The houses, or rather what was left of them, loomed in front of me like black skeletons, throwing an echo of the horror that took place here in my face.
All I wanted to do was leave, leave and never come back.
But no; somebody just had to have their horse back!
What was with this horse anyway?
What was so important about an animal that he had to risk both our lives just to see if it was even still alive?
Maybe I was just being insensitive…
And maybe he was too.
To be fair, he had told me to leave.
But, to be slightly unfair, he must know by now that I am not one to leave someone behind.
My back was pressed up against the charred remains of a wall, watching the filthy men.
I was as safe as I would get, tucked away in the shadows only about ten feet from the raiders’ campfire.
I couldn’t see the suicidal horse-lover, but I didn’t need to.
All I needed to do is sit still and hope I don’t have to interfere.
It was a very weak hope – he was as helpless as a babe.
How many times had I saved him now?
A loud, drunken laugh distracted me from my angry thoughts.
The raiders, or at least the four I knew were still here, were sitting around a campfire and drinking our Christmas wine supply.
Every now and then one would relate a story that made his friends laugh.
The horse was tied, rather sloppily, to a tree trunk on the edge of the clearing, only about twenty feet from their fire.
He would never be able to get it unnoticed, at least not yet.
If he waited until they fell asleep, then just maybe he would have a chance.
If they had a guard, he would likely be too drunk to stay awake.
But there was just no telling what the idiot would do next.
“There’s jus’ no betta’ feelin’ than slitting sumbody’s throat,” slurred one of the drunken men, making his friends laugh.
I hadn’t been listening before, but they had my undivided attention now.
“Heh. Naw, that ain’t it. Personly, I ‘ate it when tha blood starts a flowin’. Makes me sick, don’t cha know it.”
“Eh, ya pussy. Wat do ya expect us ta do, eh? Hand it ever witout a fight? Yer a nitwit, that ones fer sure.”
“Hey! I’d be mad ifn’ I thought it were you speakin’, but seein’ as ‘ow you ‘ave been bitchy all day, I’ll make an exception.”
“Wot did you say?”
“You ‘eard me. You’re forgiven for your bitchy-ness.”
“Guys, settle down. We don’t need to have any animosity within the ranks.”
The blood drained out of my face when I heard this voice.
It couldn’t be…
“Anyone bother to find the survivors?”
“Aw, boss, we can’t. They’re too freakin’ fast.”
Their boss…?
No!
He sighed.
“Do you even have any live hostages?”
“Eh?”
“Did you keep anyone alive?”
“Naw. Wot would we do with a live body?”
“Question them, you dumb ass! We can’t leave until we find them. We have to leave a message somehow.”
“Heh – I think they got our message, sir.”
“Eehh! You are all freaking dumb asses! How the hell do you expect to give them the message if we have no one to tell it to?!?!”
“Uhh…leave a note?”
“Arrggghhh!!!”
With that he stalked away, toward my hiding place.
I stood, frozen, watching him.
He was supposed to be dead.
It was hard to believe.
I watched him, my heart beating so loudly I was sure he would hear it.
Perhaps it was mistaken identity?
He was pacing back and forth just five or so feet in front of me – I watched, desperately looking for some clue that he was not who I thought he was.
There was a scar on his arm, a large, ugly white scar that ran from under his sleeve to the back of his hand.
That was the only thing I didn’t remember him having.
I knew it was him as soon as I saw the tattoo on his forearm, even though it was sliced in half long ways by the scar – H.L.J.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Shane slipping from a burnt cabin to another, getting closer to me.
What was he doing?
His horse was in the opposite direction!
I gasped as I realized he was leaving me here – he didn’t know I had followed him.
The man in front of me stopped, his head snapping up to stare in my direction.
I pressed my back closer to the wall, holding my breath as I hoped and prayed he wouldn’t see me.
It was an infantile attempt.
His eyes widened and a grin spread across his face and I knew he saw me – I was surprised he hadn’t already.
I stood, staring back at him, paralyzed.
The last time I had seen him, he was walking into a food store to get food for us.
Then he never came back.
He laughed as a single tear ran down my cheek, leaving a streak in the dust.
This was not the man I knew.
He took a threatening step toward me, and the shock of seeing the cruelty in his eyes sent me running.
I stumbled as my foot hit a rock, then scrambled to get up as I heard him shout to the men – “Follow her! That’s our messenger if I ever saw one! Catch her, bring her to me!”
