Reckon
The sky bled red as the smoke from blazing fires cloaked the land. The shadows on the hills reflected purple where ash and dust were all that was left behind of the landscape. The stench of rotting meat flared nostrils, turning smoke rancid and stomachs sour. The sickness had taken so many; all that was left was to burn the infected zones to soot. The Carmine brothers watched from the back of sturdy horses.
“That would be up at Ma and Pa’s place by now. Reckon they burned them too?” Hank asked the back of his older brother.
Bo spat a wad of tobacco on the earth, the yellowing grass rustling beneath his horse’s hooves. “I reckon they are burning ’em all.” Bo nudged his mount, turning the animal away from the hills, steering him into the deepest part of Grave Valley. “Let’s get moving, sun’s going down. Don’t want to be in the open come nightfall.”
Hank followed Bo, watching over his shoulder a moment longer. He turned ahead and urged his horse to catch up. “Figure we’ll find some rabbit for dinner?”
Bo nodded out a slight grunt of acknowledgment as he watched the ground ahead of him for anything to trip up his horse. The last thing they needed was to lose a mount to a rabbit hole tucked under the shadow of a sage bush. Hank tended to talk a lot, especially when he was nervous. Lately Hank talked all the time. Bo had had a lifetime of telling him to shut up, since their folks had been lost to the sickness, he’d stopped telling Hank to be quiet. He listened to his younger brother, who though he was nineteen now seemed more like a kid to Bo than ever, rattle on about this and that inane thing. He figured it kept his mind off what was really going on; everything was different now.
“Hey, Bo!”
Bo was jerked out of his thoughts reflexively pulling his horse to a halt. He looked back, bracing himself to see the worst. Hank hadn’t gotten sick, neither had he. They had strong constitutions their mother had said, but so had their father. Bo remembered hearing something on the news before the television stopped working that some of the population would be immune. He told himself that was the reason they hadn’t gotten sick, they had their mother’s hearty stock in them. She had died anyway.
“I think I see some cattle! Up on that ridge!” Hank stood in his stirrups, leaning forward and pointing towards a darkening horizon. “Yeah! It’s some cows! Holy shit.”
“Don’t cuss.” Bo said, it was a reflex. His father had said it to them growing up, and it had come to him second nature when he’d taken over as the man of the house. Bo shielded his eyes, hoping to block the low hanging light and better look at what had Hank’s attention.
After a moment he dropped his hand. He needed a closer look. “Wait here.” He ordered, urging his horse forward.
His horse, Old Trooper, traveled forward at a steady trot. A few yards closer Bo could make out the distinct outline of open range cattle, grazing on drying grass beds. Throwing caution aside Bo pushed his horse to a faster speed, steering him around a hazardous looking set of diminutive boulders. He slowed when the first of the haphazardly gathered cattle shied away from where they were feasting.
It was less than a dozen cows, scattered over a half acre. They had spread across a flat plain that crested as a small butte away from the rest of the landscape.
“Reckon they’re ours?” Hank asked from behind him.
Bo sighed. “Thought I told you to wait?”
“I got lonely. They could be ours. This ain’t that far from the ranch.” Hank’s horse mirrored her rider’s excitement, legs dancing along the ground before settling next to Bo and Old Trooper.
“I can’t rightly tell unless I get a good look at ’em. And I can’t do that with you chattering away like a damn squirrel.” Bo immediately regretted snapping at Hank. It wasn’t Hank’s fault that Bo was jumpy. He felt like a new colt on the trail; everything was a monster until proven otherwise. Everything was a threat. Everyone who wasn’t them could not be trusted.
That was the moment Bo knew it was really over, that their way of life was gone for real; when their neighbor held a shot gun on them and took their father’s pickup. Old Man Brooks had lived at the neighboring homestead to the Carmine Ranch since before the boys had been born. He had helped with branding in the fall, and sorting cattle for market. He’d come to gatherings and grilled steaks on a long bed smoker for volunteers during gathering season. But the power had gone, and with it much of the communication with the outside world. Nestled in the fertile valleys that crawled along the edges of the Snake River their rural community had been long forgotten by any body that would care what was happening. They had avoided the worst of the sickness for the better part of a year, but they too had people fall ill. Mr Brooks had decided he needed to leave. When his own busted down old Ford wasn’t up to the job he’d come to the door and taken the three year old truck Jon Carmine had been so proud of. He’d put a gun in Bo’s face and made his demands. Until that moment Bo had always thought Mr. Brooks was their friend.
It was then, staring Mr Brooks in the eye, and later watching him drive away with the most reliable vehicle on the ranch, that Bo knew being civilized was done for. Half the world’s population dead, and the other half divided between the dying and those not yet sick, or immune, there was no authority left to take control of the situation. And the rules of good men, the rules their father had drilled into their heads as growing boys, did not matter any more. Being a good Christian man was worth only as much as what was right in your hand. If God gave a damn about people any more he was taking his time with showing it.
