“Hey!” said Harrison, turning to face the four men exiting the exchange.
The men wore masks and carried drawn revolvers. Three of them carried saddle bags and one, the hunchback, held a young boy by the arm. The boy was wide-eyed and looked terrified. Harrison stepped in front of his wife, shielding her from the men.
The closest gunman pointed a revolver at Harrison’s face. “Back off, mister.” The man sounded calm, but there was no mistaking his threatening tone.
“Let’s go,” said the hunchback, dragging the boy.
“Gimme your money, now!” The gunman waved his gun in a circle at Harrison.
Harrison hesitated. The money he carried was all that they had—their life savings.
The masked man grabbed the front of Harrison shirt, drawing him close, pushing his gun barrel hard up under Harrison’s jaw. A strange aroma assailed Harrison and he tried to pull away.
“Money, now!” threatened the man as he shook Harrison.
Catherine grabbed her husband’s arm. “Give him the money.”
“Listen to your woman.”
“Let’s go!” said the hunchback.
“No time for this.” The man whipped his revolver across Harrison’s face, opening up a long bloody gash across his cheek and knocking him into the street. He stumbled and fell onto his back.
The gunman stared at Harrison lying in the dust for a several long seconds, his face unreadable behind the mask. Sparing Harrison, he turned and following his companions to waiting horses, held by another masked man.
The gunmen threw their saddle bags on the horses and mounted up. The last gunman lifted the boy onto the hunchback’s horse. He screamed and struggled against his captor, a backhand slap silenced him.
Catherine leapt down to Harrison and helped him to his feet just as the exchange door burst open. The two guards moved out onto the footpath and the one with the shotgun levelled it at the closest gunman and both barrels boomed, spitting sparks and smoke. The shot hit the mounted gunman in the chest, knocking him backward off his horse and throwing up a small cloud of dust as he landed heavily on his back. The guard ejected the cartridges, dropping two more into the shotgun’s smoking chambers and then snapped the gun closed.
Charging a mounted gunman, the swordsman thrust his blade into the man’s stomach. The gunman howled in pain and blood splashed from the gut wound as the guard withdrew his weapon. His victory was short-lived as the injured gunman sucked in a breath, firing his revolver at point blank range. The bullet smashed into the guard’s head, blowing off one side of his face, spraying blood into the air. Spinning on the spot, the hapless guard fell lifelessly to the ground.
With the shotgun reloaded, the guard levelled his weapon at another horseman, but all the remaining gunmen returned fire. The guard’s body twitched uncontrollably in a death dance as multiple bullets slammed through his chest and out of his back, driving him back against the building. His lifeless body slid to the timbered footpath, leaving a bloody smear down the wall.
As the ringing of gunfire died down, the gunman hit by the shotgun started to twitch. He sat up, propping himself on one elbow before sluggishly getting to his feet. The man’s shirt was torn and bloody, but he seemed otherwise was unaffected by his wounds. “Kill them all!” he said as he remounted his horse.
Shots rang out, echoing off the small town’s buildings and the townsfolk dove for cover. The hunchback pointed at Catherine and she froze, staring into her killer’s eyes. A second later, Harrison appeared in front of her as a flash of red light filled her sight. Intense pain shot through her fragile body and she cried out, before being engulfed by darkness.
Chapter 4
Multiple gunshots sounded loud in the still air as Billie threw open the door and ran outside. Horsemen thundered passed, heading toward the open desert, a yellow cloud billowing in their wake. Her heart pounded as she sprinted heedlessly through the wall of dust toward the exchange.
No!
Billie came to a sudden stop as the dust cleared. Her parents lay discarded in the dirt. Their bodies lay at odd angles, dead eyes staring up at the clear blue sky.
Crimson covered Harrison’s chest and her mother’s shoulder. Blood—it looked out place. It wasn’t meant to be on her parents. Billie’s world blurred and she dropped to her knees, unable to tear her eyes away from their motionless bodies.
