Part 11 (1/2)

Someone's shuffling around at the base of the Jeep. My eyes flick to the ground where the smaller twin crawls forward on his hands and knees. Something in his hands glints in the sun- truck keys. His eyes flick between Clay's rock cover and the truck. He's going to run. I'm elated, but then it dawns on me-he knows my secret. If he leaves now, he'll just be back with more guns and ammo.

With one more glance to his dead brother, he scrambles up and sprints to the truck. He throws his arms over his head like that one gesture will keep him from being shot up. I can't let him escape, but I can't run into the open without catching a bullet in the back.

Bear Paws yells after him. ”Juto, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Get back here.” But Juto isn't stopping. He'll soon be kicking up dust as he peels away.

I can't think. I just act. I hurtle over the Jeep tailgate and jump into the dust. Bear Paws sees me and levels his gun in my direction. I scramble, choking on the dust I kick up. Behind me, a gun fires. I wait for the bullet that will punch through my guts, but nothing. Patting my body for holes, I look back over my shoulder.

It wasn't Bear Paws's rifle that went off. He clutches his shoulder, his mouth dropped open in surprise as blood blossoms under his hand. Clay stands behind his rock, smoke curling from the barrel of his gun. There's a devilish gleam in his eye.

Bear Paws shrieks and shakes a fist at Clay. ”You will be punished! No one harms the Mother's children!” He drops down behind the Jeep again.

Twenty yards away the truck starts up with a grumble. I got to go.

I run up to the rust-eaten truck with no back winds.h.i.+eld and mismatched panels welded together in lopsided squares. Juto sits on the cracked leather driver's seat, looking small and out of place in his blood-splattered loincloth and smeared body paint. He's swearing at the gears.h.i.+ft he grinds into first. The truck sputters and jumps forward. He doesn't see me.

You have no weapon and this man has at least thirty pounds on you! It's too late for plans. I yank the door open and stare up into Juto's very surprised face.

”Wha-”

I grab his arm and drag him out.

Without time to brace himself, Juto tumbles out of the cab. I slide over as he falls with an oomph into the dust. The truck lurches forward. I climb into the driver's seat and slam the door. It's warped and won't close properly.

Hands claw at my door. ”Let me in, you dirty b.i.t.c.h,” Juto says, pulling at me through the open window.

I fight off his fingers and reach for the b.u.t.ton to roll the window up, but it's long gone. Juto leans through the open window, his dirt-flecked upper lip curling in rage. His fingers dig into the collar of my s.h.i.+rt and drag me toward him. I claw his face, racking my nails through the paint on his cheek. Lines of blood bubble up where I've scratched him. He shrieks, high-pitched and feminine, and pulls away. The truck bounces forward on its own while I dig around the cab for a weapon.

Juto yanks the door open with a loud screech. He'll drag me out and kill me. My hands scramble over the dash, into the glove compartment. Nothing. His hand cinches over my bicep hard enough to bring a cry of pain to my lips.

”I'm going to take what you did to my face out on your body. Good Mother will hear you howl and be much pleased.” He grins. Some of his front teeth have been whittled into points. His eyes are feral black pools.

The truck chugs over a pothole and we bounce back and forth. Juto's grip on my arm loosens. He wobbles backward. This is my chance. I lean back and kick him squarely between the ribs. Juto claws the air as he falls out of the cab and into the dust with a thud. I jam my foot to the gas.

The trunk rocks wildly as if I've run over a boulder. But a boulder doesn't crunch like that. I step on the brake and lurch to a stop, my face banging into the steering wheel. Squinting in the rearview, I see the crumpled mess of blood and mangled bones. I've run him over. I slam the truck into park and jump out. I walk to my enemy, smelling blood and burnt rubber.

I've seen roadkill before, flattened rabbits, blown-apart coyotes, lizards that are sizzled lumps on the pavement, their eyes pools of jelly around their b.l.o.o.d.y mouths. It doesn't prepare me for this. Thick ropes of dark red blood pool out both sides of Juto's mouth and ears. His chest is a concave bowl and there's tire tread running the length of his stomach. A b.l.o.o.d.y rib angles through the war paint on his chest, stark white against the mess of red and brown. His hands clench and unclench once. Then they settle on the hard pan.

He's dead. I killed him.

My ears ring and my mouth tastes like blood. I killed a man. I look at the blood streaming from his ear and pooling under this neck. There's a dark stain on his loincloth. I killed him. I gotta look away. I can't stop looking.

