Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

As they walked back toward the house, Cruz told the man. “Keep a sharp eye. There is a demon feel to this night.”

Gorge shuddered as he looked back toward the forest.

Pagan Reeves was furious. It was the day after they’d ambushed Trent, and no one was around. Most of the townspeople had disappeared. Even his men had left the town, and he needed an audience.

Flanked by Red Seaver, he stalked up and down the small street of the settlement, just looking for something to vent his wrath on. He found his catharsis in Reverend Stephens.

Standing in front of his church, the preacher awaited the men approaching.

“Well, if it isn’t the Holy Man.” Reeves’ voice taunted him.

The reverend wasn’t impressed. “Leave this place, you’re not welcome here.”

Seaver edged around to the side of the reverend. When he looked at Pagan, Seaver drew his pistol and whipped the barrel across the back of his head, turning the blond hair crimson with blood. As the man fell, Seaver and Reeves kicked him repeatedly in the face and ribs. When they were through, he was barely alive, breathing shallowly through bleeding lips, arms wrapped around his belly, then spitting up blood in a wheezing cough.

Pagan stood over the preacher. “That ought to keep you quiet for a while.” He looked at Seaver, “Kickin’ preachers is thirsty work. Let’s go get some of Murdock’s beer.”

The saloon had few patrons when the two men entered.

Pagan’s eyes fell on Murdock at the end of the bar. “How ‘bout bringing a man a drink, Murdock?”

The big woman raised her eyes to meet his. “When I see a man, I’ll do that.”

Pagan’s voice was brittle. “You’ll do it now— or I’ll burn this place down around your ears.”

She handed bottles to each of them. “You know he’ll come for you. You gotta know that. This may be the last beer you boys will ever drink.”

“Trent?” Red Seaver guffawed loudly. “He never knew it was coming. We hit him twice. He’s dead.”

“You shot him from ambush? I never figured you for a back shooter, Red.”

Seaver’s voice was proud, echoing from the bottle. “It don’t matter how we get it done, Murdock. What matters is getting it done. And I never miss.”

She gave him a malicious smile. “You did this time.”

“What?”

“I just saw him last night. He’ll live a long time. That’s more than I can say for you two.”

Seaver couldn’t believe it. “We hit him solid. There was blood everywhere. I saw it.”

“Oh, you hit him all right. But you didn’t hit him good enough. If I’m any judge, he’ll come see you boys, and right soon.”

“Where?” Pagan’s voice was coldly furious. “Where is he, Murdock? We’ll just go and finish the job.”

“Sure. You go ahead, boys.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s out at the Sanchez ranch. You do know Cruz, don’t you? And the rest of his riders? They’ll hunt you down like coyotes.”

The two men looked at each other and hurriedly finished their drinks.

They’d just walked out, and Murdock was washing out their bottles, when the door opened again. She turned with a scowl on her face, thinking Reeves and Seaver had come back in. A total stranger stood in the room.

“I’m a thirsty man.” The newcomer seemed mesmerized as he looked at a six-foot vision of loveliness. “I’m Charlie Walsh and I ain’t had a drink since I left Base Camp. If you’d trot one out, I’d be pleased to make your acquaintance. Bring one for yourself.”

Murdock straightened up a little, smoothing her hair. “It’s been a thirsty kind of day.” Pouring a straight shot of skullbuster, she handed it to him. Walsh knocked back the drink without a shudder, under her admiring gaze.

“Have you seen a long, tall galoot around? He’s kinda short on brains, but a likable sort, and he’ll be wearing a tin star for a target on his chest.”

All her new friendliness left like a flock of quail. “Why do you want him?”

The man looked at with a serious expression. “I’m the best friend he has in the world, that’s why.”

“Well, now.” With her faith restored in her first impression of the man, she walked over to the front door and locked it. “Maybe we should talk.”

Two weeks later John Trent stood on the front porch of an earth home carved into the mountainside years ago. Katie’s ‘hideout’ had turned into quite a place. The original owner had outfitted the home with the finest survival equipment money could buy. Unfortunately, it looked like they never got to use it. That was the bad part about survival. It was mostly luck, and luck is a fickle mistress.

A walk-in closet had revealed a treasure of weapons. The rifle rack had produced a lever action just like his, along with M-16s and a Colt Sportster that looked like an M-16, but was chambered for a larger round.

There were several handguns racked on the wall, mostly semi-automatics, but way in the back was a Smith & Wesson .357, similar in weight to his pistol. The load was about like his .44, but the ammo was hard to find. Judging from the stash in the closet, ammo would not be a problem in the near future. He hefted the pistol and eased back the hammer. No. The frame was too large, and the gun too heavy. He put it back on the shelf. Maybe Chico could use it.

He straightened as he cast a worried look around the clearing. Katie went hunting this morning, and should have been back before now. He’d give her a few more minutes.

Under her watchful care, his wounds were healed fast. Two days ago, when she went hunting, he saddled his horse and tried to get into the saddle. The first step brought sweat to his forehead, but he made it. Soon it would be time to ride. The thought of Pagan Reeves brought anger every time. Soon, by God.

Glancing at the trail, he saw Katie striding up the path, carrying a small whitetail deer across her shoulders. “Another day, another feast?” He noticed a fine sheen of sweat on her brow, and her breath sounded ragged from carrying the heavy deer. “What would you do if you shot a big one?”

She took a deep breath, stretched her shoulders and smiled at him. “I don’t shoot big ones.”

He decided to change the subject. There was no use beating a dead horse… or deer. “Any sign?”

At once, she was serious. “None to speak of.”

“I went up the bluff today.” He gestured at the peak behind the house.

She looked at him critically. He knew she wouldn’t see any blood, because he’d changed his shirt. He’d leaked a little. “And?”

“With those high-powered binoculars we found, you can see this whole country. It looks like Starking is still in his camp. I was worried he would go ahead and take over the town.”

“Pagan still has it.”

That startled him. “How—?”

He could tell she didn’t want to tell, but then she relented. “I scouted up pretty close to town. Found little Tommy fishing the creek. He let me know. Most of the townspeople are hiding in the hills. Pagan and his bunch are just lying around. They seem to be waiting for something.” Her eyes searched his worriedly. “If you go, they’ll be all over you.”

“I know.” He suddenly changed the subject. “Found out something about this place today when I was up on the hill.”

Her raised eyebrows asked the question.

“Solar power.”

She looked blankly at him. He had forgotten how young she was. “Electricity. You know how they generate it at the mill, by turning a generator? Years ago, they perfected a way of collecting the sun’s energy and turning it into electricity. All I had to do was clean off the collectors and hook up the batteries.” He smiled at her. “Although the batteries are in bad shape, I think there’s enough power for a small surprise tonight.”