After the Fall

by Darrel Sparkman

  "Uh huh. Well, let ‘er rip, old-timer."

  Slowly the music filled the room. After a quick and delighted look toward the speakers, Katie settled back to listen. Minutes later, the power stored in the batteries ran out, and Katie was wiping tears from her cheek. She turned to Trent, looking deep into his eyes.

  "It was so sad,” she said softly.

  "And also very beautiful."

  "Why?” she asked. “Why did you do that to me?"

  He thought a minute. “I don't really know. Just so you could hear something of what we've lost, I guess. Maybe I needed to share the sadness with someone. Or, since you're so young...” He gave her a squeeze. “I thought you needed to be educated."

  She thought about it. “It's okay then, as long as we share."

  They were silent for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Finally ... “What is the name of the music?” Katie asked.

  "Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber."

  She mouthed the words. “I'll remember that."

  Turning her around to face him, he kissed her tenderly. The kiss lasted a long time.

  "I want to make love to you."

  She chuckled as she bit him lightly on the lips. “Like on the trail?"

  "No, not like on the trail. That was more like spontaneous combustion. We needed each other. This will be different, and it will take a long time ... maybe the whole night."

  Their lips parted again and she breathed softly into him. “Sure you're up to this?"

  Her startled laughter as he lifted her to the couch turned into a long, soft, sigh.

  Chapter 16

  THE WATCHER FELT proud of himself. It was time, and he had found someone worthy. She came alone from one of the smaller houses surrounding the ranch of Consuelo Sanchez. A basket in hand, she picked blackberries and stopped to pull collard greens from the bog.

  When she was out of sight from the buildings, he came up behind her and hit her at the base of the neck with the edge of his hand. She dropped like a stone, her basket spilling on the path. As he picked her up, her long black hair spilled over the Watcher's shoulder. Close up, she was even better than he had hoped. Barely into her teens, she was nubile and firm, and radiated a freshness he could smell and taste. The Watcher would take his time with this one.

  * * * *

  "John."

  "I hear them.” Trent reached for the SKS as he went out onto the front porch.

  Horses, single file and coming up the trail. He stood outside the door, leaving it open in case he wanted to duck inside in a hurry. Katie was around the corner of the house and behind the breastworks of a woodpile, making an effective crossfire if they needed one.

  They did not. The first rider into the clearing was Chico Cruz. Behind him were ten of his men, all mounted on magnificent horses. Erect and haughty in the saddle, and sporting more guns than an arms dealer, they looked tough and competent as they gazed curiously around the clearing.

  "Light and set,” Trent said.

  Chico nodded to Trent, then shot rapid fire Spanish to his men. They headed toward some shade at the edge of the clearing, two of them breaking off to dismount and walk into the forest. Sentries. The news must be bad.

  Katie, her AK-90 on a sling, joined them as the two men shook hands. Trent could see Chico was troubled, yet the man tried to keep up the social amenities.

  "This is a good place...” he began.

  Trent interrupted. “What has happened, Chico?"

  Chico sighed and took off his hat. He looked twice his age for a moment, glancing first at Katie, then back at Trent. “On our way here, we found Hobbs. He had been dead about a couple of weeks, maybe. Someone cut him up very bad. One of our men heard screams the night he brought you in. It must have been Hobbs. Someone laid for him. We found a skinned tree. Whoever it was probably stretched a rope across the trail to trip the horse. No other sign, either, not so much as a bent twig. A bad thing, my friend."

  "Can't figure it.” Looking at Cruz, Trent knew there was more. Finding Hobbs would not upset him this much.

  "Alvarez,” Cruz pointed in the general direction of his men, “his daughter is missing. She was picking berries yesterday.” He shrugged expressively. “We found the basket. That is all."

  "And no sign?"

  "Nothing,” Cruz said as Trent and Katie exchanged glances. “This means something to you?"

  "Maybe ... if she doesn't turn up."

  Cruz looked toward his men. “She is only thirteen. Sweet, like the honey. Everyone loves her; she is like a daughter to us all. If you know something...” He looked expectantly at them, his expression a mixture of hope and dread. “Anything?"

