by Skylar Finn
“I think there’s a desk in here,” I said to Tom. “I’m going to try and see if I can fit under it. Is there anything near you?”
“This feels like a closet,” came Tom’s voice in the dark. “At least, I think it’s a closet.” I heard the sound of a door opening. “There’s just enough room for me here. Are you under the desk?”
I crawled around the edge of the wood and bumped into a wheel attached to metal: a chair. I pushed it aside and groped around until I felt a small, hollow space. I crawled forward and tucked myself inside it. If I folded my body up like an accordion, I could just fit in the space. “I can fit,” I said.
We fell silent in our respective hiding places. The gunfire went on, rapid fire of automatic weapons punctuated with the longer, rhythmic blasts of a shotgun. Then came the sound of an explosion. The floor beneath us shook. I curled into an even tighter ball, hugging my knees to my chest with one arm and covering my head with the other. There was a pronounced silence that somehow seemed even louder than the gunfire.
The silence was broken by the sound of the doorknob rattling. I held my breath, waiting. The rattling stopped. Then came the sound of a key in a lock. The door opened, dragging across the carpet. It sounded like whoever it was immediately tripped over something. There was the sound of cursing, then a match being struck.
The room went from pitch black to slightly brighter, as if someone had lit a lantern nearby. Footsteps thudded against the carpet. I heard them come around the side of the desk and pause next to the chair.
I tried to make myself as small as possible. The sharp toe of a cowboy boot poked me in the side. I felt the body attached to the boot pause. The lantern swung low, close to my face.
“I’m unarmed,” I blurted out without uncovering my face. “Please don’t shoot.”
“Well, isn’t this the damndest thing,” a voice drawled. I thought for sure the next sound I would hear would be the sound of a gun fired at close range: the last sound I would ever hear.
Instead, the voice continued. “Seems as though my unexpected guests found the only room in the place with a lock on the door.” He sounded...amused?
I chanced a glance upward and saw a weathered face with a handlebar mustache and a ten-gallon hat outlined in the dim light of the lantern he held aloft.
“Pleasure to meet you, little lady,” said the face. “Though admittedly, the circumstances are a bit strange.” He extended a meaty paw under the desk. I stared at it uncomprehendingly.
“The name’s Wentworth,” he said. “But you can call me Wentworth.”
20
I realized then that we weren’t going to get shot--at least, not in the immediate future. Wentworth, if that’s truly who he was, rolled out of the way so I could crawl out from what was presumably his desk.
“Where’s your friend?” he asked. “Inside of the drawer?”
The closet door creaked open and Tom came out slowly, blinking as his eyes adjusted from the pitch dark of the closet to the dim light of the lantern Wentworth had placed on the desk.
“Hello, friend,” said Wentworth, smiling warmly in a way that somehow made me even more uncomfortable than if he’d seemed hostile. It almost made me feel like I could let my guard down, and that, more than anything, scared me. Under our present circumstances, I didn’t want to let my guard down ever again, for anyone. “With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” continued Wentworth.
“Tom Davidson,” said Tom. “I used to deliver your groceries. You know, before.”
“Shortly before the unpleasant incident in the backyard,” Wentworth began, then paused. He listened, tilting his head. We waited tensely, listening with him. Silence reigned. “Which seems to have ended. My colleague had time to inform me that we had a neighborly visit. I was not expecting to find you tucked away in my office, but it’s certainly preferable to finding you shot up in my living room. Now, what is it that I can do for you?”
Tom looked like he was at a loss for words, so I said, “We’re having a problem with Dexter.”
“Dexter?” snorted Wentworth. “Is that his name? Never mind, of course it is. Continue.”
“He killed Tom’s parents,” I said. “And he took our daughter. He’s holding her for ransom at the farmhouse by the highway. We went there today and we know he’s planning to kill my husband and take us captive. We decided to fight back, but there are only four of us and fifteen of them.”
