Hell of a Horse

by Barbara Neville

  The long line of riders stays behind. Whooping at us and shaking their spears and bows like what they used to be, wild Injins.

  I slide off and walk Tenner over to the top of the trail. He’s worked hard enough.

  While we wait, we walk back and forth along the edge, watching the kid while the sorrel blows. Slowly getting caught up on oxygen.

  Bigan hits the last switchback and puts his horse into a run. He brings him to a sliding stop and jumps down, running into my arms.

  “Fuck, babe,” he says, after a hot kiss. “I missed you.”

  “You feel so damn good, kid,” I say, holding on for dear life. “I lost you all.”

  “I’m here now,” he says. “We’re together. That’s all that matters.”

  We kiss, long and hard. Only stopping for breath when we absolutely have to.

  “Fuck me. Yore so big and strong, kid. I’m helpless in your arms. You evil bastard.”

  “Come here, bitch,” he chides, lifting me and spinning around. “I want your pussy now. Hard and fast. You have no choice but to submit to my will, woman.”

  I yelp in mock horror. “Take me, evil one…”

  Something launches into him. We fall.

  “Oof.”

  “Hey,” I say, as he slides out of my arms, falling flat on his back with the black demon sitting astride. They’re almost off the edge.

  “Zastee, no. He’s my man,” I yell, jumping onto her back. “You hurt him, I’ll have yore fuckin’ scalp.”

  91 Cha’a: Head Lock

  I have her in a head lock.

  I’m seeing in snapshots.

  Her hands are around his neck, squeezing.

  Bigan is pulling at her forearms.

  “Zastee, let go,” I yell in her ear.

  We’re struggling, rolling around. Scrambling against each other.

  It’s all happening too fast.

  “Bugger,” says Zastee.

  I tighten my hold.

  She gasps and starts choking. She kicks back with a leg and hits me hard on the backside of the thigh with a sharp boot heel.

  “Don’t roll, kid,” I say. “The edge is right fuckin’ here.”

  He’s grunting with effort, I can’t tell if he heard me in all the madness.

  My hands are engaged, I can’t do anything without losing my hold.

  Then she, shit. I don’t want to think what she could do.

  He pulls one of her arms away with his hook and is working on the other with his hand.

  We’re all wiggling, bouncing, as the kid lifts the weight of both of us into the air. Bucking us closer to oblivion.

  “Kid, the cliff, we’ll fall off!”

  He has Zastee in his face. She gets her hand back on his throat. He’s choking. How can he know?

  I can see the edge closer with every second. I have to do something.

  “Stop damn you!” I let go of her neck and slam her in both ears with open palms.

  Stunned, she lets go.

  I roll off, away from the edge. Grabbing her arm and pulling her with me so she doesn’t knock him off.

  Grabbing for his forearm with my other hand as I hit the ground on my back, hard. The tips of my fingers make contact. I try to get a hold.

  Maybe I can stop him from falling.

  She pulls me away, his arm flips upward. I try to scramble closer. She has me pinned now.

  I try to glance over at him, but Zastee’s in the way.

  His arm slips away. Fuck. All I’m holding is air.

  “Son of a bitch,” I say, reaching in to grip her.

  She seems to be slipping away, too.

  “Stop it,” she yells, scratching at the backs of my hands.

  “I’m okay, babe. Hold her.”

  “You done?” I ask, ignoring the pain.

  I start twisting, bucking, turning. Getting behind her. Pulling her hand behind her back and up, almost to the dislocation angle.

  “Give,” she says, bent over in pain.

  I look over. Bigan’s not there.

  “Kid!”

  I push her away, hard, and rush over to the edge.

  I drop onto my stomach and look.

  “Hey, babe.”

  “Fuck me,” I say, sucking in air like a steam engine.

  Bigan sits up, rubbing his neck. Huffing for air himself.

  He’s on a ledge about eight feet down. Glancing over at the edge, one leg hanging off.

  The bottom is a long damn ways down.

