Chapter Seven.

Alejandro Esposito focused on one thing. Finding the men who had killed his family and taken his little sister. He had been out hunting, flanking the wagon train. He had been east of the wagons, on the eastern bank of the Rio Grande.

Five wagons belonging to five families loaded with everything they owned, with draft animals and dogs. They had been moving north through the High Mexican Territory, hoping to find a place they could claim as their own. He had heard the distant echoes of gunfire, but he had been so far away. He almost killed his horse trying to get back to the camp, but by the time he arrived, everyone was dead.

Everything of value was gone. The bodies of his family were not where they would have fallen defending the wagons. The bodies of the men and boys piled up next to the remaining half burned wagon. Each one of the men had a slit throat. The women had bullet holes in them, and every one of them was a bullet hole in the middle of their chest. The women in the wagon train all had pistols, anticipating what awaited them if captured. After firing five shots at the raiders, the last bullet had been for themselves.

All the horses and mules were gone. Four strange men were lying naked near the single smoldering wagon. Attackers that had died by his friend’s hands. Left to rot by their companions. He wept as he buried his family and friends. A mass grave. A hole deep enough that animals wouldn’t ravage the bodies of his loved ones. The sun had fallen and risen twice again before he finished.

Looking at the trail the killers left, he started walking, tracking. He had been out hunting. Papa had given him the long rifle. Earning the honor was no easy feat. You had to be trusted to be allowed to use it. It had cost an entire season of work from the entire family to pay for it. Black powder and lead minié balls could kill a full grown steer over three hundred yards away. The weight of the rifle on his back was heavier than it had been the day before. He had seen every member of his family laid out, except for Connie.

Sweet little Consuéla. She was 13 years old, his adopted sister. A man named Ignacio had come across their camp. Ignacio was one of the hunters in the Esposito wagon train. The bodies in the camp had told the story. Three dead dogs. Two young boys shot, a young girl shot in the back. Two men with their hands tied behind their backs with their throats slit. An older pretty woman dead with an axe still in her hands. An older man with six gunshot wounds in his body, holding two revolvers. Several unsavory looking men littered the camp, all of them dead. Saddled horses wandered around. Most of them congregated around the water barrel hanging off the end of the wagon. The scout followed the sound of muffled sobs and found a young girl hiding in a pile of large rocks, in a crack so narrow he couldn’t stick one of his thighs in.

It had taken him half the day to lure the poor thing out. Thirst had brought her out of her hiding place. Ignacio wrapped her up in his poncho and carried her back to the camp, leading the owner-less horses. He avoided going past the ravaged camp, which added the last half of the day to his journey. That night, he led a party of men back to the camp to look for anything useful that might remain. The men were uneasy. They called it grave robbing, but they still did it. Those poor people would not need their stuff and it would help the family, and thus the poor little girl. They buried the victims of the slaughter, leaving the bodies of their killers to rot. Each of the victim’s bodies had their skulls destroyed. A knife beat into the temple. It was called “Mercy.” It would keep the poor soul from becoming a Ghoul. The dead marauders were hit in the face with an axe or a shovel. It wasn’t an action that would cause a loss of sleep for any of them. The loot recovered from the camp was sobering. Plenty of useful and valuable items. It was all stuff that they themselves owned. The only difference between the Esposito train and those poor people had been luck and poor sentries. Lesson learned.

Two months later and Connie was part of the family. A beautiful girl, her smile could light up the night. When she laughed, the world seemed to be a better place. Those animals kidnapped her. Alejandro was going to find his sister. He was going to find her abductors, and he was going to shoot them, then he was going to light them on fire and then he was going to piss on them. He found the trail. His horse, Manchado, following behind him like a large dog. The sky fire burned greenish swathes in the night. Nightmares came out when the sky burned.

For the first time in his life, the night sky held no fear for him. He was the one that would do the hunting from now on, and anything that got in his way was going to fucking die. He turned north.

