She Returns From War

by Lee Collins

  Although it was only a short distance, she was gasping for breath by the time she reached the outskirts of the ruined village. Her lungs burned, demanding that she stop for a moment to calm her racing heart, but she knew she didn't have the time. Washington Jones might recover from the holy water at any moment, and she didn't know where the feral creature had gone. She needed her gun.

  Her boots kicked branches and stones aside as she frantically searched through the scrub. She thought she was near where she and the vampire had their first confrontation of the night, but she couldn't be sure. The fear-driven need to steal glances over her shoulder slowed the search. So far, there was no sign of the man Washington Jones, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he came for her again. Her only hope lay hidden by the stubborn desert growth.

  Not her only hope, she reminded herself. Cora was nearby, presumably introducing the skin-walker to new worlds of pain. Although Victoria hadn't been able to understand what the hunter had yelled, she recognized the anger in Cora's voice. Anyone or anything on the receiving end of that anger could not hope to survive the night.

  The thought made Victoria smile. As if in reply, a small glimmer of moonlight winked at her from the bushes. Pushing a branch aside, she felt her smile widen. Never had the sight of a firearm brought such comfort to her heart. Kneeling down, she picked it up reverently. The weight of the gleaming cylinder, each chamber housing a sacred silver bullet, promised a swift death to Washington Jones and his pet monster. With any luck, the vampire was still reeling from the holy water and wouldn't be able to defend himself. One clean shot, and Victoria would be free to return home with Cora in tow. The thought of England made her ache with longing. Closing her eyes, she let herself slip far away from this scorched wasteland for a moment. A warm green light filtered down through poplar leaves as a breeze carried the scent of grass and blooming daisies. She was back under her favorite tree, a book and a packed lunch beside her, ready to let another lazy afternoon pass by around her. The promise of such days ahead gave her courage. Once she silenced these nightmares once and for all, she could return to that world. Her world. Victoria opened her eyes, ready to send Washington Jones home to the devil.

  Red eyes gleamed back at her.

  Victoria let out a short shriek and jumped to her feet. The revolver seemed to come up of its own will, its barrel pointing between those animal eyes. Her finger pressed against the trigger, but she didn't pull through.

  "Where is Cora?"

  "The hunter has rejoined the cycle."

  "What the devil does that mean?" Victoria asked, ignoring the shadow of dread growing in her mind.

  "She lost herself for only a moment, but it was enough," Anaba said. "When two hunters circle each other, the smallest weakness is death. So it was with her."

  "Impossible," Victoria said. "Cora would not let herself lose to the likes of you."

  "She did not like to lose, but she did all the same. Her blood will join with this sacred place, and her spirit will return to the Great Cycle. Perhaps she will be reborn as Dine and will learn of our ways. That would be a fitting end for one such as her."

  The gun sight wavered from its mark. She tried to hold it steady. "So she's dead."

  The witch nodded.

  "Then this is her vengeance."

  Victoria squeezed the trigger, her entire being thirsting for the sight of the skin-walker's blood.

  Click.

  The ominous silence that followed mirrored her own overwhelming disappointment and confusion. She tried again. The cylinder turned smoothly, moonlight sliding along its nickel finish, but nothing else. No brilliant flame erupted from the barrel to announce the witch's death in the deep rolling thunder of its voice. There was only another terrible silence.

  In that silence, Victoria wilted. The revolver hung loosely from her fingers, its barrel pointing at her boots. Her knees threatened to give way; her vision grew blurry. The great dark shadow that had been looming over her spirit now descended, crushing her under its weight. Her holy weapon had failed. Cora Oglesby, the herald of evil's bane, had fallen and left Victoria at the mercy of those who had none. The memory of sunlit fields in Oxford became a poison, taunting her with beauty and peace she would never see again.

  "Now I understand."

  The skin-walker's voice reached through the haze of despair, pulling Victoria back into the present. Her eyes refocused on her adversary, and she forced her mouth to move. "What do you understand?"

  "You have the hunter's gun."

  Victoria looked at the revolver in her hand. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Cora...she let me have hers and bought a new one when we rode out today." It seemed like half a lifetime ago, not mere hours.

