Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

Suddenly, a chill swept over him. The warning bells he had been ignoring were clamoring inside his head again.

He wasn’t alone.

Trent straightened and turned slowly to see a tall, willowy woman standing at the edge of the forest. Her dark blond hair was stuffed up under a green camouflaged field hat, and the coldest blue eyes he’d ever seen were staring, unblinking, down the barrel of her rifle. Her gaze didn’t waver a fraction, and a quick glance told him the safety was down, and off. The black bore of the barrel looked large enough to ride through with his hat on.

She was nearly as tall as he was, and he stood over six feet. Blond hair tied in a ponytail that he judged would fall to her waist when let loose. The first few buttons on her thin, white cotton blouse were undone, because of the heat he guessed, and the action of aiming the rifle had parted the front so he could see the sides of her breasts—her deeply tanned throat in startling contrast to the white skin beneath.

Her pants were homemade buckskin, like his, but hers were tighter, and filled out differently. How she filled them out made him sweat. Girls you wanted to take a chance with were few and far between, and it’d been awhile.

Leather boots covered her feet. Sensible. And a long-bladed knife hung from a belt strapped around her waist. Dangerous.

When he finally raised his eyes from her body to her face, her eyes were mocking him. “Sure took you a long time to get to my face.”

Her voice was low, husky, and vaguely censuring, seeming to chide him for the trip.

“I take my time with beautiful things.”

They stood watching each other, both slightly off balance in their positions. The seconds stretched out as their gaze stayed locked together.

He saw her come to a decision and her voice hardened. “Drop the rifle.”

It was gamble time. She didn’t look like a killer. “Can’t do that.” He saw the muzzle shift a fraction, but the sonic ‘whap’ of the bullet passing his ear still made him flinch. The muzzle flash didn’t distract him from watching the ejected casing as it made a slow, glittering, arch in the sunlight, then disappeared into the tall grass. His heart tripped into high gear as his ears rang. Maybe he wouldn’t need to hear anything until tomorrow. Damn, that hurt.

Their eyes still met over the sights of her gun, holding steady with each other as he weighed his options. Slowly, one of her eyebrows arched and he saw resolution come into her eyes.

He bent over slowly and placed his rifle on the ground. She followed his movement with the barrel of her gun and he almost smiled. When he straightened, she was slow to follow with the rifle. The split second cost her. Her muzzle pointed down, and his .44 was lined up with her belly.

“How in the hell —” She was startled, but the rifle was coming up.

“Don’t.” Trent interjected quickly to stop her. He held his hand palm out to her. “I don’t think either of us wants to be shot today.”

“You got that right.”

After a moment, she casually tilted her rifle and leaned it on her shoulder, muzzle pointing up and backwards. The position didn’t fool him. She could still bring the rifle into action very quickly. This girl had been around the block a few times. Her glance shifted to the body she could barely see, a few feet behind Trent. “Your kill?”

He shook his head, disgustedly. “Not hardly.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?” She stood waiting for a sign from him and looked wound up tight as a spring.

“Can we call a truce first?”

She didn’t answer, looking instead at the barrel of the gun still lined on her belly. Looking back up at him, she raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question.

Suddenly realizing he still had a gun on her, he abruptly rocked back the revolver, letting the hammer down in the process, and smoothly flipped the gun into its oiled holster. The quickness of his hands weren’t lost on her.

“I saw the birds.” The low contralto voice came out and softly caressed his ears.

He knew she saw him glance toward the forest, then back.

What was she doing here?

The girl still hadn’t moved. “What happened here?”

He glanced back at the grotesquely displayed body. Now that another woman was present, he was uncomfortable at the victim’s nakedness and wanted to cover her.

“Woman died.”

She nodded her head toward the clearing. “I saw you looking around. Did you find any sign?”

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and knew his frustration was showing. “Not much to see. Whoever it was wiped their tracks clean and didn’t leave as much as a bent twig.”

“Do you mind if I take a look around?” The girl’s voice emphasized the I .

He realized she didn’t trust him and he couldn’t blame her.

The tall girl looked steadily at him for a moment. Her gaze openly searched his face and took in the rest of him in a long, slow glance. It was his turn to feel uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

“You’re one of Colonel Bonham’s couriers.”

It was a statement rather than a question.

He gave her a grudging smile. “Good guess.”

The girl walked around him, keeping some distance between them. Nearing the body, she got her first real look.

“Jesus God.” Her hand came up to her mouth and she turned away for a moment. A deep shuddering breath, then a couple more, and he could see the strength coming into her. He watched her fight down the horror and revulsion. She straightened, and from a side view, he saw firmness come into her face. “You might have warned me.”

As he walked silently up to her, he could see the start of tears in her eyes, tears denied with a violent shake of her head. “I wanted to see how you reacted. Women can kill as easily as men. Do you know her?”

Startled, realizing how close they were, she took a step away. “Yeah, I know her.”

“Where’s she from?”

She looked at him a moment and for a moment he didn’t know if she’d answer. “Big Springs, over east of here.”

“Who was she?”

The answers seemed to be coming easier now. “We called her Markie. I don’t know a last name.”

“Do you know what she was doing out here?” He paused, putting an indictment into the next word. “Alone?”

“Same as me.”

This was like pulling teeth. “I was wondering about that, too. You being alone, I mean.”

She looked like she’d finally had enough. “What difference does it make to you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Curious, is all. I don’t like finding girls staked out on the ground like this.”

As he started toward his horse for a shovel, the girl called to him. “You got a name, or will ‘hey you’ be all right?”

“Trent. John Trent.”

He watched as the girl took a half step backward, and the barrel of the rifle completed a half-circle as the bottom grip of the gun slapped into her palm. A slick, practiced move, and somehow he knew it would be. “I’ve heard of you.”

Indeed, she had. The exploits of John Trent were known around campfires and kitchens and other gathering places where men and women congregated to talk of their new world.

Fascinated, she tried to match up the man with the stories she had heard. The stories were of a brutal fighter, giving no quarter to anyone. Something in the picture he presented was wrong, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The size was right, and he certainly looked tough enough. The man she’d heard about was supposed to be a cold-eyed character that would as soon kill you as look at you. An ex-soldier, rumored to be a sometime mercenary, and an expert with knife or gun. He was known up and down the new frontier as a bad man to tangle with.