She Returns From War

by Lee Collins

  "Why did you follow us here?"

  The voice was quiet but clear. Cora's new revolver appeared in her hand as she turned toward the sound. Dry branches and jagged rocks covered the ground with shadows, but the voice's owner was nowhere to be seen.

  "Funny you should ask," Cora said. "I was just thinking how I'd always wanted to see one of these ruins up close. Figured I might as well get to it while I ain't dead."

  Nothing rose up out of the underbrush to answer. Cora turned in a slow circle, the revolver's barrel sweeping along the horizon. She had recognized the voice that asked the question, and her entire body was on alert.

  "I gave you the gift of mercy. Why did you not accept it?"

  Cora spun around. She thought she caught a faint red shine in the shadows and fired. Her mare flinched at the sudden fire and thunder. Cora tightened her grip on the reins with her other hand. She could feel the kill approaching like a thunderstorm; the last thing she needed was for the livery's horse to spook and take off into the night.

  A shadow darted through the brush, a glimmer of silver in the shadows. Cora spurred her mare into a gallop and gave chase. The night filled with the rumbling of the horse's hooves as she rode after the animal. Ahead of her, the ruins grew larger, their dark shadows consuming more stars with each stride.

  Soon, the ancient walls echoed the sound of the mare's pounding feet. Cora saw the flitting shadow of her mark slip through a small gap in the wall. She pulled back on the reins, easing her mount to a standstill. Bullets winked in the blue-white light of the rising moon as the hunter replaced the spent shells in her revolver. Giving the horse a quick pat on the neck, she slipped out of the saddle and approached the wall. The hole where the animal had disappeared was too small for her to follow. Grumbling at the inconvenience, she began making her way along the structure, looking for an opening large enough to accommodate her. Behind her, she could hear the heavy, lathered breathing of her mare.

  Rounding a corner, Cora took a dozen more steps and found an opening. She kept her gun in hand as she peered into it. The moonlight painted soft shadows in the narrow alley, outlining the round stones in the walls. Cora adjusted the strap of her satchel, listening to the soft clinking of vials and spare shells. Taking one last look at the desert behind her, she entered the alleyway.

  The ruins closed in behind her as she ventured into their maze, footsteps echoing off the dilapidated walls. Above her, the moon was rising toward its zenith. Cora took note of its position with a quick prayer of gratitude. Navigating by starlight might have been possible in the open desert, but it would have been impossible in the ruins. The creatures she hunted already held the advantage over her. Without the moon, it would have been all but impossible to hunt them down.

  Somewhere nearby, a cry broke the stillness of the night. The hunter instinctively dropped into a crouch. The scream had sounded human, but Cora couldn't tell if it was the voice of a man or a woman. Whichever it was, she knew it meant that Victoria was in danger. Ignoring the protests in her joints and muscles, she raised her revolver and crept farther into the ruins.

  The walls soon opened up on either side, ushering her into a wide, circular space. She swept the area with her Colt before venturing past the opening. Directly in front of her was a large, shallow pit. A crude wooden ladder rested on the far edge, poking above the stone lip like the last rotten tooth in some dead giant's maw. Stepping up to the nearest edge, Cora peered down.

  "You are not welcome here."

  Every muscle in Cora's body snapped to attention. The voice rolled around the open area, making it difficult to pinpoint its source. She backed away from the pit until she felt warm stone at her back, her eyes watching for the slightest hint of movement.

  "You and the girl should not have come."

  Cora looked around for the speaker. "We never would have if you and that feller you're riding with wasn't so keen on ending us."

  "Why did you not listen to my warning and go east?"

  "And leave you two out here to do God knows what to these poor folk?" Cora asked. "Ain't fitting, no matter how you cut it."

  "Liars and thieves and killers," the voice of the skinwalker replied. "Their deaths would be justice."

  "Maybe so, but you ain't the one to say who lives and dies." Cora's fingers dug into her satchel as she spoke. "Best leave that up to the Almighty and get on with your life as best you can."