“Maybe a few less than fifteen,” stated Wentworth ominously. “As of tonight.” He twirled his mustache thoughtfully and rocked in his chair.
“We don’t think we can take them on with just us,” I said. “We went through a lot of our ammo when they attacked and took Grace. We’re outnumbered. Surrender is not an option.”
Wentworth nodded slowly at this. “Surrender, in my opinion,” he said, “is never an option.”
“So we decided to come here,” I said. “And appeal to you for your help.”
“My compatriots might have warned you,” said Wentworth, “that I’m not a very ‘helpful’ individual. Typically, I believe that people should help themselves, and those that can’t aren’t entitled to charity. But you folks look a bit battle-worn. You look like you’ve been surviving. And you happen to come at the perfect time: the worst possible time, had you been caught in the crossfire, but the best possible time for you to seek my assistance in your venture of getting your daughter back, considering the same men of whom you speak were foolish enough to attack me in my own home. I’m feeling less than amenable to them, at the moment. I had chosen to ignore them, assuming they didn’t try anything idiotic, but it seems they decided to try something idiotic. So I’m a bit more sympathetic to your cause than I might have been otherwise.”
“We aren’t expecting a handout,” I said. “We can trade. We have rations, resources. We’re hard-working people. And we know that you like to keep to yourselves here. It isn’t our intention to impose. But to try to do this on our own would be a fool’s errand.”
Wentworth nodded approvingly. “It’s good to know your limitations,” he said. “And I appreciate your comprehension of a good old-fashioned barter-and-trade. Because this wouldn’t, of course, be without risk to me or my men. We would risk a loss of life and limb, and expose ourselves to a counterstrike. So in order to spare, say, two of my men and additional arms and munitions, I’m going to need a little bit more than the promise of rations, of which I can assure you I have plenty. I have guns and ammo for days. We also have a full stable of horses, and money is a bit of a moot point nowadays. What else can you offer me that I might not have?”
“A working vehicle,” I said.
Ethan and I had discussed this intensively before I left. It was one of our biggest assets, aside from the ranch itself--a surefire means of escape, quickly and over a lengthy distance, that would hold all of us. But we had both agreed that there was no point on having an asset if we weren’t alive to use it.
Wentworth looked impressed. “A working vehicle?” he said. “Now that might be something we can discuss.” He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers together. “Yes, indeed.”
There was a knock at the door. Tom and I looked up simultaneously, our nerves shot. “Yes?” called Wentworth sweetly.
It was Benny. He looked sweaty and beyond mad, but otherwise none the worse for the wear. “We took out a couple of their guys, they injured a couple of ours,” he reported. “Nobody dead on our side.”
“And them?” inquired Wentworth. “Dead or alive?”
“Dead,” said Benny. “Looks like we won’t have the chance to interrogate them. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately for us,” Wentworth said. “Fortunately for them. How are our guys doing?”
“They’re stable,” said Benny. “They’re going to be out of commission for a little while though.”
“We also have a doctor,” said Tom quietly. I glanced at him. We’d discussed giving up our sole form of transportation, but we certain
ly hadn’t discussed lending out Peterman. I didn’t relish the thought of him being held indefinitely at a militia compound and I felt sure he wouldn’t, either. But it turned out to be the right thing to say.
“That’s good,” said Wentworth, studying him. “That’s exceptional.” He turned to Benny. “Our new friends here have proposed an alliance to get rid of our old enemies. They have a working vehicle and an able doctor. What do you make of that?”
“Anything that involves getting rid of these guys, I’m on board for,” Benny said fiercely. “Think they can come in here, try to shoot the place up, and there won’t be repercussions? I’d like to teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.”
“Well, it seems you’ll have that chance.” Wentworth turned back to us. “What did you say your deadline was? For giving up your supplies in order to get your daughter back.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “We have until tomorrow.”
