Letters from the Apocalypse (Book 1)
Page 16
“Where’s Crimhauser?” Paltrow asks Joe Mercusio sharply, who happens to be nearest to the lockbox.
“You sent him to the glen to watch the goats.” Joe is unperturbed by the arrival of the cadre. “Don’t you remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Paltrow sputters. “You’re on duty?”
Joe shrugs. “Well, I wasn’t put on duty.”
“I’m not asking, I’m telling. You are on duty.” Paltrow barks his new assertion at the affable Joe. “Now get the lockbox open and bring us the defector.”
“You mean Roger?”
“Who else would I mean, idiot?”
Joe runs his hand through the scruff of his beard. “Well okay. But Crimhauser’s got the key.”
“Don’t fool with me, boy.”
“Well, see… you’ve got the only other key I know of.”
Paltrow flings him the key. “Get on with it.”
Joe Mercusio straightens up and makes a visual inspection of the key as eyes of Paltrow, Zulé and the White Texan himself bear down from their elevated vantages atop their horses. Unperturbed, he casually steps to the lockbox door, and removes the padlock. “Here ya’ll go,” he says, swinging the door open wide.
This time it is Zulé who speaks. “Are you messing with us?”
“Huh?” Joe turns and looks inside the small space. Empty.
“Where is he?” Zulé is dead calm, next to an unreadable White Texan and a clearly shaken Paltrow.
“Like I was telling Paltrow here, I’m not on lockbox duty, you see. I just happened to be in the vicinity when you arrived.”
“Where the hell is Roger?” Paltrow shouts, so that everyone in camp can hear.
“I’d ask Crimhauser, maybe?” Joe suggests. “But he’s down at the glen.”
“You ignoramus…”
Before Paltrow can finish his insult, Zulé swings down from her horse and sweeps up to Joe in one smooth motion, grabbing him from behind. One spidery hand grasps a solid chunk of Joe’s shoulder length locks, while the other unsheathes a Bowie knife and brandishes it before his neck.
“Unless someone starts telling me something useful, this asshole’s head is going to become a kickball.”
Among the frozen stares of the surprised, volunteers for information are not forthcoming.
Zulé tightens her grip on the handle of the knife.
“I didn’t see nothing,” says Julius, from his chair. “But I know where he’s going. And I’d be happy to take you.”
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The world is jostling. The world is shaking. Vibration is the conduit to consciousness. The ground jumps and it smells like horse. There is the rear of a horse, there is the ground. Bouncing.
Roger lifts his weak head, then drops it helplessly. Tries to speak, but his throat is dry.
“Just relax yourself, as best you can.” Crimhauser’s voice comes from the front of the pony. “Try not to roll off, now.”
Roger closes his eyes.
Finally, the motion and the pounding stops. Crimhauser hauls Roger off the back of the pony like a sack of potatoes and puts him up on his feet. “Sturdy up, now.” Crimhauser snaps his fat fingers in front of Roger’s face. “You there?” He chuckles as Roger stumbles. “Don’t worry, you’ll come around fast.”
“Am I dead?”
“Naw, you’re alive.”
“My head’s killing me.”
“Slipped you a little Mexican Valium. To keep you from wrigglin’.” Crimhauser hands Roger his canteen. “Drink this.”
The water revives Roger who takes in his surroundings. He stands in the shadow of a familiar hill strewn with rocks. The shadow is long and creeping, reaching out across the valley as the sun falls further beneath the hill. The sky and the sands are purple, and strange clouds billow in the horizon.
“Julius’s secret cave?”
Crimhauser nods. “His idea. You can hide out here as long as you need.”
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Save my life, at the endangerment of your own.”
“All I did was watch some goats.” Crimhauser grins and points up at the hill, where the bushes hide the entrance. “You see up there?”
Roger squints up at the shadowy hillside, where Vane peers out from behind the bushes obscuring the entrance to the cave. He can almost see her hopeful smile.
“She’s a good girl,” Crimhauser says, fatherly.