  "You do not live by your own words. A demon killed your husband, and for that crime, you killed him. Can I not have the same justice? Why should I not kill the demons that killed my husband?"

  A soft click as the Colt's cylinder swung open. "Well, I ain't perfect neither. Besides, the feller that killed my Ben had no other aim in life but to go about killing people. Somebody had to put him down before he killed every last man, woman, and child there is."

  "And so must your soldiers be stopped, before they kill the last of my people."

  "They ain't so bad as all that," Cora said, letting the bullets fall into her cupped palm. Puffs of grey swirled around her fingers. "Sure, they ain't all angels, but they ain't no different from regular men."

  "They are different from our men," came the reply.

  Cora slipped the rounds back into the chambers and swung the cylinder closed. "Maybe so. Your folk seem nice enough when they come through, which is more than I can say for a lot of white folk in these parts. Never took much to Yankee soldiers my own self, truth be told. Bastards done burned my family out of our farm during the war, but I ain't hell bent on killing every last one of them for what they did. Maybe I should be, but I never was too keen on picking fights I can't win."

  "You are here."

  "So I am," Cora said, "and I got a question for you before we get to dusting up."

  A pause. "Ask."

  "Where'd you come by that blue-eyed bastard that follows you about?"

  "The demon came to me from the north with knowledge of you."

  "I figured that much," Cora said. "Got him a name, does he?"

  "He bears the name of your great paper chief, the one you call Washington."

  The name washed over Cora like a bucket of icy water. Washington. She'd met several men by that name during her travels, but only one would have had any intimate knowledge of her past. That smug grin, his self-assured swagger, and his keen blue eyes jumped into her memory like a thunderclap. Her hands trembled as blind fury filled her.

  "That bastard," she muttered. Lifting her head, she unleashed the full power of her voice at the stars. "Washington Jones!" The walls echoed her shout back at her, filling the ruins with her rage. "You low-down yellow bastard!"

  So great was the sound of her wrath that she did not hear the rushing of bare feet behind her until it was too late. When it reached her ears, Cora turned on her heel, the revolver's barrel sweeping across the crumbling heart of the ancient city.

  Something hit her in the chest with a sound like a punch. The animal eyes of the skin-walker filled Cora's vision as a wetness began seeping into her shirt. Looking down, she saw the witch's fingers wrapped around a bone hilt. The hunter's brow furrowed. Why could she only see the hilt? Where had the rest of the knife gone?

  Another scream rose from somewhere beyond the ruins. Cora tried to take a breath. Her lungs filled with excruciating fire. Brown eyes, now rimmed with white, found her enemy's gaze once again.

  "What...?"

  The word burned in her throat. A cough burst from her lips, sending the world into a white haze of agony. Her body suddenly felt very heavy. She needed to sit down for a moment. The jolt as she fell to her knees unleashed another crippling wave of pain through her chest. Cora coughed again, dimly aware of the blood that now dotted the skinwalker's legs.

  "You should have stayed away."

  The voice rang in her ears, offering the hunter an anchor in the vortex of pain and confusion. Her brown eyes cleared, focusing on her enemy's face. Words formed on blood-spattered lips, but she couldn't find the breath to say t
hem. More coughing, more drops of red on the witch's skin.

  Cora swayed for a moment, struggling to stay upright. The world around her descended into a murky haze of dust and starlight. She was swept away by the maelstrom, pitching backward onto the packed earth. The impact made her draw in an uneven gasp only to expel it in another thick, wet fit of coughing. Rolling into her side, she doubled up against the pain, covering her mouth with her hand as the spasms ran their course.

  When they finally subsided, Cora forced herself up onto her elbow. Her gun had fallen nearby. She could still finish the job if she could just find it. There was still time. Her eye caught on a faint glimmer of silver in the moonlight, and she reached for it.

