There isn't a cloud in the sky to tip me off. The wind isn't what does it either, even as it throws dust into my eyes and rattles through the sagebrush, filling the air with an herbal scent so strong I can taste it.
It's the way the cattle impatiently shove one another with their horns instead of their shoulders, eyes rolling, sweat frothing, trying to rush one another while not being brave enough to take the lead themselves. It's how Caliber chomps on his bit, grinding the sweet iron between his molars so hard that I can feel his tension through the leather reins gripped between my fingers. It's a feeling skittering across my skin, an electric charge leaping from one hair to the next, promising to fill my head with static and my ears with thunder.
The posse couldn't catch us, but God's anger will.
I roll my spurs up Caliber's ribs and he obediently picks up a lope. He turns with a light twitch of my finger against his rein, pinning his ears at a cow who considers trying to break away from the group. I sit back as we draw even with the Kid.
"Maverick, we shouldn't drive them into the canyon," I say. "Not tonight."
The renegade turns his head slowly, pinning me with his ghost-colored eyes.
I swallow. I've never said his name before, never spoken directly to his face other than a docile 'Yes, Boss.' I wilt under his gaze, but today I will be heard.
"Why?" Maverick the Kid asks, softly. He always speaks softly, even right before he pulls the trigger. It makes a man listen, and listen well because those who don't will only be hearing the buzzards picking their own bones as they sleep in the dust.
"Something wicked is blowing our way," I say, voice hoarse.
The Kid tilts his head so that he can see the empty sky past the brim of his hat. "Ain't nothing in this world more wicked than me, boy."
He waits for me to move past him, to get back to work, which I do, feeling those ghost-colored eyes burning into my back. I wonder if he can see through me into my heart, hear each beat, know exactly when the last one will be.
It takes some work to get the herd to go through the bottleneck. Maybe they sense their destiny in between those red rock walls just as much as I do. Once inside, there will be no going back. I take one last look at the setting sun before plunging in after them.
It's cooler here, and when the silent form of a silver owl glides overhead, I shiver. Almost immediately after, I can feel the air growing heavier. The cattle begin to jog without any prompting, not quite willing to stampede yet but working themselves up to it. The sound of their pounding hooves and loud breathing echoed off the walls.
"Easy, easy," I call for the beasts' sake, although I don't feel like going at an easy pace myself. I feel like whipping them into a frenzy, plunging forward until we reach the end of the tunnel—or maybe the end of the noose. But I don't dare to even look back, because I know Maverick is riding there.
He is always there, somewhere behind me, somewhere over my shoulder, even when he's not around.
We make it about halfway through, nearly half an hour's worth of canyon travel stretches out before us in either direction.
Then I hear it. It's a low, distant rumble that doesn't come from the cattle. It rolls and stops, and I turn my face toward the sky, praying that I will not hear it again. But the evening sky flashes, and the war drums of the thunderhead sound again.
The air is changing, filling with the smell of rain.
In only a moment, the sky is fully black. A moment more and the cold sheets of water pelt into our backs, drenching us instantaneously. Wind whips down the channel, slanting the stinging drops until they are nearly thrown horizontally. The cattle stop and hunch their backs in shock, looking stupidly at one another.
I roll my spurs and make Caliber push against their hindquarters with his chest. I could be kicked, but I'm willing to take that chance. "MOVE!" I take off my hat to flap it at them, barely making any progress.
The dry desert ground can only absorb so much rain before it becomes saturated. The dust turns into sucking slick mud, then into an inch of water, but the rain still comes. It comes and it comes, and if it keeps coming, a flash flood will rush down the canyon, drowning us, burying us under the mud and the water, and dozens of crushing bodies of cattle.
Lightning arcs from the sky, but instead of striking at the top of the canyon it zips along the walls, leaping from one to another over the cattle's horns. It shifts and appears to take the form of a white horse, galloping in circles and throwing sparks from its nostrils before exploding with a buck. Thunder louder than any shotgun blast shakes the walls, sending cascades of small rocks raining down.
The cattle surge forward, throwing their horns with reckless abandon, and I prod Caliber to race after them, pebbles glancing off my shoulders. A young steer loses his footing, and the cattle behind trample and trip over him, leaving a couple of cows scrambling in the mud and blocking my passage.
But we can't stop.
I tap Caliber with my spurs and grab the horn of my saddle as he leaps. Lightning descends to curl around us as we hang suspended in the air—I can feel it crawl along my skin, brush past me lightly, as it chooses a target past me.
The Kid's cry is cut short as his horse crashes hard into the ground with a sickening snap. I twist and look back, even as we gallop, but the rain drives hard in my face and it's impossible to see anything behind us. The thunder of the strike rings like a death bell.
It's a horrible thing, but I almost want to laugh. If he's really dead, then I am free.
There's a great rushing noise, shaking the canyon from the ground up. My blood runs cold. Caliber bolts full-tilt, forcing his way through the slower cattle. If we fall now, we will surely die. The rush of water crashes down the canyon, funneling down towards us in ever increasing speeds.
It slams against us, an unstoppable force that sweeps Caliber's feet right out from under him. Cattle are thrown through the water, cloven hooves striking me from every side like I'm being beaten with stones.
There's no way to tell what direction is up, so I cling to my saddle as we're twisted helplessly in the current. The air is ripped from my chest, and blackness pushes to fill the cavity.
Somehow, our heads break the surface, and Caliber fights to swim with the flood.
