Johns peels each of the corn stems to the side as he treads as if walking through thick snow, raising his foot up and slowly resting it down. He hears a rustle of leaves; he glances to his side. The Deputy, a kid, who didn’t talk much, was blundering through the vegetation. This was no way to go about a good bushwhacking, in fact, this is how you get bushwhacked!
David stops, he tries to remember the Deputies name.
“Gills," he whispers “Keep it the fuck down.”
Jack Gills and been made a deputy days earlier, he slants an embarrassed glance to Johns and the other Hunter, who obviously have more experience in these type of affairs than him. He motions to protest but is shut down quickly by the more senior Johns.
“Shhh, listen” Johns snaps.
The gun-slinging Hunter quietly moves up next to Johns. They all breathe lightly and crane their necks. There’s the sound of rustling, through the thick wall of corn.
“Let’s get ‘im” Johns whispers.
Jack Gills wasn't sure. He glances to Hank, who’s hanging back, waiting with his shotgun.
"Wouldn't it be best if we waited?" Jack asks.
Johns wasn’t good at his schooling, but he knew six thousand dollars between two was better than between four.
“Your loss kiddos."
Johns nods to the other Bounty Hunter, and they leave Gills on his haunches. David Johns and his companion pick up the pace to close down that rustling sound.
Johns is real close; he gestures for the other Hunter to fan out, after a few steps of separation they’re ready, only feet in front of them is that tapping and rustling.
The Bounty Hunters crash through into a small opening, their pistols like weather vanes in a gale.
The Hunter lowers his side iron, "Hey Johns."
When Johns looks over, he gestures to a hen feeding in the green of the leaves. They lower their pistols.
“Shit." Johns runs his hand across his face; he's betting they're going to miss out on that bounty, he turns to walk out of the clearing.
“Damn chick-“ SLUCK – The sharpened bit of an axe, cracks into his sternum, it nestles up to the blade’s cheek in soft white bone, blood surges under the pressure and spurts up the side of the axe head. Before Johns can fall, the other Hunter snaps up his pistol to shoot Jensen, Jensen snatches the barrel to the side – BANG – a miss.
In the same sweep, Jensen arcs his left arm down in a crescent, with bodily force till
- SHTICK- His bale hooked arm pierces the Bounty Hunter’s eye… Fluid bursts, the man screams, Jensen snatches his pistol out of his holster, it’s point blank –BLAM – the screaming stops, as blood spatters across corn plants.
Marujo wrestles with an undiscovered aspect of his being, as he cradles his father’s lifeless body, he feels… regret. He’s not sure why. Maybe this man represented the last vestiges of his own humanity. He looks up, across the farm, to see the burning shed, dead bodies strewn, he's been completely unawares.
He re-examines this inner turmoil, and it has confirmed something he's always recognized, humanness is a weakness.
There are quick, consecutive shots ringing out from the cornfield. Marujo feels that lust, the lust that impels him to consume. He places his father to the ground, and his squat legs march him to the cornfield.
Marujo, the Soul Eater, is on the hunt.
49
THE SHOTGUN WIELDING Deputy Hank searches amongst the corn growths. He nervously chews his lips; it's claustrophobic; the enclosed space, limited view and The Butcher in here with him. A shadow moves in his peripheral, he swivels and shoots BOOM… Leafy confetti fills the air.
There’s nothing there.
Hank turns back to the pursuit. - CLICK - A thumb cocks a hammer of a Colt Frontiers Six-Shooter.
Hank has pivoted directly into Jensen’s barrel.
There's a moment when the two men connect; they're mere feet away. Hank can see Jensen’s jade green eyes, his dilated inky black pupils.
Jensen nods his head as if to apologise.
Hank shuts his eyes, falling into silent prayer.
He never hears the pistol report, never feels the spinning ball of metal punch its mass through his cheek and rupture his brain stem.
He’s dead before his body timbers earth bound.