  "Unexpected," Anaba said, "and unlucky for you."

  "What do you mean?"

  The animal eyes gleamed in the darkness. "The weapon will not fire. I have seen to it. The one the hunter carried tonight was different. I did not expect it to fire."

  Something in the witch's voice stirred the last vestige of Victoria's resolve. She brought the Colt up once more, leveling the barrel at the skin-walker.

  "Still you fight," Anaba said, her face betraying no sign of fear. "The hunter, too, fought with the last of her strength. You both will return as warriors. Let that comfort you."

  "Let this comfort you," Victoria said. The revolver was heavy in her hand, a solid shape that embodied what remained of her defiance. She knew it was hopeless. The gun had already misfired three times, and the confidence in the skin-walker's eyes removed any doubt that it would do so again. Still, she had to try one more time. Her grandfather's legacy and his blood in her veins demanded it. If she was to die in this hellish place, let it be on her feet with a weapon in her hand.

  Victoria squeezed the trigger.

  The revolver did not jump in her hands, but the crashing of a gunshot still rolled through the desert night. Victoria blinked. She had seen a flash of light, but it hadn't come from her gun. Confused, she studied the Colt's barrel for a moment, then looked at Anaba.

  The skin-walker's red eyes had gone wide. Her hand clutched at her right breast, looking for all the world like a young girl pining for her lover. A word floated from her lips into the night. "How...?"

  "I don't know," Victoria replied.

  A shadowy lock of Anaba's hair fell across her chest as the witch turned her head. Victoria followed her gaze and saw a shadow standing at the base of a ruined wall. She squinted, unable to believe what she saw. "Cora?"

  The hunter's laugh cracked like a whip. "Wasn't expecting me, was you?"

  Anaba took a step toward her. "You...died."

  "Not quite," Cora said. "Don't you Indian folk know that you got to make sure a cougar's breathed his last before you turn your back on him?"

  Before Anaba could reply, another flame erupted from the revolver in Cora's hand. The impact blew Anaba backward. Coming to rest at Victoria's feet, the witch looked up at the young woman. Victoria returned her gaze, overwhelmed by a sudden, powerful sadness.

  "I'm sorry," she heard herself say.

  The skin-walker's mouth moved. Victoria knelt down, trying to hear her words, but there was only silence. Cora's boots rustled through the scrub as she approached, but Victoria could not look away from the dying woman.

  Anaba's eyes were fading, their gleam like the final touches of evening sunlight through a window. They turned their gaze toward the hunter. A queer look, half respect and half hatred, twisted the Indian woman's features. Her lips moved again, offering what Victoria took to be a silent curse, her final act in this world.

  Cora nodded as if she understood. "Can't say I blame you for what you done. Might be I'd have done the same if I was in your boots. Only the good Lord could say if you was in the wrong, after all." The Colt's voice roared once more, and the light disappeared from Anaba's eyes.

  When the gunshot faded from her ears, Victoria looked up. "She told me you were dead."

  "And she was right,"
Cora said.

  "Then how..." Victoria trailed off as she got a good look at the hunter. Blood had soaked through her shirt and spattered her trousers. The hand that clutched the revolver was streaked with the dark fluid. A thrill of fear ran through Victoria, and she felt her hand tighten around her own gun. The woman who stood before her should not be alive. Had she somehow become undead herself?

  Cora answered the fear in her eyes. "Turns out this place is like a doorway between this world and the next, kind of like a bit of cloth that's been worn thin. Spirits can pass back and forth all comfortable-like. I reckon that's why our friend here set up shop out here. Good place for all sorts of witchcraft."

  "That still doesn't explain-"

  "How I'm standing here?" Cora grinned. "Don't add up, do it?" She paused, her eyelids fluttering for a moment. "Well, my Ben could see I was getting ready to die and came through to walk me over. Always was a gentleman like that. I ain't much of a lady, though, so I told him I wasn't going until I'd settled business on this side. He argued some but soon got it through his head that I was serious. Figuring it would speed things up, he gave me what strength he could, and here I am."

  "So you've cheated death," Victoria said, a smile spreading across her lips.