Bo moved Old Trooper forward, steering the horse to round up the backside of the cattle, trying to get a closer look at their hides. He’d spent his entire life on the ranch, until the Firebugs had come through to burn the infected zones to the ground, Bo had thought he’d never have a reason to leave his family’s land. Now the house he’d grown up in, that his father had grown up in, and his grandfather before that, was gone. Nothing but cinder and smoke any more. The cow nearest him grunt, it was a steer not more than a couple of years old, too young to be of much use to the market – when there had been a market.
“Can’t tell if that one’s got our brand on it…” Hank muttered.
Bo felt a repeat of the same exasperation he’d known growing up with Hank on his heels. He pushed past the young steer to the nearest heifer, on her flank was a distinct C with a line through the middle of it and a small cross tucked at the mouth. It was the Carmine Ranch logo, the same brand that had been seared into cow hide for generations.
“Hey this one is ours!” Hank called out from where his horse shifted beneath him. He had moved to another heifer this one trotted a few paces to put some distance between them when he’d gotten too close.
“Yeah, looks like some of them are. Must have fled when they started burning and mixed with some other stock. Probably from the Travers place and a few others up the river.” Bo took a moment to survey the few cattle in front of them. “Well… Let’s get them gathered up. No sense leaving ’em out here to get picked off by the damn coyotes.”
“Sure thing, Bo!” Hank was more excited at the prospect of rounding up the cattle than the practicalities of doing such.
Bo wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with them, except that it seemed a waste to just leave them where they were. Who knew how long before the Firebugs managed to catch the whole region on fire and smoked them all out. He didn’t know what he was going to do with them once he had them all gathered in a smaller area. He had legal claim to anything with the Carmine brand on it’s hip, but it wasn’t like there was a line looking to claim anything out here. But it felt good, it felt normal, for him to nudge his horse closer to the cows, and watch them move away from the pressure. It felt like how he would have spent any other day in his life. And for a few moments he embraced what little normalcy the world had left, cattle still had no business out in the wide open in so few numbers with no one to watch over them.
The fire crackled hot, and fast. The dried sage that was so abundant all around them made for ready and hot fuel. The light cast from the flames forced the twin shadows of the brothers to dance against the jagged edge of the rock formation they were tucked against. Bo and Hank had made a make shift camp in fading light, they could hear the droll calls of the cattle to one another as they milled about just out of the ring of firelight.
In the darkness with out the influence of artificial light, or the hum of modern technology there was a distinct feeling of insecurity. The brothers had rifles tucked close to their bodies, but ammunition was a commodity best saved for hunting. They had snared three small ground squirrels to make a meal of, and gnawed hungrily on the charred bones. It was one of the few times Hank could be relied upon to stay quiet; when his mouth was full.
A heifer called out an anxious cry in the darkness, and Bo turned his eyes towards the night, trying to pierce it. He longed for his flashlight, even though the batteries had died a week ago. He’d done his best to conserve their energy but everything had an expiration date. Including human civilization.
“’pose she’s worried about the coyotes?” Hank asked, wiping the back of his hand across the grease on his lips.
“Possibly.” The coyotes were a problem. They had learned quickly how dangerous a scavenger could be that did not fear humans. They could do a lot of damage to their precious little belongings in a short amount of time if they weren’t careful. And Bo hadn’t mentioned it to Hank but he wasn’t entirely certain that the coyotes hadn’t moved themselves up a few pegs on the food chain.
The heifer cried out again, followed by a different cow, in the same anxiety riddled tone. Hank looked at his brother, and Bo’s hand had settled subtly onto the grip of the long rifle parked next to him on the gritty ground. Hank rubbed his hands across the breast of his coat before reaching for his own gun.
“What’s goin’ on, Bo?”
“Shhh!” Bo hissed, leaning forward to try and get a better look past their little campsite. The darkness was so complete that it might as well have been a curtain surrounding their spot.
“Just ease up off the gun there, brother.”
A cold chill settled over Bo that had nothing to do with the rapidly falling temperatures in the desert. The voice was cool, and calm. It’s deep baritone reflected a rule and control over the situation, it belonged not to a man struggling with desperation but one in complete command of his circumstances. In the bleak situation of the world the Carmine boys had found themselves in; someone who was thriving was a terrifying proposition. Bo slowly raised his hand away from his gun, and nodded at Hank to do the same.
Hank hesitated a moment before he let his gun settle back onto the dirt, his eyes darting between where the voice had come out of the blackness around them, and his brother. Bo’s face was placid, but his eyes were hard and they never moved to glance around him. Where ever the threat was going to come from, Bo knew with certainty the source of it would be the voice in the dark.
It was the polished barrel of a 30.6 that came to light first, followed by a pair of dirty laden boots. They both belonged to a tall, and imposing figure of a man no older than Bo himself. Like Bo and Hank he sported the growth of a beard that was the result of no longer shaving regularly, and strands of his greasy blond hair poked from under the sides of a broad rimmed hat. He had a strong build, with big muscles on his arms that suggested he’d been using them longer than the virus had been wreaking havoc on everything anyone knew.
“Well shit.” He said and his weapon lowered slightly, the muzzle still trained towards the brother, but the rigidity in his posture seemed to dissolve as a broad, shadowy grin split his square face. “Bo? Bo Carmine? Well fuck me.”
