Bounty Hunter

by Michelle E Lowe

He walked over to his workstation, where the altar had once been. There, on the table, were machine parts and surgical instruments. He set down the capacitor and admired it a moment. It was a brass, cylinder-shaped component that stored electrical energy. He turned his gaze to his makeshift electrical machines. They were mockups based on Faraday’s law of induction.

  Both machines stood approximately ten feet tall, with metal orbs resting atop gridiron bar bodies. The gridiron frames were cone-shaped, and caged inside them were coil connected to liquid batteries via spiraling wires. Wrapped around the orbs was an electromagnetism cord strung like a clothesline between the machines. More wires hung down from it by clamps. The structures sat upon a steel table with three sturdy legs, and with the transformers and another capacitor located underneath. The transformers were built from scraps of metals, and held together by bolts and washers.

  Javier approached a transformer and touched the gridiron frame. It had taken months to locate the materials to build the device. Even when using only one working capacitor, it had managed to generate the right amount of power to reanimate his coyotes. But, he needed two functional capacitors for his other specimens. The capacitor was the most expensive piece, and he was damn well fortunate to have found it in Guaymas, where many industrial inventions were being manufactured, imported, and sold. Having Chibi call on them again for another bank heist was a blessing. During previous years, Javier had spent the stolen money on equipment and for his basic needs. Now, with this final piece, his real work could at last commence.

  Once he succeeded, he’d become the most renowned scientist on the planet!

  “Por favor, señor,” a man beckoned from the back of the room.

  Javier’s eye twitched with irritation at the interruption. He debated whether to start sewing mouths shut.

  “Señor, por favor,” the same man pleaded. “Let us go.”

  Javier stepped over to the table and picked up a slender metal rod. To the naked eye, it appeared to be nothing more than a harmless wand.

  Javier slowly turned toward the cages, passing by the operating table as he went. He had built four cages for each specimen, which he had plucked from different towns, miles apart. The noisy specimen was the farmer whom Javier had kidnapped and brought to the mission just before he rode out for Guaymas.

  “We won’t say a word to anyone,” the farmer promised.

  The rest of them, two women and one other man, nodded in agreement. It was apparent that the farmer was their rock, their strength, so to speak. Before Javier had brought him in, everyone had known their place and kept quiet.

  “Sí, por favor, señor,” a woman spoke up. “Set us free. We’ll say nothing.”

  Javier studied them. Granted, each were ragged from imprisonment, worse off now since being left alone with only enough food and water to carry them through the past week while their captor had been absent, but even before that, before he caught them, they weren’t proper specimens to conduct his experiments on. They were peasants who led hard lives, working in fields and in factories. Javier suspected one of them was diseased. Influenza, perhaps.

  For the best chance at success, it’d serve him more favorably to have specimens with good working internal organs. Alas, he needed to make do with what he had, for the time being. These specimens were going to be a trial run anyway, the same as the first people he took in Mota de Cuervo.

  Javier said nothing. Instead, he allowed his actions to do the talking. He pressed the end of the wand against the farmer’s forehead. The device appeared non-threatening, so the weakened man didn’t object to it. That changed when Javier pushed a button, sending a thin, eight-inch blade straight through the man’s head. The killing was so discreet, no one noticed it happening until the body started to spasm. The prisoners screamed and moved away into the corners of their cages. The farmer stood, his body twitching, eyes rolling back as his nerves scrambled to come to terms with what was happening. Only a trickle of blood escaped from the entrance wound. Javier needed to do as minor damage to the specimens’ bodies as possible when putting them down. Doing this now, though, Javier would have to work quickly in wiring in the other capacitor before the specimen spoiled. On the bright side, however, everyone would learn how to hold their tongues.

  Finally, he clicked the button. The blade retracted into the wand. Once the bayonet slid out of the farmer’s brain, the body dropped to the floor, where it continued to twitch. Javier gave a warning glare to the remaining three and returned to his workstation.

