Luckily, I fall just close enough to Bandana so I can reach over, wrenching the knife from his chest. And with a final stab through the old guy’s throat, that’s three down and three to go.
A roar sounded behind him, spinning, I see Bigfoot swinging the chain. This bastard just doesn’t have any quit in him, I think, crawling a couple of feet over to recover my handaxe. Bringing up the axe handle to block the strike, my arm shakes with the effort and I know it’s too weak now to take much more, but I givemy head a hard shake, hoping to tap on some hidden reserve of strength to keep going.
Kicking out at the knee he’s favoring, it caves and he lands on his good one.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” I mutter in disbelief as the Hispanic man charges at me with a pitchfork extended.
I step to the side, originally grabbing the long handle with my left hand and try to yank it out of his hands. But besides that knock on the head I gave him, he’s as fresh as a daisy so I quickly know I’ll need both hands and am forced to drop the axe; suddenly locked into a bizarre game of tug of war with the other man.
Finally I realize that twisting it will throw him off balance so I spin it clockwise and he stumbles, quickly backing out of its reach when I possess it. Maybe it’s short sighted, but I snap the long handle in two over my thigh and hold the longer piece of the wood up to stop the next swing of the chain that Bigfoot is still holding onto.
With the chain tangled up, I charge Bigfoot, getting him in the belly with the shorter piece of the handle and kicking out at his knee one more time. Looking into his eyes, I can see his realization that the wood punctured something important and that he’s not getting back up. He opens his mouth to say something, but the blood that he coughs up tells me I all I need to know—he’s done.
In the spreading light, the orange flame flickers through rising smoke and the Hispanic man coughs, bending over and resting his hands on his knees as I retrieve my weapons.
“Look, I didn’t come here to die, man,” his voice is hoarse as the fire jumps to some hay and new plumes of smoke waft toward the hayloft and burning my eyes in the process. “I was on theroad when they had you here, I just got back yesterday. I got a family.”
I open my mouth to ask about Mills just as a gunshot rings out and the man begging for his life drops to the ground.
“Disloyal cocksucker.” Davis hocks a loogie in his direction, still wearing my cut as he waves the gun in my direction, seemingly to get me to step away from the door. “I’ve always thought that being burned alive would be the worst way to go. I’ll wait just long enough to enjoy your screams.”
“You won’t live out the day,” I tell him, keeping his attention on me as we shift in concert with each other. With his back to the door, he takes slow, measured steps in that direction—keeping a wary eye on the weapons I still hold.
I grin as the door is slowly pushed inward, the noise from the old hinges thankfully covered by the crackling of the fire.
“Don’t you worry. I’ll live long enough to track down Dindak’s daughter,” he cackles. “What do you think? Should I wear the deputy’s uniform or your cut when I’m fucking her?”
“Funny, isn’t it? Not having anything to wear that you actually earned?”
The next shot that’s fired comes from the door behind Davis, hitting the arm that’s holding the gun.
Four steps forward and I’m reaching for his hair to hold him in place as I swing the axe into the side of his neck.
He’s dead by my third swing, but it takes a few more to cut his head off.
So much for not getting his blood on my cut, I think as I’m yanking it off his torso.
Thunder walks toward me and since every fiber of my being is screaming in pain, I’m not too proud to accept his help; only that isn’t his intention.
Stepping past me, he picks up his knife and manages to look pissed when he holds it up. “This is mine,” he states the obvious. “You know I wanted it back.”
“Must have slipped my mind,” I answer, swaying on my feet even as I think to check the sheath on Davis’s belt, happy for the reminder to get my own knife back. “A little help?”
“I would, but your girl’s out there and I don’t want you to look like a pussy,” Thunder says his own voice getting raspy from the smoke, he reaches for my shoulder until he notices the fresh blood on my sleeve. “Come on, it’s like twenty feet, even you can make it that far.”
“Fuck off.” I growl even as I grin at him.
“That’s the spirit. Come get me,” he says, egging on my temper and striding toward the door, leaving me to follow him out of the barn. “Hope you don’t mind me stepping in a little. That girl of yours lost her shit when she found out I let you get a head start on these pricks.”
We exchange another grin. He knows I enjoy being outnumbered in a fight. I stumble, and know that I’m going to pay for my actions when that morphine shot wears off.
On account of the fire, I suspect the prospects and Bronco make quick work of picking up the bodies and loading them into a delivery van.
They could have gone up in the inferno for all that I noticed.
Dindak was more like forty feet away, and I only know that because he was holding his daughter in place. My reckless girl no doubt would have come in after me a second time if not for her father.
Once she laid on eyes on me, I fell to my knees, having already walked the twenty feet that Thunder had mentioned. Try as I may, I couldn’t get my feet under me. I just didn’t have the energy to move another muscle.