Hank stared at his brother, waiting for some kind of clue as to what was happening. Bo kept his eyes trained on the new comer, his hands remaining in plain view, and he was still.
“Bo, man! It’s me! It’s Jason!”
At the name recognition dawned on Bo, but none of the tension left his body. He nodded his head, slowly and kicked one of his legs out to position it better to stand up. He set his other hand on Hank’s forearm, keeping his brother still and seated.
“Hey, Jason. Fancy seein’ you here.” Bo offered in greeting.
Jason lowered his weapon and set the butt of it against the earth, the muzzle pointed to the sky he leaned across it cozily. “Shit, man. Haven’t seen you since … well damn it’s been a while.”
Bo nodded.
“Hey guys! It’s alright come on out here!” Jason called over his shoulder.
Three other figures melted out of the darkness, two young women and a man. The youngest of the girls couldn’t have been any older than Hank, and her wide eyed terror showed in the shaky hands that clutched at a hand gun heavy enough she had to double fist it to keep it elevated. The older of the girls had the haunted look of hunger; not just the kind that came from an empty belly either. The man looked to have a couple of years on either Jason or Bo, his face was dark with heavy circles and suspicion. His scrawny arms held a rifle not dissimilar to the one Bo carried, but it looked oversized and unwieldy in his grip.
“Guys this here is Beauregard Carmine, he was my wide receiver in school.” Jason motioned at the three newest people around the fire, and at the signal they lowered their weapons to varying degrees of obvious relief.
“You went to college with him, Jason?” The girl with the starved eyes asked. Her voice had a deep rasp to it, that reminded Bo of when he walked across crushed gravel.
“Nah, Faith. Bo here never went to college. This was back in high school.”
“That true, Bo?” It was Hank. His face was gaunt with worry, and he stared at his brother.
Bo licked his lips, eyeing those present. His eyes lingered on the other man, on the suspicious gleam in his eyes, and the way his gaze rabbited from Jason to Bo and back again. The discomfort radiated off of him like waves of heat from the noon day sun. “Yeah. We played ball together.”
Bo forced his posture to ease, and he flashed a tempered smile at his brother. “Jason here was the quarter back.”
“Oh shit. Jason Travis… Yeah. Yeah. I remember you.” Hank’s shoulders slouched forward and he grinned at the new comer.
“Well I’ll be … Hank? Little Hanky panky?” Jason picked up his gun and slung it over one shoulder as he came closer to the fire. “Well damn, kid, you’re all grown up now.”
Hank flinched unknowingly at the old nickname. “Yeah. Well it’s been a while.”
“Shit. Where’s my manners, huh?” Jason waved his hand back at his three companions. “This here is Faith, Sara and that faggot’s Tyler. Guys this is Bo and Hank Carmine. Bo was the fastest set of feet in the state.”
Faith’s dark, beady eyes scanned over the brothers. She nodded in acknowledgment of what Jason said. Sara nodded, and tucked herself into the shadow cast by the tall, and lean Tyler. Tyler didn’t flinch at the way he was introduced, his chin was held high and his eyes never faltered.
“So, boys.” Jason said turning his attention out towards the night and the cattle grazing nearby. “These your cattle?”
“Yeah.” Hank supplied. “Ow! Hey.” Bo’s elbow jabbed him in the ribs.
“Here I was thinking any cows found out here were finders keepers. Where ya’ll find them?”
“Finders keepers.” Bo answered, his smile wry.
“Heh, Yeah.” Jason rubbed a meaty hand over his beard. “Where you headed with ’em?”
“No where in particular.” Truthfully Bo hadn’t really come up with a plan yet. He had simply been moving the cattle along the path of the river out of habit, not because he had any destination in mind. He doubted any of the ranches he was familiar with in the region had been spared any fate less charred then their own homestead.
“Here we were thinking that we’d found ourselves a prototype McDonald’s. You know the beta version.” Jason chuckled, and was echoed to varying degrees by his companions.
Hank rubbed at his side and stared at his brother. He kept his mouth shut.
“Well, don’t think any of our cattle are going to be big mac’s any time soon.” Bo kept his eyes on Jason.
“Yeah, but since you’ve got these cows, and we –” Jason pointed to the three others who had arrived with him. “– could really use some cows. And it looks to me you could use some help watching ’em, after all we got all up in your business and you didn’t even know it…. Maybe we join forces, you know?”
Bo didn’t say anything. Jason continued. “See we heard about this safe zone. Place where the virus hasn’t struck. And the Firebugs have steered clear. It’s clean, man. It’s a clean place. We’re heading there. But we need food, I mean christ will you look at Tyler over there? Damn fag is going to get blown over in a stiff breeze he don’t get some meat on him…”
Bo glanced at Tyler, who’s face remained entirely unreadable.
“…So I was thinking here– “ Jason explained. “– you and me we team up. Like old times. And we drive these cattle to that safe zone, you know? Together.”
“Together?” Bo questioned.
“Yeah. Yeah. Together. Like old times, the quarter back and the wide receiver.” Jason nodded vigorously.
