by Adam Bender
The sound of the locomotive softened to a hum in the distance. Kid Hunter could hear the final gangster breathing heavily, panicked by loss of the train and his fellow men. Seeking a better angle, the Kid ran forward, taking cover behind another tree. He took the shot and nailed him.
Somewhere above, a bird sang out a sweet melody. Charlie relaxed his shoulders and the Wanderer patted him on the back. “C’mon, partner. We better find that reporter and get on our way. It’ll be dark before —”
Charlie startled as a woman’s shriek shattered the quiet. What the hell was it now?
*
The Wanderer found Rosa deeper in the rocky wilderness, but she had company. Dead, rotting corpses in the middle of nowhere. They were a man and a woman, young backpackers on a camping trip. Something had torn the man’s stomach open. The blood looked chunky and dry. The smell was repellent to everyone but the flies.
“Someone stole their stuff,” said Kid Hunter, prodding the woman’s body with a stick. “Out this deep, these folks should have supplies. But this is pretty gruesome for thieves.”
The Wanderer tapped his eyeglass and scanned the remains. The lens highlighted several cuts and gashes across their anatomy, with a diagnosis for each. “Gunshot wounds on the both of them. Looks like a bear came along later and chewed on this fella.”
Charlie gasped. “A bear?”
“There are bears in the mountains,” confirmed Rosa, “but they’re not monsters. Probably found the bodies, got curious —”
“And took a few bites,” finished Charlie, raising his eyebrows. “Cute.”
The Wanderer’s eyepiece highlighted something else buried beneath a pile of brown pine needles. He bent down and dug out a blood-stained bullet. “This is a sniper round. Whoever did this, they shot from a distance, probably with a Montag.”
“Oh, great!” the Kid groaned. “We’re lost in the mountains with bears and snipers! This day just keeps getting better and better!”
“The bears will be just as afraid of you as you are of them,” offered Rosa.
“And what about the snipers?”
“Just one sniper, I reckon,” the Wanderer replied. “A lone wolf.”
“Oh wow!” Charlie exclaimed sarcastically. “Now there’s a wolf, too! I feel a whole lot better!”
The Wanderer dropped the bullet into a tangle of twigs. “Let’s go. There’s nothing we can do for these folks. I’ll mark the coordinates and we’ll tell someone in the next town where to find them.”
“And how are we going to find the next town?” asked Rosa. “Shouldn’t we head back to the tracks and follow them?”
He shook his head. “That’s where the Gang will be looking for us.” He pointed to his eyeglass. “According to my map, there’s a small town called Founders Spring, maybe a couple day’s walk to the west. Train doesn’t go there, so maybe the Gang won’t be looking for us.”
Charlie’s jaw dropped. “Wait, wait, wait! A couple days walk?”
“Give or take,” shrugged the Wanderer.
“Which is it? Give or take?”
“Calm down,” said Rosa. “You’ve got a hiking backpack. Haven’t you ever used it for camping?”
The Kid grunted dismissively. “I’ve slept outside, all right, but I ain’t never slept in the mountains. Anyway, it’s not like I’ve got a tent in here — it’s mostly stuff that needs to be charged. I don’t see any outlets, do you?”
“Well, I’ve camped before,” Rosa said proudly. “Not in the mountains, but we should be fine. I mean, some extra clothes and a few sleeping bags would’ve been nice. It’s already getting chilly, even though the sun’s still out.”
The Wanderer pulled on the strap of his denim knapsack. “I’ve got matches. We’ll build a fire. Now, listen, I reckon we’ve got about two hours more until the sky gets too dark, so let’s get away from the railroad and walk as far west as we can go. Then we can set up camp.”
*
Dry twigs and needles crackled underfoot. Rosa, subconsciously grinding her teeth, scrunched her eyes in a futile effort to see through the orange beam of sunlight shining on her face. The pines provided occasional cover, but more often created a strobing effect that made the light more irritating.
“You know,” she said, “none of this would have happened if we took my truck.”