***

Fear gripped Kathleen. She was terrified. Two days ago, Javier had come galloping into the compound through the western gate, yelling at the top of his lungs for her father and the Guardsman. Someone had attacked the Stevens’ farmstead. Burned it to the ground. She felt her heart lurch. Michael and Patricia were almost family. Michael was going to be her husband. She had known this since she was fourteen years old. She had beaten an entire territory worth of women’s asses to let every bitch in the basin know Michael was her man.

It was funny. Michael never understood why only very old, very pregnant, or married women would dance with him at the festivals. They all knew that Michael Stevens was her dance partner. She wasn’t playing any games. The first time she laid eyes on that young man, she knew for a fact that they were going to make a family together. Kathleen thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever set eyes on. He was just over six feet tall, light brown hair and light brown eyes. When he smiled his whole face lit up, his cheeks were dimpled. Now that he was older, the muscles earned by hard work on the farm had erased the gawkiness he’d displayed when he was fourteen.

In an unprecedented action, her father sent half the entire crew to the Stevens’ homestead, the other half had been put on alert. And the terrifying thing was that he had armed every single one of them. Her mother forbade her from going. Kathleen loved her mother, but at this moment, she was ready to beat her old ass senseless.

She didn’t, but only because no one would have been around to make dinner for the men. Her mother was tough as shit, too. If Kathleen was going to take a swing at her, she might not be in any shape to help with her duties afterward. That was fine. She would pick her battles. Her mother decided that when the crew returned, they would be hungry. Everyone that remained would work like it was harvest time. Kathleen grabbed her younger brother and took control of her people and put them to work cooking a large community meal.

Her mother got the sick house cleaned and ready for any injured that might need medical attention. Fire places were lit. She assigned youngsters to bring firewood to keep them burning. Others brought the big kettles and water for boiling. Señora Maclusky was preparing for a siege. Then, in typical fashion, she started wandering around the compound and stuck her nose into everything. Even the bunkhouses, which were a territory the foreman alone governed. That was going to cause a big fucking stink, that was.

The crew returned just before twilight, subdued. They didn’t eat a thing, just picking at the food. They went through quite a lot of beer and cannabis. Mother didn’t say a thing about food waste, she was worried. The Stevens' place no longer existed, razed to the ground. They found six of the workers with multiple gunshots in their bodies. Because their bodies weren’t completely burned, they identified the ranch hands in the burned casa.

The other three were nothing but charred meat and bone. The attackers even killed the dogs and threw them into the fire. Michael and Patricia were missing. Kathleen and her father got into an epic argument that night. The station hands listened to the beginning of the fight and then promptly fucked off and found places to be that were not in the line of fire. None of them were going to get in the middle of that mess. The patriarch of the house, don Maclusky, declared that his daughter was going to just stay in his house and be safe. And she would shut her damn mouth because her mother said so. He swore, “So help me,” he would have her tied up and gagged if that’s what it took.

Kathleen took a different view of things. Her man wasn’t dead, and she was going to go find him. It took her three days to steal all the gear and supplies she would need. She had to kiss that tall young man Gabriel, with the brown hair and the pretty smile. She’d needed to distract him from the fact that she was using the far corner stall in the barn to store all the things she needed to go.

She was going to find Michael and Pattie. On the third night after the destruction of the Stevens farmstead, Kathleen was finally able sneak out of the family home late at night. She gathered up her stolen gear and supplies, loaded up her horse and a mule named Henry, and set out to find her fiancé.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The family dogs appeared out of the darkness, curious. Her dogs took a break from guarding the compound, and had faithfully followed her to the barn. Dear old Jack, sweet Jackson, and Jackass. She contemplated taking Jackson along, but stealing her horse and the pack mule was pretty bad. Taking one of the compound’s guard dogs was too much. She ached with the need to bring her Jackson with her.

Jackson would be a tremendous comfort in the world. He was almost supernaturally gifted at scenting Night Walkers. It would be too hard to feed him. No. She might take her own life in her hands, but she couldn’t endanger the fort. She’d no right to take one of their protectors. Dogs were so common that "strays" existed before the night sky burned. Dogs with no masters, fending for themselves in cities and towns. No longer. Dogs suffered from the same lowered birthrates as people. Night Walkers would attack them just like they would attack a person.