“Ain’t my call. You wanna give me a minute to talk it over with my brother?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Discuss amongst yourselves.” Jason took a step back, and his three followers did the same. They turned their backs, huddling closer to one another then they did Jason. Jason had taken a respectful step away, but his keen eyes were keyed in on Bo.
Bo leaned closer to Hank, and spoke low enough to keep his voice from traveling. “Whatcha think?”
“I think–” Hank started with his voice too loud, and quickly lowered it. “I think we could use some help with the cattle. And we ain’t got no where else to go. If there really is a safe zone…”
“Yeah…” Bo couldn’t argue with the promise of a place that was safe, where some vestiges of civilization remained. Some place the virus hadn’t wiped all trace of humanity from the people in it’s wake.
“You played ball with him right, Bo?” Hank queeried.
“Yeah. But that was a long time ago.” Bo hadn’t really thought about his high school days for years. He’d let himself get consumed with the ranch, so much so he’d forgone a lot of other things that young men his age had embraced; including college.
“Well I mean you knew him. He was your friend. We can trust him, right? I say we do it. Ain’t like the Firebugs are gonna leave anything to go home to anyway.” Hank said the last with a sour current in his tone.
Bo had known Jason in high school. They had even run in the same circles by virtue of having played football together since junior high. Bo had known Jason.
“Why hesitate? I mean I ‘member him coming to your birthday…” Hank chewed his lower lip, fidgeting. “He was your friend, right?”
“Yeah.” Bo looked at Jason across the fire. “Yeah I knew him…”
Jason moved in closer. “So you guys in?” The eagerness dripped off him.
Bo got to his feet, pushing himself up off the hard ground. He dusted himself off before approaching Jason. He held his hand out. “So. Where we headed?”
“How long do you think it’s going to take to get to the Pallisades, Bo?” Hank was asking questions again.
“A couple weeks. Now, quiet.” Bo approached the building on foot. It was an old farm house, like many in the region, built near a century ago with a tin roof and shutters that weren’t just for appearances. There were no vehicles parked in front of a detached garage, and the weeds had grown up around the tractor parked near a barn that hadn’t been as well maintained as the house. A pasture that came out of the back of the barn housed four horses, that sported tangled manes and tails but lacked any other signs of malnutrition.
The brothers approached the house in silence, after Bo shot Hank a warning look when he opened his mouth again. Bo slowed his gait as he neared the front steps, pausing to pick up a piece of weathered, water stained paper caught by an exposed nail on a wooden plank.
Hank
kept going peering through a dirty, single pane window. “Think any body’s
home?”
He didn’t wait for a reply before pulling on the handle of the rusted screen
door.
“Stop.” Bo commanded, putting his hand on the screen to keep Hank from going any further. “Don’t go inside.”
“Why? Doesn’t look like anyone’s here…or been here in a while.” Hank pointed at the cob webs forming in the corner of the wooden door, the sticky strands of cottony fibers clinging to peeling paint.
Bo handed Hank the paper from his hand. Hank read it allowed. “Julie, went to the store to get some cough syrup, dad’s sick. Make yourself comfy, food in the fridge. Be home soon. Mom.”
“The father was sick.” Bo pulled the door from his brother’s hands and shut it. “Don’t go in there.”
The realization spread on Hank’s face and he moved to peer in a window again. “I don’t see no one inside….We didn’t get sick when Ma got bad. Might be food in there.”
“We aren’t risking it. Let’s get the horses and go.”
“If people’s sick inside, why hasn’t this place been burned?” Hank took a step away from the window, looking out over what had once been someone’s homestead.
“Firebugs haven’t gotten out here yet. If they had they’d have taken the horses for food.” Bo lead the way towards the barn, picking up his pace with out a need to appear amiable to non-existent residents.
“Think these are going to be good horses? Don’t suppose Jason and them have a lot of horse experience…” Hank jogged to catch up with his brother, falling into step half a stride behind him.
“Jason has some.” Bo remembered Jason at a handful of branding days, he had been decent on a horse – riding something over priced with a fancy pedigree. “But we can’t keep going with them on foot, they’re no help with the cattle that way, and we ain’t gonna stay ahead of the Firebugs at the pace we’re moving.”
Bo frowned as they approached the barn’s large door, spying a padlock on the handle. His shoulders eased as he realized the lock wasn’t closed, just made to look that way from a distance. It was Southern Idaho, very few people ever bothered to lock their front doors much less an old barn.
“Hey, Bo, how you figure the horses are still alive?” Hank took the lock from his brother while Bo heaved open the barn door.
It gave way with a screech, sliding along a track, swaying at the base. Bo paused to peer into the darkened barn, reaching automatically for a light switch at his side. There was one, but it failed to illuminate anything, the power had died out weeks ago. “Probably have a spring, or irrigation ditch in their pasture, and it’s plenty big to have enough grass to keep the horses going for a while.”
Bo started opening doors along one wall of the barn, Hank sifted through dirty stacks of machinery manuals piled next to a saw horse mounted with a table saw.