This isn’t happening! We’re leave…ing…
People emerged from the surrounding buildings and gathered for a closer look. Billie rushed forward, pushing them out of the away. “Move! Please, move,” she said between heaving sobs that shook her body. She dropped, kneeling beside her fallen mother. Gently, she cradled her mother’s head in her lap, smoothing away several strands of hair that had spilled from under her bonnet. Billie had never noticed before, Catherine’s dark hair was streaked with grey.
Tears flowed down Billie’s cheeks unchecked as she leaned over her mother. Why, God? Why?
Catherine’s eyelids fluttered.
“She’s alive!” someone said. “Get the doctor.”
Joseph appeared at Billie’s side, guiding her out of the way. Everything around her became a blur. People jostled around her, but she couldn’t focus on their faces. They were just objects standing between her and her mom. Joseph held her back now, his hands gripping her arms, stopping her from going to her mother.
Someone moved past Billie and bent down to check Catherine’s motionless body. It was an old man—he was the town doctor. “She lives,” he said to the gathering crowd of onlookers. His voice sounded distant to Billie. Pulling back the clothes from Catherine’s shoulder, he examined her wound. The old doctor muttered something before retrieving a white cloth from a small black bag, placing it over the wound. “Quickly, bring her to my surgery.”
Long, wet streaks ran down Joseph’s normally cheery face, dripping off his jaw.
It must be bad, Billie thought, clinging to Joseph. She felt overwhelmed, her mind threatening to seize with grief.
Four men carefully picked Catherine up and carried her across the street. Her thin body looked so fragile in the men’s arms. Mom…Joseph held her tight as they followed the townsfolk.
What about Harrison?
Billie glanced back at their stepfather lying in the dirt. Someone had placed a coat over his face and upper chest, but it didn’t cover the blood splattered on his clothes or the dark patches soaking into the dry, hungry ground.
Why aren’t they helping him?
It then occurred to her. He was dead.
No! Harrison. I’m…sorry...
Joseph pulled her away from Harrison and they followed the procession. Before Billie realized, they were in a house, standing crammed in a small room with people she didn’t know. Catherine’s body hung limp as the men lifted her onto a long timber table. People spoke, but it sounded muffled, little more than a drone. She couldn’t focus—not understanding what was happening.
An ache filled Billie’s chest as she stared through watery eyes at her still mother. Mom…Catherine’s clothes were coated in blood and there were several thin red lines visible along her neck and across her pale cheek.
What’s happening?
“Everyone out,” said a voice, cutting through the cloudiness of her mind.
A round, middle-aged woman ushered everyone out of the surgery and into the next room where she pushed Billie onto a couch. She complied without resistance, sitting where she was told. Joseph put his arm around his little sister’s shoulders, pulling her in close.
What…are those marks on her neck?
Billie eyes flicked open and she sat up with a jolt. She was alone and the house was dark and quiet. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom as she took in her surroundings. An oil lamp on the kitchen table supplied enough light to see. She was still in the doctor’s living room which was furnished with basic items. Opposite her was a cold fireplace.
The house was eerily silent.
Where’s Joey?
Billie stood, moving to the nearest door to which she pressed an ear. Someone was talking on the other side. Hesitating, she turned the handle, opening the door. It was the room where she left her mother, but the long table was empty. Dark stains dotted its wooden surface.
Joseph spoke to an old man. He stopped as she entered. “Billie—”
She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck and cut off whatever he was going to say. He hugged her in return, bending to rest his chin on the top of her head as he always did. She snuggled into him, feeling safe.
“Mom?” Billie asked.
“She’s alive.”
She looked past Joey. Her mother lay in a bed with a clean white sheet tucked up under her chin. She was asleep, but the strange red threads were clearly visible, running up her neck and face.
“There was no bullet,” said the old doctor. “But she’s not out of trouble. There is…magic involved here and that’s not something I know about.” The old man glanced at his patient. “She’s weak and I don’t know what else to say. She’s in God’s hands now.”
