James Axler - Tainted Cascade

Tucking a zipgun into a holster designed for a much larger flintlock, Mildred frowned at the idea of torture, then suddenly went cold inside when she again remembered what was hidden inside her med bag. Oh, my dear God, she thought. We have to get my bag back at any cost! She started to tell the others, then paused, unsure of how to inform them about her colossal blunder.

“Mebbe slaves know,” Jak stated, sliding a knife into his new belt. “They probably see trade.”

“Let’s go ask,” Ryan stated, heading that way.

Along the walk, Mildred decide to keep quiet for the moment about the journal. If she got it back, or it was destroyed, no problem. She would only have to inform the others if the med bag became permanently lost, and she was a long way from that yet. Pushing the matter to the back of her mind, Mildred inspected the wounds on Doc and Jak, and decided they would also keep for the moment. Neither was particularly deep, and both men knew how to tie a field dressing almost as well as she did.

Going to the crashed wag, Ryan went to check the bodies of the slavers, while Krysty and Mildred went to free the prisoners. Meanwhile, Jak went to look for the weapons of the companions under the buckboard seat at the front of the wag, and Doc inspected the horses to see if any of them could still walk. Sadly, all of the animals were crippled, so he solemnly drew a knife and began to mercifully slit their throats.

Keeping a safe distance from the group, J.B. stood guard with the pepperbox, a hand curled around the huge hammer.

The body of the first slaver was in such ragged condition Ryan had no need to check for any sign of life. The man’s head had cracked open on a rock, and his brains were lying in the dirt, covered with scurrying ants. Upon closer inspection, the driver of the wag turned out to be a woman; she was so fat that her huge breasts sort of merged with her belly to round out her shape into a blob.

She also didn’t have any blood on her clothing, and Ryan kicked a stone in the dirt to send it tumbling into her side. Instantly, the fat woman rolled over and fired a hidden blaster. The miniball hummed past Ryan, punching through his hair it came so bastard close, and he shot back, blowing a ragged hole in her arm. They needed her alive.

Staggering back from the explosion of blood, the slaver turned and whipped out a boomerang. The spinning wood went straight for Ryan’s face, and he just barely managed to block it with his longblaster, the boomerang smashing into pieces on the iron barrel.

Snarling, she draw a hatchet and started lumbering forward when an arrow slammed into her leg. With a cry of pain, the fat slaver turned to stare in raw hatred at Doc, holding an empty crossbow. Low and fast, Jak was running closer, a boomerang held in a raised hand. Dropping the longblaster, Ryan pulled a flintlock handblaster and cocked back the hammer.

“Surrender!” J.B. shouted, aiming the massive pepperbox.

“Nuke you! Never gonna put me in chains!” she growled, and pulled a machete to hack again and again at her own neck. As crimson fluids gushed from the self-inflicted wounds, the companions could only watch as she slowly sagged to the ground and expired.

“Damn fool,” Doc muttered, nocking in another arrow. “She thought we would do to her what she had done to so many others.”

“Makes sense,” Jak said, tucking the boomerang into his belt. “Do unto others, all that.”

Never having heard the message of peace from the Bible twisted in such a manner, the old man gave no reply, not sure if he should be offended or bemused.

Just then, Krysty got the cage hatch unlocked and the prisoners crawled out of the box onto the soft green grass. Ten people exited the cage, with two more staying inside. It was readily apparent from the impossible positions of their bodies that the slaves’ dream of freedom had been granted early by the cruel gift of death.

“Thank you, mistress,” an old man croaked, holding an arm that was clearly broken in several places.

Leading the man to the front of the buckboard, Mildred got some supplies from under the seat and commenced washing the arm with water and shine.

“You a healer?” the wrinklie asked in wonder.

“The best in the world,” Mildred stated truthfully, wrapping the arm in a dirty shirt before lashing it tightly to a broken spoke from the busted wag wheel. “This’ll itch like crazy in a few days, but don’t take this off!”

“Pain is life,” the old man said as if he had heard the phrase often.

“For a couple of months, at least,” she answered back with a grin. Hesitantly, he smiled back, then inhaled sharply as she tightened the ropes even more.

The rest of the freed slaves remained standing in a loose group, looking greedily at the food and weapons at the front of the wag. Some of them started to move toward the aced slavers, but then glanced at the weapons held by the companions and nervously stayed where they were.

Frowning, Krysty looked over the forlorn people. Starved nearly to death and buck naked, they looked ready to keel over and buy the farm. What baron would ever want to buy a workforce like this?

Reloading the longblaster, Ryan ambled closer. “Any sign of our…boots?” he asked, stressing the last word.

“Not here,” Jak said meaningfully, looked sideways at the undamaged wag. The fighting in the cage had finally stopped, and several of the prisoners were stretching their arms between the bars to try to reach something on the ground. Obviously, during the ruckus, the key had accidentally dropped into the grass.

“Anybody see who sold us to the slavers?” Ryan asked in a loud, clear voice. Walking closer, the man lifted an ammo pouch from his belt, hefting it in a palm. “There’s a reward.”

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