none of his business when the thing on the ground spoke.
'Fred… please. You don’t want to do this.'
Jenny.
'Shut up, bitch! You don’t know the first thing about what I want to do.'
Bartlett.
'Yeah, but she’s soon gonna learn, right?'
Pugnowski.
Cleese didn’t wait to hear any more. He drew the flap open and stepped into the cramped tent. Once inside, his added bulk made for some very confined quarters.
'Gentlemen…' he said, his voice dripping with menace. 'Is there a problem here?'
As one, what remained of Bartlett’s men stepped backward and pressed themselves against the side of the tent. Like little boys who’d just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar, their faces betrayed not only their guilt, but also their intent.
Bartlett was the first to step forward.
'Get the fuck outta here, Cleese,' he growled and then did the unthinkable. He poked his left hand’s index finger against the center of Cleese’s chest. Not once, but twice.
Cleese was someone who was not exactly fond of being touched by people he didn’t know. In fact, he absolutely hated it. The only thing he hated more was being touched by people he didn’t like. That feeling, coupled with what was obviously going down in the tent, provoked an immediate response. With blinding speed, he caught Bartlett’s index finger in his fist and twisted it roughly. The sound of bones breaking was painful in its tenor. Cleese then pushed the shattered appendage back toward Bartlett’s wrist, hyper-extending it. Bartlett fell to his knees before he knew what happened. His cry of pain was a welcomed thing to Cleese’s ears.
'Jenny,' Cleese said gently, but firmly, 'get up and on out of here.'
Jenny slowly climbed to her feet and ashamedly tried to arrange her twisted clothing about her. From the look on her face, things had already gone well past the point she felt comfortable. Looking down toward the ground, she did her best to pull her hair back and into something less disheveled. As she passed, her eyes were wet with tears.
Cleese counted himself fortunate to have happened along when he did.
'This ends now!' and he gave Bartlett’s finger another twist.
Bartlett cried out and then cursed under his breath.
'Don’t make me tell you again.'
Cleese let go of Bartlett’s finger and stepped back toward the tent’s flap. He bent slightly and, never taking his eyes off of the men before him, ducked out of the tent. Once back in the night air, he turned and gave Jenny the once over. She was clearly—and justifiably—upset and her clothes bore the marks of where she’d been grabbed by Bartlett and his crew. One side of her face burned a bright red in the half-light from where Bartlett had clearly slapped her.
'Are you ok?' Cleese asked gently resting his hand around her shoulder.
She nodded and, now feeling safe, immediately burst into tears.
Just then, the tent’s door flap was roughly thrown aside and Bartlett came storming out into the moonlight. His face was flushed and he was holding his left hand protectively to his chest.
'You son of a bitch! I am gonna kill you!'
At a different time and in another place, Cleese would have fed this fat dolt his teeth, but as he held Jenny and felt her warm tears against his chest, he thought it best to get her clear. He’d tell Wolf about all of this later.
'Hey, motherfucker! I’m talking to you!'
Then again, talking to Wolf could probably wait a few minutes…
Cleese let go of Jenny and gently eased her behind him. Once she was more or less protected, he turned on the enraged Bartlett.
'No…' Jenny said softly, touching his back, 'It’s not worth it.'
By now, Bartlett’s clique had followed him out of the tent and had adopted an aggressive stance; flanking their clueless leader. Cleese hoped they’d be smart and not push the issue. He’d really hate to have to hurt anyone.
Ok, he was lying about that last part.
The truth was that a part of him really wanted to put a hurt on these fucks just on general principles. Another part, wanted to jack their shit up if only for what they’d done to the girl.
Still… First things first.
And the first thing was to get Jenny out of harm’s way.
Pugnowski came up next to Bartlett as if offering his support. Despite his posturing, Cleese was convinced the fuck would go down like a shooting gallery target the minute shit got tight. Surreptitiously, he checked on Spanky and Alfalfa. In their faces, he saw the very things he wanted to—fear and misgiving. Whatever had transpired inside the tent, it had now blossomed far beyond what the other men were comfortable with. Sure, they were onboard when the coast looked clear, but now… Now that there looked to be storm clouds ahead, they weren’t so sure. Cleese met their gaze and pushed his intent.
Thankfully, they backed down.
'Jesus, Fred…' Del Castillo said under his breath, 'Let’s just go, Bro.'
'Fuck you!' Bartlett shouted. Now that some smart part of his intellect had fired up, it was obvious how big this fuckup was. Wolf favored Jenny. Always had. Knowing him, he’d probably be pissed enough to throw them all out of the camp no matter what their perceived worth might have been. Even with a rifle or two, they’d all be slaughtered by the multitudes that still swarmed the cities. Their deaths would not only be grisly, but they’d be met in short order.
'Yeah, Fred,' Cleese said and smiled a malevolent grin, 'just go.'
'Fuck you!' Bartlett repeated and then, suddenly, Pugnowski’s rifle was in his hands. The barrel waved erratically in the air, but its business end was pointed directly at Cleese’s chest.
'What did I tell you about that pointing a gun at me, Buddy?' Cleese asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. 'One might come to the conclusion that you don’t listen.'
The sound of the rifle’s safety clicking off was as loud as a cannon.
Cleese stared intently at Bartlett and tried to second-guess if he was really going to pull the trigger and, more importantly, when. At this point, Bartlett had nothing to lose and probably thought if he could just shake the Etch-a-sketch hard enough things would somehow return to the way they’d been.
Simple fuck.
'Now, think, Freddie-boy… Think hard. D’ya really want to do this?'
Cleese slowly rose up onto the balls of his feet and prepared himself for the movement he hoped would get him out of the way of the bullet. He knew his timing would need to be perfect, but given how close they were to one another, it would be tight. Seeing how worked up Bartlett was, he figured negotiation was now out of the question. He’d just have to hope the man had enough of a 'tell' that he’d have time to get out of the way.
At least that was the plan.
Time seemed to slow and milliseconds seemed like minutes. Behind him, Cleese heard the soft sound of feet moving in the dirt. From the length of the stride, he could tell that Jenny had taken advantage of the shift of focus and was now off and running to get help. From the rhythm of her steps, she was moving pretty damn quick, too.
It was at that moment, Cleese saw Bartlett’s brow constrict and a small wince cross his features. Then, a minute tightening of his shoulders became evident and his right bicep constricted. Suddenly, the rifle fired and Cleese threw himself backward like a limbo dancer. Standing as close as he was, the concussion of the rifle was deafening. Cleese felt the air split just over him as the bullet tore through the atmosphere. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of Jenny as she ran for the safety of the surrounding tents a few yards away.
Then, to his horror, the back of her head erupted in a splash of red. A piece of something skipped off of her skull and sailed into the bushes next to the trail. He heard a pained grunting sound and then what remained of her head was slapped forward. Her body fell lifeless to the ground and bounced against the dirt on impact.
Rage swept over him like a violent storm, darkening his vision and setting his blood to boil. In a blink of an
