Guns of Seneca 6 Box Set Collected Saga (Chambers 1-4)

by Bernard Schaffer

  "She must smell groundwater nearby," Tom said. "That's another little trick these animals can do. You ever get stuck out in the desert with one, it will find water if you're close enough." He patted the destrier on the rear and said, "Go on, girl. Find it."

  Buttercup crept forward, sniffing in each direction and digging up chunks of dry sand with her nose. She stopped for a moment, then jerked forward and Tom had to yell, "Whoa!" He grabbed her reins with one hand and yanked down to bring her to heel. Buttercup led him toward a thicket of hard sage brush that masked a winding path down a steep decline. At the bottom of the path, a stream of clear water sparkling like cut glass in the sunlight. Tom leaned back and waved for Winnie to catch up. "You stay put till I get back up here. If you see anybody, or anything goes wrong, just give a yell and I'll come back up."

  She looked in the cart with him as they uncovered her family. There were bugs swarming around the soaked bandages wound around her mother's head and Tom swept them away with his hat. "If we ain't reached Seneca 5 by tomorrow, we're gonna have to change them bandages," he said. "She ain't gonna like it much, though. I guarantee it." He put his hand against Abe's forehead and said, "This one's working on a fever. Change of plans, missy."

  Tom scooped Abe up from the cart and threw him over his shoulder. He hefted him onto Buttercup's shoulders and told her to keep steady while he climbed on. "I'm gonna take your brother down there. You be careful up here and don't run off. Remember what I said. Give a yell if you need me."

  The destrier could see the stream now and sniff it in the air and Tom had to constantly yell at her to slow down to keep her from tossing him or Abe off as she trotted down the slope. "Calm down, you stupid nag," he shouted. "The water ain't gonna go nowhere."

  They finally reached the bottom and Tom slid down from the saddle and gently lowered Abe onto the muddy bank. The boy's skin was red and he was riddled with fever, hot enough that he'd soaked through his clothing. Tom unbuckled his gunbelt and took off his boots, then he took a second to look up and make sure Winnie wasn't looking down. He undid his pants and shirt and tossed them on the ground as he picked up Abe and carried him into the water.

  The stream was deep enough that it came up to his waist. It was muddy, but it was cool and he held Abe's limp figure in his arms and let him drift against the current. "You're gonna be all right, buddy," Tom said. He scooped up some of the water with his hand and poured it over the boy's forehead, washing away the sweat and crusted blood caked on his face. "Someday you're gonna grow up and this'll all be some wild story you tell your grandkids. Matter of fact, I'll probably do the same thing."

  Abe didn't move. Tom lowered his head to the boy's open mouth and listened, just to make sure he was still breathing. He sighed with relief when he finally heard it, soft and fluttering, but still there. Tom shook him slightly in the water, bouncing him to try and get him to stir, but there was nothing. "That's all right," Tom said. "Soon enough, them doctors in the Filthy Five are gonna fix you up good as new and you'll look up at me and say 'Who in the hell are you, mister?' I reckon that's what you'll say anyway. And me and your mama and your sister, boy, we are gonna laugh."

  Tom couldn't feel his toes anymore from the cold water and his hands were starting to go numb. Abe was warm, even submerged, but it wasn't as bad as before. The fever was going down. Tom chuckled to himself and said, "Imagine if you came to right now, what you'd think. Me and you standing in the water like this with you passed out and me in my skivvies."

  Buttercup had her face stuck under the water, slurping up so much of it that Tom thought he saw the water level drop an inch or two. "All right, that's enough. We gotta get back up there."

  He laid Abe down on the bank and pulled himself up using a handful of thick weeds, taking a moment to stand in the hot sun so it could cook away the water dripping down his face. The heat felt good. Abe looked better. All he had to do was get the boy and himself dressed and go back up.

  Then Winnie screamed from up on the cliff, loud enough to echo.

  Buttercup charged up the trail like her ass was on fire. It was all Tom could do to keep Abe from flopping off of her shoulders and sailing into the nothingness just inches to their side. Instead, it was Tom's imagination that jumped off the cliff and crash landed in a pit of rattlesnake bites and werja attacks and the children's mother expiring.