  He twists back toward me, stands carefully up and grips the edge with his hand. He sinks his hook into the base of a bush, hoping, I imagine to get it into the rootball. He heaves hard, and gets a toe up. I grab his belt, but he’s so damn big. I hope to help some, anyway.

  From there he scrambles back up and over the lip. Bouncing upright, ready to help me.

  I rush back and grab Zastee, who must have landed on a rock. She’s still down. Her temple is bleeding.

  I get her hand jacked back up behind her back and lift her like she’s a flyweight. Ready to break her neck after I dislocate her shoulder.

  The momentum and her squirming throw us back, knocking me onto my ass. And her into my lap, hand still behind her back, high enough to make anyone scream.

  “Go easy, babe,” pants Bigan.

  “Zastee, what the fuck,” I say. Incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

  “The bastard grabbed you; called you an evil bitch,” she says, fingers massaging her throat, gasping for air. “I was afraid he’d throw you off, or worse.”

  “Damn it, it was foreplay. We haven’t seen each other fer days and days,” I say. “We was workin’ up to doin’ the deed.”

  “Bugger,” she says, looking at him.

  “Hello, Zastee,” he says.

  His face is covered with sweat. He’s panting with the effort, but favoring her with a disarming grin. “I see you're still intent on killing. Is it anyone or me in particular?”

  She glares at him. “You picked her up and swung her toward the bloody edge,” she says.

  “For fun,” he says.

  “I don’t know what come over her,” I say. “She’s been good up til now.”

  “I thought I was saving your bloody life, Cha’a,” she says, looking wounded.

  “Bigan’s my husband,” I say.

  “Him? With that?” she says.

  “Hook and all,” I say, grinning.

  “Sorry, I just…” Zastee says, sagging.

  “Your blushin’ again,” I say, releasing the pressure on her arm, but keeping hold.

  She slides off my lap.

  “That was thoughtless,” she says, rubbing the shoulder I twisted. “I’m bloody sorry.”

  “You’re cute when you insult people,” says Bigan, raising his hook. “You gotta remember, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  She stares at the hook, aghast.

  “Better crippled than dead?” he offers.

  I chuckle.

  Okay, that’s worse. Zastee doesn’t know how to take it.

  “It does make you stronger,” I say, peering around her shoulder. “The kid here, it only took him a while to get you off because he had to hold back. He could have killed you easy.”

  She looks unconvinced.

  “He’s got a mean right hook,” I say.

  She blushes.

  “Don’t torture the poor girl, babe,” he says.

  “Me?” I ask.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Yore such a shit, kid,” I say, slapping at him.

  She tries to pull out of my grasp.

  “You be good or I’ll cinch yore arm up again,” I tell her. “Dislocate it, if I get the hankerin’.”

  “Blimey, I said I give.”

  I eye her a bit, just to let her know who’s in charge, then let go of her hand.

  “How could I know who he was? Every other bloody man in this country is your husband,” she says, flexing her fingers.

  “Certainly not
,” I say. “Only the tall ones.”

  Bigan stands up and offers me his hook. I grab hold and he pulls me to my feet. As if I weigh ninety-nine pounds rather than nearly twice that.

  He offers his hand to Zastee. She hesitates.

  “I’ve got no hard feelings,” he says. “Truce?”

  She nods and takes his hand. He pulls her up.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Quite,” she says.

  “Good,” he says, then looks at me. “She sound like Táági to you?”

  “Same ‘bloody’ accent,” I say.

  “You have trouble, babe?” he asks. “You both look beat up.”

  “We’re okay now. Fine and dandy,” I say, putting my arms around the big lug and my head on a massive shoulder.

  Zastee fades from our reality and we start over. Kissing madly, ready to rip each other’s clothes off.

  “It’s been way too long,” I say, ripping the snaps open, pulling at my pants. And his loincloth. Crazed with lust.

  His cock is throbbing, more than ready.

  “Bigan. Bigan.”

  We break slowly apart, giving his big thing a minute to relax. And look down.

  Góshé is pulling on his drooping loincloth and slapping at his leg. Head tilted back to see all the way up to his face.