  A hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her backward. Cora fought against it, but the agony in her chest stole her strength. Forced onto her back, she watched in a daze as the hand curled around the hilt of the knife and pulled. Fresh waves of agony flooded the world as her wail returned to her ears again and again, magnified by the unfeeling stone. Her hands covered the wound as if it were an indecency, blood seeping between her fingers.

  Mustering the last of her strength, Cora looked up at the skin-walker. "Damn....bitch...."

  Those animal eyes regarded her. "You would have done the same." Kneeling down, the witch wiped the knife on the hem of Cora's pants. Cora tried to kick her, but she could only manage a feeble stirring of her boot. It was just too heavy for her to move.

  When the weapon was clean, the skin-walker rose and turned her back on the fallen hunter. "You fought well," she said. Cora tried to answer, but the words drowned in the fluid welling up from her lungs.

  The witch walked away in silence. Eyes fixed on the back of her enemy, Cora tried once more to rise, to recover her gun and take the life of the woman who had taken hers, but her body refused to respond. Another coughing fit took hold of her, and all awareness disappeared beneath a fresh blossom of pain. Cora could feel her life leaving her with every agonizing spasm as blood from her wound and her lips mingled with the ancient dust.

  When the coughs faded away once more, Cora looked up at the stars. They seemed dimmer now, as though they were dying with her. A surge of anger swept through her. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was Cora Oglesby. No squaw could lay her out, especially with nothing more than a stone knife. Her fingers curled into a weak fist. She held it for a moment, intending to raise it and pound the ground in anger, but it was such an effort, and she was getting so tired. The anger flowed out with her blood, soaking into the dry earth beneath her.

  Relaxing her hand, Cora forced the skin-walker from her mind. She would not let her last thoughts be of that woman. Instead, she called up memories of younger days, riding along dusty back trails that wound through endless deserts with Ben at her side. They had camped beneath the same stars that hung above her now. She could still see the firelight dancing in his eyes as he laughed at some jest of hers, the sound seeming to carry to the very end of the world. His hand, calloused and forever stained black with ink, covered hers as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She laughed then, scrunching her face up against his mustache as it tickled her ear.

  Opening her eyes, Cora found she could still see his face. Her lips parted in a bloody smile. He smiled back, a sight she hadn't seen in far too long.

  "About time you showed up."

  The monster crouched in front of Victoria, still looking far too human for the savage hunger burning in its eyes. They watched her now with murderous intent.

  "That's what you got to look forward to, darlin."

  Tearing her gaze away from the feral businessman lurking in the scrub, Victoria forced a look of disdain through her fear. "Compared to hearing your endless prattle, such a fate is a blessing."

  The vampire laughed. "You got spunk enough to fill a wagon, all right. I reckon your blood will be a sight sweeter for it. Strong souls always got the most flavor, I've found. Wish I could have had me a taste of that Oglesby bitch before the squaw puts her down for good, but yours'll do just fine."

  "Are you certain of that?"

  "Only one way to find out." He stepped toward her, blue eyes aflame with lust.

  The fire vanished an instant later as the vampire recoiled from his victim, shielding his eyes. Victoria took a small step forward, Cora's wooden crucifix held high.

  "Nearly forgot about this little treasure," she said. "A gift from Cora, and a useful one at that. Who knew such a little thing could have so much power over filthy vermin like you?"

  Victoria took another step toward him, enjoying the sight of his agony. Her attention was so thoroughly fixed on him that at first she didn't feel the hand grab her ankle. Realization set in just as it yanked her leg out from under her. She fell to the desert floor, branches snapping beneath her. The monster's fingers were like steel rods. She drove the heel of her other boot into the creature's head with a crunch, but it scarcely seemed to feel the blow. Somewhere nearby, she could hear boots scraping on the ground. The man was recovering. She didn't have much time.

  In a single, swift motion, Victoria swept the crucifix toward the cold hands gripping her leg. The wood brushed against the grey skin with a sound like sizzling meat. Smoke filled the air between them as the monster shrieked and pulled away.