Slowly, I remember the shootout behind me. Clay and Ethan. I run sloppily back, my brain feeling loose.

The Mexican standoff is still going on, neither shooter willing to break cover. Now the men are taunting each other.

”Infidels' howls will please the Good Mother,” Bear Paws shouts from behind the Jeep. ”Come, let me please her.”

Clay's voice floats up from behind his rock. ”Still so holy, you sick sonovab.i.t.c.h? I can shoot all day. Come try me.” I want to believe him, but how many bullets can he have?

Bear Paws wipes his forearm across his brow and hugs the rifle to his chest. ”I think I remember you, infidel. Didn't we buy a pretty pet from you a while back?”

There's a long pause. ”No.”

”Yes, yes.” Bear Paws smiles wickedly. ”Last month. You had the boy who wet himself-”

”Shut up!” Clay yells from behind the rock. ”Shut your mouth!”

Bear Paws smiles vilely. ”Good Mother was much pleased with him. His cries were long and loud. All the way to the end.”

”I said,” Clay shouts, standing, ”SHUT UP!” He strides around the rock, lifting his revolvers.

I clutch my face. Is he crazy?

Bear Paws stands, fumbling to raise his rifle with his injured arm. He lunges for the hood of the Jeep to steady his shot. Clay strides forward, his face contorted in rage. Bear Paws squints one eye and curls his finger over the trigger.

”Clay!” My voice is drowned out by the sound of a rifle discharging.

The bullet wings out, the hot lead zipping close enough to ruffle Clay's collar. Clay doesn't flinch. He strides forward, his teeth bared.

Bear Paws's eyes widen. He scrambles to reload, his right hand useless and blood-crusted. Clay runs the last few steps and springs around the Jeep. Bear Paws slips a bullet in the chamber, but Clay kicks the rifle away. It whirls end over end into the dust. He tackles Bear Paws. They roll, a tangle of arms and legs and grunts and I can't see what's happening. I run over. Can I help?

Bear Paws throws a few wild punches that do nothing to stop Clay. He grabs Bear Paws by the shoulders, hefts him up and throws him against our Jeep. There's a loud thunk and the Jeep rocks back and forth. Bear Paws slides weakly to the ground with a moan.

Clay straddles the crumpled man, his lean shadow trailing out behind. He presses the muzzle of his revolver to the Rider's forehead.

”Don't! Don't!” Bear Paws throws up his shaking palms. ”I say sorry. You can have whatever you want.”

”Not enough,” Clay growls. His eyebrows angle down dangerously. ”No G.o.dd.a.m.n Mother to hear your cries today. You're going straight to h.e.l.l. And I'm the one to send you there.” He thumbs down the safety on his gun with a sharp click.

Bear Paws clutches his hands together beneath his throat and looks up at Clay with wet eyes. He begins to mutter a prayer.

Clay's lip curls back from sharp white teeth. ”How dare you pray after what you done.” He narrows his eyes. ”This is for Kody.”

When the gunshot crackles over the desert, I close my eyes. When I open them, there's nothing but the Jeep and Clay and a b.l.o.o.d.y mess of bodies on either side of the dusty crossroads. It's over.

Somehow I make it back to the Jeep, though my head's thrumming like an engine and everything's doubling in my vision. I walk past Bennett and his father. Both lie in muddy red pools. Their lifeless faces stare up at the sky. I can't look. I keep my watering eyes on the Jeep. Ethan's in there. I gotta get back to him.

Clay stands above the Rider, a b.l.o.o.d.y mess against the side of our Jeep. I don't look. I can't take any more blood. I climb back in the Jeep next to Ethan (who's completely undisturbed, thank G.o.d or the Good Mother or whoever) and tuck my head in my arms. The urge to throw up returns. I breathe through my nose and try to sort through what just happened.

Clay was amazing. And scary. The way he dispatched Bear Paws ... I'd hate to have that directed at me. And who is Kody?

When I look up, Clay stands at the edge of the tailgate. His face is pale and distant. His voice rolls out of his throat as if he were just coming out of a dream. ”The little man? He alright?” His hat's down low over his face so that his features are covered in shadow again, but his hands tremble slightly as he rubs a revolver on his s.h.i.+rt and tucks it in the holster.

I put my hand on Ethan's chest. ”He's still out.”

He tucks both guns into their holsters. He looks at me, his face tight. ”You okay? You look really pale.”