  Katie picked up the conversation. “We know of three young women who have been murdered.” She gestured toward Trent. “Going back to his wife a couple of years ago."

  Chico looked sadly at them. “Then all I can hope is that she is not found. If we never find her, there will always be hope."

  The voice of Chico Cruz hardened. “The one who does this?"

  Trent said honestly, “I don't have a clue, Chico, not one. We just have to wait for the killer to make a mistake."

  "Raiders? Reeves?” Cruz was searching.

  "I don't think so. Starking holds the raiders under tight control. Besides, I do not think that is the kind of thing he would go for. Pagan Reeves? My impression is no. I mean, he could be the one, but I do not see him wasting good womenfolk that way. He would rather keep them around."

  "And if you catch this man?” Cruz asked, watching Trent closely.

  "Then I'll be crossing that line we talked about."

  An unspoken message passed between the two men, thoughts of a conversation in another time and place. Katie watched, a puzzled expression on her face.

  Reassured, Chico stood and gathered the reins of his horse. “You will go to the Springs soon?"

  "Very soon.” Trent's gaze was steady on Chico.

  Chico's face lit up in a dazzling smile. “This I would like to see."

  The group had remounted and was riding somberly away, when another rider burst into the clearing. After a short conversation, Cruz turned and rode back to Trent.

  "We have found her.” His eyes were hard and the muscles of his jaw kept clenching. “Please. Will you come?"

  "Of course,” Trent and Katie replied together.

  * * * *

  The clearing was small, less than twenty feet across, with vegetation choking the perimeter. The mass of cuts and mutilations in the center of the clearing barely resembled a human form. The group stopped at the edge of the forest.

  "How did he find her?” Trent asked.

  "He was coming to join us,” Cruz replied, “and came across this trail. He followed. The trail comes in here and leaves on the other side of the clearing."

  "Have the men wait. Let's look around."

  An hour later, they stood in the shade of a pin oak, watching the men wrap the girl in a blanket and secure her over a saddle.

  "Shouldn't we be following the trail?” Katie asked.

  Trent answered her. “The body looks to be a day old."

  She quickly caught on. “And the trail?"

  "Today,” Cruz confirmed. “There is a boot track at the edge of the clearing. The edges are still well defined. There was a light rain last night that would have softened the imprint."

  "Thanks for the lesson,” Katie said dryly.

  One of the riders led the horse back down the trail to the ranch, with two men riding guard. The rest looked expectantly at Trent.

  "So, let's go see.” Trent said.

  Trent was on point, with Cruz and Katie close behind. The dense growth was too hard to ride through and the men walked, leading their horses. The trail was not hard to follow, a rock turned over here, scuffmarks somewhere else. Stopping a moment, Trent listened. The only sounds he heard were from the men and animals behind him. As always when trailing, he wished he were alone.

  "He's push
ing too hard,” he said.

  "I think we have the same thoughts, amigo.” Cruz had come to stand by Trent. Both gazed down at the barely discernible trail.

  "You think someone came up to the body, then heard or saw someone, and went after them."

  By way of agreeing, Cruz said, “The trail ahead is made for ambush. We must be very careful."

  The trail in front of them blended into a path that wound around the side of a mountain, closed in by dense brush and trees on both sides. The path was barely visible and used only by the animals of the forest. The trees overhead let in filtered sunlight, just enough to make shadows dark enough to hide in. As they rounded a pile of rock, brought up against some trees during a landslide long ago, Trent saw the body.

  "Damn,” Trent said fervently.

  Holding his hand up, Trent instructed the party to stay back as he went on alone.

  Trent knelt beside the man, amazed he was still alive, then propped him up against a tree trunk. When he moved him, he found the courier pouch the man had hidden beneath himself. Trent slung it around his own shoulder out of habit.

  The knife wound in the victims belly was amazingly bloodless, but already the smell was overwhelming. Grabbing feebly at Trent's arm, the courier tried to form words his lips could not master. Finally, his voice breaking up and faint, he said, “Trent, I never ... never saw him. Had on an army shirt..."