Billie sat on the edge of the bed, staring helplessly at her sleeping mother. Magic? How is that possible? She scooped up her mother’s hand—her skin felt cool.
How can this be happening? I wish I…could have stopped this...
“Billie?” said Joseph. “Let’s go. She needs rest and so do you.” He grabbed her shoulders and made her stand. Joseph scooped her up with his arm and guided her from the room.
The old doctor grabbed a blanket and followed them. “It’s late,” he said, dropping the blanket on the couch. “You’re welcome to sleep here and you can check on her whenever you want. Just don’t wake her.” The old man left, going into a back room and closing the door.
“He said magic,” asked Billie. “What does he mean by magic?” Her eyes were shiny with unfallen tears.
“Magic? I don’t know. Maybe there are stranger things than mutants...”
“What do we do now?”
“We sleep,” he replied. “And tomorrow…the sheriff is organizing a posse. You’ll stay here and I will join him to hunt the men who did this.”
“No! It’s too dangerous. You can’t fight magic.”
“Billie, I’m a man now. This is something I’ve got to do. Harrison was a good father to us. I owe him this.”
Billie dropped onto the couch, hugging the blanket tightly. She buried her face into the woollen fabric and let her tears fall.
Joey’s right. Harrison was a good man and a good father…and I never told him I loved him.
“All right,” Billie whispered. “Whatever you say.”
Early the next morning, Billie snuck in to check on her mother. Catherine was still unconscious and ghostly pale. Billie knelt beside the bed and placed her ear above her mother’s mouth, feeling her faint breath against her cheek.
She lives…there is hope.
Billie lightly touched her mother’s cheek, it was as cold as stone. Thin red threads ran from under Catherine’s shoulder bandage, up her neck and across her cheek, stopping under her eye. Billie ran her fingertips gingerly over the strange veins and they seem to pulse under her touch.
She jerked her hand back. What was that?
“The doctor has done his best,” said Joseph. He stood in the surgery doorway, dressed as though he had been outside already. “He can do nothing for her now.”
“Where have you been?”
“Making arrangements for our stepfather’s funeral,” he said. “At eight o’clock, the sheriff will call for posse volunteers to bring these mutants to justice and I’m going with them. We need to interrogate the one who did this…it’s Mom’s only chance of survival.”
“But you’re not a gunman. You don’t even own a weapon.” Billie stood, moving to his side. “You’ll get killed. Please stay. Let someone else go—”
“No. I’m eighteen now. I must step up and do the right thing.”
“Then I’m going, too.”
“Billie. You must look after Mom.”
“And do what? Watch her die? I can out shoot you, out ride you and even out fight—”
“And that’s why I must go.” He moved to a window and stared out into the main street. Absently, he was facing the exchange. “I have to prove to myself that I’m a man.”
“You are.” Billie could feel the tears welling up. “Please, Joey, stay.”
“I’m sorry. This is something I must do.”
No! I can’t lose you as well.
A small crowd of locals—men, women and children—stood in front of the exchange. Considering the size of the town, it must have been a large portion of Deepwell’s population, eager to hear news of the mutants firsthand.
Joseph stood in the back, wearing a tan hat and duster and a newly purchased revolver hung from his belt. Billie stood at his side and thought he looked ridiculous—pretending to be a man, she scoffed, but she kept it to herself. She couldn’t help remember that a few years ago he was bullied at school, knocked to the ground and was bawling like a baby. It was her that pushed her way through the group of onlookers and flattened George Mackleby with a right punch—it caught him on the chin and dropped him like a stone. To her, Joseph was her kind-hearted brother and not a gunfighter.
Joseph had suggested she stay with their mother, but Billie couldn’t see any sense in that. She was headstrong and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wasn’t her father, regardless of how many times he told her he was the man of the family now. The more his says it, the more he believes it!
And he made the mistake of saying she should obey him! Obey Joey? That’s not happening. It didn’t take Joseph long to come to his senses.