  Her leg now free, Victoria scrambled to her feet, looking for the blue-eyed man. He stood a few yards away, hand gripping his head as if in pain. She didn't wait to see how quickly he might recover from whatever ailed him. Crucifix held forward, she charged at him, a cry rising from her lungs. He looked up at the sound and began stumbling backward.

  The fear in those wicked eyes spurred Victoria onward. Too late, she realized she couldn't stop herself in time. Vampire and hunter tumbled to the ground in a cloud of smoke. A roar of agony echoed in the night air as Victoria held the crucifix to his chest. His limbs flailed in the dirt as he writhed beneath her, trying to shrink away from the holy object, but she leaned on her outstretched arm, pinning him to the ground with her weight.

  She might have stayed there until sunrise, relishing the sound of his suffering, but the smoke belching from his skin blinded her. Reluctantly, she rose to her feet and stepped to one side. She kept the crucifix pointed toward the thick grey cloud as she blinked back the tears stinging her eyes.

  When the smoke cleared, the vampire lay on the ground in a fetal position. Victoria stood over him, not daring to lower the crucifix for even a moment. In the shadows nearby, she could make out the shape of the feral vampire. Its eyes on her made her uneasy. The crucifix held it at bay, but for how long?

  Victoria's mind raced. Without her gun, she had no way of killing either monster. Her knife was made of ordinary steel and did not have the blessing of Cora's saber. Only the blessed silver bullets would work, and the revolver still lay near the ruins where the man had kicked it from her grip. Stealing a glance over her shoulder, she estimated the distance back to the ruins. No more than a few hundred yards; she hadn't made it far before the savage one cut off her escape. She could make it back without too much difficulty, but finding the gun would be another matter completely.

  Facing the vampire again, Victoria began backing away. After a few steps, she could see him beginning to revive. His hands pressed into the dirt as he rose to his hands and knees, head still hanging between his shoulders.

  Heart hammering in her chest, she thought better of her plan and reversed direction, approaching him again. His arms began trembled beneath his weight. Raising his head, he aimed a helpless glare at her before falling back into the dust. She planted a sound kick between his shoulder blades and smiled at the resulting moan.

  An idea came to her, and she acted on it at once. Switching the crucifix to her left hand, she began digging through her satchel with the other. Her fingers touched on cool glass and closed around it. The scrub rustled as the other creature stirred nearby, not willing to face the pain of the crucifix to save its master.

  Victoria clamped her teeth around the vial's stopper
and twisted. There was a satisfying pop as it came free. Stepping forward, she bent over the blue-eyed man, bringing the crucifix close to his head. He groaned and pulled himself into a tighter ball, cringing at the nearness of the holy object. A sudden urge to pull his hair or ear seized her, and she only managed to overcome it with great effort. She didn't know what might happen, what sort of desperate attack he might attempt if she took things too far. Besides, both her hands were full.

  At that moment, a shout rose from somewhere behind her. Victoria spun around, nearly spilling the vial as the echoes rolled out into the desert. A chill skittered down her spine. Although she couldn't quite make out the words in the cry, she knew the voice belonged to Cora.

  Behind her, she heard the vampire give a delirious chuckle. Pointing the crucifix at him again, she smiled as the laughter became another moan. "Is something amusing you, monster?" she asked.

  The man sucked in a breath. "Sounds like that bitch figured out who I really is," he said, his voice slurring.

  "Is that so?" Victoria said, moving the crucifix closer to him. "And who might that be?"

  "Washington Jones." The last word ended in a hiss as he curled away from her.

  "Well, Mr. Jones, you may consider this a gift from the good Mrs. Oglesby," Victoria said. Leaning over him, she emptied the contents of the vial onto his head. A scream of pain erupted from the center of the resulting cloud of smoke. It stopped suddenly a few seconds after it began, but Victoria did not stop to see the reason why. She was already running back toward the ruins as fast as she could, her knuckles white around the crucifix. The image of the savage ghoul galloping somewhere behind her lent speed to her heels.