The Savage(83)

Van Dorn felt the urge to ball his fist or raise his palm to the opposite sex. Kindle his emotions just as she had, across her skin. Feelings were that of roots that’d dug in. Overlapped. Braided a bond. Connecting with another. This he understood.

With that bonding came the parting of root by a blade or a weighted edge. Severed. That’s how he’d felt of the Sheldon girl. A deep connection to her that’d been split when he’d viewed her with the tatted man. When he’d laid sight to her outside of the encampment, he knew she’d felt the same weight bearing down upon her as she swelled his cheek with her sentiment.

Inside the encampment, they were left alone except for the dirty hound and the young boy he’d saved. Each lay with a belly filled by nourishment and lost to exhaustion and worry for what the world had become. Van Dorn sat rubbing the swell that warmed his features from the slap he’d taken. His mind undressing and dressing visions of the Sheldon girl being enslaved. Crying out his name. Footfalls descending the basement stairs of the Widow’s home. The rush he met. Grabbing the fuel to bring flames about the structure. His forced departure and the glimpse of the Sheldon girl standing with that pallid man of ink. “Why?” was all he could ask. “Why did you lead the same man who’d enslaved you to my juncture of safety and quiet?”

“’Cause you abandoned us. Me. And my only way of finding you was leading the man named Cotto with his savages to your home, hoping you were still taking shelter within. When you ran, I found opportunity, ran and tracked you to here.”

Seeing the .30-30 in the Sheldon girl’s grip, something he never believed he’d hold in his possession again, Van Dorn grimaced and then smiled as she gave it to him and he asked, “Where? How did—”

“I get it? Told you I tracked you. Know of all the terrible you found. The boy and girl who lay with the slaughter of your mule, Red, the crazed Pentecost with his daughters and their strife with snake venom. Seen it all.” The Sheldon girl paused and asked, “What about this Scar, is she of trust?”

Van Dorn placed his index finger to his lips. Leaned to the Sheldon girl. Cupped a hand over her ear. Inhaled her scents of electrolytes and earth, there was still that hint of powdery skin and feminine softness beneath the surface and he whispered, “This female, the daughter of Bellmont McGill, she’s as crazed as Cotto. The one from whom you escaped. The death of her father has willed worms of madness in her brain. We need to make a plan of departure. Escape.”

Sheldon sat back. Eyed him. Studied the walls that sur rounded them. Leaned to his ear and cupped her hand in the same manner, “Then let us leave. Together.”

She and Van Dorn took turns speaking in this way as he shook his head. “Not that easy. Can’t just up and walk out. These are vengeful folk. Kind who’d just as soon place a bullet in your skull if you can’t carry your own weight. I watched them let others be tortured for no damn good reason and then killed them.”

“So what’ll we do?”

“Scar’s got moles within Cotto’s people. She’d been waiting on him to smoke out the man who’d murdered her father and Cotto’s. But Cotto followed you.”

“Dammit.”

“They spotted him as quick as they spotted you. One of her moles beat the two of you here. Alerted her. They let the mole be viewed exchanging intel with her and her men. Planted a seed of deception. If it takes, the mole will return with Cotto and his men using him as bait, that is, if Cotto lets him live. If Cotto snags this pod, the seed sprouts, the mole returns, then Cotto will be the bait. When all hell breaks loose, we part ways with this tribe of crazies.”

“Where to?”

“Things have changed. I was coming back for you and those that’d been taken. But now you’re here. The others, I don’t know. But ole man Polk’s place seems close enough. Regardless of if he’s alive or not, he has supplies buried in a storm shelter that’s hidden. A well that’s fed by a spring. We can rest. Plan. Seek out others like us.”

“What if it’s been sacked and looted?”

“I have my doubts. But if so, that’s the chance we take.”

“What of the others that Cotto has enslaved? My mother? Neighbors? The boy soldiers?”

“Like I’ve said, I don’t know. But we need others like us.”

“Those that wanna help rather than hurt.”

“Yeah.” Van Dorn paused. “Look, I’ll get you a pistol or a rifle. We’re to be armed at all times in case shit hits the fan. I’ll get some extra ammo. Other things we may need. We’ll be ready when the time comes, only question is, can you take the life of another if need be?”

Lean and whittled by survival, she sat on the dirt with caked denim, T-shirt, and work boots; her face was stern with confidence, and she smirked. “Can I kill?” She laughed. Shook her head. “If that’s your question, after watching the murdering of my father and the enslavement of my family, then, yes, yes, I can kill whatever blocks my trespass.”

All Dorn could do was sit up straight and strong with a vengeful smile about his lips.

That morning, when the air was lit up by carbine, dirt was rifled into specks, leaves and limbs splintered. Blood watered the wilderness and Van Dorn and the Sheldon girl took to the woods. Leaping and dodging booby traps and trip wires with August and the hound following. Taking to a direction far from Scar’s encampment with eyes following their departure.