Dissolution: The Wyoming Chronicles: Book One

by W. Michael Gear

  Sam heard the crunching sound. “What’s that?”

  “Breakfast.”

  Following the sound to its source, they found the porcupine about ten feet up, back feet braced on branches as it chewed pine bark. The big rodent hunched down at their approach watching with glistening small eyes.

  “Simple pistol shot,” she told him, “but the last thing we want is the echo traveling all the way down to the house where that damn posse is forming up.”

  “We’re going to eat a porcupine?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You don’t like the taste?”

  “How would I know? It’s not on anyone’s menu.”

  He watched as she took out her knife, lopped off a squawberry twig, split it into four supple strips, and used them to bind the knife handle to her digging stick. Then she climbed up to within a couple of feet beneath the grumbling porcupine and thrust.

  Maybe it was because he was already numb, emotionally exhausted. He’d never seen anything killed before. It should have traumatized him. Watching the creature kicking, bleeding, and finally going still.

  He’d shut himself off. Awed at the warm blood and meat as he helped her gut it and carefully skin the thing. How funny. He was ready to murder human beings, and he still had to turn his brain off over the killing of an animal.

  The meat was sizzling, and the roots roasted on the coals as Sam checked his rifle. The sun was maybe a hand’s breadth above the distant Big Horns. “How much time do we have?”

  “A couple of hours I’d guess. We’ll hear them coming a good hour before they get here.”

  He seated himself, and she handed him one of the front legs. With her stick, she fished the baked roots from the ashes. “Don’t worry about eating the ash. Believe me, it’s sterile.”

  He smiled. “Used to get people who’d never eaten Mexican food in the restaurant. Always amazed me when they’d try to eat the tamale cornhusk wrappings.”

  “You think your folks are all right?”

  He shook his head. “Word is the East Coast was nuked. My folks lived right next door to the highest population density in the country. Surrounded by solid city. I just...” He struggled, got control. “I just hope they went fast. Even if they were outside the blast, Long Island would have been a nightmare as soon as the trucks stopped running and the electricity went off.”

  “Yeah. Lot of that going around.”

  He nibbled cautiously at the ends where the meat had cooled: a sweet pale meat with a unique tang. He hadn’t thought himself hungry. But once he started, he couldn’t stop.

  A half an hour later, only bones remained.

  Sam was staring thoughtfully at the distance, eyes fixed on the dark rise of the Pryor Mountains a hundred miles off to the north. “Shyla would have loved this. For a girl from Vermont, she was really game for everything.”

  “She must have been something.”

  “She was a magical goddess, you know? Way out of reach for some Mexican kid from Long Island.” His lips twitched. “And then we came here...and for those precious moments...” Unable to finish he just shook his head.

  “How’d Edgewater get involved?”

  “Just that one time in the tannery.” Sam looked at her through misting eyes. “She was beautiful, Breeze. I mean, like, Victoria’s Secret beautiful. And smart. And that fucking monster saw it in her.” He knotted a fist. “If she hadn’t been gorgeous, and precious, and perfect...”

  He swallowed hard, looked away. Then added, “And I’m going to kill that mother fucker. Didn’t matter that Tubbs pulled the trigger. Edgewater ordered it.”

  Was that really him talking?

  “Getting out of Colorado. Same thing came within a whisker of happening to me. They stopped us. Like your Shyla, I was going to die rather than let them touch me.”

  “That was when your friend got killed, right?”

  “Yeah. Never gave him a chance. I blew the brains out the back of the first guy’s head. Shot the second through the heart.”

  A faint clink carried up from the canyon below. Breeze tensed.

  Sam took a deep breath, fighting for control. His heart had begun to pound again. “Guess they’re coming.”

  Breeze stood, slinging the M4 before checking the horses one last time and apologizing. “Sorry, kids. We’ll have to finish some business here, but we’ll get you a drink up at the camp.”

  She led the way on foot as they traversed the steep slope above slickside. From below, a faint shout could be heard. Then nervous laughter.

  The outcrop wasn’t quite perfect, the top of it sloping like it did. She and Sam took enough time to hack out hollows that at least accommodated their butts.