  "Dumb," Tom muttered over and over. "Dumb and lazy for not finding a way to take them down with me." In his frustration, he kicked Buttercup in the ribs to keep her moving. She grunted in protest and leapt high into the air, leaving them suspended over the chasm for one terrifying second before her hooves scraped against the top of the cliff and pulled them up.

  Tom was too scared to flinch and it was all he could do to hold onto the saddle horn with both hands and keep Abe pressed down. As they came level with the desert, Tom saw what made Winnie scream.

  Her back was turned to the trail, using her narrow body to block it from the five men and their destriers circled around her. Dirty and crude, two of them were tossing the canteens over their shoulders from the back of the cart and stripped the wet blankets off of her mother in disgust. "What's wrong with her?" one of them said.

  "She's sick. The doctor said it was the plague and she's contagious so I had to take her out into the desert," Winnie snapped at him.

  Smart girl, Tom thought. He pulled out the Sheriff's assault rifle from his saddle bag and cocked the hammer back, loud enough that all of them stopped what they were doing and looked in Tom's direction. Tom nodded at the group and said, "Nice to meet you boys. First dumb son of a bitch to move gets vaporized."

  None of them went for their guns. One of them was holding some kind of musical instrument case and he reached for the brass clasp and flicked it with his thumb. Tom centered the weapon on him and said, "There's one in every crowd."

  Johnny Starr held up his hands and said, "Excuse my friend, sir. He was the victim of a horrible tragedy as a boy and it left him somewhat simple." Starr nodded and Mr. Pine dropped the black case against his side. He turned to Winnie, "Now I thought you said you were all alone, young lady." He spoke with an air in his voice, and looked down at her with a furrowed brow like a disappointed school teacher or a government official telling you that you didn't pay enough taxes that year. He dressed the part too, with slicked black hair parted in the middle and a thick mustache that came down to his teeth.

  Tom barked, "That's enough talking to her."

  Starr squinted at Tom and held his hand up over his eyes to shield them, "Well, well. Is that a star I see pinned upon your chest, sir? Might you be a lawman?"

  The rest of the men grimaced at Tom and started to grumble. Tom centered his rifle on Starr's forehead and said, "Engage automatic targeting system."

  Starr snickered but his expression froze in place when Tom's rifle responded, "Multi-target capabilities enabled." Red targeting dots appeared on all of the men's foreheads. "Please select type of munition."

  "How about incendiaries?" Tom said.

  All of the men reached for their guns but Starr shouted, "Hold on."

  Frisby sneered at Tom's rifle and said, "He's bluffing. It's some sort of trick. He can't shoot all of us."

  "Incendiary rounds enabled. Fire when ready."

  Tom wrapped his finger around the trigger and said, "You boys are gonna feel the flames."

  "I think you've got the wrong idea, deputy," Starr said. "We weren't looking for trouble. We came upon this lost and lonely little girl out here with her sick mother and stopped to see if we might render them some assistance."

  "That ain't true and you know it," Winnie hissed.

  "Of course it is." He smiled with embarrassment and pressed his hand to his cheek, "Please don't tell me you thought … oh, my. I believe this child has let her imagination get the better of her. You see, dearest, if we'd wanted to, we would have simply scooped you up and rode away with you, but Johnny Starr is nothing if not kind to women and children." His eyes lingered
a little long, then, over Winnie's torso and legs as he said, "A pretty little thing like you. I believe there would be all manner of horrible, disgusting things a motivated person would do with you if he desired to."

  "Tell you what," Tom said. "You got ten seconds to git before I squeeze this trigger and barbeque you. How about that?"

  "Yes, suh, mistah deputy suh," Frisby said and fired off a sloppy salute at him. "We sho' don' want no kinds a trouble with the big bad law!"

  Only the one holding the music case did not laugh. His eyes were fixed on Tom, burning with hatred.

  Johnny Starr tipped his hat at Tom and said, "We'll leave you fine folks in peace then. Come along, boys."

  Tom kept his rifle steady, even as the men turned their destriers around and started to ride away. Even as the red dots faded from their heads and the rifle said, "Targets now out of range." Even as they vanished in the shimmering heat into the sandy dunes. Finally, he put the rifle down and took a deep breath.