Charlie laughed, but the Wanderer took her complaint seriously. “There’s less to worry about on a train. Usually. And at least we could talk, right?”
“You call that conversation? You staring at ghosts outside the window and him playing with his bracelet?”
“Wristband,” corrected Charlie.
“Fine, then,” said the Wanderer, adjusting his hat to better block the sun. “Hit me with a question.”
She felt like a kid in a candy store. Where to start? “I guess there’s the million-dollar question. Why did Errol Breck turn away from the company he was groomed to take charge of?”
Rather than answer, the Wanderer sniffed at the air and looked curiously down the trail. Rosa gritted her teeth, knowing she’d made a mistake. She’d come on too directly and too soon, violating one of the golden rules of interviewing: start with the easy questions, and strike with a hardball only when they’re comfortable.
Kid Hunter suddenly came to a skidding halt. “Whoa, shit!”
Rosa squinted down the trail and startled at a ghostly figure creeping out of the trees. On closer inspection, it was a pale girl with wild red hair tied in two long braids. She wore Army sweatpants that looked one size too small and a gray hoodie that looked two sizes too big. Adorning the girl’s feet were a pair of well-loved Ugg boots. She looked a few years older than Pablo, maybe eleven or twelve.
Rosa exchanged dumbfounded looks with the guys. They seemed fine with her making the first move. “Uh,” she murmured, “hey there.”
The girl backed away.
“Maybe she’s scared of your weapons,” Rosa whispered to the two men.
The Wanderer removed his gun belt and let it drop to the forest floor; Kid Hunter did the same.
The reporter took a few steps forward and crouched low to address the child. “Hey, don’t be afraid.”
The girl spun away and shook nervously. Rosa placed a hand gently on her back, but when the kid turned around again, she was holding a Breck 17 and wearing a smirk of supreme confidence.
“Wh-what are you —?” stammered Rosa, raising her hands slowly into the air. It wasn’t that she was scared — she was mortified! The girl couldn’t be more than four feet tall.
“Bang!” yelled the child with a dramatic flourish of the semiautomatic. “Gimme all of your damn money and maybe I’ll let you live!”
Rosa eyed her critically. Could this girl be the one who robbed the dead hikers? Could she have killed them? No, she was way too young.
The Wanderer spoke softly, clearly, and held his hands where the girl could see them. “We’d love to help you, darlin’, but we’re not carrying any cash.”
The young thief’s eyes flashed from Rosa to the gunman and back again. With a wrinkle of her freckled nose, she settled her attention elsewhere. Turning around, Rosa saw it was the blinking light on Charlie’s wrist. “What’s that bracelet do?” the child asked with a nod in the Kid’s direction.
The bounty hunter looked genuinely upset. “Aw, c’mon, girl! It’s a wristband!”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever! Why’s it blinking?”
“I don’t know, man! I’ve got mail?”
The girl’s eyes popped wide. “I want it. Gimme it.”
“Oh, hell no!”
“Gimme it!” she screeched, shaking the gun.
The Wanderer smacked his partner lightly on the arm and nodded. With a deep sigh, Charlie unstrapped the device and stepped toward the girl. “Fine, but it’s a little tricky to put on. If you hold out your wrist, I’ll help you with the clasp.”
The girl stared at him, appearing to measure his sincerity. Finally, she extended her left arm
, but she kept the semiautomatic in her other hand pointed at Charlie’s chest. He brought the open bangle slowly to her wrist, snapped it shut and backed away with his hands in the air. Giddily, she admired the new toy like it was a candy bracelet.
Charlie sidestepped out of the gun’s sights and whispered sharply, “Panic!”
The tween’s eyes shot up but it was too late. The wristband throbbed and released a short electric zap. With a high shriek, the girl let go of her gun. Kid Hunter charged. A moment later, he had her arms pinned under his knees. The girl’s cries were piercingly high. “Get offa me! Get offa me! Get offa me!”
Rosa darted forward and grabbed the girl’s gun. She ejected the cartridge, which was full, and pulled the slide back to check for a bullet still in the chamber. She stuck the empty gun in one jeans pocket and the ammo in the other.
