Bernard Schaffer - Guns of Seneca 6

Sam looked down at the gun, then back at the doctor. “You’re a damn liar, Royce Halladay.”

“I owe it all to the quality of your instruction, sir. When can you come by for another lesson?”

“Very funny. Now go to hell.”

“No doubt, I will do that quite soon.” Halladay stopped smiling and said, “Thank you for the rifle. You are a good friend.”

“Don’t mention it. Katey’s like a second mom to the kids. We’d be lost without her.”

Halladay watched the Sheriff get back on his destrier and ride off to check the security perimeter. “Me too,” he said.

By mid-summer, Katey became well-practiced at cooking conejos. She held the creatures by their ears and slit their furry length with one hand then scooped out the innards and tossed them into the waste processor. Necessity had brought out ingenuity in her. Sometimes she stewed the conejo with vegetables from the garden, or fried them until the skin crackled in her husband’s mouth when he bit it.

Halladay admired his wife as she bent to check the stove, thinking that she would have little difficulty finding a suitor after he died. He expected she would spend a year or two mourning out of respect, but he harbored no expectation of her running out the rest of her life pining for him. At some point he meant to tell her that; to let her know he wanted her to find someone after he coughed up his last bit of lung. To have a long, happy life. It just never seemed an appropriate time to talk about it, and Katey got upset when he tried.

“Darling, it smells like a Presidential kitchen in here,” he said, sipping the last drop of whiskey from his cup. “I am often astonished at the miracles you produce from such simple means, but tonight you have outdone yourself.”

Katey smiled and swept her hand through her hair. “I suspect you are trying to lure me into some state of compromise with all that fancy talk, mister.”

“I would have to be robbed of far more faculties than my ability to breathe in order to not have designs on relieving you of your clothing.” He reached out to pinch her bottom. Katey laughed and swatted his hand away before lifting a sizzling tray from the oven.

She tasted the meat and frowned. “It needs something more.”

“I could sneak onto the Johnson’s farm and steal away with whatever you desire. That would be proper compensation for the way that rascal takes such longing glances at your backside. However, I cannot fault the man for his obviously excellent taste in women.”

Katey laughed, then said, “You stay right here and rest. I know just what I need.”

He unscrewed the cap on a bottle of whiskey and filled his cup up once more. “It is getting dark. Do not wander off far.”

Katey Halladay went down the back stairs of the house and passed by her modest garden, seeing nothing that caught her interest. She headed through the thicket that separated their property from the tall electronic fence surrounding the entire mining colony. Katey passed the blackened corpse of a dead leaper that had gotten too close to the Perimeter’s lethal current. The towers powering the Perimeter were set at quarter-mile intervals and crackled with so much energy that it filled the air and made all the hair on her arms stand up.

She saw Deputy Tilt Junger and his younger brother, Walt, standing in front of the nearest tower, both of them too focused on its key-grid to notice her approach. Tilt was a senior deputy assigned to maintain the fence and patrol the outer perimeter. Walt Junger had just joined the force. “Hey there,” she called out. “Trouble with the tower again? Any chance you can make it less noisy? Between Royce’s coughing and that damn thing, I can’t get any peace.”

Both men turned to face her as the security gate slid open and a party of Beothuk warriors came through. Katey screamed in terror and Walt shouted, “Get home, Mrs. Halladay!”

Tilt Junger shoved Walt out of the way and charged toward Katey. “Stop right there, woman!”

Katey dropped her basket and ran, screaming for her husband.

“Shut your mouth!” Tilt shouted, ripping a long skinning knife from his belt while he ran.

Walt watched his brother disappear around the bend and said, “Let her go, Tilt!” There was no response. The last of the Beothuk came through the gate and assembled into formation.

Their leader wore cords around his neck adorned with feathers and long, curving fangs. His chest was criss-crossed with scars that covered his lean, muscular torso. The others ducked into the tall grass, but the leader stood straight, surveying the settlement. Katey Halladay screamed in the distance and the savage looked at two of his men, who took off after her, into the thicket.

“Uh, excuse me,” Walt said. He held out his hand, “I believe my brother made an agreement with you boys regarding payment.”

The Beothuk looked at Walt, and the young Deputy put his other hand closer to his gun. Finally, the leader removed a small sack from his belt and dropped it into Walt’s palm.

Walt untied the drawstring and shook out several small rocks into his hand. They were the size of marbles and glittered in the sunlight. It was enough severian to keep the entire Junger family wealthy for generations.

The savage leader watched Walt tie up the bag, then muttered something and spat on the ground at Walt’s feet. Walt looked down at the gob of spit next to his boot and shrugged, then turned and headed after Tilt to show him the bag that contained their entire future.

“Got you!” Tilt shouted, swinging wildly with the blade and catching Katey Halladay across the neck. Blood squirted out of her and she collapsed at the edge of her garden, staring at the back of her house.

Katey squirmed in the dirt, making wet, gurgling sounds while Tilt bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “It’s your own fault. I told you to stop. I’d have just tied you up until we was finished or something but you wouldn’t shut up.”

She dug long gullies in the dirt with her boots, squirming as the last of her life leaked out of her. Tilt brushed her hair out of her face and said, “Just try and be still now, Mrs. Halladay. It’ll all be over soon.”

Two savages ran up behind them and stopped at the sight of Katey. One of them said something in their twisted, guttural language that Tilt took to be some sort of insult. “You rust-colored sons of bitches got something to say about this?” They stared back at him with cold, blank expressions. “She’d have alerted the whole damn colony you were here. Action had to be taken.”

A bullet caved in one of the Beothuk’s face’s. The report of Doctor Halladay’s rifle echoed from the back porch, and he shot at them again. Blood and tissue from the Beothuk warriors sprayed Tilt, who raised his hands to shield himself. A bullet stamped Tilt’s kneecap, blowing it to fragments and knocking him backwards in the dirt. Halladay stopped firing and ran to Katey’s side.

“Son of a bitch!” Tilt shouted, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. The pain in his leg was like a hot knife stuck under the bones of his knee. He turned to look at the others and saw that they were dead. Tilt slid backwards on his rear, trying to make it into the thicket while Halladay was bent over Katey’s corpse.

A gunshot struck Tilt in the right hand, shattering his fingers. Tilt screamed, “Wait a second! Wait!”

Halladay picked up Tilt’s skinning knife from the ground. It was still wet with Katey’s blood. He went toward Tilt, who moaned and tried backing away. Halladay stabbed the knife halfway into Tilt’s thigh and said, “You move another inch and I will make you a eunuch.”

Tilt flopped on the ground like a fish and gasped, “Stop! For God’s sake, Doc, I’m a lawman. I need a doctor, and if you help me, I’ll make it worth your while.” He pointed at the bodies of the dead savages, “It wasn’t me that killed your wife. Try and have a little perspective here!”