  "Not exactly," Cora said. She chuckled as Victoria's smile faltered. "Ain't like I just get to waltz on out of here and get back to living. No, this here squaw did her job all right. Ben just stepped in and put it off for a tick."

  Victoria swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. "How long do you have?"

  The hunter sighed. "Seeing as how we sorted the squaw out, I reckon I should get a move on. Things are getting all foggy, anyhow, and it won't do to keep the good Lord waiting."

  With that, Cora sank to her knees and leaned back on her heels. Victoria reached out a hand to steady her. The hunter gripped it with her own, her eyes suddenly intense.

  "I ain't going to live up to my end of the bargain," Cora said, her words beginning to slur. "Here you helped me out all this way, and I can't return the favor."

  "Don't be silly-"

  "Hush up, now. I ain't got but a few more breaths in me." As if to prove it, Cora turned her face away and coughed. The ruins echoed with the ragged sound. Drawing a deep breath, the hunter looked back at her young apprentice. "I can't go with you in body, but don't you think I won't be watching you. Take my gun on back with you and show them black things a thing or two about the fear of God. Do me proud."

  "I will," Victoria said, the words threatening to unleash a flood of tears. She wouldn't start blubbing now, not in the last minutes of this battle-hardened warrior's life. Taking a breath to steady herself, she gave Cora's hand a squeeze. "I promise."

  "That's a good girl," Cora said, easing herself down onto her back. "You'll be just fine out there. Give old King George my regards while you're at it."

  "What about you?" Victoria asked. "What should I do when...?"

  "Take me on back to Father Baez," Cora replied. "He can put me next to my Ben like we ought to be. Tell him what happened out here and what you're fixing to do over in England. He'll set you up with some right fine help, see if he don't."

  The hunter's breathing grew shallower as the power warding off her death ebbed away. Her eyes were halfclosed. No longer looking at Victoria, they seemed to be gazing at something distant, something beautiful. A faint smile softened her face. Even though the smile wasn't directed at her, Victoria smiled back.

  Cora's smile vanished, and her eyes opened wide. "Wash," she whispered.

  Something slammed into Victoria's side, sending her flying. She smashed into a bush a number of yards away, the branches snapping like bones. Dazed, she picked her head up. Starlight and shadows spun in a nauseating vortex around her. She closed her eyes and willed the world to stop swirling.

  "Looks like you whipped that squaw right proper," came the taunting voice of Washington Jones. "Reckon I owe you for that, but I ain't never been good at paying back favors. Hope becoming immortal seems a fair reward."

  Victoria pulled her boots under her and rose to her feet. "I will not serve you, filth."

  "Ain't talking to you, darlin," Wash said, blue eyes flashing in his burned face. "You is in for a world of pain for that nasty bit of work back there. See, I ain't no good at paying back favors, but I happen to be an expert when it comes to paying back an eye for an eye."

  Moonlight flashed on the Colt's barrel as Victoria raised it. "Is that right?"

  Wash laughed. "Go on, keep waving that gun of yours. Maybe one of them bullets will drop out and you can throw it at me."

  Victoria's heart sank. Anaba must have told him about the curse she put on Cora's gun, or maybe he simply remembered how it had misfired when she tried to shoot him earlier. Either way, intimidating him into submission was not an option. She still had her crucifix, but there was no way she could reach him before he killed Cora. Nothing could save the huntress now, but she deserved to die in peace instead of being twisted into an undead slave of this monster.

  The vampire suddenly reeled backward as if someone had punched him in the jaw. Confused, Victoria watched him stumble for a moment before shifting her gaze toward the hunter. Cora's arm was raised slightly, fist closed around something. Victoria couldn't make out what she was holding, but she didn't need to. Whatever it was, it was buying her the few precious seconds she needed. Her boots crashed through the dry branches, sending stones flying to either side as she sprinted forward. If she could just get to Cora's side and take her gun, she could make an end of Washington Jones.

  Without warning, Washington's pet vampire leapt at her from the scrub, powerful arms wrapping around her like constrictors. They squeezed a cry from her lungs as the two of them crashed onto the ground. Jagged rocks punched into Victoria's ribs, sending spikes of pain through her body.

