snort. “Bad, too. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
To which Rook simply shut his eyes and commenced to pray, not
quitting ’til he finally heard Chess move away. Then opened them
again, only to find himself once more alone.
The Lieut came out of the bushes, tucking himself away, just as
Hosteen was pouring Rook a tin mug of coffee. He had a wilder
look than usual in his eyes, and Rook perceived that both his pupils
seemed blown, as pin-prick as any concussion case’s. Hell, he even
had his hat on backwards.
“All right, boys!” he announced. “Due time for a last hurrah, don’t
you think?”
“Sir?” Rook asked.
“I have received fresh intelligence, Reverend, and sent for
reinforcements accordingly. We, along with Captain Coulson’s
troop, are to immediately assault the local township of Farnham
Ridge. We must then burn it to the ground and kill all within, so
that the pernicious seeds of kiting Abolitionism shall flourish no
more unchecked. Hallelujah!”
Hosteen spoke up: “But — that’s over the border, ain’t it?”
“What matter, if it is?”
“Well . . . sir . . . that’s what direction the bird come from,
yesterday. So . . . I’m thinkin’ it’s probably all already been took by
Union forces, and . . .”
A bit further back, Rook could spot more soldiers nodding. He
didn’t glimpse Chess amongst them, for which he was thankful.
Cut and run , he thought. Practical as the very Fiend himself, is our
little Mister Pargeter. Well, good. I should’ve too, and that’s the truth. We all should.
Too late now, though. As demonstrated.
“Plus, how’d you get new word so fast, anyhow,” someone else
called out, “considerin’ you killed that damn pigeon? Let alone call
in Coulson, on top — ”
The Lieut drew and shot him while he was still speaking,
cleaving his jaw like a split log — then waved the gun’s barrel slightly
to dispel the smoke, and told the rest of the company, “I will brook
no opposition, gentlemen. We are come at last to the moment of
Apocalypse, where each must make his choice. Stand together, or
fall forever. Are you rabble? What say you?”
Rook caught Hosteen’s eyes, widening further than their orbits
seemed made for, and shook his head just slightly, wondering: Will
Bible-quoting even work here, or is the Lieut far too gone for even God’s
word to resonate? Think fast, damnit: false revelation, uh — dreams sent
by Satan, not by the Almighty — Daniel versus the Babylonians, Joseph
in Egypt?
Before Rook could choose, however, one more shot rang out,
cracking the Lieut’s head apart like a blood-orange set up for target
practice. He gave a little spasmic shiver, then fell without complaint.
Behind him stood Chess, who’d simply walked up in the Lieut’s
blind spot as he blathered on, clapped gun to skull, and pulled the
trigger. He gave the corpse a single sharp kick and reholstered,
asking it: “That do, for an answer? Sir .”
Rook felt something on his face, and found on closer inspection
that it was the Lieut’s blood, already a little tacky to the touch. By
mere trick of proximity, more had sprayed on him than had ever
touched Chess, who looked immaculate by comparison.
“I do wish you hadn’t done that,” Rook said.
Chess shrugged. “Somebody had to.”
Then Hosteen stepped in, suggesting: “Better get goin’. We
wanna be elsewheres when they find this fool’s body. Which way,
Reverend?”
Chess looked to Rook, lifting a brow. Rook swallowed hard, and
pointed. “That-a-way, I guess,” he said, at random.
Which did seem a good enough route, to be sure — in those few
minutes before they met Captain Coulson’s boys coming back over
the very same ridge, to rendezvous with the Lieut before that fabled
final charge.
“Who did this?” Coulson demanded, staring right at Chess, who
bared his teeth, shifting both hands to his gun-butts. But there were
twenty of them, all armed, to maybe twelve of the Lieut’s
To which Rook simply shut his eyes and commenced to pray, not
quitting ’til he finally heard Chess move away. Then opened them
again, only to find himself once more alone.
The Lieut came out of the bushes, tucking himself away, just as
Hosteen was pouring Rook a tin mug of coffee. He had a wilder
look than usual in his eyes, and Rook perceived that both his pupils
seemed blown, as pin-prick as any concussion case’s. Hell, he even
had his hat on backwards.
“All right, boys!” he announced. “Due time for a last hurrah, don’t
you think?”
“Sir?” Rook asked.
“I have received fresh intelligence, Reverend, and sent for
reinforcements accordingly. We, along with Captain Coulson’s
troop, are to immediately assault the local township of Farnham
Ridge. We must then burn it to the ground and kill all within, so
that the pernicious seeds of kiting Abolitionism shall flourish no
more unchecked. Hallelujah!”
Hosteen spoke up: “But — that’s over the border, ain’t it?”
“What matter, if it is?”
“Well . . . sir . . . that’s what direction the bird come from,
yesterday. So . . . I’m thinkin’ it’s probably all already been took by
Union forces, and . . .”
A bit further back, Rook could spot more soldiers nodding. He
didn’t glimpse Chess amongst them, for which he was thankful.
Cut and run , he thought. Practical as the very Fiend himself, is our
little Mister Pargeter. Well, good. I should’ve too, and that’s the truth. We all should.
Too late now, though. As demonstrated.
“Plus, how’d you get new word so fast, anyhow,” someone else
called out, “considerin’ you killed that damn pigeon? Let alone call
in Coulson, on top — ”
The Lieut drew and shot him while he was still speaking,
cleaving his jaw like a split log — then waved the gun’s barrel slightly
to dispel the smoke, and told the rest of the company, “I will brook
no opposition, gentlemen. We are come at last to the moment of
Apocalypse, where each must make his choice. Stand together, or
fall forever. Are you rabble? What say you?”
Rook caught Hosteen’s eyes, widening further than their orbits
seemed made for, and shook his head just slightly, wondering: Will
Bible-quoting even work here, or is the Lieut far too gone for even God’s
word to resonate? Think fast, damnit: false revelation, uh — dreams sent
by Satan, not by the Almighty — Daniel versus the Babylonians, Joseph
in Egypt?
Before Rook could choose, however, one more shot rang out,
cracking the Lieut’s head apart like a blood-orange set up for target
practice. He gave a little spasmic shiver, then fell without complaint.
Behind him stood Chess, who’d simply walked up in the Lieut’s
blind spot as he blathered on, clapped gun to skull, and pulled the
trigger. He gave the corpse a single sharp kick and reholstered,
asking it: “That do, for an answer? Sir .”
Rook felt something on his face, and found on closer inspection
that it was the Lieut’s blood, already a little tacky to the touch. By
mere trick of proximity, more had sprayed on him than had ever
touched Chess, who looked immaculate by comparison.
“I do wish you hadn’t done that,” Rook said.
Chess shrugged. “Somebody had to.”
Then Hosteen stepped in, suggesting: “Better get goin’. We
wanna be elsewheres when they find this fool’s body. Which way,
Reverend?”
Chess looked to Rook, lifting a brow. Rook swallowed hard, and
pointed. “That-a-way, I guess,” he said, at random.
Which did seem a good enough route, to be sure — in those few
minutes before they met Captain Coulson’s boys coming back over
the very same ridge, to rendezvous with the Lieut before that fabled
final charge.
“Who did this?” Coulson demanded, staring right at Chess, who
bared his teeth, shifting both hands to his gun-butts. But there were
twenty of them, all armed, to maybe twelve of the Lieut’s
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