  Lieutenant Saints gathered his strength with a visible effort. Looking at Trent with feverish eyes, he said, “It's not supposed to be this way. A man is supposed to die with tall sons by his side, and daughters to take care of him."

  "You are a good man, Saints. That counts for something.” Trent's voice was soft.

  "I have been trying to die, Trent, but it just won't happen. Can't stand the pain. I'll be crying like a baby in a few hours. We're soldiers, Trent. We've both been in combat. I'm asking for release."

  The last word wheezed past his lips as the soldier grimaced in pain and coughed up blood.

  Chico and Katie had come up behind Trent. “You know this one,” Chico asked.

  Katie answered for Trent. “Isn't he the colonel's aide, from back at base camp?"

  "Fred Saints. He is Colonel Bonham's adjutant."

  Cruz was looking at the lieutenant. “He's still alive."

  "I know,” Trent said softly.

  "With that wound it could take days for him to die. But he will surely die, my friend. He would suffer a great deal.” Cruz was looking at Trent intently.

  "I'll take care of it."

  "John,” Katie interjected in a startled voice. “There has got to be another way. We can get him back to town. With care..."

  "With care ... he would last an extra week.” Trent's voice was unemotional. As a soldier, Saints had made a final request. Whether Trent liked it or not, he was a comrade in arms.

  Cruz put his hand on Trent's arm. “Would you allow me to do this?"

  "No,” Trent said. “Thanks, Chico ... but no."

  * * * *

  Later, as they stood at the edge of the clearing, Katie asked Trent, “Why would Saints be here?"

  "I don't know, Katherine.” Trent's voice was tired. “I do know he and the colonel were cooking up some plan for moving out here. Maybe he was coming to see me."

  Trent stood with hands on hips as the men with Cruz scouted around the area. They came back with the report he expected. Nothing. After burying Saints, Katie and the men rested beneath the trees. The sun was starting to dip toward the west, and darkness comes early to the forest; it would soon be time to go. But there was a curious reluctance among them to leave the place.

  "I don't know. Maybe there is a clue here and we just can't see it.” Trent's voice was skeptical. “I know one thing. Our man is getting a lot messier in his work."

  "Which means?” Katie was obviously still queasy from seeing the young girl and then Fred Saints.

  "Maybe he's losing control. It is possible this has come on him just this past couple of years. If so, he is killing more frequently. It is as if he is feeding on it. But it's starting to take more to satisfy him. He is starting to hurry. And, if he is losing control, maybe he'll make a mistake. I just hope I am close when he does."

  "The words Saints said to you,” Katie said, “they didn't make sense."

  "I know. The word: army. But it made sense to him,” Trent said. “I think he was amazed. You know, Saints and I did some training together. He was a good man in the forest, although maybe not one of the best. Whoever killed him laid an ambush and got him cold. Saints never saw who hit him."

  A sudden idea came to Trent. “Maybe that's it. If he wore camouflage, then you might not see him. Maybe that's what he meant by army."

  Everyone was looking at Trent expectantly. “Before the Fall, there was a lot of really neat high tech stuff in the ranks. I noticed a few of them in the packs of the patrol we came in with."

  "Like?” Katie interjected.

  "Like a gadget that will tell your position within five feet at any spot in the world. Night vision goggles that turn night into day. Clothing that changes color like a chameleon. Heat sensors that let you find a man in the dark. You put all that stuff with a man that is an expert in the forest anyway..."

  "But there's no army around here,” Katie said. “Gunny is missing and the Green Jeans patrol was wiped out."

  "Maybe. Maybe not.” Cruz sounded unconvinced. “Besides, they don't have to be army. Anyone could have these things now."

  Lost in his own thoughts, Trent replied, “I need to spend some time in the forest. Alone. If I cannot see him, maybe I can feel him, smell him, or even hear him. This has gone on too long. I have to try something."

  "What about Reeves? You do not want to have trouble on two fronts. You can't trail this killer if you're worrying about your back trail.” Chico's voice hardened. “How about we take care of Pagan Reeves for you?"

