Tears were in Mirra’s eyes. “I know. And I hate it. I hate this task of mine. But I have to do it. I have to. If I don’t, nobody else will. I can tell you this, that day we first met, when you and Asta were after Fenton? I wasn’t there for him. I was there for Jacks.”
Drevan narrowed his eyes. “Jacks? Why? What’s he got ta do wit’ it? Din’t look none too much like ya were tryin’ ta take him in.”
“It’s… more complicated than that. We had no idea he’d joined up with a crew. It was a last-ditch effort to separate him from you guys. But it went south real quick. Fenton had initially just been hired to get Jacks’ attention. Lure him out to the shanty town.”
“It was Jacks who brought that hunt to our attention. But he’d already been ridin’ wit’ us fer a week at that point. …It was also his idea ta bring on Wicks and Sackman. So, whatcha sayin’, yer actually workin’ fer the gov’ment?”
“…I can’t say any more.”
“Damnit, Mirra!”
She placed a hand on his forearm as he tried to turn away. It wasn’t a firm grip. It was gentle and pleading. “I rode with you guys in the beginning out of necessity. Jacks had gotten away. Fenton was dead… it was a mess. But know this, please, I continued to ride with you two because it felt good. You became like a family to me. Jacks was the only one that ended up involving you two. After that, whenever I had… business to attend to, I left. I didn’t say anything because I know what Asta’s like. She’d follow after me and there’d be no way to shake her. She’s too good a tracker. And…” she chuckled as Drevan turned his eyes on her, “…I had to be extremely careful covering up my own tracks when I left as a result.”
“That first time…” Drevan said slowly, “…she wanted ta go after you. Figure out why ya runned off. Only, ya covered up after yerself so good, you were like a ghost.”
She let her hand go to her bicep and rubbed absently as she stared at the floor. “Oh, Spirits, I wish I could say…”
A tear fell from her cheek and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “But yer sister would put herself right smack dead inta the middle o’it. Either put herself in harm’s way’n mahself, or ruin the plan unexpectedly.”
Mirra nodded slowly. Then looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Ah git it. Yer father’n ah were jus’ havin’ a conversation that could be summed up, ‘there ain’ nothin’ we won’ do fer family.’”
Mirra smiled. “No, there isn’t.”
“Awright. Ah’ll keep it ta mahself. But ah hope one day, ya’ll be able ta tell us what’s goin’ on. Ya know how much ah hate keepin’ things from Asta.”
“Thank you, Drevan. It means more than you know.”
She gave him a long hug and when she drew back, he smiled and said, “So, why kent ya tell her ‘bout yer ‘pendin’ nuptials?”
“Well, we did just spend a good amount of time at the labs where I had Cooper trying to convince her that you all had the wrong man. It’s true, of course. The man we’re hunting hasn’t actually committed a crime. Yet anyhow.”
“Well, that’s good ta know. Take it the guy yer suggestin’s guilty as sin?”
“And then some.”
“And ya think she’ll be suspicious cuz yer marrying Coop?”
“That’s the thought.” She gave a lopsided grin.
Drevan shook his head. “Mirra, you could spin any ole tall tale ‘bout how you’n yer man were investigatin’ the claim, or you were’n just had him speak on yer behalf’n came up with the true criminal. Don’t hafta be brilliant, y’know. She’ll listen’n go ta the weddin’ jus’ the same.”
“I suppose you’re right. Alright. You can share that much.”
“Ah’ll wait til we’re halfway home so she don’ start yellin’ at ya.”
“You’re a saint.”
“An’ dontchu fergit it.”
But he did forget to tell Asta on the way home since they got involved in a tussle with some local outlaws. Mirra had stayed behind with her father. There’d been a wedding to plan after all. And she never brought it back up in the future.
THAT WAS THE only time she ever did ask me ta keep somethin’ from Asta… Drevan took a drag off his cigarette. Asta was fast approaching the deck and he was still sorting through his emotions.