“Gimme my gun back! Get offa me!”
The Wanderer stood gravely over the squirming child and, in his most growly voice, directed her to shut the hell up.
She did. Rosa couldn’t help but smile at how well that worked.
The gunman took a deep, contemplative breath. “You have a camp around here. Show it to us.”
With a scowl she agreed, and Kid Hunter let her up. Muttering curses that were barely profane, the girl led them deeper into the woods. While the two outlaws stayed a few paces back, the reporter walked up close to the young thief, introducing herself as Rosie. “You’re pretty brave,” she said. “What’s your name?”
The girl assessed her with brilliant green eyes. “Lindsay.”
“It’s nice to meet you on more civil terms.”
“Yeah, I bet it is,” said Lindsay, rolling her eyes. “Look, I’ll take y’all back to my camp if you want, but my brother Jimmy’s there, okay? I know I folded real easy, but you should know … compared to him? I’m sugar and spice and everything nice.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
To New Friends!
Jimmy’s back ached from hunching over the deadwood. He had the build of a football player — thick arms, thick legs, thick chest, thick neck — and a coat to match, bearing the logos of various NFL teams. But the jacket was stained with black soot, and his red hair had gotten too shaggy for sports.
He couldn’t keep the damn match lighted. Every time he struck fire, a gust of wind would come and blow it out. After another failure, he roared, “Piece of shit!”
The mountains totally sucked. Once he made enough money out here, he was definitely moving back to Founders Spring. Or maybe Vegas. Yeah, in Vegas he could strike it really rich.
Well, he might not be able to light this fire, but at least they had loads of supplies: two tents and a pile of camping gear besides — sleeping bags, hiking packs, water bottles, cans of beans and countless packets of delicious Kraft Easy Mac — cheesy gold that never got old.
The crunch of a pinecone alerted Jimmy to someone’s arrival. Couldn’t be Lindsay. She walked with a lighter step. He reached for his Pilgrim shotgun, sprang up to his feet and aimed into the trees. “Whoever’s in there better come the fuck out!”
“Don’t shoot!” exclaimed a familiar voice, and Lindsay emerged with three adults he didn’t recognize. The toughest one looked like a cowboy and was carrying a silver six-shooter. There was also a short but wiry guy wearing a bangle, and a sharp-eyed woman who looked as though she was dressed for an evening stroll.
“Linds?” screeched Jimmy. “Who the fuck … ?”
“I’m really sorry,” she whimpered.
Jimmy regarded his sister like a deflated football. Why did he have to get stuck with this little baby? All she ever did was slow him down.
“I found them about a half-mile away,” she explained. “They took my gun and made me take them here. You can shoot them, if you wanna.”
He nearly did, but froze when the weird cowboy pulled back the hammer of his Lassiter. “I wouldn’t,” he said gruffly.
Jimmy’s face turned red. “Goddammit, Linds! Goddammit!”
“I’m sorry!” she whined. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Now look here,” said the cowboy. “We’re not here to hurt you or steal from you.”
Jimmy eyed him skeptically. “Yeah? Then why don’t you piss off?”
“We’ll go, but first I want to have a friendly conversation. Why don’t you start by telling us about your operation here? You’ve got a mighty fine stash back there. So what’s the game? Robbing campers?”
Jimmy didn’t respond.
“We’re not here to judge. I just want to know what you’re planning to do with all that gear. Sell it back in town?”
“Fuck you.”
The cowboy shot near Jimmy’s foot, kicking up an explosion of dust. The teen panicked. “Wait, stop! Yes! We sell it in Founders Spring, okay? What’s it to you?”
The woman asked, “Do you murder the owners, too?”
“What? No!”
The cowboy shook his head at her and continued, “How would you feel if we saved you the trip to town and bought some gear from you right here, right now?”
Lindsay interrupted. “You said you didn’t have any cash!”
“No, but my smart lens”—he pointed to his eye—“still has a little juice left. I can transfer a payment to your bank account the instant we agree on a price.”