As they waited for the sheriff, Joseph ignored her, giving her the cold shoulder treatment.
He’ll get over it. He always did.
Alice stood on the other side of Joseph wearing her Sunday best dress and her hair was curled in tight ringlets.
Who wears pale pink to a posse mustering? She’s crazy. And is that lavender I smell? Please!
The store owner’s daughter stood close to Joseph, lightly touching his arm and laughing at his lame jokes—to all but her brother, it was obvious the girl was flirting. Maybe she saw him as a potential husband, there weren’t many suitable men in the district. Most of the borderland settlements were populated with men of all ages, outnumbering women twenty to one and very few had marrying potential.
Billie looked down at her own clothes and sighed. As usual, she was dressed in men’s breeches, shirt and boots. Glancing back at Alice, she felt just a little self-conscious. Alice’s hair was tucked under a new bonnet and her lips were painted with pale pink lipstick. The girl looked prettier than ever.
She looks like a curtain.
The many layers of Alice’s dress looked thick and restricting and Billie couldn’t see the sense in it. It would hinder a person climbing.
I’ve never really liked you, Alice Thomas. But, that dress…
Snippets of conversations floated around Billie and she listened in on what people were saying. No surprises, people were talking about the robbery and the mutant who survived a shotgun blast to his chest. ‘It was unnatural, a sign of the devil,’ said the preacher’s wife. Some had witnessed flashes of light, which terrified the listeners. Magic was something that scared all sensible people, regardless of how tough they thought they were. People feared what they didn’t understand and who knew about magic? Only mutants and servants of the devil, that’s who. And who could defeat the devil? No one she’d ever met.
“Where have the mutants gone?” asked a miner.
No one knew for sure, but the common consensus was they come from the wasteland. It was their spawned ground. Some said the mutants were once normal humans, altered by living in the deep deserts or changed the day the sky rained fire down onto the earth. However they came about, they were users of magic and rumored to be impervious to all weapons except iron. If you needed to kill a mutated man or beast, you bet
ter use either a steel blade or steel-forged bullets—no one bought lead bullets out here along the borderlands any more. Lead only killed mortal beings, not the wasteland devils.
A solid, middle-aged man stepped out of the exchange. Under his broad-brimmed hat, his weathered face was dominated by a long drooping moustache, greying at the ends. His steady gaze took in the crowd. If he was disappointed by the size of the crowd, he didn’t show it. Bartlett was his name, the local sheriff. On one hip hung a long-barrelled revolver and he carried a Winchester repeating rifle. Both were army issue weapons. In the days before the Sky Fires melted the clouds, Bartlett was an army man, seeing service during the war.
Billie and her family had lived in the district for years, but she hadn’t seen much of the sheriff. He had a good reputation in the community as a fair man who didn’t take any chances. Many said he was the right man to be the sheriff—and hopefully he would keep Joseph safe.
Sheriff Bartlett was followed by an older, rotund man in a striped suit and a bowler hat. His name was Albert Stein, the Southern Star Mining Company’s exchange manager and easily the most hated and feared man in town. Stein dabbed his watery eyes with a white handkerchief and looked down his nose at the assembled crowd, not bothering to hide his disdain. How could this fat old man be feared so much? His company owned everything—the whole town and everything in it. Albert Stein took pleasure in wringing out every bit of wealth from the locals—by giving them the lowest prices for their mined sky rocks or overcharging them for their mining leases. Keeping the miners poor and indebted to the company made them a pliable work force for the Southern Star Mining Company.
Bartlett stood on the edge of the timber footpath and raised a hand. The crowd quieted, all eyes turning to the sheriff, eager to hear what he had to say. Stein moved closer to the sheriff but remained silent.
“Friends,” said Bartlett in a loud voice. “We all know why we’re here.” Murmurs passed through the crowd. “Four of our citizens were murdered yesterday and a boy stolen from the arms of his family. We need justice for these crimes.”
Billie the Kid: The Sky Fire Chronicles Book 1 Page 3