From what he’d seen of Aidele, she reminded him of Mirra in a lot of ways. Quick with the gun, decisive, and vicious in a firefight. However, she was probably more proficient than her mother ever was. He wasn’t so sure that even Mirra could’ve taken on a Union regiment single handedly and lived to tell about it. Maybe have ditched a posse hot on her trail in the wilds of the Spine, but certainly not challenge an army. Thinking on it, he was glad he and Asta had turned away from the journal hunt. They likely wouldn’t have seen another day taking on Aidele themselves. If Berricks was smart, and he survived that onslaught, he’d give up on her too. But Drevan suspected the man wasn’t that wise.
This ain’ over. Ah ken feel it in mah bones. Keep comin’ back ta Mirra. Whatever she was hiding, ah’ll wager gots somethin’ ta do with this nonsense. Past never lets ya get away scot free. Nope. It always remembers where ya are.
“Thought ya quit.” Asta said coming up on the porch, that scowl a little lighter but not gone.
“So did ah. Then we met Berricks.”
Asta scowled. “Yeah, well, we done wit’ dat two-bit scum guzzler.”
She went inside and Drevan tossed what was left of his smoke to follow. “Hope yer right. Ain’ so certain mahself.”
“If’n that fuck comes back, ah got two somethin’s fer him!” She entered the family room and flopped down on a chair to remove her boots. “‘Sides, doubt that ol’ codger wants any more ta do wit’ us. Providin’ he survived, ah’d wager he’s got better things ta worry ‘bout right now. Such as how he jus’ got spanked by one angry young lady in front o’his troops.”
Drevan sat down on the couch beside the chair she was in. There was a frown on his face at first as he considered her thoughts, then shook his head with a subtle grin.
“Some crazy shootin’, though. Ain’ never seen nothin’ like it. What’n the hell d’ya reckon she was wieldin’?”
“Couldn’t even begin ta speculate. However, if’n ever there were such a thing as a ‘can o’whupass’, she done went’n found it.”
Drevan chuckled. “Guessin’ we’re layin’ low fer a spell, then?”
“After runnin’ up’n down the Wastelands fer weeks, ah ain’ too keen ‘bout rushin’ back out. Gonna sit on mah keister fer the next month.” She flashed a grin. “‘Course, you’n the boys ken feel free ta take all the jobs ya want. Jus’ keep it down when ya come ridin’ back.”
“Not lookin’ ta git right back out there, neither. But ah’ll let the boys know they’re free agents fer a bit.” He sighed. “Hate losin’ good men, though.”
“Berricks is responsible fer what happened ta Mason’n Mills. Tears me up what that fucker did. However, ah ain’ lookin’ ta go chasin’ after him fer it, if’n that’s what yer thinkin’.”
“Not at all. Think it’s been made pretty clear we’re done wit’ him and his lot. Jus’ angry we lost two o’some o’the best crew we’ve put together in a dog’s age. Boys’ ain’ happy ‘bout it, neither. Ain’ right, Union comin’ down here actin’ like they own the place.”
She chortled. “Ah do believe that’s exactly what they think. Ugh. Maybe we should retire. Move out ta Aquila Mons ta be closer ta the kids. Git respectable jobs.”
“You hush yer mouth!” he laughed.
Asta leaned back into the chair, resting her head on its cushioned backing, and stretched out her legs. Drevan watched her, smile growing on his face. He edged closer to her and ran a hand up her inner thigh. Asta grinned and placed her right hand on top of his.
“Ah see ya got yerself a happy, wanderin’ hand, sir.”
“Well, ah figure after all this anger’n rage lately, a fresh little romp might take the ed
ge off.”
“Kent disagree wit’ ya there. But, ah gotta ask, ya ain’ up fer winin’ and dinin’ yer girl first?”
Drevan quirked the corner of his lip. “What, ya sayin’ yer hungry?”
“Oh yeah, ah’m hungry. But ah could use some food, too.”
Drevan lightly smacked the top of her thigh and stood up. “Ah’ll see what ah ken scrounge up, then.”
“Yer a doll,” Asta said placing the nub of a knuckle to her lips feigning innocence.
Drevan looked to her trying to suppress a smile. “Don’ tell nobody.”
RICHARD TYLER STOOD at the edge of the old plantation. Night had long since fallen and torches were lit all around the perimeter. On the far side of the complex, he saw Rip Dawson sitting in a chair whittling outside of the servants’ quarters. Though, the servants who’d once been there had long since left.