  “Hey, Dog boy.” He leans down and picks up the child, who wraps his legs around the kid’s waist. Hoss is there, too, wagging like crazy and licking his leg.

  They hug tight and long. And rub noses like Eskimos.

  “I’ll be double dog damned, young’un,” he says, reaching down to pet Hoss on her big head. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Zastee told me to stay in that hollow out of sight, but I wanted to hug you, Bigan,” the boy says, hugging him again and kissing him on the lips. “I missed you.”

  “You bet, Góshé,” says Bigan, kissing both his cheeks, too. “It’s damn good to see you.”

  “So much fer sex,” I say, glaring at Zastee.

  Bigan chuckles.

  “I really thought you needed help,” she says.

  I shake my head in disgust and say, “At least we all lived.”

  She’s silent.

  “Hey. Did you stash our stuff?”

  “Yup. We can go back for it,” she says. “We need your bloody horse to carry the saddle.”

  “Let’s go,” says Bigan. “We’re wasting daylight.”

  He shifts Góshé to one side and puts a strong arm around me. I swear I don’t need men. But, on the other hand, they feel oh so fine.

  I look up into his emerald eyes and say, “You know, I was hopin’ that a real man would save me, but I guess I’ll have to settle for you, you wimpy bastard.”

  “I reckon you will, babe,” he says, leaning down for another kiss. “Maybe I could start working out, build some muscle?”

  I squeeze his huge biceps. “Good idea.” And reach up for another kiss.

  Góshé tries to push us apart. But can’t. Love will out, you know.

  Bigan and Góshé head over to the edge to pee out into space. Men, bonding.

  “You’re mean to him,” says Zastee, once we’re alone.

  “No more than he deserves,” I say, with a grin. Ecstatic to have him back.

  Ten Spot and Magpie, having already nuzzled a welcome, are grazing contentedly side by side.

  Góshé insists on riding with Bigan, who is happy as hell to take him aboard.

  They look awesome bareback on Magpie. Two wild Injins out for a ride.

  “What a handsome pair,” I say.

  Bigan grins. “Góshé here’s the handsome one.”

  “You bet I am, Ma.”

  92 Cha’a: Trackway

  “’Fore we go back there, we need to go see something,” says Bigan.

  “But, my saddle,” I say.

  “It’s just down the hill there,” he says, gesturing with his hook. “Trust me, babe. It’s awesome. Well worth the ride. Besides Ten Spot needs a drink, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

  We take the long trail down into the bottom, War Chief following behind, and water the horses in the river.

  “This water have a name?” I ask.

  “White eyes call it the Purgatory.”

  “As in gateway to Hell?”

  “I reckon,” he says, kicking his mare into the water and crossing to the other side.

  We ride along a while, then he stops, looking over his shoulder at me expectantly.

  I look around at the bluffs and such. “What?”

  “Look down.”

  I do. And see them.

  “Son of a bitch.” My hand is pulling reflexively on the reins, backing Ten Spot away from the huge tracks. “Did you see these?”

  ““Fucking hell,” I say. “No. No fucking way.”

  I slide my rein hand right, turning Tenner around, ready to run. Looking everywhere. Valley. Bluffs. Sky. Some of the fuckers can fly, you know.

  “Where are they, kid? We gotta skedaddle. Now. No way a horse can outrun ‘em.”

  “No babe. Wait.”

  “We gotta git.” I kick Tenner up into a lope.

  He keeps his horse is next to mine and gets his hand on my rein hand, pulling, stilling Tenner’s movement in a stride. He keeps hold.

  “They’re track impressions in solid rock. Fossil tracks. There’s no dinosaurs here. They’re long dead.”

  “Huh? What?” I say, choking up, wanting to run for my life. Dinosaur nightmares are flashing across the inside of my forehead. My face is bulging. My muscles are painfully rigid.

  My heels tap repeatedly at Spot’s sides. He responds and we whirl around, pulling Magpie in a circle. Ten Spot starts to rear, but Bigan’s superior strength wins the battle.

  “Stop kicking,” he says. “Trust me.”

