After and Again

by McLellan, Michael

  “Thank you, Zack.” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek and then turning quickly toward the other women.

  “Let’s put Liz, Eileen, Rebecca and Sandra in the middle okay?”

  “Good idea child,” Kendra Goodman said. “We can help keep them on their feet if they stumble.”

  Zack, holding his hand to his cheek where Emily kissed him, walked over to get Grace. He cranked up the tube-light, looked at the women and said, “Alright, grab on.” the group resumed their trek downward.

  About an hour later Zack found what he was looking for; a well traveled deer trail that switched back down the mountain. Turning onto the trail he heard audible sighs of relief from the women. He kept scanning the sky for any sign of dawn though his instinct told him that it was still a couple of hours away.

  The first light of day made Zack’s stomach feel like it was tied in a knot. They were coming. How long until they catch up? he asked himself, it was a question that he couldn’t answer. When most of the darkness had receded and he could see without the aid of the tube-light he stopped to let everyone rest, and, he thought, to let them share out whatever food he had left in the saddlebags. For a moment he almost regretted giving the pork to the wolf.

  What he noticed right away was that none of the women had shoes on, and all but Emily, Eileen, and the mother and daughter from Huntsville were in dresses; that included Zack’s mother. Seeing the dirty, dejected looking women with their legs scratched and bloodied from the knees down, and being afraid of what the bottoms of their feet might look like, made Zack think that he should have tried to free up four of the horses.

  It wouldn’t have worked though, he thought to himself, if the men didn’t catch him taking the horses then Zack’s group would have had to make for the plain because they couldn’t have ridden the horses up the mountain in the dark. If they had made it to the plain then they would have been easily overtaken riding double with no saddles. No, he had made the only sensible choice. But now what?

  The first thing that he did after passing around the last of the dried fruit and smoked pork (which was barely a mouthful each) he set to cutting the wool blanket into small squares with his hunting knife; twenty of them. Then he cut the remainder of the blanket into the thinnest strips that he could manage. He handed two of the squares and two of the strips to all of the women except his mother. “Wrap the pieces of blanket around your feet and tie them on with the strips, maybe you can help each other,” he said. Squatting in front of his mother and coaxing one of her legs out straight he began to tie one of the makeshift shoes to her foot. Her feet were scratched up, but it all appeared to be superficial. When they were all finished, Zack passed around the last of the water and explained what he had planned next.

  “We are going to get off of the trail now and head overland. The next mountain looks like it starts the bend south and we’ll just kinda skirt the mountainside, keep moving in the roughest areas and hope that they give up.”

  “Those animals won’t ever give up,” Loren Sturgess said, then looking at her daughter she added, “But they might not be able to find us up there in the brush.”

  “We’ll make it as rough going as we can for men on horseback,” Zack said. He was tempted to let Grace go once they got to where they could see the plain. She was one smart horse and he thought that she would find her way back to the Martin’s place on her own.

  5

  Desmond Trask stood looking at the rusty padlock on the ground behind the wagon at dawn, his thoughts black. Someone had followed from one of the towns that they had sacked. He first surmised that one of the new meat youngsters had set them free but the light of day had revealed the lone rescuer’s back-trail. Fool, he thought, walking calmly over to the assembled group of men. “Do you suppose the Man in Charge is going to be happy when we return empty handed?” he said, addressing the group. “Do you suppose that he will chuckle and pat us on the backs and say better luck next time boys?” He scanned the men, only one of who would make eye contact with the towering man before them. “Grayson,” he said, looking at a stocky man of about thirty-five dressed in a tanned leather shirt, matching trousers and holding a crossbow on his shoulder. “Pick six men and have them ready to ride in thirty minutes. Oh, and take one of the newbees,” he said, with a nod of his head toward a small group that included Santiago and Frank Olsen. Pointing, he said, “You, you, Jacks, you, Beck, Stryker, and….. you, he said pointing lastly at Santiago, Saddle your horses, you’re riding with me. Grayson, take your men and ride to the plain, go maybe a day’s ride out, stay on the road and make sure no one is waiting on them. I’ll go east along the foothills a ways and up on the mountain. They only got so far through the woods walking barefoot. We’ll find ‘em before day’s end. Jackass should have tried to steal some horses. The rest of you pack up and keep going through the pass, we’ll—”

  “Beggin pardon Trask,” John Stryker interrupted, ought’en we just forget about ‘em? There’s another town before The Crack and we’ll just get some more women there and…..Grruckkk.” One moment Trask appeared to be listening calmly to the other man and the next instant he had cleared the dozen steps between them and had one of his massive hands wrapped around Stryker’s throat. Trask leaned over, inches from the smaller man’s face, which had started turning an alarming reddish-purple color.