  Winnie looked up at him with wide eyes and said, "That was the most amazing thing I ever seen, Deputy Masters."

  Tom winced and said, "That was nothing but stupid and luck. It would have been my own damn fault if we all got killed. You know what those men would have done if you hadn't screamed?"

  Winnie nodded, "They'd have used me like I was their wife."

  Tom did a double-take, "What did you say? Don't talk like that. Who told you that?"

  She shrugged, "My mama always said that if I run off from home then the Ucky Man would find me and use me like I was his wife. I guess they was the Ucky Men she was talking about."

  Tom wiped his palms on his pants to dry them and said, "I reckon so. Help me get Abe back in the cart, okay?"

  "What does that mean, to use someone like they're your wife?" Winnie said.

  "It don't mean anything," Tom said quickly. "It's just an expression."

  "Like drink your milkshake?"

  "Exactly. Now hush up and help me carry your brother."

  Tom kept looking over his shoulder as they loaded Abe into the cart. The men were gone. Tom didn't like that. They'd given up too easy for men that looked like they looked. He climbed into Buttercup's saddle and said, "You ride ahead of me."

  He looked back as Winnie's cart started to move and saw something flicker in the distance like a small, bright lantern. "The hell is that?" he whispered. It flashed again and something inside Tom told him to run. "Ride!" he shouted.

  Winnie looked back at him and said, "What?"

  "Go, go!"

  She groaned in terror and snapped her reins as hard as she could across the mules backs until they were running full-tilt. Buttercup sensed it was time to take off, but Tom held her back, keeping himself directly behind the cart. He bent forward in his saddle to keep his head down and heard something zip past his ear like a crazed bug.

  That was when he heard the distinct crack of a long-range rifle in the distance. Far enough away and powerful enough to send a bullet through you before you heard it go off. Tom cursed and kicked Buttercup in the ribs, getting her to pick up her pace enough to come alongside Winnie's cart.

  "What are you doing?" she shouted, trying to raise her voice over the thunder of the hooves and rattle of the cart's wheels.

  Tom snatched the riding crop out of her hand and smacked it across the rump of the first mule so hard it broke the animal's skin. "Ride! Ride, damn you!" he shouted.

  "Stop! You're hurting them!" Winnie cried out.

  Tom slapped the mules across the neck and the sides so hard that red welts showed up under their grey pelts. They bellowed miserably, but they ran. Soon, he was spurring Buttercup just to get her to match their speed.

  There was something ahead of them, looming tall. Tom lowered his face to the wind, even as it made his eyes water until they leaked down his cheeks. He saw it was a wooden gate with the number five emblazoned on a circle at its center. He turned to look at Winnie and just as he was about to tell her they'd made it, he felt something stab him in the back, like someone had thrown a hot coal into his shirt.

  Winnie was pointing at the gate shouting, "That's it! We're here! We're here!" and it was all Tom could do to hold onto Buttercup's reins. He slowed her down and let Winnie get ahead. He watched the cart rumble to a stop at the gatehouse and saw the old man guarding it come running out.

  Another bullet struck Tom in the upper left shoulder, burning a hole through him that immediately filled his vest with something warm and wet. This time he was riding slow enough to hear the rifle crack. "Sons of bitches," he whispered. "Better not shoot this damn destrier."

  He slumped forward and kicked Buttercup in the side with his last remaining strength, making her move faster, enough to get her out of the rifle's range. By the time they reached the gate, Winnie was jumping up and down telling the gatekeeper to call a doctor for her mother and brother. She looked back at Tom slumped over in his saddle, and started to scream.

  3. Godless Whores

  A nurse came walking down the hall alongside the doctor, a nervous-looking older woman wearing too much makeup. She was the sort who wringed her hands in anticipation of giving bad news. The doctor was a young man, arrogant and confident but appropriately serious-looking. He'd done this before. Winnie could tell.

  "I am terribly sorry to have to tell you this, Miss Graves," he started.

  "Oh, sweetie," the nurse whimpered behind him.

  It was raining out. Hard and twisting rain that pelted the windows of the hospital's waiting room. She kept her eyes on the window. "Is my mother still asleep, or does she know yet?" Winnie said.

