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They call them trinity (chapter 2)

Fuck.

The man raises his gun, and one single shot fills the air. Grace parts her lips and takes a slightly deeper breath, to taste the air one last time. She is ready. She's been ready for a while now, and there's a sort of relief in knowing death is coming two perfectly clear seconds in advance. Her body spontaneously leans back to take the hit, but she can't feel a thing. Instead, she sees the man's hand loosing its grip, and his eyes widen as a red patch spreads on his shirt. He grunts and looks at his shoulder, then, with a painful motion, he swings the wounded arm to pass the gun to his other hand. It's all it takes for Grace to regain lucidity. In one fluid motion, she opens the cylinder of her gun, rolls it and flips it back - the bullet pierces the exact centre of the man's forehead before he even has the time to aim again.
He slides down slowly against the side of his horse, hitting the ground with a muffled thump.
Behind him, Hannah is trembling, sitting on Cheddar - who is chewing, oblivious. She is still holding her gun with two hands, her eyes wide open as she stares at the empty space left by the man. A drop of sweat is hanging from her nose, threatening to fall with each quiver.
Grace puts her gun away and walks towards her. Two horses have run away, and she is pretty sure they'll ride back to Mametown, on the path known to them, and will raise the alarm. The sheriff's horse is wounded in the chest, and fell on the man's leg. Grace kneels down to check on him: a bullet in his body and probably a broken leg, but he is still alive. He is moaning, too weak to pull himself out from the weight of the animal.
"Sheriff." she greets him, tipping her hat. He grunts. She takes his gun and pats his waistcoat, finding a pocket watch and a few coins.
"I am not even dead, bitch." He hisses.
Grace pulls the hammer of the man's gun and casually says "We can fix that."
"No!" Hannah snaps and jumps off her horse. She runs towards Grace and implores "No, please, don't!"
"Why?" Grace asks, genuinely surprised.
"He is Sarah's father."
"Don't you dare say her name, whore." He spits out.
Grace looks at her once, then stands up. Before Hannah can stop her, she shots him in the head, and fires a second bullet to the horse.
"No!" Hannah screams again "Why? Why did you do that?" She throws herself against Grace, pushing her away from the body. Grace wobbles. The girl is hitting her chest with weak punches now, and Grace takes them all, patiently, letting her take out all her anger. The girl's arms grow heavier, until she stops, and just cries. "Why did you do that?" She whines one more time. Grace moves away to collect the guns from the other bodes, then calls Ty over with two short whistles. The horse trots to her quietly.
"C'mon kid" she says to Hannah "we got a long way to go."
"You can go. You don't need me, why are you sticking around?"
"I promised your sister I'd take you to San Francisco."
"Since when does your word count for something?" Hannah asks bitterly as she wipes the tears from her face.
"Hey" Grace says "I've never promised anything to you."
But Hannah doesn't move, she just digs her nails into the inside of her fists, trying to fight back the sobs. Cheddar comes to bump his head on her shoulder, and she sighs. Grace is few yards ahead, trotting slowly enough for them to catch up. Hannah crosses herself before climbing on the horse's back. "Let's go, baby." she says, her voice still unsure.
- - -
They trot in silence for some time, Grace and Ty slightly ahead, Hannah sitting on the wooden bench of her caravan. Beanz is snoring so loudly she can be heard over the rattling of the caravan, and it comforts Hannah to know that it is still possible to sleep peacefully, at least for the dog. She is so absorbed in her thoughts that she does't even realise that Grace is now by her side, and startles when she is asked: "Was that your first time?"
"Mh?" Hannah raises her head, frowning.
"Was that the first time you shot a man?"
"No." Hannah answer after a second. "Second time."
Grace is not one for following up, so she just nods, pensive.
"You?" Hannah asks.
"What?"
"When did you shoot your first man?"
"I was twelve."
"You... Wow, you were really young."
Grace shrugs. Yes. She was young. Half her lifetime ago.
"Do you regret it?"
"Killing him? Not a bit."
"Any of them. How many men have you killed?"
"Thirty-six today. And no, I don't." She answers, easily.
"Do you remember them all?"
"M-mh" she nods. "Not their faces. I remember when, and how."
Hannah sits in silence. The early afternoon is hot and sticky, and there is no town in sight. There won't be one until San Francisco, only small settlements, most likely abandoned. Grace looks at Hannah's unresting eyes, she can tell the girl is thinking furiously, and feels something not dissimilar from guilt. "You know, I had no choice" she ends up saying, out of the blue.