Jimmy blinked a few times and smiled. After the payment cleared, he invited the nice strangers to stay for the night.
*
Rosa got the fire started on her first try. She felt herself chuckling as the five strangers sat around watching a pot of macaroni and bubbling water. The more they talked and joked, the less dangerous their hosts seemed. Jimmy and Lindsay didn’t seem like murderers, though she still wouldn’t have put it past Jimmy to steal from the dead. It still bothered her that he let his sister carry a gun, though. It was beyond irresponsible.
“How long have you been out here?” she asked.
“Forever,” grumbled Lindsay.
Jimmy shook his head. He pulled a hot dog out of the fire and blew out a small fire caught on the end. “About a year.”
Rosa crossed her arms. “So what happened?”
Jimmy glared. “None of your —”
“Jimmy got tired of our foster parents,” Lindsay answered. Her brother looked pissed off, but she continued. “He made us drop out of school and run away.”
“We had to,” he said, emphasizing the statement with widened eyes. “There was no choice.”
Rosa cast a withering look in his direction. “You know she’s too young to be doing this.”
“Am not!” protested Lindsay, rolling her eyes.
Jimmy held out his hands and said flatly, “Yeah. Look, I know.”
As the night went on, Rosa found herself talking to Lindsay the most. The girl provided the best company. Kid Hunter kept getting distracted by the screen on his wrist, while the Wanderer just kept staring into the fire. Occasionally, the rogue gunman contributed a friendly “Is that so?” or “You don’t say?” when Jimmy told him something, but that seemed to be the extent of his conversational abilities.
Lindsay softened as she talked about science class, Nerf guns, and Bugs Bunny. As the girl went on merrily about her Robin Hood adventures in the mountains, Rosa felt the ice of Jimmy’s calculating eyes.
*
Errol wiped melted cheese off his face with a red bandanna, put down his plate, and leaned back contentedly on his elbows. The rest of the group also looked a strange sort of blissful, pleased with the processed food in the middle of the untamed wilderness. He hadn’t eaten much of this so-called “Mac” before — it wasn’t the kind of thing normally served to the heir of Breck Ammunition. Pretty tasty, though. It was a good meal and a good camp.
He hadn’t done much camping as a kid. Dad had no interest in the outdoors; he would rather experience wilderness from the cozy confines of the Breck Estate’s library. That was why most of the Breck guns were named after literary characters. A western novel by Zane Grey, p
assed from father to son on his fourteenth birthday, had sparked Errol’s romance for the Lassiter six-shooter. Based on the old-fashioned Colt used by the hero, the Lassiter was not as quick as the semiautomatic Breck 17. But with its spinning chamber and shining steel exterior, the double-action revolver was the more elegant instrument. Played by the right musician, it was also the deadlier. He remembered lazy weekends spent shooting cans of Coca-Cola in the Breck Estate’s backyard. Gerard rarely joined, preferring darker hobbies such as melting toy soldiers in the microwave, or peeling the wings off butterflies and observing their silent screams.
Errol sat up and stared into the bonfire. The ghost of Helen seemed to materialize in the flames, beckoning him with a bony finger. He wanted to join her. It was the fate he deserved.
Only the laughter of the little girl stirred him from his brooding. Lindsay was showing Rosa a card trick, surprising her with the result. He couldn’t tell if the look on the reporter’s face was real or exaggerated, but it seemed to please the child to no end.
Helen had wanted a girl.
He looked away from the fire and into the dark beyond. In a way, he was glad to be stuck here. These mountains provided the blessing of more time not to make a decision about Gerard. Obviously, he had to find a safe place for the reporter. It was the next part he wasn’t so sure about. It hadn’t really been that long since he’d left, but already his brother was out of control. Dad had been right about him. But on the flipside, he’d been wrong about Errol. The truth was neither of Al Breck’s sons were fit to run that company.
“That nerd had it coming, though,” finished Jimmy, who had apparently been telling a story. The teen looked funny in his football jacket, so far from civilization. He looked like a high school jock fallen upon hard times.