The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

65: And the Moon Coming Out In The Gloaming

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Agony and the sound of gunfire pulled Lundy Bad Medicine back into some semblance of consciousness. He could hear shouted voices, confused and far away. It was almost as if he was dreaming as he drifted on a sea of shadow and ice and pain.

He shivered, feeling as though a noose was tightening relentlessly around his neck. He hadn't realized how cold the night was before. But now, lying in the wet leaves, he was unbearably chilled. His vision had grown blurry and the shadows were deepening.

Am I dying? The thought was as hazy as his vision, and it occurred to him that he should get up. Who attacked me? Collins? Why would...what the hell just happened? Did I get shot?  He tried to speak, but his throat throbbed, white hot and raw. He couldn't muster the strength to focus his eyes, or even drag a breath into his aching lungs. Speaking aloud seemed an insurmountable task.

It was hard to think. Even his thoughts felt far away, as if they belonged to someone else. They were nearly drowned out by the fluttering pulse in his ears, frantic and stumbling.

Collin's voice was excited, disjointed in his ears. "Watch out, damn it! My scout just took an arrow in the throat!"

Other voices, startled and on the verge of panic, chattered around him in the darkness. "Is that Bad Medicine down over there? Where's the courier? How far away is our medic?"

"The scout's dead." Collins spat. "Died before I could do anything for him. He was pursued back here by hostiles. He was telling me where they were headed and they put an arrow into him right in front of me."

I'm not dead...and... and that's not what happened. I wasn't pursued...was I? He couldn't remember. His mind was addled and filled with delirious images that made no sense. He thought he remembered Collins suddenly throwing an arm around his throat, pulling him backwards, and in that instant, he was choking on blood and unable to stand. Who shot me? Was Collins trying to help me?

"Ah, hell," someone said. "Where's Wounded?"

"I sent him to the Ferguson homestead to tell Scarcliff he's in the wrong place," Collins said.

W...what? What did he just say? Lundy wanted desperately to raise his head, and to speak. No... A sickening thought began to grow in his mind. Collins is lying. He's lying to his men. Wounded's downriver...alone. He doesn't know about any of this.

Tiny sparks swirled in his vision, growing closer as the surrounding darkness grew deeper still, and his pain dulled into a dim throb. No. I'm not shot. Not shot. I would know if I was shot...I'd know...

"Who shot him? How many?"

"I don't know how many," Collins hissed. "All I know is that it's Indians, and according to what Bad Medicine told me before he died, they're headed back to the fort."

Lundy had the feeling of floating, as if the earth beneath him was shifting like a mirage. His mind cleared as the cloud of twinkling lights grew brighter. His heartbeat grew louder in his ears. Collins attacked me. He wanted to stop me telling anyone that...Scarcliff's detachment is out where Red Hoof is planning...Collins isn't going to send reinforcements...he's deliberately leaving Scarcliff's detachment alone with...ah, shit...I'm bleeding out and they think I'm dead...

His heart lurched in his chest. He heard the frantic pace of it skip, fluttering wildly, like a butterfly beating it's fragile wings inside the cage of his ribs. The idea that he might actually be dying, alone and helpless with his killer, terrified him. All he could see through the heavy darkness in his eyes was glowing clouds of light, starry pinpoints flowing in a swirling river across his field of vision.

I don't want to die here. Not like this. Wounded...I gotta tell him...

The river of stars sprawled out before him, stretching across the sky in breathtaking cascades of silver and lit from within with all the colors of dawn. It was flowing upwards, each tiny light making its way into the great Mystery overhead. Lundy felt his breath leave his lungs in an awed gasp as the desperate, agonizing struggle in his chest subsided. The Soul Road.

Warm fingers soothed his hair back, sweeping gently across his brow. With startling clarity, he saw a luminous visage looking back at him, spangled with dark, rusty freckles. Ginger curls floated around her like a cloud, and she smiled at him, caressing his face with gentle hands.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. "Ma," he sighed, leaning his cheek into her palm and closing his eyes.

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