"About?" Hannah replies without enthusiasm.
"I had to kill the sheriff."
"Sarah's father. Anthony Rupert Weichel."
"I had to kill damn Tony Weichel. Do you understand that you are not safe? Do you understand that it's either us or them?"
Hannah shrugs. Grace continues, frustrated. "We are on the run. They are after us, they won't think twice about putting a bullet in your head."
"Why do you care?" Hannah hisses.
"As a mater of fact, I don't." Grace answers after a moment "I gave my word, that's it."
"You can go, I break the promise."
"It's not yours to break" Grace says, simply "And to be honest, I am more scared of your sister than of those men."
Hannah chuckles, thinking about Mamrie and that impossibly long rifle. She fumbles with something inside the caravan, and pulls a bottle of yellowish liquid. She takes a sip and scrunches her face, then offers it to Grace.
"God, yes! What is it?" She grabs the bottles and takes a gulp.
"Tequila."
"Mh." She approves, passing the bottle.
Hannah pulls out some old bread and two eggs she boiled earlier, arranging them on a clean napkin she managed to find. She offers the food to Grace, who looks at her in surprise. "Here. You haven't eaten all day." The unexpected gesture makes Grace suspicious, but she is starving and it's hard to imagine this girl trying to trick anyone.
"What else do you have in there?" She asks as she accepts.
"Everything. I told you, this is my home."
"I still don't understand how you've survived so far. You're positively clueless, and you live on the road. How come no one has thought of killing you yet?"
"I guess I am just irrelevant enough for people not to care."
"Oh, c'mon. How many fathers have you pissed off already?"
Hannah scoffs, but then smiles cheekily: "A few. But that's never enough of a reason to come all the way out here." She theatrically moves a hand, showing the landscape "Only once did I get shot on my way out of her room."
Grace looks at her, mildly entertained. "Go on."
"Mh, that's it" she says drinking a bit more "I had to climb down her window, butt naked, while her father unloaded his gun at me."
And something happens. Grace is laughing - no, she's cracking up. And Hannah just looks at her, amazed, because the woman is shaking her whole body, throwing her head back, and seems unable to stop. It's almost as if a completely different person just possessed her. She coughs goofily, nearly choking on a piece of bread, and extends an arm in Hannah's direction, urging her to pass the bottle as she keeps hacking into her elbow. All still laughing. Hannah passes the tequila; Grace takes a long gulp of the spirit and manages to stop her laughter, struggling to catch her breath.
"Aaah, you're funny." She finally says to Hannah "You little charmer."
The girl blushes a little and straightens her back, nervously tucking the brim of her bowler hat.
"Say, Hannah..." Grace tilts her head to the side, and Hannah stiffens a bit hearing her own name, for no other reason than it somehow sounds new between Grace's lips. "You don't happen to have a spare hat in you magic cave, do you?"
Hannah notices that Grace's hat is barely held together by some strips of leather, and it's not doing a great job of keeping her head covered.
"Mh, no, I don't think. But here, have mine" She quickly pulls hers off "I am in the shade anyway."
Grace grabs the hat and turns it over in her hand, looking at Hannah sideways.
"What?" Hannah scoffs.
"Nothing. Just not my style." She says as she lets the hat drop on her head. She quirks an eyebrow and wow. The round hat lands softly on curled light hair, and frames her face in a completely different way. She looks younger, and somehow innocent, and Hannah thinks that a touch of red lipstick would complete the picture perfectly. If it wasn't for the long scar peaking between her locks, she'd look like a little girl wearing her father's hat - and the heat and alcohol must be going to Hannah's head, it's the only explanation for that thought. Because Grace is a cold blood assassin, that's what she is, and Hannah finds herself shivering.
"You're a hitman, aren't you? That's what you do."
Grace clasps her lips together, and pulls a face that could mean either sorry or aren't you a genius?
"Yep." She confirms. And two clear blue eyes are looking at her, full of wonder. Isn't she supposed to be scared or something? Grace thinks. Hannah finally breaks eye contact and nods to herself.
"But you don't kill children." Hannah asks, remembering their brief conversation in prison.
"Nope" the woman replies "You're safe."
Hannah just shakes her head, good-naturedly, because she is used to that.
"How did you get that scar?" She asks, but regrets it straight away, because Grace turns her head to look at the road, so the wound is not in Hannah's sight any more. She can see the her body getting rigid and Ty must sense her owner's discomfort because her head perks up nervously.