“Found the tack room!” Bo stopped himself from reaching for a light switch, instead giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkened room. The barn had light seeping through cracks in the wood, and an old hay loft window that allowed a breeze to cycle through. The open door helped the dusty old building feel breezy, but the tack room had no windows, and no cracks in the drywall tacked up around it. It was cramped, stuff with too much equipment, much of which seemed to be duplicates, or even triplicates.
“3 saddles.” Bo breathed.
“Four horses.” Hank answered from behind him, his lean frame looming in the doorway.
“Looks like the girls are going to have to double up.” Bo grabbed a headstall from the wall, one that looked to have been used frequently over time, though dust had settled across the metal bit recently. “Grab some halters, let’s go catch these animals.”
Bo ran his hand over the smooth, broad face of the mare. She was older, but looked to be in decent condition, despite the lack of muscle tone from sitting in the pasture unattentded for who knows how long. She had the quiet temperment of a horse that had seen things, and was long past worrying about any of it. She was a good horse for a beginner. He glanced over his shoulder at Tyler, his lanky frame stooped as he eyed the horse with suspicion.
“Ever ridden before?” Bo asked, sliding his hands down the mare’s neck to where the saddle had been cinched around her belly and across her shoulders. He gave the saddle a good shake to check for stability before hooking a stirrup over the horn and tightening the girth.
“Do pony rides at the fair count?” Tyler approached the mare, and held his hand out to her. She moved her muzzle to sniff his fingers, and he flinched when overgrown whiskers tickled his skin.
Bo watched the exchange and shook his head. “No, they don’t. Come’re I’ll give you a leg up.”
Tyler moved to the side where Bo was standing, nervously fidgeting his hands together. He obeyed when Bo crouched down to grab his leg, and managed to get heaved into the saddle with relatively little discomfort. Tyler was surprised at Bo’s strength, and the ease at which he hefted the taller man onto the back of the horse. He knew Bo had grown up on a cattle ranch, and he supposed there was some truth to the stereotype of the rugged, buff cowboy.
Bo handed Tyler the reigns, and immediately Tyler felt all the blood drain from his face. “Relax. The horses will stick together mostly out of instinct, you won’t have to do much. Just anything happens hold on real tight, go it?”
“That’s the sum total of you riding instruction? ‘Hold on’?” Tyler had no real experience with horses, but he felt like there had to be more to it then to simply hold on.
Bo grinned up at him, his broad mouth splitting his face and revealing deep dimples on either side. “Bought all I got when I started, you’ll be alright.”
“When did you start?” The mare shifted under Tyler and he tensed, but she settled again a moment later.
Bo turned and headed back to where his big gelding was standing patiently, head drooping as he took a nap. He glanced over his shoulder “Oh I was about 4. You’ll be fine.”
Tyler felt there was a reasonable concern that learning to ride at four when bones were pliable and bodies light was a different experience than driving a herd of cattle across the desert on a horse who didn’t have a name while trying to stay one step ahead of Firebugs. As Bo mounted and turned his gelding towards the horizon, the mare picked up a lazy walk to follow. Tyler gripped the reigns and saddle horn with both hands.
“How far you reckon we got till the Pallisades, Bo?” Hank was full of questions, though he might have always been and Bo had failed to notice. There were a lot of things Bo might have failed to notice.
“Few more days yet.” Bo remarked, his eyes to the north west of them. Billowing up from the distance was smoke in every shade of gray imaginable. It drifted behind it’s self, indicative of a slow moving train.
“Firebugs.” Jason said, stepping up beside Bo, shoving a fist full of pieces of crackers into his mouth.
Bo glanced at Jason from beneath the brim of his aging hat. “We should get a fire goin’. Hank.” He motioned for his brother to follow.
In a clear spot between sage brush he kicked some sticks aside. Hank did his part and collected the flammable debris and carefully stacked it in a tee pee formation in the center of the cleared area. Tyler approached their clearing with a stiff gait; he had to have been sore from the riding but had kept his mouth shut about it for the last few days. He eased himself onto a rock that was a few inches taller than the ground, groaning audibly.
Hank left his stack of sticks in favor of widening his search for more. And Bo knelt before the carefully balanced twig tee pee and stuffed the hollow center with sagebrush and ripped up dried out grass weeds. Bo peaked from under the broad brimmed hat, before turning his attention to the lighter he held ignited against the kindling.
Tyler sneezed, his hand clamping over his mouth to stifle it too late.
“Ya alright?” Bo stocked the fire with a slightly larger stick to allow air to flow to the slowly spreading embers.
“Allergies.” Tyler answered, sniffling back drainage from his nose. “The irony of our present situation is that I am allergic to sage brush.”
“And we’re certainly surrounded.” Bo smirked as he stood, stepping back from the fire to avoid any floating embers.
“Those Firebugs going to catch us?” Tyler coughed, and sniffed again.
“They’re at least a day behind us. They won’t be able to get this close to the canyon in their vehicles, we can stay ahead of them cross country with the horses.” It had been the first real decision Bo had made when they left their homestead, half a day ahead of the Firebugs who were burning the ranches all through the valley; to stick to horses. Horses; the original all terrain vehicle.