Jack Gills can hear random gunfire and the tell-tale sign of bodies hitting dirt. If the Butcher was got, someone would have hollered something by now. Jack's still on his haunches; he's decided to wait, to get the jump on anyone who comes near. Also, he was too petrified to move. Somehow his motionlessness becomes more transfixed; a figurine cast from fear. Jack's mind is not still, it’s racing with possibilities, as he feels a sharp blade gently touch his throat. Marujo puts his lips to Jack's ear and whispers.
"See."
Marujo points into the cornfield; Jack can make out a shadow slowly gliding through. Jack looks to Marujo, he nods. With that permission, Jack raises his pistol, as Marujo removes his blade.
The young Deputy waits, he aims and fires.
-BANG – BANG- the shadow rolls, twists, and fires back – BLAM – BLAM – Jack Gills jolts as if punched, he rocks, drops his pistol and slumps to the deck, a crimson carpet rolls out from him. The shadow emerges, it is Jensen. He bends and picks up Jack’s pistol.
Marujo is nowhere in sight.
Jensen twitches, there’s movement in the corn plants, impossibly fast, quiet.
Now it’s behind him.
To the side.
Jensen now feels the closeness of his confines pressing in on him.
He turns and shoots - BLAM-
The shadow in the field keeps moving.
SLASH- an unseen blade cuts Jensen across his back.
He stumbles forward, spins to shoot - BLAM-
Another miss.
In front of Jensen the shadowy substance of Marujo ghosts towards him – Jensen lets off rounds –BLAM-BLAM- It’s as if bullets pass through this ethereal nightmare.
Marujo bursts out from the thick swathe of plants, to speed past Jensen.
He lashes out with his knife –SHTICK.
He nicks Jensen’s neck and plunges back into the sea of green.
What was helping Jensen now hinders him, as Marujo ghosts in and out at will. Without thought Jensen discards discretion and crashes through the cornfield, he’s making his way back to the open.
Marujo slowly follows the commotion.
Jensen’s grizzly frame crashes through the growth, what he lacks in grace he makes up for in power, determination. He breathes deep, his heart hammers, the hunt is exhilarating for the prey also, knowing that any second of these moments of freedom that can come to a crashing end only makes it that more delicious. It’s just the warrior’s way.
He's reached the end of the wall, and like the Kraken of the deep he emerges and crashes into the open. Jensen stops a moment, he takes a knee and consumes oxygen, his head swirls; adrenaline, exhaustion, pain all tinged with the subtle buzz of opium.
"See boy; patience does have its virtues." Colonel Beau Dunston is nestled behind his Enfield Martini Henry and lovingly slides .557 snider cartridge into the breach.
Dunston spreads his leg and sprawls to a sniper position. His cheek hugs, the royal walnut rifle stock, he gently squeezes an eye closed and peers through the sight, down the barrel to the bead. Dunston gently manoeuvres the bead, till it rests on the kneeling figure of Jensen.
He breathes in deep.
Breathes out.
Breathes in… Dunston feels the cold iron of the trigger against his finger. He holds his breath to slow his heart and keep the aim smooth.
“Colonel…” Tyler interrupts the meditation before executing a shot.
“Not now boy.” Dunston retorts.
“But-“
“-Quiet boy.” Dunston adopts his position.
He throws in one last piece of advice.
“Everything comes to he who waits.” There’s an audible click of a cocked shotgun hamme
r. Dunston hears a voice, a voice he hasn’t heard before, it’s Little Sparrow.
“And I have waited so long for this moment." She presses the shotgun barrel into the nape of his neck; she has a pistol trained upon Tyler.
Dunston quietly places his hand behind his head; Tyler sees this squaw has no real interest in him. He glances back; he can't get to the horses, he looks across the farm… He can disappear into the cornfield and just keep going.
Tyler leaps from the overhang, he tumbles down a bank, bouncing and skidding, till he hits flat earth below. He checks himself… He's okay.
Little Sparrow watches Tyler sprint across the farm to the cornfield; she holsters her pistol.