"You sure ask a lot of questions, kid."
There's an awkward silence that Hannah feels the urge to fill. "I am sorry, that was... inappropriate." she apologises, looking down.
"Well, it's hard to miss." Grace shrugs.
"Yeah... it's kinda in your face." Hannah says, and looks at the woman out of the corner of her eye, hoping that the joke isn't too much, or too soon. But the woman giggles lightly, and sounds relieved as she says: "God, you suck."
"I don't think they're ugly, you know? Scars, I mean. In fact, I think they are quite attractive" Hannah says, pensive. If Grace blushes a little, Hannah doesn't notice.
"I mean..." she continues "I think they are fascinating. Each one tells a story, right? It's like... your story written on your body, in a way."
Grace huffs and says: "Then my body's got a lot of stories to tell."
And Hannah's face turns a new shade of red as her mind wonders - completely independent from her own will - where those scars might be.
- - -
When they reach the first settlement they find it completely abandoned. The sun is setting and no one came after them, but that doesn't mean they are safe. The wind has been picking up for the past few hours and Grace is pretty sure the night will be hit by a sandstorm. The well is still working so they pull up water for the horses and for coffee. Grace finds the most solid construction to spend the night in, which turns out to be a stable. What was once a saloon had been burnt to the ground, together with a few other houses, and their best bet at a decent night sleep is to stay in the caravan, at least Hannah seems to keep it clean. Ty and Cheddar happily take advantage of the pile of hay that's laying in a corner.
Hannah lights a fire in the open area behind the stable, far enough from the wooden wall, over a blackened spot that indicates other people did the same before. "I don't know about you, but I wish I could take a shower right now" Grace says, passing a hand over her dusty forehead. "I am not used to travelling so slow... How can you stay like this for days?"
"I don't" Hannah says, taking a big wooden bucket down from the caravan. "Care to help me? This shit is heavy."
Grace grabs the bottom of the bucket and wobbles under its weight. "What the hell! How is this damn thing so heavy?"
"There's stuff inside." Hannah explains.
They place the bucket close to the fire. Hannah pulls a big pot out of it and places it over the flames, using a small metal support to keep it raised from the ground. She then proceeds to fill it up with water from the well. "There's plenty of water in the well, so we might as well." She stops, and chuckles, mumbling "well... well."
Grace looks at her, puzzled: "We might as well what?"
"Take a bath."
- - -
It takes a good half hour for the water to boil, while they sit in silence eating baked beans and some dried, chewy meat. Grace pulls out the pocket watch she got earlier and winds it: "7 o'clock sharp, in case you're wondering."
"I wasn't" Hannah muffles with her mouth full. She points towards the sun igniting the sky in shades of orange, implying that she perfectly knows what time it is. Grace follows her gaze, the sunset still bright enough to make her squint. She feels her scar burning on her cheek, and her fingers instinctively stroke the smooth, stretched skin. When she turns again, she caches Hannah pulling her eyes away, and wonders if it was the sun that gave her that burning feeling at all.
The water bubbles happily in the pot, and Hannah is glad they'll have something to do because apparently she has no control over her gaze anymore. She instructs Grace to hold one of the handles and lift the pot. As she does so, the woman slips and spills a little boiling water on the ground. "Hey, careful! This is pretty dangerous." Hannah warns her. They slowly pour the liquid into the wooden bucket, and Grace looks incredibly focussed as they lift the heavy cauldron and the water falls down, splashing the walls of the container. Hannah adds some cold water and finally puts a piece of soap in Grace's hand. "Here, you go first." Hannah offers, and explains: "I don't have a spare towel, so when you come out just do this..." She grabs her own forearm between her thumb and her index finger, and squeezes down from the elbow to the wrist. "...on your arms and legs" She grabs her own thigh with both hands and slides them down her leg. "Like this. Do the back too. And then this should be enough to get dry." She concludes, handing her a small cloth.
Grace frowns in silence, nodding. Hannah gets somehow really confused and stutters: "Sorry, you don't need me to tell you this" her hand runs through her hair, nervously "I'll just... I'll be over there." She takes refuge inside the caravan while Grace gets acquainted with this new concept of a nomadic bathtub. She quickly removes her coat and tries to find a suitable place for her belt, so she can have her guns close. She settles for tying it to one of the handles of the bucket, and undresses, wondering who on Earth felt the need to build such a big bucket anyway.