Tyler sneezed again, this time with less effort to cover it.
“Not much of a outdoorsman are you?” Bo settled onto the ground, his lean legs stretching out towards the fire.
“Before my idea of an outdoor adventure was a 5k in the park.” Tyler took a deep breath, coughing to clear his throat as he exhaled.
Bo let lose a snort that was mostly made up of a laugh. Hank reappeared in the clearing with an armful of half dead branches from dried out sage bushes. He dropped them near the fire, nudging the strays away from the flames as they slowly consumed the first round of fuel.
“I’m hungry.” Hank announced. “When’s supper?”
The morning light was the wake up call, the chilly night wearing off as the sun rose. Bo nudged Hank with the toe of his boot. “Get up, lazy bones.”
Hank grunted a reply, and next to him Sarah rolled uncomfortably under a thread bare blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Bo glanced at Jason, who stood over the crouched figure of Faith, staring at the ever approaching column of smoke.
Faith glanced at Bo, but lowered her eyes as she gathered what meager possessions they carried, stuffing a down blanket that was shedding feathers into a sack.
“The Firebugs are closer.” Jason remarked, taking a sip of boiled water from a metal cup with a dent in the side.
“They don’t need to sleep.” Bo knew they had enough in numbers that they could take shifts. But he also had seen first hand the sort of frenzy they existed in, fueled by fear and unbridled bloodlust. He doubted sleep was something that kind of person concerned themselves with.
“We could go faster, push the cows harder.”
“We do that the cattle will start dropping, and then we won’t have a damn thing to offer to get us through the gates at the Pallisades. We stick to the plan.”
“Sure. For now.” Jason swallowed the last of his water and tossed his cup at Faith. She jumped as it bounced off her shoulder and onto the ground, before she picked it up and stuffed it into the sack with the blanket. Jason turned towards where the horses were hitched on a rope between two particularly large sagebrush. “Let’s move, Faith. Quit doddling.”
Bo watched Faith scurry after Jason.
Tyler dismounted quickly, stumbling away from his horse during another sneezing fit. He struggled to breathe, bending over and spitting snot into the dirt. Bo was the first to dismount following, grabbing the dropped reigns on Tyler’s mare to keep her from wandering. Hank followed suit, keeping close to his brother.
“Tyler, man, you okay?”
Tyler wheezed, and coughed again. “Hay fever is the worst.”
“Yeah. Hank go grab my canteen. Let’s get him some water.” Bo ordered over Tyler’s stooped frame.
“What the hell is the holdup?” Jason demanded as he pushed his horse up to where they were stopped at speed. “Let’s get a move on, those Firebugs are closing in, god damnit.”
“He needs a minute.” Bo glowered at Jason.
“For what? Is he sick? Is he fucking sick?!” Jason’s horse twisted under him as his voice rose, responding to the tension in his rider’s body.
“He’s got allergies, man. Chill out.” Bo rolled his eyes at Jason’s paranoia.
“Let’s go, I’m fine.” Tyler murmured straightening himself up. He rubbed at his red and watery eyes.
Bo shook his head. “No, we can take a minute–”
The sound caught Bo off gaurd, the sharp crack of the gunfire ripped through the air and made him instinctively jump back. Tyler’s blood sprayed across the dirt creating a fan pattern beneath his body.
Bo whipped around to face Jason, who was putting a heavy caliber pistol back in a holster at his hip. “What the fuck?!”
Hank was frozen in place next to Bo’s horse, hand on the canteen eyes wide. Sarah screamed, her shrill wail cutting through the air like a knife. Faith gripped Sarah’s waist, riding double behind her, and stared blankly at Tyler’s lifeless body.
“He was sick!” Jason defended.
“He had allergies!” Bo shouted.
“We don’t know that! Those Firebugs catch up to us with him like that they’ll kill us all no questions asked!” Jason stared down at Bo, his face set and eyes hard. “I did us a favor.”
The two men stared at one another, Jason’s face set hard and unyielding, no sign of guilt in his eyes. Bo’s face was sharp, his eyes burning as he stared unblinking at Jason still straddling his horse and taking full advantage of the height. Bo’s fists were tight, knuckles whitening in response to the tension that rigged his entire body.
Hank broke the ensuing silence as the two men eyed one another. “Bo…”
Bo jerked his eyes to his brother. Hank’s face was devoid of any color. “Get on your horse, Hank.”
“Bo…We can’t just leave him there…” Hank shook his head.
“I said get on your fucking horse, Hank.” Bo almost never swore, he stalked to his own mount, gathering up the reigns he swung a leg up onto the animal. He kept the reigns to Tyler’s riderless horse and ponied it to where Sarah and Faith were double mounted. Sarah’s face was streaked with tears. Bo held out the reigns to Faith. “Get mounted up. Let’s go.”
“I did us a favor, Bo. All of us.”
Bo urged his horse forward, riding past Jason with out so much as a glance.
The days had long started to drone on, bleeding into one another. Even Hank had stopped trying to keep track of where they were, or how much further they had before they reached the gates of the Palisades. The promise of the oasis of a safe zone, a region walled off by remote access and ice cold impassable rivers. A single point of entry left, gated high. It was a rumor, fueled by a handful of truths. It was the only hope they had.