Jensen with shotgun, sentinel like, sweeping the barrel for anyone that emerges from the cornfield. He hears a rustling, feet trampling their way.
It's to his right… And then he notices the motionless body of Running Cloud.
"That son-of-a-bitch."
The commotion passages closer, stealing Jensen back to the now. He steps forward, ready to rain pellets into the oncoming body.
When…
Mazy and Louis stumble out into the open.
Jensen is happy to see his friend, but he knows danger is ever present.
She calls out “Bear.” He can’t afford to have her here.
They make their way to each other.
“Bear your hand.” Jensen isn’t listening his smile evaporates, he sees behind Louis and Mazy, Tyler charging towards the cornfield.
Jensen drops his shotgun, he draws his pistol, but Mazy and Louis are in the firing line.
He sprints past Mazy and Louis. She calls out.
“Bear where’s your hand?”
Jensen stands by the wall of green that just swallowed up Tyler.
“I gone and lost it.” He calls back to her.
Jensen is fastened to the moment - Should he go in after Tyler?
What of the Marujo?
Mazy runs towards Jensen.
Jensen stops her.
“Stay ther-“
CRASH – Marujo freight trains through the plants, into the open and like a thunderbolt of fury slams into Jensen.
“Bear!” Mazy shrills.
The two men as one, pitch to the earth.
Marujo breaks away.
Jensen falls, rolls to his knees, aims his pistol to shoot his nemesis.
Marujo SLICES his gun hand, Jensen drops the pistol, before he can peel off a shot.
Marujo flips to standing.
Jensen draws a blade and lashes out in one feral swoop.
Marujo blocks, blades clash to a pitched - Ching- of metal on metal.
Marujo keeps the energy flowing; he's circling and sweeps, Jensen’s legs from under him, he thumps to the turf.
Jensen rolls away, as Marujo plunges his knife down -Thud- into the dirt.
Louis has pulled Mazy away; he grabs the shotgun dropped by Jensen.
“What are you going to do with that?” Mazy bluntly enquires.
"I don't know," Louis answers, as he looks to the two in conflict.
Jensen and Marujo are in that same terrain again, gently circling each other. Jensen can’t comprehend why this Indian has got it ‘in’ for him. Anyways, Jensen was light on contemplation and never tried comprehending the muchness of many things. He’s more the kind of man to have a singular thought, and go galloping ahead with it.
Right now his thought is… I’m going to gut you. Jensen holds up his blade and brandishes his weaponised left arm.
Marujo subtly waves him on.
Jensen accepts the invite, he creeps his lead foot forward, as if testing the firmness of the ground beneath.
They both stop their circling. Marujo lowers himself.
Jensen springs forward into a lunge.
Jensen decides to go with blind fury, let his blood curdle and give it everything he’s got.
His blade and hook scythe in long curved swings, Jensen lets out a roar.
Marujo shuffles back, dodging, blocking or parrying the blows that cascade toward him.
HACK – Jensen’s hook buries deep into the meat of Marujo’s shoulder.
Marujo plucks it out and backs up, glancing to the expanse of blood that pools from his wound.
Jensen behind his heavy breathing is sadistically smug.
“Hurts some.. eh?” He’s poised ready and waves Marujo on.
Marujo reaches into his boot and brings out another, smaller blade. Duel wielding, he obliges and strides forward.
Little Sparrow, still has the Colonel pressed under shotgun. Her deep blue eyes move from the fallen figure of her father to Marujo in conflict with Jensen. Inside is the sickening stirrings of grief. She glances down to the Colonel, who’s craning a look at Jensen and Marujo fighting. They both have a stake in this moment. Revenge for one, and freedom for the other.
Marujo breaks his stride into a sprint, to a leap.
Jensen side steps, two blades shave the air by him, with an audible whisper.
The assailant adjusts his mass, twists and stabs Jensen.
A fang of metal bites into fleshy muscle.
Jensen stumbles back.
Mazy screams.