  * * *

  There were so many places to hide things. Chests, hollows of trees, behind an ice block of an igloo, even inside a person, if they survived it. Chibi chose King Tut’s tomb. The Boy King’s tomb was well hidden from the elements and was already full of riches.

  Chibi dumped his bounty, along with the rest of the bank money stolen from the previous years, into a pile. Chibi preferred to keep his treasures organized. The loot from Guaymas City Bank was stashed in a single lump near the canopic jars of the dead Pharaoh’s internal organs. Near the golden tomb on the other side were piles of treasures stolen from Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Once, Chibi had attempted to steal the British Crown Jewels, but they were guarded by the spirit of Beowulf. Most creatures like Chibi would try again to obtain those pretty, sparkly things, but he knew better than to go up against that bastard. Unlike most of his greedy kind, Chibi understood when to quit, which is what had kept him alive for so long. That never stopped him from playing his little games, though.

  Since Chibi refused to allow his greed to overwhelm him, he was able to develop schemes, which had proven more enjoyable than simply obtaining pretty objects. The thrill of executing his plans had driven him to locate Saints, Nickel, and Nata. Harvey always called him a dwarf, but Chibi wasn’t even human. Whether the others were aware of that or not, he didn’t know, for none of them had ever asked him about it.

  It wasn’t hard finding the three, especially when they lived in the same country. He didn’t really need them, but he wanted them, and because he enjoyed their unique personalities, he had no quarrel sharing the bounty. In fact, he’d had such fun robbing the bank with them, he’d pulled the lot together for a second robbery the following year—and then a third. He wouldn’t mind going for a fourth, but he sensed in the others that they weren’t too keen on the idea. Perhaps he’d get them to go along with it anyway and see what would happen if they encountered the law. That would be interesting. It was fun treating humans like playthings.

  After he’d emptied his sack, Chibi removed his gasmask and scratched at his big bumpy nose. He collapsed into his pile of new loot and wallowed in it gleefully.

  * * *

  Emma twisted the wrench round and round without putting too much focus into her work. If she had, she’d notice she was turning it the wrong way. The oil pan loosened, and oil spilled down upon her face.

  “Shit!” Emma cursed, hurrying to tighten it back on.

  Once the oil pan was secured, she scooted out from under the engine.

  “What happened?” asked Gabriela.

  Emma wiped the mess away with a rag, feeling the sting of having some in her eyes. “Nothing,” she answered irritably. “I took care of it.”

  “Don’t lose our oil. It’s not cheap.”

  “I know!” Emma snapped while reaching into her toolbox. “I told you. I handled it.”

  “What is wrong with you? You’ve been so distracted lately.”

  Emma had been distracted, and she didn’t pretend she didn’t know what was holding her thoughts hostage. The instant she saw him, her heart was his to have. Pierce Landcross was undoubtedly the most intriguing and beautiful man she had ever seen, and she had seen plenty of attractive men. Those green eyes. Emma could look at them for the rest of her life. And his lips. She longed to have them touch every inch of her body. Everything about the Englishman captivated her, from the way he moved to how he spoke. Never had she felt this way before. She assumed it must be love, or ma
ybe just infatuation.

  Of course, he had to be married. Not only wedded, but also bound to someone of pure beauty who was also carrying his child. Why couldn’t he have come to her unattached? Emma would have taken him as her own and been his wife on the spot! Maybe it could still happen. Pierce seemed taken by her. They both shared a lot in common, and her life experiences appealed to his interests. And Emma was pretty enough. She had never been the vain sort. However, she was acutely aware she possessed physically attractive qualities that could easily win Pierce over.

  “Are you going to be able to race tomorrow?” Gabriela asked petulantly.

  “Of course, I am. And I’ll win.”

  Emma grabbed a tool and went back under the machine. “Fetch us some food,” she commanded. “I’m starving.”