“We need to get down to the river.” Bo frowned as he stared at the edge of the canyon. The ground was rough, and rose above the river as jagged walls of rock. Bo leaned over the saddle, pitching himself as far forward on his horse as he could to try and glimpse where the path lead over the ledge. He couldn’t quite see well enough to determine if the path was suitable to drive the cattle down, or would pose significant risk to the herd and their only bargaining chip.
Bo dismounted, swinging easily off the back of Ol’ Trooper and dropping the reigns. The reliable horse settled his weight but didn’t move, the dropped reign a significant enough tool to keep him in place. Hank mimicked his older brother, though his dismount was more of a flying leap off his horse and onto the ground.
“Hank, just stay with the horses.” Bo ordered, motioning his brother back.
Ignoring him, Hank hurried to catch up to Bo, rock chips crunching under his feet.
Bo passed by a rock formation, side stepping a piece that jutted into his pathway easily. He heard the tell-tale sound of the rattle half a stride later. He froze instantly, the clattering sound of a rattlesnake’s tail paralyzing him to his core.
He realized a moment later that Hank was behind him. It was always the second guy who got bit, never the first. “Hank! Hold still!”
It was too late. Hank yelped, leaping backwards. Bo turned in time to see the snake coil back under the shade of the rock formation.
Bo growled. He stared at the rocks before deciding his path. He climbed up and over them, staying out of reach of the snake. The reptile’s tail was rattling again, sending a bone chilling warning into the air. Sarah had dismounted and reached Hank about the same time Bo did. Her small frame reaching to grab him and help him settle onto the dirt. She knelt beside him as Bo crashed to his knees.
Hank stared down at his wounded leg, eyes wide with panic. Bo was quick in shoving Hank’s pants out of the way, folding the material to catch above the calf. He slid his belt from his waist in a single smooth motion, and wrapped it tightly just below Hank’s knee. He used a small stick ropped from a molting sagebrush to twist the leather tightly. He grabbed Hank’s hand pressing it over where the stick and belt tourniquet was cutting off blood flow to the lower leg.
“Keep hold of that.” He ordered. “Sarah, hold him down.”
Sarah’s face fell, her eyes and jaw going wide at the prospect. Hank was considerably larger than her, having several inches of height and several dozen pounds of weight above her. She swallowed and pressed into Hank’s upper body as best she could.
Bo pulled his pocket knife from where it clipped to the interior of a pants pocket. He engaged the blade, letting it free of it’s confines. He didn’t pause to breathe, or consider his options, he drug the blade right over the two prick marks from the snake’s fangs. Hank screamed.
The wound opened readily, blood pouring out. Bo put his mouth to the injury and grimaced, before sucking blood from the opening. He spat the blood back onto the ground and repeated the process twice more. Hank had quieted, his breathing rapid and shallow.
Bo used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, spitting a few more times to try and erase the taste of blood from his mouth. “Calm down.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Sarah asked, her soft mouse like voice quivering.
“Don’t know.” Bo sighed. “I told you to stay back.”
Hank’s face contorted as he battled back the pain that spread up his leg.
Jason galloped up, yanking his horse to a halt just shy of running into the three horses standing by. Faith wasn’t far behind, though she reigned her horse in several feet back.
“What the hell happened?” Jason demanded, tightening his reigns to keep his horse still.
“Rattlesnake.” Bo answered, pushing himself to his feet. He took his hand off and used the brim to help brush dirt from his knees, though truthfully he couldn’t be sure why he bothered. His clothes hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in weeks.
“Well.” Jason leaned forward on his horse. “That’s a damn shame. That path usable?”
Bo glared at Jason, before turning his attention to Hank. “Can you ride?”
Hank was breathing heavily, sweat dripped from the brow band of his hat down the sides of his face. He looked up at his brother, and nodded. “Probably easier than walkin’.”
The pain radiated up his leg, throbbing with each pulse of his heart, but Hank moved to get to his feet. He braced his uninjured leg under him and held his hand out, with out a word Bo hauled him up. Years of backbreaking ranch work had left the Carmine brothers strong. Even on a diet that consisted largely of what they found and the occasional hunk of overcooked beef, they maintained a decent level of muscle mass. On his feet, Hank reached out to stabilize himself, balancing mostly on one leg. His hand clamped onto the slim shoulder of Sarah, who wrapped her arms around Hank to help him stay steady.
They managed to get Hank mounted, with considerable effort. His face was ashen as he held reigns in one hand and rubbed at his bad leg with the other. Bo watched him for a moment, before patting his horse on the neck and turning away.
He moved back to his own mount and pulled the long rifle from where he’d stashed it in a leather scabbard.
“Bo! What the hell are you doing?” Jason demanded, still mounted on the unruly horse.
Bo didn’t bother with an answer, stalking towards the rock formation. As he closed in the snake began it’s tell tale warning rattle. He swung the rifle around and crashed the butt of it down onto the head of the rattlesnake, it was done so quickly the animal never had a chance to offer a strike. With it’s skull caved it it was silent, limp in the dust. Bo stooped over and grabbed it right behind the neck joint.