The tall and pretty young man had been guarding the smaller south gate. A few kisses distracted him, allowing her to hit him hard enough that she could tie him up with no problem. He’d been stunned, but hadn’t lost consciousness, thank God. He was hurt but not injured. She gave him a kiss as an apology. Kathleen tied the poor boy to the center support pole of the guardhouse roof, to prevent him from being punished. Kathleen gagged and blindfolded him. That should discourage Papa from taking his anger out on the poor boy.

She apologized as she took the pistol, which was designated for a night watchman. She eyed the rifle, but couldn’t get over the cost of it. The firearms were hideously expensive. Thinking for a moment, she removed the gag and gave him a very thorough kiss. He deserved it, even if he wasn’t as pretty as Michael. And he was pretty.

“Señorita, you didn’t have to hit me that hard. I know what you’re doin’,” he muttered petulantly.

That garnered him a light slap, as well as another kiss. A huge smile plastered itself across his stupid, pretty face before she stuck the gag back in his mouth. The dogs pursued her, so she spun, pointed at the attractive boy and commanded, “Guard!”

Old Jack whined while his tail beat the floor. He knew something was up. But he climbed up to the staircase landing and assumed the high guard position. Jackson took low guard. Jackass spun in circles, looking confused.

Fucking Jackass. She took him outside, pointed and said, “Patrulla.” She teared up and turned away before the urge to bring one of those sweet boys overcame her.

Opening and closing the gates by herself had been a nerve-wracking affair, but she was used to doing it.

Half an hour later, she had crossed the river and made her way to the Stevens’ homestead. She found the trail of wagon wheels and men on horseback. The sun would rise in about eight hours. She needed to fucking hurry. Her father was going to send some men to bring her back home. Tied up if necessary. She whispered an apology to her horse and the mule for what they were about to endure. She turned northward and started moving as fast as possible in the dim light.

***

Michael saw the town a day before he came close. Smoke was a beacon in the sky. Mike was unsure of how long he had been tracking the outlaws. His head still pounded. The daylight hurt. Ten miles outside the town, he found Allen again. Well, Allen found him.

Allen found, disarmed, and tied him to a tree again. That routine was getting pretty old.

“Godsdamnit boy, how on Earth did you make it his far?” Bellé showed a very worrying amount of affection for Allen. Traitorous wench. A dirt road headed into the town. He could smell civilization. It smelled like shit and smoke. People lived around here. There was no scent of decay, no Night Walkers.

“Look at me, boy, I’m going into that town. I am going to ask a lot of questions. Questions that are going to make the town leaders uncomfortable. Just by being you, you are going to cause me a lot of problems. Stay here out of town, and I’ll get back to you.”

Mike glowered. “You can’t stop me from going into that town.”

Allen stared at him in disbelief. “Godsdamnit, boy, I have you tied to a fucking tree. Don’t fucking tell me I can’t stop you!”

Mike stared back, “We both know that you aint gonna kill me. Let me help.”

Allen squatted down in front of him. “Correction, boy, I wasn’t gonna kill you a week ago.”

Allen steepled his hands in front of him and looked up into the sky. “I’ll kill you if it makes my life easier in the long term. In the short term, having to explain your body to the local sheriff might be a hassle. There’s people ‘round here and someone is bound to find your carcass.”

He looked Mike in the eye. “That means I would have to bust out of jail before the locals hanged me for murder. That might get someone killed or hurt. And that would definitely make my life harder. My commander ordered to keep the bodies to a minimum.”

Allen shook his head. “Tracking that cavalry troop with a posse on my tail would cost me too much time.”

Mike turned his head to the side and spat. He muttered, “You seem to think you’re something special if it comes to a fight.”

Allen sighed. “Look at me Michael. My commanding officer has ordered to retrieve two important people from that band of bastards. I WILL get them back. She told me to keep the bodies at a minimum, but she said the amount of bodies was up to me. I will be accountable to my masters when this is over. I might face the hangman for my actions. But I am going to complete my mission, whatever the cost.”

