After the Ashes(107)

One last glance around the yard drew his attention to the pump. A full bucket rested underneath the spout. It flowed over with each new drip. A deep well didn’t stay primed long. Each splash that fell from the spout said that someone had been there. Recently.

He turned and followed the path, his pistols gripped with renewed fierceness. He sprinted, careful to keep his heavy footfalls off the trail. The prints blended together, then veered drunkenly. Lorelei and her companion walked close together. Either she guided and supported the other man or he dragged her. Braddock didn’t have time to figure out which.

He pushed his way through the heavy brush choking the stream’s bank. The top of Ricochet’s head appeared above a giant sage as he swung up on his horse. Braddock kept moving while he took aim.

His boot hit something solid. Glancing down, he saw Archie lying in the stream. He stepped over him without another thought. His peripheral vision told him Lorelei sat on the horse next to Ricochet. It took all Braddock’s effort not to let his gaze stray to her.

Ricochet didn’t appear to notice the gun pointed at him. He tugged on the reins of his horse, ready to ride off in the other direction.

Without the slightest qualm about shooting a man in the back, Braddock pulled the trigger.

He missed. The horse screamed and went down as Ricochet tried to whirl the animal in the shot’s direction.

Lorelei turned to see what had happened. She quickly took control of her own panicked mount and spurred the animal toward Braddock.

Though she blocked his line of fire, he couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face, his relief at seeing her alive and well a tangible thing.

“Go. Head back to the house,” he yelled at her.

In the same instant Ricochet untangled himself from his fallen horse. He walked toward Braddock with a rifle propped against his shoulder.

Braddock reaimed but staggered back at the sound of the rifle’s discharge, dropping his gun.

“No!” Lorelei screamed. Her voice sounded muffled and farther away than he knew she was.

He tried to right himself and grab his other gun. Ricochet didn’t seem to notice that he hadn’t killed him. He trained his rifle on Lorelei’s retreating form.

“Run,” Braddock wanted to yell, but instead he fell to his knees. His left arm didn’t seem to work, so he grabbed the gun from his useless grip with his other hand. Pain burst over him like a mortar shell, stealing the breath from his lungs, but he wasn’t exactly sure of its origin. He knew he’d been hit but didn’t dare look to see where or how bad.

For some reason, Ricochet fired a shot that purposely missed Lorelei. “Get back here, you little bitch. You make me chase you to the house, there’re going be some dead kids.”

Braddock realized Ricochet wanted her alive. Not caring why, he used all his strength to get to his feet. If his aim had been off before, it was now hopeless. He might as well shoot with his eyes closed. He fired, but with his eyes open.

He didn’t hit Ricochet but forced the man to aim the rifle at him and away from Lorelei. Ricochet moved forward in long strides. He positioned the rifle to shoot Braddock in the forehead. Braddock’s pistol slipped from his limp fingers. He could feel the life draining from him with his blood. He heard the sounds of horses’ hooves beating the ground behind him. They sounded closer, not farther away. Jesus, why wasn’t Lorelei heading toward the house? Braddock fell to his hands and knees, desperate to retrieve his gun.

Ricochet kicked the only pistol within Braddock’s line of vision away, then touched the muzzle of the rifle to Braddock’s forehead. The hot steel burned his skin.

He heard the rifle blast but felt nothing. Maybe he no longer had a head. He slumped to the ground and waited. A wound in his midsection throbbed, sending streaks of pain through every nerve. Gunshot wounds hurt more than he had imagined. The experience definitely rivaled any guilt he had incurred watching his men die during the war. He didn’t let his heavy lids close, though all he could see was dirt. He wanted to greet death with his eyes open. They’d both been waiting a long time for this meeting.

He heard Lorelei’s voice in the distance, then another voice telling her to stay back. He wanted to push up, to turn to see what was happening, but his limbs didn’t respond. He strained his gaze until he saw the worn soles of a pair of boots. The right one had a hole on the ball of the foot, and the owner wore fuzzy red socks the color of overripe apples. Braddock closed his eyes, unable to see anything else.

Hands on his shoulders tugged at him, making him cry out when he didn’t want to. He was rolled over onto his back, and the movement sliced through his entire body. The whole dying business was much more unpleasant at this end. He wouldn’t forget that again.