The Widow

Chapter 3

        

The darkness presses in from all sides.

Fear seeps out of me along with my life.

The air holds the metallic scent of my blood pooling around me.

Death is cold, just as you'd imagine.

It feels like my body doesn't belong to me - as if someone has replaced my limbs with floppy dead fish. I want to squeeze the trigger. That one small movement can send a bullet straight into his brain an end his life.

End my misery.

End Luke's purgatory.

But the man with grey eyes keeps slipping away from my aim. If I take my shot now, I know that it will be a miracle if it hits him.

It's been three years since I've seen him and the fact that he is now a few hundred yards away is surreal. Three years of iron-like perseverance and festering hatred. Three years of feeling like I was already dead. Seeing him has turned me into a quivering lump of flesh and fear.

"Get a grip!" I mutter. I have to get a handle on this situation now! They're halfway across the valley floor and will soon be out of range. They've formed a small diamond shape with the man with grey eyes in the lead. I briefly consider following them until a better opportunity comes along. But no, there is a reason the members of the Camden Gang aren't dangling by their necks, their corpses feeding crows.

They're good.

Even my time with the Comanche hasn't prepared me to follow them without being spotted. No doubt they would figure it out shortly after dawn. They outnumber me four to one and I wouldn't have a chance at getting a clean shot any other time.

I take a deep breath. I close my eyes. I relax my shoulders. I picture a dark, quiet forest, which Shabbakasha called my place of peace. The feeling in my arms returns. He is just a man. I can do this. I can kill him. I find the ball of anger that lives in the pit of my stomach. Holding it there, I use the heat to warm my muscles and harden my heart.

Luke said I was afraid of something. I would show him that he was wrong. I am not afraid.

I find the black Stetson in my sights and aim slightly above to account for gravity and distance. I shift the barrel ahead, so the man will move into my shot.

My hands are steady. My lips are drawn in a grim smile. My senses are sharp...heightened with adrenaline. A small, cool breeze tickles the hairs that frame my face. A bead of sweat trickles down my rib cage. Even at this distance, I can see the tired expressions on the men's faces, the way their horses' heads bob with fatigue. The rocky earth jabs my ribs and elbows, and the butt of the rifle is cool against my cheek. But all of that is inconsequential. I breathe in and let it out slowly.

Now.

The rifle recoils and I am momentarily deafened by the shot that blasts through the night.

The men in the valley below are scrambling, on the move, and then one of them drops from his horse.

The man with grey eyes reins his horse to go back for his fallen man, but one of the others stops him. They jump their horses into the dry riverbed and disappear for a moment.

God damn it! My blood is running hot - the ball of anger has exploded into my veins and I panic.

With dangerous haste, I pack up my knives and shove them into a saddlebag. I holster my guns, toss the blanket and saddle onto Horse and yank on the flank cinch. Horse snorts and sidles away in protest. How could I have been so stupid? I should have packed all of this up before I took my shot so I could flee.

A shot pings to my left, sending rock chips showering down on me.

They know where I am. I yank Horse's reins and pull him back away from the ledge. If they shoot Horse...I don't even want to think about it.

I crouch down to assess the situation, squirming on my hands and knees to take a peak over the ledge.

They have hunkered down in the dry riverbed. Their comrade is a crumpled form several yards away. He doesn't stir. It was a good shot. Too bad it killed the wrong man.

I can see the dark forms of their weapons poking over the crest of the riverbed, aimed in my general direction.

A few hand motions lead me to believe he's giving his men instructions. They're not just going to wait until daylight. They're coming after me tonight.

Time to go. I scoot back and check my hasty job at saddling horse. Another shot echoes in the night and a bullet whistles past my head.

Keeping low, I jump on Horse's back and dig my heels into his side, hurtling us into the night. We gallop down the embankment and, with a tumble of dirt and small rocks, we land at the bottom and head across the flat desert.

We need to find cover.

As soon as they've figured out that I'm not hunkered down on the outcropping anymore, they'll be on my tail.

If Horse and I are still crossing the plain, there's no doubt in my mind I'll be an easy shot. The night might hide us somewhat, but it's a dangerous time to ride a horse. Neither of us can see the terrain, and Horse is already starting to stumble, his hooves thundering unevenly on the rough terrain. Not to mention the creatures of the night who don't take kindly to being trampled and wield fatal poison as their means of protection. I hate snakes.

Horse tosses his head as if to voice his displeasure with running at night.

"I don't like it either!" I tell him.

I can see the dark forms of a mesa to my left and a rock formation to my right. If I veer off in a different direction, they're less likely to spot me come morning, and I can sneak away to figure out a new plan of action.

Horse and I head for the rock formation, hoping it will be good enough cover to keep us alive until dawn.

I bite my lip and clench my fists around Horse's reins.

I want to scream. I want to punch something. Hard. I missed my shot, and now I'm running away like a coward. Tears of frustration blur my vision.

All of the months of tracking, reading shoddy settlement newspapers to try and anticipate which train they'd hit next. All of the target practice and horrible things I did to fund my revenge mission.

Wasted.

I half want to turn around and attack again with guns blazing, going out in revenge-fueled glory. But what would that accomplish? Getting me shot, and probably Horse, too. Horse doesn't deserve that.

As frustrated and hopeless as I feel right now, there is still a part of me - the part that loved Luke - the part that still loves him - that knows I must keep going. First thing, though, I have to survive tomorrow.

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