  “If I wanted your opinion Stryker, I would have asked for it,” he hissed, holding onto Stryker’s throat for a moment longer before letting him drop to the ground gasping for air. “Would anyone else like to speak their mind? Please feel free.” he said, sweeping his arm around with a flourish. “No? Well I suppose not,” he said.

  Grayson’s group of six had ridden out toward the plain a few minutes before, and Trask with his group was now heading east at the base of the mountains. Trask had a large oval head that looked too big even for his massive body. That, along with his hair, which was long around his ears and the back of his head, and bald everywhere else gave him a stupid, almost oafish look. Countless men had died by his hand that took him as such. He had a dark intelligence and an almost animal-like cunning that belied his looks. He instinctually knew exactly what the would-be-rescuer was going to do. If the rescuer had been smart he would have led the women north and concentrated on staying in the deeper more treacherous canyons. Instead the foolish hero, thinking that he was being clever by keeping off of the plain would head south along the mountainside toward the ruined, burned out town that he had come from. Trask had only sent the riders out to the plain in case this was one of the rare cases where he was wrong; or on the very off chance that someone was waiting for them with horses out on the plain and the trek through the mountains was only a trick. He didn’t buy any of that though. He knew that he just had to gauge how far the hero and the barefoot women could travel overland and then move into the trees, spread the men out and locate them. He wasn’t overly concerned about them getting away, but was intent on making the rescuer suffer for crossing him.

  Two hours later Trask called a halt and had the men gather around him. “Groups of two, Stryker with me,” he said, eyeing the purple bruises around the man’s neck. “Beck you take the new meat with you. Zig zag up the mountainside close to each other but separately to cover more ground. Each group about a quarter mile apart, whistle if you find them. Don’t kill the women and don’t kill the hero. I’m going to take my time with him,” he said with a sadistic smile. “We’re going to be real good friends, he and I.”

  The terrain was rugged, the soil a loose humus littered with stones, roots that stuck up waiting to catch a foot, and the duff on the forest floor was damp and slippery from recent spring rains. The going was slow, too slow; the wool blanket shoes were already tearing and both Lacy Sturgess and Holly Sanderson had pretty bad cuts on their feet. Zack’s mother wouldn’t pay attention to where she was stepping and had fallen repeatedly, so when Zack came across another deer trail heading in their general direction he chose to take it. It was a fatal mist
ake.

  “That there is the meanest son of a bitch alive,” Robert ‘Beck’ Beckworth said as he and Santiago rode away from the others. “I once saw Desmond Trask kill three men he was playing cards with cause he was losing. Another time he skinned this woman alive cause she laughed at him in bed, Hear me youngster you don’t never want to get on his bad side, you seen what he done to Stryker today, an’ ‘ol Stryker got off easy cause he’s so good with a bow. But he still was lucky, cause sometimes Trask, he just snaps….” Santiago let Beck’s attempt at conversation fade into the background. He was lost in his own guilt, ashamed of his cowardice and shocked to realize that he was not only capable of something as horrendous as what he and Frank Olsen had done to Sandra Whitehall, but that a part of him had enjoyed it.

  Desmond Trask stood looking at the tracks left by the group of women and their would-be rescuer. He hadn’t thought the hero very bright to begin with but now his stupidity was obvious. Smiling, he mounted his horse and left in the opposite direction to fetch Stryker and the others. After joining with the other men he sent Fred Jacks and another new man whose name he couldn’t remember ahead to circle around the escapees and come up the path from the south. He had the other men follow him single file from the north, with himself in the vanguard then Stryker, Beck and Santiago bringing up the rear. He raised his hand for the others to halt about ten minutes later. He dismounted, motioning the others to do the same and tied his horse to a sapling; the other men followed suit. Looking at the men and putting his forefinger to his lips for silence he began walking quickly down the path.