It’d been a rough month for everyone. None more so than for Ms. Lynch. Everyone knew she was angry and regretted taking the job to begin with. And everyone was upset over the loss of Dyne Mills during Wilson’s onslaught. He’d gotten caught in one of the blasts when a thermo had been detonated just before Ms. Lynch called for a retreat while the soldiers were occupied. That coupled with the murder of Terry Mason at the hands of Berricks had everyone rankled. Though no one blamed the boss. Certainly not for retreating and getting out of the middle of that horror show.
Poor Terry. Shit, poor Dyne. Least Terry died with his boots on. Dyne never saw it comin’. He walked across the yard and looked deep into some nearby woods. Never seen a man flyin’ through the air on fire afore…
Across the way, he saw Bill Hairn making for the commode. He sighed. Out of the eight of them (now six), only three stayed in the manor. Mr. Polk and Ms. Lynch had a room upstairs. But Dyne had stayed in the downstairs guestroom with permission from the boss, of course. Now it’d be just the boss and her man. Not that anybody else minded or were looking to move inside. The help bunks were just fine for them. Even so, with the pleasure of a roof over their heads and food in their belly, Bill and Rip had discussed the idea of finding employment elsewhere. Riding with Ms. Lynch was getting a little too violent for their tastes. Ritchie, however, actually got a thrill out of their last hunt. Sure, they lost a couple of guys, but it certainly wasn’t boring.
He looked up and down the front lawn of the plantation. Flickering orange yellow light from the torches cast bouncing shadows in all sorts of weird formations. Towards the woods, the shadows leapt so much he entertained the notion of angry tree people racing out of the forest to squash them flat. Every shadow leaping side to side, hungry for the flesh of man. It gave him goosebumps. He pushed the thought out of mind and wandered over towards a tree and unbuckled his pants to make some water.
Wonder whatever happened to the attendants and groundskeepers? As he let loose a stream onto the tree base, his thoughts focused on more existential matters. What’s it like being someone else? What were they thinkin’ as they left? Where did they chose ta go ta live their lives? If’n ah were someone else, would ah want the same things?
He was so transfixed on these thoughts he didn’t even feel the knife until it was already through his throat. His body fell to the ground, twitching in spasms. He tried to reach for his sidearm, but a hazy figure came into view. It was shadowy and tall, almost invisible against the black behind the torch shining just above. It reached down and he felt a blade cut through his gun-belt. The guns were flung away from his grip, but it was a wasted effort. The void had already claimed him.
A THUMP DOWNSTAIRS jolted Drevan awake. He bolted upright and reached for his revolver hanging in its holster from the bedpost. Drawing it, he sat there listening. Asta was still asleep, apparently exhausted from their prolonged trip across the Wastelands. Typically, she was a lighter sleeper than himself. Maybe it was nothing, he considered. But he didn’t think so.
Could be one o’the boys… he frowned. Not like them ta come inta the house’n the middle o’the night, though…
A slight, almost imperceptible scratch came from downstairs convincing him to cautiously slide out of bed and grab his holster. He strapped it on and stood there in the pale moonlight in nothing but his briefs, holster around his waist, and gun in hand. He briefly considered getting fully dressed, but a nagging feeling told him to go look now. So, he padded bare footed across the room moving silently with barely a squeak of the floorboards as he moved out onto the second-floor hallway. Approaching the balcony overlook, he stared down into the social room. A dark shaped was sitting on the coach staring away from him and towards the fireplace like it was lit.
The hairs on his neck stood up and he scanned the rest of the room. No movement. No sound. For what seemed like five minutes, he stood there, waiting. And when nothing happened, he slowly crept down the ‘L’ shaped stairwell, the corner leading down beneath the colonial floor length window (rising up nearly two stories) looking out to the backyard of the property, its thin curtains billowing under a breeze from one of the open panels. He crossed over towards the shape and stood by a chair, his gun drooping in his grip slightly as he saw Dawson, mouth dropped open, blood pooling off his shoulder from a slash in his neck.