  * * *

  The desert sun sat in the center of the cloudless sky, roasting the land. The heat had no effect on the Goth spirits or their animals. Physical discomfort, as well as physical pleasure, was forgotten the moment they drifted out of their bodies. Their campsite appeared like any other nomad camp—a collection of ragged tents and tarpaulins. A fire burned at night, songs were sung, and stories were told. Shelters and fires made it all seem more authentic.

  Gog stood on a high cliff overlooking his nomadic tribe, as well as the lands and mountains beyond the desert wasteland. Everything was so dry and lifeless.

  “How long do we intend on staying?” Magog asked from behind him.

  “For as long as I desire.”

  “The spirits are already growing restless. There isn’t a wide variety of things out here compared to what we have seen in the past. They want to press on. I want to press on.”

  “Then leave,” Gog said from over his shoulder. “I am no one’s master. If you and the others wish to travel on, I shall not stand in your way.”

  Magog came up beside him. He was tall like Gog, but not nearly as handsome. He was very dusty and dirty. He was covered from head to toe with earth. His dark hair and beard were caked in layers of ash and grit. It constantly fell off him, and only washed off during rainstorms, but always did the dust and dirt return. It was a part of him, for he had once been a landmass before he’d been remade into a man.

  Magog’s wide-eyed expression spoke of his utter shock.

  “You may never find us again,” he warned. “We could journey to the far regions of space and not return until eons after this world ends.”

  “Then so be it.”

  “I don’t understand. This tribe used to mean so much to you.”

  “I told you before that something has been lacking in my existence. Now, I’ve found it—found her.”

  “The woman? That mortal woman? Even if you can get her to love you over her husband—which will be more difficult than you think—you cannot have her forever, for she will die while you continue on.”

  “Her soul can remain with me. Together, we could stay in the In-Between, or travel anywhere we please as I have done with you and the Goths.”

  They stood in complete silence for a long while. Magog gazed out into the harsh desert wilderness.

  “Is she what you truly want?” Magog asked at length.

  “She is.”

  “She might not choose you.”

  “I shall woo her. I have already begun seeping my affection into her being. I shall not escape her thoughts easily.”

  Again, they were quiet.

  “Then we shall remain here. If you succeed in winning her love, she may travel with us.”

  “Perhaps for a little while,” Gog stated earnestly. “For you see, I intend to find somewhere on this Earth for us both to live, and to raise our children together. We shall be a family.”

  Chapter Six

  An Understanding

  By mid-morning, Pierce and his family had nearly reached the Apache village. They had departed early, despite the difficulties of getting his parents awake and moving. Pierce decided not to say goodbye to Jaxton and only left him a note expressing his gratitude for the use of his room.

  The return trip was a quiet one. Sometimes, Pierce glanced over at Taisia, who rode next to him. Usually, when he looked at her, even for a moment, she’d sense it and look at him, too. But, today, she kept her sights straight ahead. Taisia appeared lost in a dreamland state, thinking fondly about something—or someone.

  He reached over and held her hand. She slowly looked over at him.

  “I love you,” he said.

  The corners of her lips rose. “I love you, too.”

  When they’d arrived, Taisia went into the hogan while Pierce and his dad returned the ponies.

  “Did you have fun last night, Łigai Thii?” Itza-chu asked with mirth.

  Pierce scowled and walked away without a response.

  When he entered the hut, Taisia was sitting on the pile of furs that was their bed.

  “Dad and I were invited to go out hunting with Itza-chu and some others. Then Chief Sea Wind offered to show us some fishing tricks.”

  He removed his hat to wipe sweat off his brow with his shirtsleeve. He absolutely hated this malevolent heat.

  Taisia reached out to him. “Come to me.”

  He obeyed and sat down beside her. She unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to her waist. “Do you have to go soon?”

  “Erm,” he said, staring intently at her breasts. They had grown since her pregnancy. “We hadn’t planned to leave for an hour.”

