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We laid under the covers, this chilly night in silence, the last night in the Well. Nearby indistinguishable mumbles, while a fire crackles as ashes fall in the chiminea, and ‘breaking wind’ finds its way among the units. We snicker silently as mother natures strikes a musical note. We’ll remember this; it’s a story we’ll share in our old age.
Hum, Old age implies a future.
We are ready, packed for the exit, taking only what we can carry. Sleep would be a relief as my mind slips back to the night I returned from the Eldridge ranch, found my wife, raped then murdered, terms I have avoided memorializing. My daughters, kidnapped. Even now divided by lies, deep-rooted hate. And here again I walk away seeking revenge, closure for all. Future is unclear, but in these times no joy to be found anywhere, only more tribulation.
I feel Addison turn, spooning, wrapping her arms around me, holding me, seeking comfort, while offering the same. I no longer possess the capacity to reciprocate. To invest emotionally. To be hurt or hurt another. Driven by necessity rather than connections. I fade off, leaving Addison alone.
I sense activity, movement, then realize Addison is up, preparing for the day. I watch her, when without a word, she leaves. The space feels cold.
I wait until I know she is gone. Gather my life packed neatly in an aged saddle bag, slip out for the last time, and meet Frank at the table, the Team’s table. Each day we met, filling the silence with small talk, hints about days gone by, lives once lived, and assignments. Coordinating with the other teams. Admired and feared. No one ever approaches us, rather walk by, whisper, scowl, quickly rushing away.
He has already prepped our rides.
“Morning.”
“Why me?” he asks.
The truth, because he need not build a relationship, likewise Diana does not need to spend her time building a future with him. I promised her dad to protect her. From both physical and emotional pain.
Frank needs to focus on today, not tomorrow. So I lie.
“I need your quick wit, your silver tongue, and energy.”
He knows I am lying and his anxiousness betrays him. His uneasy glance away revels his inner conflict. He adds, “When this is over, I will come back. Although, this feels like you’re setting me up.”
“If you’re gonna walk away, do it now otherwise, focus. We depart, need to be seen, then lie low and ride hard, get maybe two miles, the horse will tire, then we’ll need to slow down. Hoping they’ll give up, fall back. That they give up, maybe. By then, we’re a third of the way to the Eldridge ranch.”
“And if they keep coming?”
“The other’s positioned at the halfway point… They’ll be ready to provide cover. The bounty hunters or spies or Sandra’s employees, whatever they are called, will chase until they tire or calculate the cost. Watching bodies drop is a disincentive. Rule one, keep you head down. It’s time to go.”
We walk toward the main gate, where a line has formed, restless, waiting only to be denied entrance. Yesterday, today, and most assuredly tomorrow. We approach Mr. Maddox, busy preparing for a new day. “Good luck?” A man of few words. His tone belies his feelings. Across the way, I see the mortician and his helpers await.
We mount approach the exit as the crowd stirs, wondering. I keep expecting gunfire. Surveying the area, expect someone out there watching, likely several.
“You know your plan sucks!” Frank mumbles.
"Shut-up! Keep your head down and ride hard," I yelled as the gate swung open. We surged forward, only to have three figures emerge from the shadows, maybe twenty-yards away—armed and ready for a fight. Sandra had changed the rules. She was no longer interested in taking me, or any of us, alive.
Veering left, I spurred my horse hard. In a matter of seconds, the three would be attackers were dropping, tumbling from their mounts. Their horses bolted in the chaos. What the… the gate slammed shut behind us. Several more shots echoed off the ridge.
Ours rides kept their stride, galloping at full speed. Glancing back, I searched for the source of our unexpected reprieve but saw nothing. We rode east into the rising sun.
The sound of more gunfire echoed across the valley as we fled. We rode hard.
Who?
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