Free Haints Stay by Colin Winnette Page B

outward until it
     began to crack. The latch holding it shut would not budge. It was new, though the
     rest of the bench was splintered and worn. The lock was purchased, maybe, for this
     particular event. A small honor. The age of the wood was apparent enough. It croaked
     and creaked as he bowed it. It bent and shuddered and finally broke in a jagged line
     at the edge of the shining new latch.
    He was up then and surveying the damage. The wagon was empty. He could
     see nothing through the window. He looked around for something sharp, a blade or a
     bit of broken metal, to remove his bindings. There was nothing. He opened the door
     of the wagon with his toe, slowly at first. When nothing happened and no sounds
     came, he pushed it open with his body and he stepped out and onto the foot ladder,
     lowering himself then down to the sand. The horses had been cut loose, and were
     gone. The still bodies of his captors decorated the landscape. They were shot, each
     and every one of them.
    Brooke checked them, one by one, for a pulse. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
     Then Jim. Brooke set two fingers to the body’s neck and Jim startled, met the other
     man’s eyes with his own. He was pained but had strength left.
    â€œWe’ll just keep coming,” said Jim.
    â€œI know,” said Brooke.
    â€œIf you can get out of the desert, we’ll find you.”
    â€œI know,” said Brooke.
    â€œWe’ll hunt you down until — ”
    Brooke set his boot to the man’s throat then, shutting him up. He ground
     down for only a few seconds before Jim stoppedstruggling against
     him. When Brooke reached to check the pulse again, he was met with no
     resistance.
    Â 
    â€œHow old are you then ?”
    Sugar did not answer.
    â€œYou’re an abomination. You know that. A creature.”
    Sugar did not speak.
    â€œYou know that, right ?”
    The woods were thick around them and thickening. It was dark out and
     getting darker. They were approaching midnight. Approaching smells that Sugar knew.
     A kind of air that was familiar.
    â€œYou and your brother, you are no more than beasts.”
    The man opposite Sugar had been talking the entire ride. Nothing could
     shut him up, not even a direct request from one in his party, though each had tried.
     The man was needling Sugar, trying to get a response, trying to get a rise. He
     wanted something from him, but Sugar would not give it. He was thinking only of
     Brooke. And occasionally of Bird. He figured Bird was dead ; if not by the knife
     then by the power of those horses. But he could not be certain. Brooke would be
     dead. If those men didn’t kill him, Sugar would fight him and one of them would
     lose. It didn’t matter who lost. Every day now with Brooke was all lies and more
     trouble. And now this. Now he was sick with something rotten in his gut and the
     whole world making a point of telling him how different and horrible he was.
    â€œAnd what you got in you is going to be worse than a creature,” said the
     needling man. “It’s going to be one of those lumps licking salt off the walls of the
     barn. You’d be better off drowning it in a bucket than carrying it to term.”
    Sugar did not answer. He watched the man. He wore a blank
     expression.
    â€œIt’d make better horse food than person. You’ll probably die squeezing
     it out of you. It will probably claw at your insides like a mountain lion.”
    The wheel of the wagon rode violently over a large stone. The sounds of
     insects swelled the distance around them.
    â€œNormally, in such a situation, we’d like to have a go at our catch. Out
     here in the woods alone. It would even be sort of romantic,” said the needler. “But
     you aren’t worth unbuckling for. I wouldn’t climb inside you with ten extra miles of
     dick skin.”
    Â 
    Two of the corpses had knives in their boots, and the other two had