“Yeah,” says Roger.
“She likes you, you know?” Crimhauser mounts his horse and tips his hat. “Watch out for the rattlers on your way up.”
“Goodbye.”
Crimhauser grunts and rides out into the valley until he becomes an indistinguishable speck in the coming darkness.
Roger looks back up the hill, where Vane waves her hand, and begins his ascent.
Chapter 27: Julius’s Deception
“And you would know where they are, why?” Zulé presses the flat of the blade against Joe Mercusio’s quivering neck.
“I was born in these hills.” Julius is resolute. “No one knows these hills better than I do. There’s a secret place—a cave. They’ll go there to recover, get supplies. I know it.”
“How are you so sure?”
“Cause there’s nowhere else to go.”
Zulé looks to the White Texan, who turns to Paltrow, still sitting hunched over on his horse.
“Do you know this place?” The White Texan asks Paltrow.
Paltrow shakes his head. “No.”
“How far?” The White Texan asks Julius.
“Many miles, but we can get there before nightfall if we leave now.”
Without warning, the White Texan draws his sidearm, and shoots Paltrow clean through the temple. Paltrow topples to the ground with the report still echoing between the hills.
“You’ll need a horse.” The White Texan motions to Paltrow’s steed.
Julius kicks Paltrow’s foot from the stirrup and swings up into the saddle.
Zulé pushes Joe Mercusio away and sheathes her blade. “If they’re not at this secret cave…”
“They’re there, all right,” Julius says coldly.
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The trail weaves through the hills of the Davis Mountains. A small herd of mule deer look down from a slope at the cavalcade riding through the remote area. A ten-point buck snorts and hooves the earth, but holds his ground and the rest of the herd in place. Julius makes eye contact with the buck, and smiles, feeling the contraband flask of peyotequila pressed against his underarm. Julius is several strides in the lead, comprising the tip of a spearhead, Zulé and The White Texan side by side, and watching closely behind. The Thirty comprise the thundering shaft of the spear. It’s the most people the deer have ever seen in one place.
The sun grazes the tops of the tallest hills.
“How close are we?”
“Not too far, but still a good ways.” Julius smiles, unseen.
Twenty minutes more of riding and the sun is disappearing behind the hills. Julius pulls up to a stop and retrieves his flask, taking a long, lasting swig. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and offers it to Zulé as she pulls up beside him.
“How close?”
“Want some?”
“I said, how close?”
“Not much farther now.”
“Don’t jerk me around. It won’t end well for you.”
“I figured that. Don’t worry, I ain’t jerkin’ no one around. I want to see these bastards come to justice as much as anyone. Liberty and life!” Julius takes another gulp, feeling the burn down his throat. The sun smiles at him as it waves goodbye.
“You see that hill there, in the distance?”
Zulé shields her eyes with her hand as she looks into the distance. “Yeah.”
“Just beyond there.”
The hill casts a looming shadow as Julius approaches. The sky is deep purple, and starting to swirl, for Julius. He fails to stifle
a giggle, hoping the hoof-beats cover the nervous outburst. He strains his eyes to see beyond the hill, but the darkness has not grown enough to see what he is looking for.
And now the hill stands before them, and Julius pulls up his horse.
“This it?”
Julius shakes his head. “I misjudged. It’s farther down the trail.”
“You misjudged?”
“It is unfortunate, yes. However, we will still get those bastards. Very close now.”
“It is unfortunate.” Zulé is off her horse, and lanky arms pull Julius off of his too. Zulé knocks him over with the stock of her rifle, and kicks him repeatedly in the side.
“Are you messing with me?”
“No, no.”
“Are you fucking messing with me?” Zulé’s boot is spattered with blood.
“You are one terrifying lady.” Julius sits up, as Zulé relents. “Both of you.” Julius giggles, spitting up blood. His broken hand gingerly finds his flask, and he imbibes the last of it, tossing the metal container into the bushes.