Jensen glances down to the blade that's stuck in his left arm. It should hurt, yet Jensen is too numb; from exhaustion, the opioids and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Numbness is the body disconnecting from the brain, to allow a man to push himself beyond what he thinks he's capable.
Jensen knows he’s nearing the end of enduring. The disconnect between his mind and body are ever expanding shores.
The next moments are a flurry of metallic arcs, where crescents clash with crescents, or they arc through flesh.
Marujo’s large blade sweeps a wound across Jensen’s right hand; he drops his knife.
The large blade continues its passage and plunges deep into Jensen’s chest.
Jensen staggers back, blade jutting out his chest.
Mazy is silent, shocked; she grabs hold of her father. Louis readies the shotgun, who knows what this native will want after this?
Jensen takes a knee; his head hangs, blood is spilling from his mouth.
Marujo clenches his fist, his muscles contract in a shiver of excitation.
He releases a feral, guttural roar.
Scenarios play through Colonel Dunston’s mind. After Marujo kills The Butcher, then he will come and free the Colonel.
Dunston plays his gambit. “You let me go now, I’ll ensure you walk free, no charges, or need for retribution.”
Dunston feels the shotgun jolt the back of his skull.
“Shut up.”
Jensen glances across to Mazy; she's wracked with dismay, tears bead down her cheeks, the back of her arm wipes across her nose, she's leaning into her father, who awkwardly clenches a shotgun. They look to him; their eyes express the empty they feel inside. He glances to Marujo; he picks up the dropped knife. From kneeling Jensen glances back to his two friends, and with knife buried in his chest, another stuck in his arm, he winks at them.
Mazy and Louis look to each other confused.
Marujo stands above the fallen figure of his victim; it's almost like he's kneeling before his superior. Marujo flips the knife, to a reverse grip. He feels the pang of hunger that needs to be sated, a lust for power that needs to be gratified.
Marujo brings the blade up, raising his body, stretching his sinew, ready to snap down into the back of Jensen’s neck.
Jensen recognises the moment, the glimpse before death, where men break or willingly surrender, not Jensen. He snatches the knife buried in his left arm, lunging forward he drives the dagger into Marujo’s thigh, splitting muscle. His nemesis staggers back his stretched sinew screams to contraction.
As Marujo unplugs the knife from his thigh, slicing fibre on its way. Jensen turns to Louis, and before he can shout his request, the shotgun is already sailing in the air towards him.
There’s a final race between the sailing shotgun
and Marujo. Who can get to Jensen first?
Marujo lunges.
Jensen leaps off one leg.
Jensen catches the shotgun, he spins and lays supine shotgun jutting, accusingly aimed upward. Marujo staggers, he sees the black maws of death, side by side, two barrels that offer one thing, release from his earthly torments.
He catches Jensen’s eyes. Marujo, smiles, it’s soft, welcoming. The calmness of acceptance ebbs over him. He drops the knife.
Marujo speaks in his own tongue, his voice is light, poetic, but Little Sparrow or Running Cloud aren’t there to translate.
Jensen will never know what those last words were. That in his own twisted sense of absoluteness, Marujo had declared that in another life, another age, Jensen and he could have been brothers.
Jensen’s grimace is of undiluted vengeance.
"Yeah… Fuck ya too.”
KA BLAM.
Colonel Beau Dunston watches as gravity claims Marujo’s sinking body, which matches the sinking in his belly. He turns to face his subjugator. She lets him spin to his back.
Their eyes match in colour and with equally weighted stare.
Dunston recognised the squaw from back in Dunston. Those eyes.
“What you waiting for squaw?”
“For you to remember.”
“Remember?”
"My mother was a beautiful woman, so I am told. Men would desire her. Some men, when they want, they take. When she was collecting water while on the buffalo trail, one of those men; who take what they desire forced himself on her."
Words conjure images that Dunston hasn’t relived for many years, he’s smacked with regret, not that he would willingly rape, or plunder a peoples. His regret stems from, like his father the unforeseen moments can come galloping back over the horizon at any given moment, and reap their levy.
Redemption's Blood Page 21