  Kendra Goodman heard them before anyone saw them; just. She screamed and Zack turned and saw the giant and three other men, one of them Santiago, running up the path toward them. Some of the women scattered and others just froze in place. Zack’s mother just stood and stared as expressionless as before. Emily screamed, “Zack, oh my god!” Zack dropped the reigns and started reaching for the pistol.

  Santiago was running behind Beck and saw some of the women begin to run, clearing his line of site to the man leading the horse. He saw the man turn and was looking into the eyes of his best friend Zack McQueen. Without a second of deliberation Santiago pulled the long-knife out of his waistband sped up a little and plunged into the back of Beck’s neck. The older man arched his back and turned stumbling to look at Santiago in shocked disbelief. “Why you little—” was all he managed and fell dead. His eyes now on Stryker, Santiago didn’t even pause to retrieve the knife from Beck’s body, he simply ran faster and lunged after Stryker, tackling him at the legs and pouncing on him with fury.

  Zack turned when he heard horses and saw two riders nearly on top of him. He raised the pistol aiming at the lead rider and fired. The sound was deafening and the unexpected recoil threw Zack’s arm up. The shot missed the intended target but hit the horse in the neck causing the horse to go down. The rider screamed, flying off of the animal and landing with an audible crack like a breaking branch. A split second later the second rider, with no time to stop and nowhere to maneuver on the narrow path also went down. The second man was on his feet almost immediately, Zack fired the pistol again nearly point blank and almost half of the man’s head disappeared in a gout of blood. Zack, turning back toward the other men, heard three shots fired in quick succession. Then in nearly slow motion watched Sandra Whitehall fall to the ground in front of him just as he felt himself being shoved backward by an invisible hand. He landed on his back, his wind knocked from him; his head spun and he vaguely realized that he had been shot. The giant came into view above him, looking down at him and smiling. The giant was speaking but Zack couldn’t make out the words. Zack thought of his mother, and of Emily; the world felt unreal.

  Stryker outweighed Santiago by at least forty pounds and was an experienced fighter. But the young man fought like a cornered animal, scratching, biting, and clawing at Stryker’s eyes. He grabbed Santiago’s wrists and forced a roll over so that he was on top of the younger man. Being on top with the weight advantage was all that it took; he put his knees on Santiago’s upper arms to free his own and begun choking Santiago just like Trask had choked him earlier. He however had no intention of stopping until the kid was dead.

  Holly Sanderson had witnessed Santiago’s heroics with Beck and was watching him struggle with the other man. She ran up the path past the advancing Trask who paid no attention to her but continued forward intent on Zack. She eyed the forest floor frantically and spotted a branch lying on the ground about the size of a man’s arm. Hoping that it wasn’t pithy she grabbed up the branch on the run and swung it at Stryker’s head with all of her strength and built-up hatred for the man that she had witnessed do such horrible things.

  Santiago stood up with his hands on his knees gasping for breath and looked up at Holly Sanderson, who he had known his entire life. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sanderson,” he said with tears in his eyes. Suddenly there was a shot, then another, and then three more in quick succession. They both turned. “Help Zack!” she said, “Hurry!”

  Santiago turned over the still body of John Stryker, and pulled the man’s knife from its scabbard. Sparing a quick look at Holly Sanderson he ran down the path toward Trask who was standing over Zack with a long-knife of his own in his hand.

  Emily wanted to stay and help Zack but gathered up Liz Mcqueen just as Zack was turning toward the oncoming riders. She knew that he would want her to try and get his mother to safety, so holding Liz McQueen’s hand and admonishing the two young girls and Sandra Whitehall to get up the mountainside, she started away as fast as she could manage to pull Zack’s mother.

  Trask held the pistol at his side and stared down at Zack. It was a six-shooter like the Wild West Cowboy had carried that time in Payne’s Station Zack thought almost giddily. “Well, hero, looks like no happy ending for you. The ladies neither. Those gals are going to suffer mightily. Not like how you’re going to suffer though, oh no. You my young friend I’m going to skin….alive, and you will be real surprised at how long you can live if it’s done right.” As he was talking he had returned the pistol to its place under his serape and removed a long-knife.