“Tell you what,” said Wentworth. “I’ll send you back with Benny and EJ, keep you safe on the road just in case our mutual enemy decides to return. When they arrive at your place, they’ll assess your assets and EJ will report back to me with the vehicle. Assuming you’re true to your word, which I’m sure that you kind folks are, Benny will help you prepare. I’ll send EJ back with the additional arms and to finalize a plan to dispose of our shared enemy. Given your future plans, I think it’s best your doctor remain with you, for the time being.” He let those words sink in for a moment, acknowledging the risk we were taking and the substantial likelihood that we would be injured or worse.
“What if we lose?” asked Tom bluntly. “What then?”
“Lose?” Wentworth looked at him, surprised. “My men don’t lose.”
“That’s right,” said Benny, stepping forward authoritatively. “With us in the picture, I can assure you that they’re gonna come out of this the losers.”
“I’ll give you a few minutes to yourselves to discuss it before you give your final answer,” said Wentworth, pushing out his chair. “We’ll saddle up an extra horse for you.”
Wentworth and Benny left the room. Tom and I exchanged glances as we waited for the sound of their footsteps to recede down the hallway.
“What do you think?” he asked when it was quiet again.
“I think,” I said carefully, weighing each of my words. It wasn’t that I thought they were spying on us somehow to see what we would say when we thought they weren’t around. It would be a logical move on their part, but without electronics, they were operating with pretty limited means for secret surveillance.
“I think that we should be careful who we trust,” I continued. “They seem open to helping us, but really, they’re helping us help them. Having four of us and two of them risk our lives to get rid of Dexter is preferable for Wentworth than having six of his people risk their lives, leaving him unprotected in the meantime. I don’t think that makes them somehow trustworthy or reliable.”
“I agree,” said Tom. “At this point, our hands are pretty much tied. But that doesn’t mean we let our guard down.”
“And we won’t,” I said. “I say we take the deal. But that doesn’t mean they’re our new best friends.”
Tom and I were resigned, but what would Ethan say? I wondered if he would have driven a harder bargain, although I got the feeling that in this instance, it might have done more harm than good. Ultimately, I concluded that Ethan would have wanted us to do whatever it took to get Grace back. And this was it.
The door opened. It was Benny.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
“We accept,” I said.
“Good move,” said Benny. “Come tomorrow, your problem? They’re no longer gonna exist. Because we are gonna wipe them from the face of this planet.”
I rode Clover alongside Benny and Tom and EJ rode behind us, with Tom on one of Wentworth’s horses. I was antsy being out on the road, exposed, so soon after an attack and I could tell Tom was, too. Benny and EJ seemed wholly unbothered by it, even after their recent fight. They smoked cigarettes and told graphic jokes about what Dexter would look like once they were done with him.
Seeming to sense my unease, Benny turned to me and asked, “How are you doing over there, Miss Charlie?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll feel better once we get back to the ranch.”
“Understandable,” he said. “But I can assure you that as long as you and Tom here are with me and EJ, you’re in safe hands. Tomorrow will be a cakewalk, with us on your side.”
“Thanks.” I smiled weakly and probably unconvincingly.
“I know it’s hard for the average private citizen to comprehend,” he continued confidentially. “Folks who are used to living comfortably, never dreaming that the worst will happen. But we’ve always prepared for the worst. Expected it, even. The worst that can happen, and the worst of humanity. Wentworth knows what he’s doing.”
“How long have you been with Wentworth?” I asked, more to take my mind off my fear than out of genuine curiosity.
“Six years,” he said. “I’m what you call an adrenaline junkie. I never could wrap my head around the soft life--hearth and home and all that. If Wentworth hadn’t taken me in and given me a positive outlet for my inclinations, I might have gone down a bad path. Turned to some kind of criminal enterprise.”
“He takes care of you? Wentworth?” I asked.
“He takes care of all of us. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not exactly what you’d call warm-hearted--you mess up with Wentworth, it’ll be the last mistake you ever make. But it just teaches you not to mess up, is all.”
“That sounds...positive,” I said unconvincingly.
