The Bounty and the Briefcase (Cattlepunk) [WIP]

24 - The Bandit

Vanessa stamped down on the pedal, and the car began to grumble. Trembling, she tugged lever, switching gears, and the vehicle lurched forwards with her stomach.

Anger and hurt coursed through her veins as the wheels turned. She didn't even know why she went with them in the first place.

She hadn't exactly been lying when she said she wanted to know more about Mazium; she figured it might do her father's company some good.

Martin had taught her the basics. Mazium was a strong metal discovered in 1884, just three years ago. Shiny, malleable. Not magnetic. It was kind of ironic that his body repelled the metal, yet he knew so much about it.

But none of that mattered. She had wanted to get closer with Martin — sweet and oblivious — but Frances seemed to have a problem with that.

Vanessa's foot jolted and the car shook as the thought of Frances with Martin popped into her head.

It seemed unlikely. Quite unlikely. But why was Frances out to get her then?

That didn't matter either. Frances has succeeded. Vanessa was leaving, driving back to her cozy house in Gasche to beg her sister not to snitch to father about where she'd gone.

Vanessa was being stupid anyway. Leaving the city just to follow a boy. Stupid, rash and stupid. This was why Vanessa's father favoured Daisy.

The first hour of the ride, Vanessa's head jumbled with thoughts in stark contrast to the calmness of the plain. It was dark, but not so dark to be unable to tell the direction she was going.

However, that was a lie. Because, at the end of the first hour, Vanessa was lost.

Slowly, the engine's low rumbling became a purr, and the wheels slowed to a stop near a tree and boulder. Vanessa stepped out into the dust and observed the black silhouette of a landscape around her.

Sighing, she pulled out supplies (that she didn't even know where there until she checked — thanks, Father) and set up camp beside a steep rock. Vanessa didn't know how to start a fire properly, so she clumped together some tumbleweeds and tossed the gold-inlaid lighter into the stack.

How did something like this happen? Not a month ago, she was living it up in London, a life of luxury, and now here she was sandwiched between two blankets less thick than a nail.

Life is a funny thing, she thought, and chuckled to herself.

And she began to drift off to sleep. But before dreams — or memories, rather — of the Trentweather District filled her mind, a rustling filled her ears.

Vanessa sat up. Harsh sunlight fought to enter her eyelids, and she put up her hand to protect them.

The fire had died, and Vanessa felt like she hadn't slept a wink.

Then the sound came again, so Vanessa stumbled to her feet, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

In an instant the rustling stopped, replaced by agile footsteps in the sand. Vanessa's eyes moved to her car. The trunk was open, and a thin handkerchief swung through the air like a pendulum until it reached the ground.

I wonder if Father left a gun in here, she thought as she jogged over to the trunk and frantically swirled her hands through the mess the perpetrator had made of it. Feeling cold metal, she pulled out the revolver and spun around, pointing it at the man in front of her.

He was tall and dark, with a bandana on his face and a hat covering only a bit of his black hair. His young brown eyes surrounded by tawny, tanned skin stared down at her own, and he held his own gun at her, the barrels of the two revolvers staring into each other.