  "I've something better for you to do, Chico. If your men are willing, pull as many off the ranch as you can spare and put them on the trails. Two-man teams. I want to know who's moving and where they are going. If we see Starking, we'll ask him for help, too."

  "You think Starking would help?” Chico's voice sounded skeptical.

  "Won't know until we ask, Chico."

  "And Pagan?"

  "No,” Trent said. “Pagan is my responsibility. I will take care of him. And you're right. It has to be done first.” Trent stood and adjusted his gun belt. “We'll go to town tonight."

  * * * *

  It was not until later that he remembered the dispatch. He opened the courier pouch and retrieved a short, cryptic message.

  Trent. Moving your way with settlers in one month. If Springs not suitable, suggest alternate site to Lt. Saints. Charley Walsh closed saloon. Probably coming your way. Resp. Col. Bonham.

  So, that was it. More settlers. Trent sighed tiredly, then in frustration balled up the paper and sent it winging into the bushes. This wilderness haven was going to be knee deep in people before long, many of them young women no doubt. And the killer was still loose.

  Chapter 17

  JOHN TRENT PAUSED at the edge of the valley, testing the air like a prowling wolf. The night was warm and muggy, his shirt felt damp in the cloying heat. An occasional flash of lightning would briefly illuminate the sky to the west, and a low growl of thunder would follow.

  Trent and Katie walked silently through the glade, moving toward the back of Murdock's saloon. Trent had tried to persuade Katie to stay away, but she had stubbornly insisted she come. They found the back door locked, but as they turned to go around the building, it opened a crack, creaking slightly in the stillness.

  "Get in here. We have been expecting you,” Murdock said.

  When the door had closed behind them, Murdock turned up an oil lamp and looked them over. “Must have been one hell of a week."

  Trent looked toward the front of the saloon. “I'm looking for Pagan."

  Murdock ignored his enquiry. “T
rent, you look like you've been caught in a stampede of Arkansas Razorbacks, and Katie looks like the cat that ate the canary. I'd say the negotiating is over between you two."

  Trent ignored her baiting. “Is Pagan here?"

  "Nope, just some of his boys. Red Seaver is in there and Jumbo Smith. Jumbo is about the same size as Big Waters, only meaner. You will notice by the names they use, they ain't the sharpest knives in the drawer."

  Trent looked a question at her.

  "Big Waters is the one that walks on crutches now, being as someone got mad and broke his leg.” Murdock's voice was quiet and sarcastic at the same time.

  Katie broke in. “Have you seen my father?"

  "I don't know how to make this easy, girl.” Murdock reached out and brought Katie to her. “Hon, your father always was a stubborn man. He met up with Pagan and Red a few days ago. After they beat him around a bit, they came to the saloon. Red went back out and shot him. I am sorry, Katie. He's dead."

  Katie went pale in the subdued light. Her eyes widened, then closed to hide her pain. “I should have stayed.” Her breath caught in a stifled sob. “I should have been here."

  "Wouldn't have helped none. The preacher's whole flock was around. They did not help none either. We buried him behind the church, thought that'd be best.” Murdock continued to hold Katie as tears coursed down both their cheeks.

  Finally. “Hey,” Murdock grabbed Trent's arm, “by the way, some no-good bum is out there. He claims to know you. Name's Walsh. Pesky little fella. I kinda took a shine to him, so don't shoot him."

  Trent turned his stony gaze toward the door. “You two stay here.” Trent opened the door a crack, then turned and asked Murdock, “Where do you keep the Ithaca?"

  "Under the bar, about middle way. You be careful, Trent. That gun will take saints and sinners alike."

  Slipping through the door into the smoke filled room, Trent walked casually down to the middle of the bar, reached under and brought out the shotgun. He thumbed off the safety.

  Charley Walsh was sitting at the far end of the bar. When Trent walked in, his eyes lit up. “Well, if it isn't...” His comment died as he saw Trent take the shotgun. “Oh, shit.” Walsh scooted around the end of the bar and pulled his pistol.