  “You will die eventually, but man are you going to scream first. And, I would like to add my soon to be skinless pal, that you can die knowing that I am going to have my way over and over with every single one of those fine women. C’mon, tell your friend Desmond which one you came for. It was your mama wasn’t it? Weeeellll, I don’t expect you to tell me which one of those mangy bitches sired a sorry little runt cur like you, but I will get to her, you can be sure….. Trask’s eyes flickered and he turned, nearly cat-like in his speed and drove his knife into Santiago’s chest. Down the path Holly Sanderson screamed curses at the huge man. Trask held the young man up with his knife staring into Santiago’s slowly glazing eyes before pulling the blade free and letting him drop to the ground.

  Turning back to Zack he said, “I knew that one wouldn’t last. It was in his eyes, a coward,” he said matter-of-factly while flicking blood from his knife. “It’s time hero,” he said, reaching down and grabbing Zack’s ankle. Trask drug Zack over to a big oak tree and dropped his leg. “Now you just wait here and let me go get a piece of rope from this horse that you killed….oh and let me just take this fine looking pistol that you so carelessly left lying in the dirt,” he said, leaning over and picking up Zack’s Remington from where it had fallen when Zack was shot. He returned to where Zack lay bleeding and semi-conscious and tied the end of a rope to Zack’s ankle. Then standing up, swung a backhand almost nonchalantly striking and knocking out Holly Sanderson who was again swinging the big branch. “I won’t forget that,” he said turning back to his work. “This is much easier if you are hanging, you know, like a freshly killed hog.” He picked up Zack by the ankle with one hand as if he weighed no more than a newborn baby and threw the other end of the rope over a branch in the oak with his free one. He was pulling the rope lifting Zack into the air when a snarl and a blur came from the brush b
eside the oak. Trask let go of the rope, dropping Zack and put his hands up to protect his face. He wasn’t fast enough however and the huge wolf was on him, clamping its jaws onto his head. Trask howled in pain and wrapped his massive arms around the wolf in an attempt to suffocate it. The two fell in a heap, the wolf trying to shake Trask’s head like a fat rabbit. Trask lifted his legs up and wrapped them around the wolf and screamed in pain and fury as he pulled the wolf free, the wolf’s canines ripping through the skin of his face. He slung the wolf with his legs and the wolf tumbled away but was up and leaping back to clamp on to his arm in a blink. Trask reached under the serape with his free hand and grabbed the six-shooter, the wolf yanked with all of its considerable power and the two overbalanced and fell again, Trask losing the pistol from his blood-slick hand.

  They fought frantically; Trask bleeding from multiple bites, his face in ruined shreds. Finally he got an arm around the animal’s neck, squeezing, the wolf yelping in pain. Trask tightened his chokehold, smiling a bloody triumphant smile. Suddenly there was a rope around Trask’s neck which was instantly pulled tight, cutting off his wind. He craned around, not wanting to release the wolf, and saw the woman who had tried to hit him with the club, hanging from the rope that he’d thrown over the tree branch. Desperate for air he released the wolf and began to scramble backward to ease the tension on the rope. Just then two shots thundered and he was knocked flat, the wind pushed out of him. He stared unbelieving at the boy standing before him, with Trask’s own pistol dangling loosely at his side. The world first went gray, then black. Desmond Trask entered the void.

  Zack watched the eyes of the giant roll back in his head and then close. He took a couple of stumble-steps backwards and sat down hard. He looked around for the wolf but it was gone. Dizzy, but not as bad as he had been, he looked at his wound. The bullet had hit him in the left shoulder at the soft spot just below the collarbone. He reached over his shoulder with his right hand and winced when he touched the exit hole. It was a lot bigger than the size of a bullet and bleeding a lot. The blue cotton shirt that the Martins had given him was soaked through. He heard branches breaking and turned expecting to see the wolf, but it was the women from Huntsville. “You go tend to those women, Cassie.” Kendra Goodman said, with a gesture to the two women lying prone on the path.