Vengeance Road (15 page)

I can still hear the Apache coughing up a fit as I round the corner.

Even on the main street, the scene's crazed.

Smoke is billowing wild. People are running round, screaming for aid. Decent-looking folk wearing nightclothes are spilling from their homes to help, rolling barrels of reserved water nearer to battle the flames. It's good they're on hand, them barrels. The fire's already starting to flirt with the neighboring buildings, and in a town made of wood, the whole strip's fixing to go up like a book of matches.

I burst into the parlor, and Evelyn stops cold where she'd been pacing. Her eyes linger on the state of my dress, then my hair, which has all but come free from the pins and is hanging round my face in sweaty tendrils.

“Where is everybody?” I says, noting the empty state of the parlor—bare couches, deserted bar, quiet piano. Not even the other girls remain.

“Helping with the fire.”

“And the Coltons?”

“They ain't back yet.”

“They ain't . . . They . . .”

I can't bring myself to say much else. I don't know what it means, but it sure ain't good. This is my fault. The Coltons missing. The town burning. All those innocent folks caught in the Riders' crossfire.

I grab the half-shredded skirt of Evelyn's dress and take the stairs two at a time. I gotta go back for the boys, but I know I ain't gonna get much done in this ridiculous dress.

“What happened?” Evelyn calls after me.

I race on without answering. When I burst into her room, Mutt bares his teeth.

“Yeah, it ain't like I fancy you, neither,” I tell him.

I strip outta the dress and undo the blasted corset, throw my trousers on fast as I can. When I can't find my flannel in the messy room, I fish an undershirt from Evelyn's dresser, then grab my pistol belt. Before I got it fastened on proper, footsteps come pounding my way. The door bangs open.

“Jesus!” I snap, flustered. “Didn't nobody ever tell you to knock?” When I spin round, I find the Coltons standing there. Jesse's got soot on his cheeks and singes in his shirt and a black eye he didn't have before the Tiger. Will ain't looking much prettier, with a nasty gash on his forehead.

“See now, aren't you glad you were worried?” Jesse says to his brother. “Smart-mouthed and ungrateful and not even bothered to see we ain't dead.”

“That ain't true. You just startled me,” I says. “I was 'bout to go back looking for you.”

“Ain't no bother,” Jesse says, and whistles quick for Mutt. “You ready? We gotta ride.”

“We're leaving?” I spot my flannel on a drying rack near the window; Evelyn must've washed it for me. “What 'bout Rose?” I ask, tugging it on. “Did either of you get a shot at him?”

“Missed my chance while the roof came down and I's dodging bullets,” Jesse says real dry-like.

“But what if he's still in town? I could get him. I nearly got him earlier.”

“Kate, the town's burning. Rose nearly killed you. We gotta leave before things get worse.”

“I already heard people saying it was you two who started the fight,” Will says. “If'n they give statements to the sheriff when he returns, the law'll be on our tail 'longside the Rose Riders.”

“Precisely,” Jesse says. “We can catch up with him later. But right now we gotta get somewhere safe.”

Feet come pounding down the hall, and Evelyn bursts into the room, cutting off our argument.

“There's men downstairs asking for a girl in a flowered dress and the guy who paid for her.”

Jesse swears, then moves the dresser in front of the door. “That'll be the Rose Riders.”

I bolt to the window and throw it open. The scent of smoke hits me hard. Looking east, I can make out the flickering inferno that's devouring the Tiger. But straight ahead, Evelyn's window opens onto a lower section of roof—what covers the lounge wing of the parlor.

“Roof's clear,” I announce.

“I'll take Evelyn and get her someplace safe,” Will says. He's got an arm slung round her shoulder like he's a shield meant to protect her, and she leans into him like it's true. “You two run, then circle back. I'll have the horses ready.”

Jesse nods just as feet come clomping up the stairs. A door is kicked open farther down the hall. It bangs to a standstill, then another being forced open sounds. They're coming. Working their way down the hall to us.

I grab my Stetson and Pa's journal. Jesse watches me tuck it into the back of my pants, face serious, but he don't ask how I got it back. Will and Evelyn are climbing out the window when a thunderous impact strikes Evelyn's door. The dresser rattles. Deep voices curse and roar on the other side. I ain't sure if one of 'em's Rose, but I'm not waiting to find out.

Jesse clambers onto the roof and whistles for Mutt.When the dog leaps through the window, Jesse sends him after Will.

Another blow hits the door and this time the dresser gives a little.

“Kate!” Jesse whispers, reaching for me. I grab his wrist. Not a moment after he's pulled me through the window, the dresser falls over with a crash.

We don't turn to see if the Rose Riders have forced their way into the room.

We just run.

We run like hell.

Jesse leads,
racing 'cross the roof and leaping the distance between the parlor and the neighboring house. I don't let myself pause or think on what I'm doing. I trust my legs to do as his do, and my balance ends up being sharper than I knew. Also helps that these buildings are built close.

As we soar 'cross the gap, gunshots rip out below—Riders who've spotted us and are shooting up from the street. And I reckon a new batch of bullets will be aiming for our backs soon as Rose's other men follow us onto the roof.

When I look over my shoulder, I can make out Will and Evelyn lowering themselves to the streets. A harsh order from Will telling Mutt to jump reaches my ears, but then I spot the dark frame of a man crawling out the parlor window and pointing our way.

I turn round and race after Jesse.