  She got herself situated as comfortably as she could. “You ever shot anyone before?”

  “No.”

  “But you have shot a gun before.”

  “This very one. I could hit a soup can at fifty feet.”

  “Pick something in the middle of his body to aim at. A button. The base of his throat. I’ll remind you when the time comes.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t shoot the horse if you can help it.” She made a face.

  Sam ground his teeth. Didn’t matter that he was a city kid. He was smart enough to know they were going to kill a whole lot of horses when the animals went over the side.

  Shut it off, Sam. It’s just how it is.

  The sounds were louder now: metal clinked, the strike of a shod hoof on rock. Then he heard the snuffling of horses.

  “Sam, I want you to wait for my order, all right? I’ve done this before. You’ve got to trust me to let as many of them as possible get out in the open.”

  “Okay.”

  “Here they come. Wait now. Relax.”

  He nodded, cheek welded to his rifle. He wanted to scream. To do anything to stop the building terror.

  “Is your heart racing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Breathe deeply and clear your mind. Relax, Sam. Breathe. Slow your heartbeat. Will yourself to relax.”

  “Okay,” he whispered. Closed his eyes. Breath by breath, he filled his lungs. Blew it out. God, why was he so hot? He could feel the sweat on his neck, chest, and upper arms.

  Relax. Trust Breeze.

  Somehow, he did. Saw the first of the horsemen appear from the trees. The man in the lead rode on a dapple gray. Behind him came rider after rider.

  “Shit,” Breeze whispered. “It’s Bradley Cole. Of course, they’d have gone to the outfitter. Who better to lead the posse?”

  “Know him?”

  “We used to go camping and hunting together. And now he’s leading the posse sent to hunt down my brother?”

  “Second one in line is Tubb,” Sam whispered.

  “Wait for my word. Like I said, we want them all in the trap.”

  How the hell can she sound so damned calm?

  The adrenaline high had started to buzz Sam’s muscles and nerves; and then a peculiar sense of calm inevitability settled over him like a soothing blanket.

  “Holy shit!” one of the men called. “We’re riding across this?”

  “Trust your horses, guys. Just relax, and don’t do anything stupid,” Bradley called back over his shoulder.

  “Too late,” Breeze whispered as she settled the M4 into her shoulder.

  Sam sighted the Marlin, the gleaming sight bead on Tubb. He was a muscular man, awkward in the saddle, with a black submachine gun hung around his shoulders.

  Breeze said, “See how Tubbs’ shirt pattern makes a cross on the sleeve halfway down the upper arm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s your target.”

  She almost sounded maternal as she said it.

  More horses had emerged, but Bradley was almost across the steep section. Fifteen riders and mounts now filled the trail from end to end.

  “Get your aim, breathe. Tell me when you’ve got your sight picture,” Breeze coached.

  Sam glanced back, seeing a gap betwe
en the last horse and the trees. Bradley was almost across to the firmer footing at the end of slickside.

  He heard Breeze’s strained whisper. “He’s riding with the enemy. That’s picking sides.”

  Sam focused on his rifle sight, the bead on the cross pattern on Tubb’s shirt. “Got it.”

  “Caress the trigger, and let the gun go off.”

  Sam’s Marlin banged. Beside him, Breeze fired a short burst into Bradley Cole’s shoulders.

  Sam had a frozen image as both men jerked at the impact of the bullets and went limp in the saddles, sliding off to the side as their animals went with them.

  That’s all it took.

  Sam was swinging around to shoot at the last man in line when the whole party erupted in slipping, bucking horses. Sam watched a man on a buckskin, obviously a good rider, try and wheel away from the horse in front of him as it lost footing and fell, only to go over backward himself.

  Men screamed, horses shrilled; then they were tumbling, bouncing down the slope accompanied by a clattering of dislodged rocks and cascading dirt. The farther they fell, the faster they went, hitting, bouncing insanely, flying out only to bounce again. Dust rose, blanketing the nightmare below.

  As quickly the trail was empty. The cracking and banging down in the trees coming loud as rocks, men, and horses crashed into them.

  “Holy shit,” Sam whispered.

