drawn pistol.
“What do they know, Raxx? And what are they going to pay you?”
Last night’s whiskey wasn’t sitting right, and the flies made it worse. Verizon swatted at them, swaying in the heat. His partner was still standing perfectly still. He couldn’t hold it any longer. “Dude… I’m sorry.”
“Just be cool about it.”
“But I fucked up, man — that Wentworth guy—”
“Just shut up for now — it’s cool! — but we’re in the middle of things now. Don’t want the locals to get all upset.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He leaned back against the cargo, and tried to ignore the buzzing. Something made his head snap up. “Hey, what the hell was that?”
Falcon drove
The wheel trembled in his hands. Every divet, every gouge — the field spoke its language to him. A sudden rut, he jerked his wheel to the left. Next to him one of Sheik’s soldiers laughed merrily, the discharge of his rifle banged against his ears and washed over his skin.
Falcon just drove. Steady, in formation… witnessing every death.
The cattle screamed.
“What was what?”
The echo of distant rifle fire reached them, followed by the bellows of dying cattle.
“That!”
“Oh, shit—”
They darted away from the caravan, taking up firing positions. He found a rusted out hulk, while Verizon ducked behind a crumbled wall. They trained their weapons in the direction of the clamour — without looking he knew every movement of his partner.
“You see ’em?”
“All I see is shit!”
The western fields were a mess of shifting wheat stalks and soy, and the dark shadows cast by the locals. There was movement — running — but Billy couldn’t make out any targets.
A crack as Verizon’s weapon spat — Billy still couldn’t see anything — another shot — Verizon was being aggressive with his ammo.
“What the fuck do you see?”
No response. His partner couldn’t hear him over the rifle. Billy finally drew a bead on something moving fast — what the hell was it, a vehicle? — when Verzion shouted. “Shit, Billy! Rifle down! Rifle down!”
“Covering ya’ Veri!” Whatever it was, he started firing.
Focus, damnit, focus! He was a good shot — he just needed to relax.
The field in front of him was a mess. The automobile he took cover behind stank of rust, and the building across the street offered nothing but a pair of slits on either side looking to the field beyond. Dark figures shifted across both gaps — he didn’t know who to focus on.
Instinct pulled his finger off the trigger as an old woman darted across his field of vision.
His aim reasserted itself, with each squeeze a bullet tore downrange, and a round slid up the magazine. An approaching wave of black shapes was materializing. Ice gripped his heart — there were too many of them.
“Verizon — spent mag — cover me!” He rolled onto his side — all around him it seemed like people were screaming — he reached down to his belt — shit, no, other side — he grabbed a fresh magazine, while glancing over to his partner—
It took a second to recognize the shredded remains. A round had caught his partner in the eye — the dark lanky hair was spread open by a red cone of gristle, running all the way down the body. He took a breath; nothing to be done but remember the image. Magazine loaded, he rolled backwards, running behind City Hall. The smell of gasoline fumes had reached him.
With exact motions, Falcon stepped off of the quad, following in the wake of his ‘brothers.’
Where was the camaraderie? A pathetic slew of men, women, and children scattered in their wake. A large one — a giant with a blue face — darted out of one of the buildings. He landed a haymaker on one of the younger Hellhounds, but his partner was right behind him — he struck the giant with the butt of his rifle, then flipped the weapon around against the fallen foe. The giant jerked as the bullet tore through him.
Falcon trudged on.
A sudden instinct took over — there was a shadow in front of him — he dropped down to one knee, feeling the echo of a rifle round flying over his head. In front of him a dangerous man — no blue on his face. A shock of green hair, an enemy sliding around the corner of a building. Later he’d remember three sharp taps — his pistol disgorged, and his opponent fell.
“Hahaha! Good work, Falcon!”
Was that the camaraderie?
He rose slowly. The threat was gone. Ignoring the chaos, he popped open his revolver’s housing and reloaded the three spent rounds.
What was he doing here?
Chapter 8
Raxx finished processing in a split second; then he reacted.
He hit the brakes hard and jerked the wheel, skidding the truck to a halt at the side of the road. Behind his sunglasses he was seething. He killed the engine, got out, and slammed the door behind him. He walked to the front of the vehicle and lit a cigar, leaning back against the grill.
After a couple of seconds Wentworth lowered his pistol. He holstered the weapon and exited the vehicle. “Uh, Raxx—”
“You thought I was going to kill you? For a fucking bounty? And you pulled a gun on me? Jesus Christ! What do you think I am? I knew you were cold but — trick you into coming out here so that I could shoot you? What’s the matter with you?”
Wentworth’s head snapped, and he glared at the Mechanic while considering his response. The man didn’t seem to be lying. His arms were crossed, and he was glaring into the distance.
“You wouldn’t have been the first.”
“Hey, I don’t know what kind of storm’s been following you, but the way I see it you just called me a murdering piece of shit. Your history — your paranoia — ain’t my fucking problem!”
He needed time to think. “Paranoia’s the reason I’m still alive. Why the hell is your holster undone?”
“What? Look, the goddamned thing just came undone, alright? Here, I’m doing it up. And if you’d bothered to look the action’s not even cocked back, goddamnit!”
“And what about that speech you gave me? About how you’re out here to earn your next meal?”
“My next… fuck you!”
“Well fuck you, too!” Wentworth threw out his arms — in relief or anger, he wasn’t sure, it just exploded out of him. He lit his own cigarette and leaned against the truck, facing away.
They finished their smokes and flicked them to the ground. Then they each lit up another one.
The minutes began to drag. The tension was leaking out of his back and his cheeks began to cool. He took a deep breath and spoke.
“Listen — Raxx, I’m sorry. I misjudged.”
“Yeah, fine.”
He took in a deep breath. “Raxx — I mean it. I’ve had a lot of close calls. It makes a guy nervous. But I