“Alley ahead!” he shouts, without slowing. He soars over it, landing on the opposite roof and skidding down the pitch a few feet before he catches himself.

I follow but land funny. One ankle rolls. Pain shoots from my heel to my hip. I go down on my rump hard and start sliding, jerked to a halt only when Jesse grabs me at the wrist. I push to my feet and a bullet tears through that section of roof, barely missing me.

I fire down where the shot came from. It's dark, but I hear someone curse me.

Still, their bullets ain't slowing.

“Faster,” Jesse urges. But I can't go any quicker than this. The skin round my ankles—tender from the fire—screams with each step. My bad shoulder flares each time I check to see if there's Riders behind us and my head's aching like it's struck a rock all over again. Making things even worse still, I can barely see where I'm going. It's a cloudy night, the moon doing little to light our way.

Two more daring alley leaps later, and Jesse and me come to a building only one story tall. The drop to it ain't terrible, but it feels like thunder in my knees. Then Jesse and I are skidding to the edge of the roof, grabbing at the lip so we can swing down into the back alley.

I hear a whoosh, and Jesse goes flying off his feet, hitting his head hard 'gainst the building and crumpling still. I twist round, pistol out, and find myself face to face with a Rose Rider.

He's got gleaming, wild eyes and a shovel gripped in his hands. I don't know why his gun ain't drawn, why he didn't shoot Jesse 'stead of swinging.

I cock my Colt.

“Don't bother with that,” he says, smiling. “Just hand over the journal.”

My trigger finger is shaking from nerves. I wish I could see the Rider's waist, make out if there's another pistol on his hip. He's prolly faster than me. I bet any man riding with Rose draws like lightning. 'Less of course he lost his weapon in the chase or is outta ammo.

“Give me the journal,” he says again.

I force down the fear, shove it deep inside where it can't own me. Then I lower my barrel a bit and don't think 'bout it. I just react, let my body catch up to what I already envisioned in my mind, exactly as Jesse taught me. Aim and pull. The Rose Rider goes down on his rump in the dirt, screaming at me and grabbing his now-ruined knee.

I aim for his chest this time, but when I pull the trigger my pistol just clicks. I'm empty.

The Rider reaches for his waist.

I don't wait to see if there's a pistol. I don't bother trying to reload my Colt. I just snatch up the shovel he's dropped and swing, bringing it 'gainst the back of his head with the fullest force I can muster. He hits the ground and stays still.

“Jesse?” I says, racing to him. “Jesse, you all right?” I shake his shoulder, praying he ain't dead.

He mumbles something.

“Oh, thank God. On your feet. Let's go.”

I slide one of his arms behind my neck and push him upright. If he's trying to stand with me, he's doing a sorry job. I might as well be moving a bull. My rolled ankle burns in protest.

I shoulder my way into the building through the back door—thankfully unlocked—and we stumble into a confectionary shop. It's small and only feels more crowded on account of the endless rows of glass canisters. Ribbon candy, hard suckers, lollipops, and more glint by the firelight flicking through the glass windows.

I take a minute to reload my pistol, only then realizing that I ain't sure if the Rider outside is dead or just knocked out. But there's bullets screaming in the alley, more men on our tail. We gotta keep moving.

“Can you walk on yer own?” I ask Jesse.

He nods.

I peer out the front windows. I can't see much, but the constant shouting and cracks of wood suggest the Tiger's still everyone's focus on the main street.

“All right, let's go.”

I heave open the door and we race back into the night. My heart is kicking wild in my chest, my eyes checking every alley we pass for a Rider. Jesse's keeping up all right, but he's got a hunch to his shoulders, like he's still feeling the blow of that shovel to his stomach.

Ahead, smoke from the Tiger billows, glowing silver-white by the moon as the townsfolk battle the fire with water. They's done a fair job. The flames are surrendering, and the worst of it seems to be contained. Still, the smell gets to me. The saloon ain't nothing like home, and yet so much is the same—the scent of burning wood and scorched blankets and thick, heavy smoke. Pa flashes before me. The rope creaking as he swings. His eyes wide and vacant. Then I'm seeing that charred stagecoach, the blackened bodies. Roses etched into skin. I buckle to my knees. Jesse grabs me at the elbow and hauls me upright.

When we get to the parlor, Will ain't there, and neither are our horses.

My heart sinks straight down to my boots, but then there's a whistle. I glance round and find Will waiting in an alley 'cross the way. He's atop Rio, and Rebel and Silver are standing there saddled as Mutt yaps anxious by their heels.

Jesse and me dart 'cross the street, but not stealthily enough.

“There! That's them!” someone shouts. Will fires over our heads as we run to our horses.

I step into Silver's stirrup and am urging her on before I's even swung my other leg over her back. Behind me, I hear pounding hooves and know the Coltons are with me. We tear up the main street and pass the Tiger. Water barrels are dropped as unsuspecting folk dive outta our way. Rose Riders I can't make out shoot and curse from the streets and the roofs. Their bullets chase us, but we don't even try to fire back no more. We just slap our reins and heel our horses and ride east, leaving Phoenix behind as fast as the devil can.

No more than a few yards beyond the outskirts of town, it's getting hard to see. The moon's stuck behind a lump of clouds, and there ain't much left to go by. The last lanterns lighting our way faded out when the streets did, and it took only a block before the dying fire at the Tiger didn't 'luminate the ground no more.