  Breeze closed her eyes, sagging forward over her M4. Her shoulders were convulsing as the woman wept.

  Slickside

  I can tell you the difference between the I-25 checkpoint and Slickside. At I-25, I shot people down as they swarmed to overwhelm the checkpoint. They’d been warned. Told to turn back. And among those women and children there were men with guns popping off rounds in our direction.

  Our guys fired over their heads, and they just kept coming. If they’d overwhelmed the checkpoint, they’d have killed a lot of our people.

  What mattered was that they had warning. Knew the consequences. Made a choice to rush us.

  Slickside was an out-and-out ambush. Bradley and his posse had no warning. We murdered them. I shot my father’s good friend. Saw the rounds hit him. Mea culpa.

  By then, so much of my soul was dead, I thought there was nothing more to lose as I triggered the M4.

  Turned out there was. But what really broke me down was the horses. I couldn’t miss the terror in their eyes, the fear that sent them crow-hopping, bolting, and tumbling to their deaths.

  No matter what damnation I had condemned myself to up to that point, no pit of Hell will be deep enough after what I did to those horses.

  — Excerpt from Breeze Tappan’s Journal.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The fire popped and cracked, sparks shooting into the air. High above, the moon was barely visible in the haze. Sunset had been like burning blood tinged with glowing orange. Even now, when the wind was right, Sam smelled the slightly acrid tang mixing with the scent of conifers.

  The entire day had been a struggle. Disbelief and grief, that welling sense of loss, then rage, all to be followed by abject horror. The stunning realization that he’d shot Edward Tubb. Just like that. Bang. Not only had he coldly murdered a human being, he’d contributed to the mass death of all those men and horses.

  The memory of them falling, the horses screaming, the men bellowing their terror... Sam winced, held his stomach, and wanted to be sick.

  How much more can you take?

  He drew a quick breath, blinked, aware of Breeze and Amber staring at him from across the fire.

  “Think they’ll try it again?” Shanteel asked where she sat on an up-ended log, holding Brandon’s hand.

  Breeze—tough as titanium again—told her, “We didn’t get them all by any means. Must have been a second group. Maybe ten of them from the sounds they made high-tailing back down the trail. We waited until they’d hit the canyon bottom to be sure.”

  “Bradley Cole?” Brandon shared a disbelieving look with his sister. “That’ll break Dad’s heart when he hears.”

  “Outside of Mom and Dad, he was the best outfitter in the southern basin. My guess is that pus-gut Kapital is going to have a hard time recruiting anybody else to guide a posse up here to get us.”

  “What happened?” Sam swallowed hard, trying to organize his reeling thoughts. “Back at the ranch, I mean. With Shyla?”

  “They showed up at about three in the afternoon,” Amber told him where she sat cross-legged with a .30-30 across her lap. She glanced at Meggan. “We were just finishing up with butchering a pig. One of the neighbors brought it to trade for a quarter of a beef next time we kill one. Danielle called, ‘Somebody coming.’”

  Where she sat to one side, back bent, elbows on her knees, Danielle said, “I mean, a whole line of cars like that? Ashley and me, we were hoping it was Kirstin and Dylan coming back from Colorado. Or maybe Bill and Frank coming back early from Cheyenne. Never thought it would be trouble.”

  Ashley shook her head, blonde locks gleaming in the firelight. “This shit doesn’t happen, right?”

  Brandon told him, “Shanteel and me, we were up fixing fence on the south slope when they drove in. Thomas and Willy were on the ridge to the north looking for sacred sage since Sun Dance is coming up. Tubb’s people just drove in, formed a half circle with their cars. We made fast tracks for the trees and came down the back way to the barn.”

  Meggan said, “I stepped out on the porch, drying my hands with a washcloth. Pam, smart as always, stopped long enough to strap her revolver on. Then we all sort of crowded out onto the porch to hear what was what.”

  Danielle stared sadly Sam’s way. “They asked if everyone was there, and Pam said yes. That’s when Tubb read out this proclamation that under some CFR and Executive Orders, that during time of emergency, arrests for sedition... Dah, dah, dah. He ended saying they had an arrest warrant for Shyla Adams for inciting sedition.”