  “We gotta go!” I choke up again.

  Bigan has us stopped.

  “Are you crazy?” I almost scream.

  He’s unrelenting. “Trust me.”

  I start coughing. Leaning away, I puke.

  He moves his hand to my hair trying to hold it all back out of the gusher.

  “Centuries and centuries gone, babe,” he says, steering Magpie along beside me as Tenner sidles around. Restless still. Not used to puking, panicky riders.

  I’m huffing for air. Strangulating.

  “Shit, babe,” he says, rubbing my back. “I’m sorry. Fuck me. I thought you’d be able to tell.”

  I’m still working on breathing. He stops rubbing and passes his canteen.

  I drink and drink. Even though I tanked up to the full mark at the river, minutes ago, I must have puked it all out. I’m so thirsty.

  I slow down and catch my breath, wiping my sour mouth. Finding my peaceful center.

  “There was a guy on the train talked about them, I was forewarned, but still, seeing them in person,” I say. “There’s something about the damned reptilian bastards.”

  “Come, get down, touch them,” he says, making sliding off motions. “They’re sublime.”

  “Fuck me, kid.”

  “Sorry, I should have known you’d…I mean, shit. I got my own demons, I just…” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

  He reaches over and lifts my chin. “You okay?”

  “Fine, sorry, I just spooked like a ditzy horse. I’m all fucked up.”

  I look up. His eyes are solid, intent on mine. I hang the canteen on my saddlehorn, reach over and take his hand.

  “I’m an idiot is all. It’s fine.”

  “Crap,” he says, squeezing mine. “I’ve probably given you nightmares, babe. I should know better. Shit, you’re all beat up. I can see that you’ve all had a rough time of it here.”

  “You might have to cuddle me all night long,” I say, managing to get an awkward smile out.

  “I’ll do my damnedest.”

  “Wait,” I say. “What demons? Yore the most optimistic guy I know.”

  He raises hand
and hook, and grins.

  He says, “Yeah, you got me, that was a flat out lie.”

  “I might never forgive you.”

  He scoffs.

  We spend the night at the track site.

  Don’t get a lot of sleep. Not dinosaurs, surprisingly. Sex. Making up for lost time.

  “Welcome back, babe,” he says, after we climax. “I missed the hell outta you.”

  “Yeah, I used to be tough enough to go it alone, but shit, it’s a big scary world out there without ya.”

  He kisses my back. And massages my tender spine and kidneys.

  “And, gawds above,” I say. “I missed your beautiful body.”

  “And me you,” he says, rolling me over for another go.

  At sunrise, we mount up and hit the trail to retrieve my saddle and all; then we’ll head to Nemene land.

  93 Cha’a: Enigma

  The Nemene are camped a ways downstream from us, to give us privacy. Bigan goes over for coffee in the morning. Two return with him. Crazy Eyes and Dog Soldier. They accompany us to the bottom of the hill.

  Bigan speaks to them in what must be Comanche, and we turn back toward the train tracks.

  “They’re headed home, don’t want to be spotted by that contraption full of white eyes,” he says.

  “You speak the language?”

  “Some. Being one.”

  “Yeah, right,” I say.

  “Babe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It bother you that I’m Nemene?”

  “It does,” I say, wiggling my hips on Tenner’s spine. “It gets me all hot and bothered.”

  “Good to know,” says Bigan, grinning at me. “I was afraid you wouldn’t care for redskins.”

  “You actually think yore funny, don’t you?”

  “Hot and bothered,” echoes Góshé. “What’s that?”

  He leans down and whispers in Góshé’s ear, loud enough so I can hear it, “She’s mad about me.”

  I snort. “More like mad at him.”

  He favors me with his signature boyish grin.

  “Yore white,” I say. “And, you’re a foot taller than them.”

  “Oh, So, you’re prejudiced.”

  I snort. Glad to have my big smartass kid back.

  94 Cha’a: Nemene

  “He looks so strong,” she says, watching him handle his recalcitrant pack horse, who has thrown a fit this morning.