It's slightly elongated, and big enough for her to sit with her knees close to her chest. Hannah left what looks like a big shell to scoop water onto her upper body. It's incredibly pleasant as the water runs on her heated skin, washing away the sweat and dust. Grace never thought she'd enjoy such an unexpected pleasure on the road. She rubs the soap on her neck and shoulders and everywhere else, careful not to use too much, but careless enough to drop it in the water. "Stupid hands." Grace mutters, because weirdly enough, this soap smells nice, unlike the foul, stinky bars she usually finds. Which makes her think it's imported, which again makes her think that Hannah must indeed have some good money on her. She fishes the soap from the shallow water and sees no other option than placing it on the sand. That's when she notices the small bucket of warm water on the side, left for her to rinse.
And it's weird how that little gesture makes her startle, because she realises she is starting to trust her travel companion enough to take the first sip from a bottle, or trot in front of her, or get fucking butt naked and perfectly exposed to a gunshot. She looks around, nervously, but nothing moves. She pricks her ears and notices a sound coming from the caravan, it's a quiet plucking that is turning into a rhythm. Hannah is playing her guitar, apparently she managed to tune it, or maybe not, Grace really doesn't have a have good ear for music. What she knows is that Hannah is far enough from her, and her hands are busy, and she is not a threat. Not a good sentinel either, but a girl can't have everything. A cheerful tune fills the air:
Hot like fire, sweet like honey
she's worth losing all yo' money
She's got eyes so clear and brown
She is the prettiest girl in town
Grace kneels down and listens for a while, quietly rinsing the soap. Then she realises that if she stays any longer, Hannah will be left with cold water, so she grabs the small bucket and slowly pours half of its content over her head. She follows the instructions she was given to dry quickly and puts her shirt back on. It's a long man's shirt and she figures it's enough to cover what's necessary, an opinion that's promptly contradicted by Hannah's expression as she climbs in the caravan to tell her she is done. The girl nearly pulls a string and her fingers stroke a bit too deep, and she suddenly is seems very interested in the label of a bottle sitting on the floor,
"Thanks, I will... yeah. Going. Ready." Beanz jumps into Grace's arms and just rests there, and Hannah takes that chance to slide out, red-faced.
- - -
Grace gently puts the dog on Cheddar's back. The wind is picking up again and Beanz is so tiny, she can use the warmth of the horse's body. Cheddar doesn't flinch, barely noticing the light weight on his back. Ty sniffs the little animal, her breath bending the fur slightly. As she gets dressed again, Grace pulls a book that's been ripped in half from her coat and flips the pages, randomly.
What the fuck is this? She wonders, flipping the object in her hands a couple of times.
It's a soft leather bound journal, its spine cut vertically and half of the pages seem to be missing. She tries to read the elegant calligraphy on the first page, but it's been along time since she's practiced any sort of reading, and the curly characters blur into each other. It's only after a few minutes of staring at the page that she realises it's not even written in English.
"Damn Woodman, you died for this shit." She mutters.
"Hey, can you help?" Hannah asks behind her, and she quickly puts the journal back in the internal pocket of her coat.
They push the bucket on its side, letting the water run on the sand, away from the fire. Hannah confirms her suspicion that Grace is pretty clumsy when it comes to anything that's not firing a bullet or riding a horse.
"Dude, you're dangerous." Hannah says as Grace nearly trips over a piece of wood and the bucket drops back, still half full, water rising along its walls.
"I thought that was settled." Grace says, staring at her in a way that makes her shiver from head to toes. Hannah looks up, at the sky, thinking it is a place as good as any to look in order to avoid Grace's piercing glare.
"There's going to be a tempest soon." Hannah states, noticing the clouds quickly covering the stars.
"Good." Grace says.
"Why?" Hannah doesn't like storms, Cheddar gets nervous and her caravan nearly tips over when she is in the open. Thank god they found that stable for the night.
"It will clear our trails" Grace explains.
"From who? Weichel is dead, who could be following us?"
The wind makes the walls creek, and something falls in the distance with a banging noise.
"Mh" Grace shrugs her shoulders "Maybe puppy face."
Hannah climbs up to the caravan and removes the trunk that's on the floor so there's enough space for both. It will still be tight, but it's better than sleeping on the filthy stable ground. The air smells of horse shit and rotten grass, but as they lay down Grace is ever so grateful that her skin is now perfumed with a faint scent of what seems to be orange blossom. The wind is screaming in the night. Grace falls asleep with a hand on her gun.