By the gods… He glanced to his left and looked through the doorway into the dining room. On the tabletop in the center of that room was Hicks lying face down. Drevan’s blood ran cold. Oh shit…
A blade ran up the small of his back slicing off his holster leaving a cut that didn’t feel deep. But he wasn’t waiting for another slash. He spun around and fired three shots where he expected his assailant to be. A figure darted out of the way and knocked the gun from his hand in the same motion sending the revolver sailing across the room. His right hand was suddenly numb, like he’d received a hard blow just at the base of his thumb. He dropped down trying to grab his left revolver and found himself flying backwards toward the fireplace. His chest was singing a tune of bruised ribs and throbbing flesh as he attempted to stand. His back ached violently from the force of slamming into bricks. A hand blazed out and didn’t so much punch him in the neck as sear him with the bladed side of its upturned palm. Drevan almost passed out, but quickly came alert as gunshots zinged around them.
He tried to leap forward and found that hand yanking him back fiercely, the blade to his throat. Its edge was razor sharp and already drawing blood.
“Toss the piece, Lynch!”
The voice was close to his ear and he winced recognizing the owner at once. The deep commanding voice of Asta came back.
“You toss it! There’s no way mah boys ain’ on their way!”
“Ah don’ think the boys’re comin’, Asta,” Drevan said, his hands in the air.
Asta flicked the light switch from where she stood at the middle landing of the stairwell. She stared at the couch then.
“Dawson…” Drevan replied to her unasked query. “…Hick’s on the dining room table. Not sure where Tyler’n Hairn are, but…”
“You muthafucker, Nielson!” Asta growled training her aim on the man holding Drevan in the crook of his left arm. “Our business is done! How dare you come inta mah home’n—”
“Your business with General Berricks is finished when he says it’s finished,” Nielson replied, a sadistic grin crossing his face. “And I believe Mr. Berricks told you as much.”
“Ah should jus’ put ya down right now…”
“And risk the life of your lover here? After going through so much to stay alive and escape? I find your bluster highly dubious.”
“It’d be better’n stayin’ on the Union’s hook!”
The loud sound of her cocking the hammer of her gun filled the room. Nielson laughed. His hot, almost sweet-smelling breath rolled over Drevan’s cheek.
“Then allow me to rub a little more salt into your already wounded pride, Ms. Lynch,” Nielson thrummed seeming to enjoy their exchange. “You see, I like making new friends. And I found two who are just my type. Young and vivacious. The first one is a young m
an who lives out in Tully Peak. Turns out, he’s an actuary.”
“Fuck…” Drevan grumbled, Nielson’ mouth close to his ear.
“And, you know, we could always use an actuary. Especially in our wicked business. Now, I’d prefer one alive, but accidents do happen, yes?”
The scowl on Asta’s face deepened as she lowered her weapon ever so slightly, but still held it in Nielson’s general direction. Nielson moved his face away from Drevan’s ear, but kept the blade at his throat, his smile widening.
“The other friend is a lovely young lady who lives in Aquila Mons. And, apparently, she’s a senatorial aide. Oh, how wonderful! We could definitely use someone like her!” Nielson chortled. “You know, they weren’t really that hard to find, strangely. There are records of you and yours ten miles long all across the valley. And the girl, well, let’s just say we have a mutual acquaintance.”
Asta gave a look of total resignation and uncocked the hammer. She lowered it to her side and stood staring at Nielson who still held Drevan by the throat and on his knees by the fireplace. The right string of her thin silver nightgown fell down her shoulder exposing a breast. She made no move to fix it. Only allowed her glower to deepen.
“Of course, I sent a few of my associates to watch over them. Keep them safe. At least, until I give the word,” Nielson said. “And I remind them every half an hour to, you know, keep keeping them safe. Which is more than I can say for your crew. They’re taking a dirt nap, apparently, and don’t seem to be much more use to you. I’ll wager that frees up a lot of your time.”
“Yer a real sumabitch…” Asta snarled.
“Oh, I’m much more than that, Ms. Lynch. Much more. Now,” Nielson relaxed his grip on Drevan, but didn’t remove the knife, “do you mind if I remove the blade from your throat? My arm is starting to grow tired and I just need to hear that you’re going to behave yourselves. What, with all the pieces in place now.”
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