  She placed his hand on her breast. Its soft, smooth feel never grew old. Pierce always enjoyed touching her in this way, especially now, since he could intensify her pleasure. He undressed out of his shirt and vest and kissed her. He worked his way down to her neck, which tasted like the salt of her sweat. She clutched his hair as his mouth found her breast, causing her to moan as he fondly groped the other. He gently pushed her down on the furs, and she unbuckled his gun belt. When he was completely naked, she stroked his manhood. Even as his touch brought her excitement, so did hers. He reached under her gown, pulled down her undergarments, and eased his fingers inside her.

  God, he loved the feel of her.

  “Pierce,” she said with readiness.

  He was rather ready himself. He penetrated her with a slowness that sent shudders throughout his body. The gown around her waist brushed softly against him. Taisia held tight to his arse and clutched his back while wrapping her legs around him.

  This felt so good.

  It also felt different. Taisia moved differently. Her hips rotated ever so slightly, a pleasurable technique she’d never used before. After all the times they had been with each other, Pierce had believed he was familiar with all her sexual moves. He looked at her. She kept her head sideways, with her eyes closed. She moaned and occasionally, let out a tiny cry, but she didn’t open her eyes.

  Did she not want to look at him? Was she envisioning someone else? The man she’d danced with, maybe? He almost asked, but he felt too good to risk her stopping. Instead, he pressed the side of his head against hers and increased his thrusting. Her strong grip on him tightened. He whispered her name. Only heavy breaths escaped her.

  Emma came to mind. He hadn’t willed it. In fact, he had scarcely thought of her since yesterday, and yet, there she was, and he didn’t attempt to block her out. If Taisia was mentally being with another man—him perhaps, the reason for this blissful moment—then he reckoned he’d use a little imagination himself.

  Emma lay beneath him, scratching her nails across his flesh, screaming out his name. Her body was perfect and completely new to him, and her song of lust rang joyfully in his ears. She adjusted herself so she was on top. He grabbed her breasts before sliding his hands down to her lean waist. Emma rode him. Pierce’s head dropped back as he felt the urge to crest drawing near. He shut his eyes and allowed the rush to flow through him with such velocity that it caused him to quiver.

  She fell beside him, gasping as if she had been holding her breath the entire time. Pierce looked over at her. Taisia lay on he
r back, letting out satisfied little hums.

  She still did not look at him.

  * * *

  Pierce had hunted occasionally when he was a young thief. Mainly, he killed birds and sometimes a hare, but nothing larger than that. Taking down a stag was completely new to him. Pierce met up with his dad, Itza-chu, and a few others to set off for their hunt. The natives showed them how to track animals by following their prints, and how to recognize their grazing habits. They crept up a short hill and at the top, saw dozens of deer down in the valley.

  “Shoot one, White Horse,” Itza-chu ordered.

  “Stop fucking calling me that,” Pierce seethed.

  He straightened, took aim, and fired. The herd scrambled, but none of them fell dead.

  “Shite,” Pierce grumbled.

  Itza-chu stood quickly, took aim, and opened fired upon the rapidly moving herd. A stag collapsed. Pierce was impressed he’d brought down such a fast-moving target.

  He looked at his rifle. “I’m better behind a pistol.”

  “Maybe there will be food markets near where Sea Wind is taking you,” Itza-chu scoffed.

  Itza-chu and the rest of the Apache headed down the hill with a horse to collect his kill. Pierce’s jaw hurt from grinding his teeth as he watched them go.

  “It isn’t the rifle, son,” Jasper noted, standing beside him. “What’s on your mind?”

  Pierce sighed deeply and set the butt end of the weapon down upon the sandy ground. He turned to him. Jasper Landcross resembled Joaquin so much that it hurt his heart. Although grey had long ago taken sections of his black hair, Jasper had maintained some of his dark locks. Almost the same color as Joaquin. It killed Pierce that after everything he and Taisia had done to save him, his big brother had died anyway. Pierce looked away, trying not to reveal his grief to his father.

  “It’s nothing, Dad,” Pierce lied. “I’m fine.”

  “Did you and Taisia have a fight?”