Tears streamed down my face – he was not the man he used to be.
Suddenly, I felt the chill in the air like it had just dropped twenty degrees.
He is not who he used to be…
He is not who he used to be…
He is not who he used to be…
The tears, blast them, blurred my vision too much.
I couldn’t see where I was going, I didn’t really care.
When I finally stopped running, I found myself looking at my cabin.
I had shared it with my mother and Truman, the story teller.
I hardly recognized it, or the tree beside it, they were so charred.
The tire swing was nothing but a burnt pile of metal, the rope and the rubber disintegrated.
I waded into the pile of ash and charcoal, as deep as my ankles.
My mother’s jewelry box was lying on the floor.
A single gold band with an emerald set in it was left, though slightly blackened from the flames.
I picked it up and had just enough time to hide it before two of the burly, drunk men grabbed me.
When one of them threw me over his shoulders and smacked my backside, his hand lingering, I finally snapped out of my trance.
He let out a howl as I reached back and poked my finger in his eye, suddenly furious at the world.
He flung me off his shoulder madly, sending me flying into my old cabin, knocking down the last remaining wall and knocking the breath out of me.
The boards fell on top of me and a nail stabbed me in the leg, causing me to gritt my teeth and hiss at the pain of it and my sore ribs being crushed.
I tried to push them off, but they wouldn’t budge.
I screamed as the man grabbed me by my hair to drag me out from under them, holding me a foot off the ground before slinging me up and over his head to slam me in the ground.
He roared as I gasped for breath and squeezed my eyes shut, my vision spotting.
What was he?
I decided not to do anything as the second man grabbed my ankle and began to drag me toward their camp.
I would just wind up making it where I really couldn’t move.
My shirt rolled up and rocks and pavement grated against my skin, but there was nothing I could do.
I didn’t care anymore.
In a few minutes, firelight was flickering behind my closed eyelids.
“How the hell do you expect her to deliver her message if she’s dead?!? Fucking idiots!”
“She ain’t dead. We just roughed her up a bit.”
“We? Naw, it was you, I had no part a’ it!”
Someone nudged me with their boot and I groaned.
“If she can’t walk, she’s no good.”
I opened my eyes just in time to see a massive hand reaching for me – I reacted instantly, flinging both my hands up to knock it aside, rolling to the side and crouching to survey the situation.
The two thugs seemed annoyed, but the other man was amused.
“What do you expect to do, Heather? Fight us all?”
I didn’t answer, glaring at him instead.
He threw his head back and laughed, taking a step toward me, completely relaxed.
I barred my teeth and snarled at him, stopping him in his tracks.
“What? Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“I wish I never had to lay eyes on you again!”
One side of his mouth slid up into a half grin.
“Just like your mother.”
“Thank God.”
He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I could forgive you if you come with me.”
“I’d rather die!”
“That can be arranged. These four,” he gestured to the burly men around him, “have been genetically altered. They could crush your skull in a matter of moments.”
I stood up, slowly, my legs shaky, and raised my fists.
He laughed again.
“Sorry but we have other plans for you. The government sent us on a mission, you see. We have to spread the message. Tell your little playmates that if they don’t pledge allegiance to the new flag, on the West Coast, they will all die.”
I snorted – “What government? Everyone knows there is none.”
“I just told you. There’s a new government – if you want to live, go to the West Coast. Personally, I don’t care either way.”
He looked it too.
With that he turned, and I let my guard down for a second.
That was long enough for him to spin around and punch me in the chin, snapping my head back and knocking me down.
“Didn’t I always tell you to keep your guard up?”
All reason fled me and fury; pure, raging fury replaced it.
I jumped up and bolted toward his turned back, jumping at the last second to be able to kick him in the face just as he turned.
It went smoothly, the cedar bottom of my moccasin landing across his cheek.
He hardly budged, even though there was a drop of blood running down his cheek from the gash my foot had left.
The only flaw was that I was now realizing just how stupid that was – it put me between him and his goons.
They grinned, fully aware of this, and started toward me.
The other man waved a hand and they stopped.
“No, guys, I think I need to teach my little girl a lesson.”
We glared at each other.
“Don’t you dare call me your little girl – you lost that right when you left us in the streets to die!”
With that sentence gritted out, we charged each other, teacher and student clashing skills.
Heather Lynne Jameson against Thomas Michal Jameson.
The fight didn’t last long.