  The doctor paused, then he put his hand over her shoulder and squeezed lightly. It was the kind of thing they must tell you how to do in doctor school, she reckoned. "Your mother passed away, Miss Graves," he said. "She had a bad infection that gave her a terrible fever. I know you did your best, but I'm afraid she didn't make it."

  "Sweetie," the nurse said as she wrapped her arms around Winnie. "It's a terrible, terrible thing."

  Winnie's eyes stung and she choked on their words, trying to make sense of it all. "And Abe?" she whispered. It was the worst of all possible outcomes. She was all alone. She knew it in her gut like she'd swallowed a jagged stone that was going to slice her to ribbons from the inside out. "Is he … he's dead too?"

  "No," the doctor said. "Your brother is in stable condition, and I think from what I've seen, he will be fine."

  Winnie gasped like someone let the air out of her then and wobbled in the nurse's arms. The woman gently lowered her back into her chair and wiped the hair out of her forehead. Her hands smelled like ointment and Winnie swept them out of the way. "Can I see him?"

  "Sure," the doctor said. "Why not?"

  Abe was on the forth bunk of a long row of other beds. Most of them were empty. The walls were stark white except for boring looking paintings of happy things. Sunsets and seagulls and the like. Abe lay on his back with his eyes closed. Someone had scrubbed all the dirt off him and dressed him in a white gown. She picked up his hand and noticed how little it was compared to hers. How limp.

  She knew she was supposed to say something to him. Supposed to tell him they'd be all right and that she'd take care of him. There were too many people coming and going down the hall, though, and anyway, she didn't believe a word of it.

  There was a chair next to his bed and Winnie sat down in it, keeping Abe's hand in hers the whole time. She sat down and closed her eyes, grateful to be too tired to think about her mother and the way poor Tom Masters collapsed out of his saddle and bled out in the dirt.

  The only visitor Abe got was from the hospital's money man. He had a chart in his hands and wore wire-thin eyeglasses on the end of his nose, just so he could peer down at people over them. He smiled half-heartedly at Winnie and said, "My name is Mr. Millner, and I'm afraid I must ask you some questions, unpleasant as they may be."

  "Shoot," Winnie said.

  "First off, where is your father?"


  Winnie shrugged.

  "I see," he said, making a notation on the chart. "It says here that your family lives in Seneca 6. Tell me, do you own your own home or rent?"

  "Rent."

  "Does your family own any property that you are aware of? Any livestock? Any severian holdings?"

  Winnie answered, "No, no, and no," to all of the questions. "We're broke," she added.

  "I see," he said. He made another notation. "Unfortunately, this is a private hospital. That means we charge for our services. Your brother is currently receiving very expensive treatment, and if it is to continue, we need to be guaranteed of being compensated. Do you know what all that means?"

  "It means you're kicking us out if I don't pay," she said.

  Millner's face twisted in a way that showed he was uncomfortable with the truth, or at least, with the blunt way she'd put it. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. We care very much for your brother's well-being. I'm certainly not suggesting you leave now. Although if you did, there would be no more charges acquired."

  "We're staying," Winnie said. "I'll make sure you get your money, one way or another. Abe ain't goin' nowhere till he's ready."

  "Of course, dear," he said. He drew a final mark on his chart in a way that made her think he'd just lost a bet, and with that, he turned away from her and walked away.

  The nurse came by and leaned down, putting her cartoonishly-bright red lips close to Winnie's ear, "He tries to run everyone off who can't pay. Just stand your ground. They have to treat your brother while he's here. It's the law."

  "Okay," Winnie said.

  "First thing tomorrow go to the poverty assistance office and let them know you are in dire straits. They'll help you," she said. She handed Winnie a blanket and a sandwich wrapped in brown paper. "Eat that and try to get some rest. After the bosses leave, I'll put you in one of the empty beds. Just don't tell anyone."

  "All right," Winnie said. "I won't."

  The next morning she arrived at the poverty assistance office before dawn. The town was dark and grey and damp in the early morning hours. A sticky, wet humidity stuck to the back of her neck and made her shiver and sweat all at the same time. Tough looking men wandered the streets, coming and going from the bars and gambling halls. They grumbled miserably, either hung over or broke, and Winnie tried to stick to the shadows to stay out of their sight.