The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

89: Dead Man Walking

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Storm by Laura Hollingsworth. 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.

Storm could hardly get his fingers to work as he fumbled boxes of shot into his bag. His hands were shaking, and it was all he could do to resist being overtaken by blind panic. He had never felt so helpless, so utterly trapped, in his entire life.

Behind him in the guest cabin, he could hear the creak of leather and the dull snapping of metal as Mister Lynch buckled on his holster.

Fiona and Dev were in the middle of Collins attacking the Lakota village. Every voice in his head was screaming at him, telling him to go, to find her, that she might already be dead. He closed his eyes, vainly trying to silence the chatter before it drove him mad. He realized he was breathing hard, his breath threatening to break into sobs in his throat.

She could be dead...He snatched the rucksack closed and looped it shut, rubbing his brow with the heel of his hand. She's probably dead...they both... He groaned, hauling the strap over his shoulder and checking his weapons. What has she done? Oh, God, Fiona...

He steadied himself, and turned to face Lynch. "You ready to do this?"

Lynch's face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and fierce. He dropped his freshly-loaded Colt firmly into the holster at his hip and hastily pulled on his duster. He reached for the black hat and shoved it down over his bald head with a hand that Storm could plainly see was shaking as much as his own. The man's face was a granite mask. They'd all heard stories about Lynch, rumors around town about a real or imagined past of gunfights and wanted posters and all that sort of nonsense. And if he'd ever wondered if Lynch might be capable of some of the troubling things people claimed might be true about him, he didn't now. Lynch looked like an ice-cold killer. His bushy silver brows knotted under the brim of his hat, and he glared at him with those steely eyes that bored holes right through a person.

"One thing, first," Lynch said, and his hand shot out, slamming Storm hard into the door frame and holding him there with iron fingers around his throat. Storm's head snapped back into the wall and pain exploded through his skull, lancing through his spine where he'd caught the metal latch. He gasped, trying to draw breath through Lynch's choking grip. "At the moment, Peltier," Lynch hissed, "you should explain to me why I shouldn't kill you right damn now."

Oh, tabarnak... Storm cringed, holding his hands up in surrender. He wasn't sure when Lynch had drawn his Colt, but there it was in his employer's other hand. Marde. He knows. He had faced down some awful things in his life. But out of all them, none but this one had ever made him feel so doomed. Not the prospect of being hanged. Not being captured by a deranged, sadistic murderer. Not even standing in front of a military fort with an Indian-hating Lieutenant itching to give the order to open fire. He knew beyond doubt that this situation would be the one to end up killing him...Erastus Lynch figuring out his scout and his niece were getting disheveled with each other.

I am a dead man.

He didn't even care at this point. She could be gone for good... "If she's dead..." he managed to choke. "I hope you do."

"Did you stupid sumbitches think I was joking when I warned you all not to mess with her?"

"No, sir," Storm rasped. He felt giddy. The pressure on his throat was making him dizzy, weak.. "I'd die for her, Lynch," he said, and meant it. "Hell...I'm about to do exactly that, one way or the other..."

He could feel Lynch's eyes boring right through him. He's going to kill me. Right here, right now. I'm done. He met Lynch's gaze and held it. He can damn well look me in the eye when he does it... "She's worth it. I love her."

A muscle twitched in Lynch's jaw, and he released his grip. Storm stumbled forward, sucking down a deep lungful of air as he steadied himself. The silence between them hung like the charged energy between gunshots during a battle.

Storm rubbed his throat, leaning back against the door frame and wondering if he would have a bump on the back of his head. "How long have you known?"

Lynch scoffed and shook his head in disgust. "I'm a lot of things, Peltier," he said, re-holstering his pistol. He sounded tired. "I'm not stupid. If we survive this...believe you me we have plenty to talk about. Let's go get her."

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