He headed back to his horse, shoving the rifle back in it’s place and the snake was stuffed into a saddle bag with out any ceremony. He ignored the way the others stared at him, climbing onto Ol’ Trooper and nudging the horse forward once he was barely in the saddle.
“Keep moving.” He snarled at Jason as he passed.
Hank fell with a heavy thud. He rolled himself over, coughing, struggling for air. Bo was off his mount before the horse had come to a complete stop. He rushed to Hank’s side, landing on the ground to prop his brother on his lap. He looked up as Sarah rushed in beside him.
“The snake bite…” Sarah said, she peeled away some of the make shift bandages around the wound on Hank’s leg. The skin came with it, revealing red, angry, moist flesh below. “He needs a doctor, Bo…”
“We’re going to have to do.” Bo wasn’t even sure where he would find a doctor. Hospitals had been the first zones quarantined. When they had closed all the hospitals, the Firebugs had taken matters into their own hands burning every place with the sickness. Burning people with the sickness, most of them dead before the fire started. Most of them.
“We need to keep moving!” Jason hissed, dropping down beside them from the back of his horse. “The Firebugs aren’t even half a day behind us, we keep wasting time they are going to catch up. And that won’t be good for any one.”
“The snake bite is making him sick. He needs to slow down.” Sarah pleaded. She paused trying to reapply the bandages to Hank’s leg, inside out, to look at up Jason. “Please, he just needs to rest.”
“We don’t have time! You can see the damn smoke!” Jason pointed at the horizon. The tell tale column of black smoke churned in the distance as an ominous banner of the Firebug’s procession.
Sarah secured a sock over the haphazard bandages on Hank’s leg and took his head to cradle in her lap. He was sweating, his body shivering as an infection driven fever ravaged him. His lower leg was swollen, what skin remained was blackening in an ever widening pattern around the original bite.
“We can’t afford this, Bo!” Jason shouted.
Bo got to his feet, his face hard. “He needs rest.”
“I’m not going to sit around here and wait for them to catch up, Bo! They catch up to us they will kill us with him like that! They won’t even ask about it!”
“Then go.” Bo snarled. “Get on your damn horse and go.”
“You can stay here.” Jason countered. “Wait for your brother to die or feel better. See how you fair against the Firebugs when they catch up to you.”
Bo’s face was cast of iron, his eyes staring straight at Jason. Jason was taller by a few inches, but as Bo’s shoulders squared and his gaze was leveled, Jason appeared to shrink back. It was only a moment before he rebounded, and puffed out his chest.
Jason took half a step towards Bo, leaning forward to press his weight into the other man’s personal space. Bo didn’t back down, his rigid face staring back even as he could feel Jason’s breath on him. He held his ground for several long moments before he took a step back. Jason smirked, his body straightening more upright as Bo gave ground.
Bo turned and headed towards his horse.
“Glad you see reason, Bo.” Jason said as he grabbed the bridle of his perpetually agitated steed.
Bo paused, looking over the seat of his saddle at smoky calling of the Firebug procession. He shook his head.
“Jason. I don’t see a god damned thing.” In a single motion Bo drew his rifle. It was a smooth glide pulling the old long barrel weapon from the scabbard. He spun around, bracing the back end of the gun against his shoulder. He didn’t take a great deal of time to line up his shot. He simply pointed the barrel and pulled the trigger.
Jason dropped, hard and solid to the ground. His horse reared back, pulling away from the man’s hands and bolted into the desert. Jason flopped on the dirt like a fish out of water, scrambling to catch his breath as a hole in his chest oozed darkened blood.
Bo approached him, cocking the gun a second time he stared down at Jason struggling. Jason’s wide panicked eyes stared up at him, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
“That was for Tyler. This is for my brother.” Bo pulled the trigger a second time, sending a bullet through the center of Jason’s mass. The body spasmed one last time and went still, eyes open and face slack.
Bo looked up at Faith, who sat still on her horse with tears in her eyes. “Don’t waste tears on him, he was a sonovabitch his whole life. And he’s done worse to you.”
Faith swallowed, running the back of her hand under her eyes. “I’m not sad.” She croaked out of a raspy throat. “Believe me. I’m not sad.”
Bo nodded his understanding. He put his rifle away before looking at Sarah. “Help me get Hank on his horse. We need to get going.”
As Bo used the bulk of his weight to hoist Hank back into his saddle, Hank managed to keep his pained sounds to a minimum. When he was seated in the saddle Bo used a few strands of twine from his saddle bags to tie Hank’s thigh against the saddle. It was to keep him at least in the saddle if he passed out again.
“Bo… Reckon we’ll make it to the Palisades?” He asked, blurry eyes staring down at his brother as he tightened the lashings.
“I reckon we will.”
Pine was born in raised in Idaho. He works as a dog trainer and horse trainer while avoiding adulthood as much as possible. His incurable peter pan complex means he spends a lot of his time exploring the vast wilderness areas his home state has to offer.