Mike glared at him. “Who are you? You talk about killing people like you do it all the time. How many people have you murdered?”

Allen snorted. “I am not a murderer. I’m a soldier. Even though I am not wearing my uniform. My commander gave me a mission. And I am not alone, Michael. There are many men and women who are following me. And they will kill people if I tell them to.”

Mike glared up at him, judging him. As much as it was possible to glare at and judge a man while sitting on the ground. And tied to a tree.

Allen squatted down and looked Mike in the eye. “I am not a murderer. It’s not murder if The Army says I can do it, so that means it ain’t murder. The Army says I can kill people. And only a truly sick bastard would keep score.”

Mike harrumphed. “That sounds like something a murderer would say. When he forgot the number of people he murdered.”

That earned him a murderous glare. His accusation had scored a hit.

Allen gazed at him for a moment, then shook his head sadly. “I would love to debate you about this, over dinner, wine and weed. A real discussion about politics and war. But I ain’t got no time for that.”

He offered the canteen and let Mike drink his fill. “I’m not gonna gag you. Tied up like this, you could suffocate. I don’t want to add your face to the parade of faces in my dreams. You won’t be able to free yourself from this tree before my men find you. I doubt you have enough experience with the young ladies to have truly talented fingers.” He smirked.

“Stay here, Stevens’son. People will come looking for me soon. Talk to the Kiowa, and tell her you have a message.” Alan took his jaw and forced him to look into his eyes. “Listen to me Michael, son of Stevens. Look for men and women in mottled green, brown and black. They will all have the same weapons, equipment, and hats. You will know them when you see them. The officer will send a squad of 25 men and women to approach the town. They will help you. They will treat your injuries.”

Alan removed a gray stick from his hat cords and applied it to Mike's forehead.“Tell them this. TEACUP, ‘Baby Face’ pursuing subjects, party moving north. Township unaligned and might be hostile. Don’t fuck’em up for no reason. Confirmation ‘Nelson.’’

Mike repeated the message many times. “I don’t understand! You aint got a baby face!”

“Listen to me, kid, you don’t need to understand it. Just repeat it.” Mike repeated it. “Again. Again. You listen to me, Mike, say it again. This is a matter of life and death.”

Alan again gave him two of the blue and white capsules of medicine. The pain in his head subsided, but his thoughts remained clouded. Except for his horse, he was alone and tied to a tree. This time, his wrists were bound with hemp rope, not metal. He wiggled a bit. He could get out of this.

After working for a long time, he freed his hands from the ropes. Then he freed himself from the tree. He lunged at the water-skin that the bastard had left him. Sweet, sweet water. His horse was over there. With a nosebag full of feed on her damn face. Traitor. That his sweet Bellé let that man feed her, saddle and unsaddle her, and NOT KICKED OR BITTEN HIM ONCE baffled and angered him.

Mike had seen her bite Fernando, a farm hand she knew. Because he was there. Her acceptance of Allen pissed him off on a deeply personal level. She should have bitten him. Maybe he could train her to bite on command. Or kick. He shook his head. Ow. Oops. Have to stop doing that. Maybe training his horse to attack people wasn’t a good idea. He left that thought for later.

It was near sundown. Mike was riding into town. It was a sizable town, much larger than Los Gatos, protected by a palisade wall with gates and men who looked pretty determined to keep the town safe. The men guarding the gate stopped him. He was asked by a stern man with a club. “What’s your business here, stranger?”

Three men stood with spears, looking intimidating. Mike gave the universal pass phrase, “I am not a walker.” The actual words were unimportant. What mattered was that you spoke in either English or Spanish. And that the words made sense. Of course, Walkers didn’t ride horses, but the challenge was universal when entering a town. The man in charge relaxed a bit. Then asked again, “What’s your business here, señor?”

“I’m looking for someone. He said he was coming here to ask some questions.”

The watchman looked at him. “Some of our people warned us about you. Get him.”

Dizziness again. The world tilted and then he hit the ground. The world disappeared in a blinding flash of pain.