  When the two of them came to rest, the vampire was on top of her. Victoria fought to breathe, to free her arms, to throw it off. The demon bared its teeth at her, and she snarled back. Her fingers pulled at her belt, searching for the crucifix but not finding it. Despair flooded her mind. It must have fallen out when the creature slammed into her.

  Dead fingers wrapped around her golden braid and gave it a savage tug. Victoria cried out as the creature pulled at her scalp, forcing her chin up. White teeth clamped onto her neck. She punched at its head with her free hand, but she might as well have been beating on a rock. Its jaws were pure agony as they crushed her throat. Soon, she could feel the creature tearing the blood from her veins, slurping it down like a mongrel drinking from a dirty puddle. The pain was unlike anything she could have imagined, at once filling her body with fire and sending tendrils of frostbite through her soul. Her lungs heaved, trying to suck in a breath, but the vampire's jaws clamped her windpipe shut.

  Victoria felt herself dying, her essence flowing down the throat of the monster on top of her. Her thoughts grew thin and light, wisps of lace floating through her mind. She felt a twinge of sorrow that their victory had been snatched from them when it had seemed so certain. They had bested the skin-walker only to fall to her servant. There was an irony there, she knew, but she couldn't quite remember what it was.

  Air rushed into Victoria's lungs like a flash flood, propelling her back up into the realm of life. She felt as though she would continue to sail upward until she reached the stars. The icy knife that had been digging its way into her soul was gone. She took another breath. Trickles of blood tickled her neck, and she almost giggled.

  The laughter died on her lips as the memory of where she was crashed back into her mind. Clapping a hand to her bleeding neck, she raised her head and looked around. A few yards away, the vampire crouched low to the ground, hissing through its bloody teeth. Victoria stared at it in confusion for a moment, wondering why it had suddenly released her. Cora's voice reached her then, thin and scraping like chalk on a blackboard.

  "Get up."

  Victoria forced her arms and legs into action. As they pu
lled her into a sitting position, she felt something slide down her shirt. Cora's rosary. Wrapping her fingers around the beads, she groaned. Her whole body ached.

  "No time for that," Cora said in response to her moan. "Hump it or we're through."

  Nodding in agreement, Victoria stood to her feet. Her legs wobbled beneath her, threatening to collapse. One look at the creature crouching nearby was enough to steady them. Keeping the rosary in plain sight, she made her way to Cora's side. Blue eyes glared at her from the shadows, but the vampire kept his distance.

  Victoria half-knelt, half-fell next to the hunter. "Where is your gun?"

  "He took it," Cora said, lifting a finger in the direction of Wash Jones.

  "What?" The hunter's words sapped Victoria's strength, and she struggled to stay on her feet. "How am I supposed to kill him without it?"

  "My gun," the hunter whispered, tapping the holster on Victoria's belt. "Shoot him."

  "It doesn't work," Victoria said. "How can I-"

  "Do it!" Cora's eyes opened wide, blazing in the moonlight. Victoria thought she saw a flash of white light from deep inside them, but she didn't stop to look twice. The force of the hunter's command propelled her to her feet, her hand reaching for the revolver of its own will.

  Washington Jones watched her, his blue eyes alight with amusement. He held the other revolver in his hand, the barrel pointed at Victoria's chest. "Well, now, ain't this a pretty picture?"

  "Indeed," Victoria said.

  "See, now, I'm trying to decide what's most fitting to do," Wash said. "Here I is pointing a gun at a lady who's pointing a gun at me. Trouble is, your gun don't work, and it ain't proper to shoot an unarmed body. I reckon I could shoot you anyhow on account of you being such a pain, but then you wouldn't get all what's coming to you for doing what you done back there. Now-"

  The thundering crash of a pistol shot cut him off. Victoria lowered her smoking revolver, cold blue eyes glittering. Across from her, Washington Jones stared in disbelief. Words started to form on his lips, but they dissolved into a moaning wail that could have arisen from the depths of hell itself. The vampire fell to his knees. Thin, piercing notes shredded the stillness of the night as smoke belched from his nose and mouth. One cry became a multitude, rising in a horrid cacophony that made Victoria wince, but she did not look away. On the ground beside her, Cora lay with her eyes closed, the ghost of a smile on her worn face.