. Nothing sounded better than sleep at the moment, but it'd have to wait a while. “Jonas is holding a memorial for Gray. I have to pay my respects.”
Fiona slowed to walk beside him. “Of course,” she said gently. “But you're exhausted, honey. Do you have time to rest before the memorial?”
“If I fall asleep I'm probably out for the night.” On a sudden impulse he put his arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Although when it comes to unwinding, what would you say to a few minutes of quality time with my wife?”
Fiona shot him a startled look, then smiled tentatively and rested her hand on his. “Always. It's just with everything you've been through, and how exhausted you have to be and what you have to be feeling, I-I didn't think you'd want, that you'd be . . .” she trailed off awkwardly, expression torn between sympathetic understanding and longing.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, lingering when she melted against him and returned the kiss fiercely. “I've missed you,” he said when he finally pulled back. “Missed you more than I can ever say. I've had more than a few moments in the last week where I was afraid-”
He cut off, shaking his head grimly, and briefly kissed her again. “Maybe it's not the best time for it, and maybe my head's not in the best place right now. I just need to be reminded of the things in my life that make it such a miracle. Even just holding the woman I love, the mother of my child, in my arms for a little while would mean everything to me.”
Her face lit up with a smile like a ray of sunshine on his heavy heart. “Oh, you definitely won't just be holding me.” She nudged him playfully with her hip and sped up a bit. “Come on . . . Keri can watch Thomas until the memorial.”
* * * * *
All of Kristy's friends kept telling her she should be on bed rest.
Between worrying for her husband and son, the fear of Sangue getting ever closer to the valley, and the normal stresses of a pregnancy nearly to term, she knew they weren't wrong to be concerned about her health. She should be more worried herself, if it didn't seem like she had such bigger things to concern her.
Still, she did her best to listen to them and had taken it easy as much as she could. In one way that wasn't hard to do, since she felt like her swollen belly put pressure on her diaphragm that made her always feel short of breath. In another way it was difficult, since she felt like she needed to relieve the constant pressure on her bladder every hour or even more often, leading to sleepless nights and frequent napping that left her in a general fugue state.
But she refused to let any of that stop her from paying her respects to Sheriff Gray when she learned of his death, insisting on dressing up for the service and taking Molly by the hand to lead her to where Jonas stood in front of a burgeoning crowd of people near the shooting range.
Mer came with her, stubbornly carrying a chair for Kristy to sit on in spite of the fact that the young woman only had one good arm for the job. Or that everyone else was standing, and Kristy was going to stick out like a sore thumb.
Not that she didn't already stick out enough. The thought made her smile slightly, reflecting that the pun was so bad it could've been one of Tom's. Assuming he was ever foolish and insensitive enough to say something like that to her.
She would've happily forgiven him, if he was here to say it.
The mood of the crowd was beyond somber, even given who they were there to pay their respects to. In fact, as they got closer she detected a strong undercurrent of fear in the people around her, so much so that Molly sensed it and buried her head against Kristy's leg.
They were probably thinking the same thing she was: Gray was the shield Camptown had sheltered behind, keeping the Sangue monsters far from them. With him gone, what would happen now? Would they still be able to defend the valley without him?
Kristy made her way to where Brandon stood with an arm wrapped around Fiona, who was holding their baby close. Both their heads were bowed in obvious grief, and she couldn't help but hang her head as well, tears coming freely to her eyes.
A good man was dead, and she was only thinking of herself.
She remembered when Tom had safely led the survivors of Simon's disastrous convoy back to Gra
nd Junction, and Gray had been there to greet them and offer the city's aid. He'd been nothing but kind to them all, a godsend to people at their lowest point.
And then when he and Grand Junction's survivors had arrived in Camptown, she'd watched the man work himself nearly to death in his efforts to protect the valley. To protect her and her daughter and unborn child and all their loved ones. It had been a thankless job for a man already overburdened by age and care, and she was a bit ashamed to think that she'd only added to that burden by pestering him nonstop for news of Skyler.
Jonas abruptly spoke, his words so close to her own thoughts that she jumped slightly. “Gray Tucker lived his life serving and protecting the people of Grand Junction, and all others who came under his protection,” he said solemnly. The characteristic sharpness was gone from his voice, replaced by deep grief and pain.
“He lived in that city all his life, served as an officer of the law in his younger years and as its sheriff following the Ultimatum, and later as leader of its militia when invaders came pounding on our doors. He buried his wife, Helen, after she died of pneumonia the second year following the Ultimatum, and his son Kyle three years later, when serving as one of his deputies Kyle took a bullet during a battle with bandits. He never remarried or fathered more children, and leaves no family behind.
“He lived his life in service to his fellow man, but for his uncomplaining sacrifice he got noth-” The militia lieutenant's voice caught, fury momentarily flashing across his face. Then he took a deep breath and looked away. “If any have words to say in memory of this great man, please come forward.”
Without another word Jonas turned and strode towards the new Grand Junction settlement. A slightly awkward silence followed as everyone looked at each other, not sure how to proceed.
Kristy handed Molly off to Mer and strode forward to face the crowd. She hated public speaking, being the center of attention like this, but Gray deserved better than to have his service derailed by his lieutenant storming off.