  “Shyla said, ‘No way,’” Amber told him through gritted teeth. “Pam stepped out, one hand on her pistol, and said that no one was being arrested. Not that day, not on her property. That if they wanted, they could set a court date in town, and that Shyla would be there to answer any charges.”

  Amber’s eyes glittered. “That fucking beast just laughed and said, ‘And who, do you suppose, these other girls are? More transients working to undermine the security of the United States?’ And he tells his goons, ‘Arrest them all. All of these women. Even if some are local, we need to sort out who is loyal and who isn’t.’”

  “And Sheriff Kapital is there,” Meggan said. “So Pam addresses him. ‘You know who is local and who isn’t. And you know me, Frank, and Bill. You damned well know these girls aren’t seditious.’”

  “And Tubb says, ‘You Tappans are already on our list. This whole ranch is suspect. Under section seven of Order Number One, the government can seize any property for the good of the people.”

  Amber then said, “I was still inside, behind the door. That’s when Tubb says, ‘By my order, each and every one of you is under arrest. You are surrounded, and any action to hinder my men in the conduct of their lawful duty will be considered an act against the government and punishable by the most severe consequences.’ And he orders two of his guys to start with Shyla.”

  Sam could see it all in his imagination. The growing disbelief that this could happen in America. The sudden fear each of the women must have been feeling. The impossibility of it all.

  Amber stared thoughtfully down at the sleek rifle in her lap. “It was happening again. Syria all over. I couldn’t let it.” Her facial muscles jumped, eyes blinking. “Not again.”

  Amber’s gaze went eerily distant, reliving it. “So I step out on the porch with the rifle, screaming, ‘Leave her alone.’ And I lift the rifle...”

  Amber broke out in an insane giggle, blinked, coming back to reality. “Shyla pulled that pistol she always carried and shot the guy closest to her. Then the other guy had her and twisted the p
istol out of her hand. So I blew the mother fucker away where he stood.”

  Danielle said, “Ashley and me, we just turned and ran. There’s bullets everywhere. I mean, freaking unreal.”

  “Pam pulled her pistol.” Meggan glanced around. “And she just stands there like it’s the old West, banging away as these guys scatter. Amber was shooting as fast as she could work the lever. Bullets are smacking into the wall behind us. I pulled Amber back inside and crouched down by the door, waiting for them to rush the house. I didn’t see Pam go down, but when I looked, she’s on the ground. Then these guys just start dropping. I mean you can hear the bullets slapping into their bodies. And there’s gunfire everywhere.”

  “That’s when Shanteel and I started in on them,” Brandon said. “Call it a hunch, but I’d left the 6.5 284 up in the loft. These guys immediately hid behind the cars, you know? Like, right there in front of me. Sitting ducks. So I just started taking them out as quickly as I could fix one in the scope and work the bolt.”

  Shanteel added, “I’m handing Brandon bullets, and I look across, and Thomas and Willy are shooting from the other side behind the stock trailers. Got ‘em in a crossfire. That’s when Tubb and that fat sheriff scramble for their car and run. The others try to break, and there’s nowhere to go. Finally, they make it to a car that still runs, and what’s left are rocketing away on the road to town.”

  Amber said, “I got to Shyla first thing, Sam. There’s no kind way to say this; Tubb had shot her through the heart. That’s when I hurried to Pam. I dealt with enough hemothorax in Syria to get her stabilized. Meggan pulled the college van around, and we rushed Pam to the hospital. Worked with Doc Willson and his people to get her into surgery, and as soon as Pam was stable, we were told to make ourselves scarce.” A pause. “So, we drove back to the ranch.”

  Brandon added, “By the time they were back, we’d collected the bodies, picked up a lot of cool guns and ammo, and were packed to go. Left Willy and Thomas behind to take care of the...”

  “Bodies,” Sam finished what Brandon couldn’t say.

  Willy had been sitting in the rear, quietly listening. “We put Shyla up on the rise, overlooking the valley. Grampa sang over her,” he said. “I think she would have liked that. Said he sent her spirit up here. That he knew you’d be coming. That when it was all over, you’d send her soul in the direction she needed to go.”