He laughed. “Like I said, it’s not for everyone.” He glanced back over his shoulder at EJ. “Wouldn’t you agree, partner?”
EJ spat on the ground. “Agree with what?”
“That Wentworth ain’t exactly--hold up.” Benny tugged at the reins of his horse and paused, listening. “You hear that?”
The rest of us had come to a stop when he did. “Hear what?” EJ asked sharply.
Benny held his hand up. We fell silent, listening. I didn’t hear anything.
“That’s strange,” he mumbled after a full minute of silence. “I could have sworn I heard something, like a twig cracking, maybe.” Another minute of silence passed before EJ broke it.
“All I hear are the crickets,” he said.
No sooner had he uttered the words than I heard the crashing of foliage next to the road. Two of Dexter’s men stepped into the road in front of us, their guns trained directly at our faces.
“Not so fast, folks,” the one on the left said, smiling a slow and menacing smile. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to pay the toll. Get off your horses, nice and slow, and nobody gets hurt.”
21
If I expected Benny and EJ to surrender, I was mistaken. They immediately pulled their guns. They aimed them back at Dexter’s men, who wore matching ugly expressions of twisted surprise, as if they were unaccustomed to having their authority challenged.
“This ain’t gonna end well,” called one. “For you or your people. They’re clearly unarmed.”
EJ plainly didn’t care. He fired right at him, hitting him in the shoulder. The man slid sideways off his horse, clutching his wound and screaming. The second man turned on EJ, pointing his gun at EJ’s face.
“Charlie,” I heard Tom’s frantic voice behind me. I turned to see him dismount Wentworth’s horse and throw himself into the ditch alongside the road. I got off Clover, slapping her flank and sending her galloping up the road: not that she needed any encouragement from me. I knew that she would run straight home.
I rolled into the ditch alongside Tom as the sound of gunfire thundered above us. We covered our heads and waited for it to be over. It was the second time that night we had to hide from a firefight.
I wondered if this was the prevailing condition of our lives now. It was an odd thing to think of, in a ditch
with my head covered while gunshots reverberated nearby, but by now my adrenaline had been exhausted and I’d sunk into a sort of nihilistic despair at the continual onslaught of attack. I found that I wasn’t even surprised by being attacked by Dexter’s men anymore. It felt as though wherever we went, whatever we did, there would be more of them waiting to ambush us.
The gunshots stopped, even more abruptly than they’d started. Rapid hoofbeats receded down the road above us. Tom and I looked at each other, wide-eyed, wondering it if was safe to come out. A cry of anguished despair incited me to peer over the edge of the ditch.
Neither of Dexter’s men were anywhere to be seen. One of their horses was gone, and the second bucked and pawed at the ground, eyes rolling wildly in a highly-agitated state. Benny had gotten off his horse and huddled over a still form on the ground: EJ. His horse had spooked and run off.
I crawled out of the ditch and approached Benny cautiously, not wanting to startle him into accidentally shooting me. “Benny?” I called out hesitantly. “Is he--”
“He still has a pulse,” said Benny without looking up. “But it’s real bad, I think.”
“We have to get him to the ranch,” said Tom, coming up behind me. “We’re closer there than to Wentworth’s. Dr. Peterman can operate on him.”
Benny took off his jacket and tore his shirt into long strips, wrapping them around EJ’s midsection. We helped him get EJ onto Benny’s horse.
“I’ll ride ahead of you,” I said. “Tom, can you lead their horse back with you? I don’t want to leave him out here. And the fewer horses they have, the better.”
“I got it,” Tom said. He approached the other horse, talking in a soothing voice until he was able to get close enough to grab the reins.
I got on Tom’s horse, passive as a rock on the side of the road and the only one seemingly unfazed by the chaos that had just erupted. I rode alongside Benny and the slumped-over, semi-conscious EJ, who sat in front of him. I could tell Benny was conflicted about getting there as fast as possible and not hurting EJ any more than he already had been. I tried to keep the pace to a fast trot.