“May I get up? I’d like to get there tonight.”
Zulé looks to the White Texan, who nods.
“Get with it.”
The hills are melting into the sands, the trees are turning into shrubs, and the darkness is fully upon Julius and the trailing brigade of ruthless souls. Stars dot the sky, but Julius’s eyes are neither on the heavens nor the earth. He strains to see out into the horizon as the Chihuahan desert opens before him, and is rewarded. Blinking lights, moving, blinking lights coming for him.
“Do you see them?” A tear streaks his bloodied face, and falls into his open smile.
“See what?” Zulé’s voice is a distant echo. “This is desert, there’s no hills for miles.”
“The Marfa lights.” Julius watches as they approach. “I saw them, once.”
Zulé and the White Texan are dark towers leading a fog into the atmosphere. They share a glance, and Zulé draws her gun.
Julius doesn’t feel the horse, or the saddle, but he keeps riding on. He’s riding the air, meeting the night, and the lights.
There is a click and a blast of a trumpet—the lights have arrived; they swallow Julius as he opens his arms to them.
Chapter 28: Departure
Vane’s forehead is an altar when Roger kisses it. They place their palms against the cave wall and trace the outlines of their hands with the charred end of a stick, adding their marks to continue the story the ancients began long before. Words are few, but understanding enfolds. The bruises are bright and tender.
Vane touches the depiction of the shaman and the wolf on the wall. “Julius said the wolf is always loyal to his pack. I hope he understands.” Her voice trembles. “I hope he’s okay.”
“He does,” Roger says, “understand.”
“I know you can’t stay,” says Vane. “And I know I can’t go.”
“You can come, with me.” Roger’s shifts the pack on his shoulders, supplies to carry him through the next uncertain days. Looks out the opening of the cave where the daylight strengthens. “You’re in no condition to be alone.”
“I’m in no condition to stay, and I’m in no condition to go.” Vane looks at the ashes on her hands. “It’s okay. I’ll just float.”
“So.”
“You need to be on your way. Don’t worry about me. I have plenty of supplies here, to last me. I’m healing. I feel it, I think I can heal.”
“He might not even be waiting.”
“He will be.”
Goodbyes are shared, and Roger’s first step down the hillside is taken. Then he’s at the bottom. And soon the hill shrinks behind him.
He is not afraid.
The Pony Express man waits, like he promised, at the edge of the valley.
“Get me there,” Roger says.
“The network can deliver.”
“She’ll be waiting?”
“She’s already on her way.”
Esther’s face is large, bigger than the sun, makes him tremble. Hope is the fear of futures lost. So, thinks Roger, will truth overcome circumstance?
The vibration from the sky is energy.
Roger composes a poem in his head.
Just the first lines, but it has merit.
In the end of all we knew I found
You are the place I am
Going to
Rest
Also by Blake Pitcher
Return from the Apocalypse
Cigarette Angel & Other Stories
Six Deep at The Sink
Connect
Web: writing.blakepitcher.com
Facebook: Blake Pitcher Writes
Twitter: @blake_p
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Javelina
Chapter 2: Pig Roast
Chapter 3: The Beginning
Chapter 4: San Benito
Chapter 5: Illustration
Chapter 6: Good Dixie Girl
Chapter 7: Ernesto
Chapter 8: Intruders
Chapter 9: The Cave
Chapter 10: Welcome to The Freedom Republic
Chapter 11: Captured
Chapter 12: Induction
Chapter 13: Walking and Heat
Chapter 14: Approaching
Chapter 15: Opportunity
Chapter 16: Riverwalk
Chapter 17: A Ghost
Chapter 18: Five Years Later
Chapter 19: North
Chapter 20: A Kidnapping
Chapter 21: The Roughies
Chapter 22: The Switch
Chapter 23: Return of the Pony Express Man
Chapter 24: Decisions
Chapter 25: Penitent
Chapter 26: The Coming of the White Texan
Chapter 27: Julius’s Deception
Chapter 28: Departure