Skinwalkers (24 page)

Maxine stuffed a pistol down the front of her corset. She
clawed
at the earthen wall against the
crate’s
edge. It
fell
away in soft, powdery clumps. Behind her, several more
skinwalkers
dropped into the pit. They
advanced
to her side of the
chamber
, howling in frustration at each crate they found to be vacant of their quarry. Maxine continued digging at a frantic pace, tears leaking from her eyes as she offered up silent prayers.

Within moments, she’d torn away enough earth to see that a gaping black hole stood behind the crate. It appeared to be a tunnel. Maxine renewed her efforts until she’d opened a space between the wall and the crate hopefully just wide enough for her to slide through.

She slipped her arms inside and then her head, having to turn sideways to keep from getting stuck. As she wriggled her torso through the opening, the crate caught on her hips. She kicked and shoved
,
and her lower body began to slide on through. Maxine had to bite her lip to stifle a scream as numerous splinters from the crate’s hard edge shredded her
petticoat
and lodged into her buttocks. After what seemed to Maxine like an eternity, her pelvis pushed the rest of the way inside the tunnel. It was quick work to snake her legs and feet the remainder of the way.

The tunnel’s sole illumination was the trace light drifting in from the pit.
The passage
was barely tall enough for her to sit up in. Maxine crawled forward on her hands and knees
. She reached
up every so often
to
feel the tunnel’s ceiling
, hoping to find an opening
leading upward. Her hands found only packed earth and the occasional wooden joist.

Maxine was roughly fifteen yards inside the tunnel’s mouth when she heard a crash. She looked behind her and saw the crate disappear from the tunnel entrance. The dark silhouette of a
skinwalker
now covered the bulk of the hole, its yellow eyes hovering in the shadow that was its head.

Maxine plucked the gun from her corset, aimed it at the tunnel mouth, and began unloading. The
skinwalker
yowled as a bullet struck it. But Maxine felt no sense of triumph
. The
beast
wasn’t
her target.

“Light, goddamn you!“
A
searing orange fireball engulfed both the tunnel mouth and the
skinwalker
beyond
. Maxine had hit the barrels of gunpowder.

Maxine rolled onto her stomach and covered her head with her arms as bright orange flames shot up the length of the tunnel. For a moment, the tunnel became the sun’s belly. Then the flames retreated
.
 
Maxine
rolled, snuffing out the flames trying to spread across
her
smallclothes
.

When the explosions
in the armory
at last
fell silent
, the only roaring Maxine heard was that of fire.

L
ieutenant
Richard P.
Arrington tried to keep from smiling as he watched the sheriff of Dayton, Texas, lead Herbert Franklin Washington toward the gallows that had been constructed in the town square for this very occasion. In truth, Dayton was hardly a town at all, so much as an occasional meeting place for the owners of the surrounding ranches. Dayton just happened to consist of more than one building.

In Dayton, a hanging was considered the greatest of celebrations, ranking above even the wedding of a rich ranch owner’s daughter
. The
townsfolk had come out in droves. They laughed and chatted gleefully, the din of their noise growing louder the closer Washington approached.

As for Washington, it was obvious he
didn’t
find this whole affair amusing in the slightest. His face was stern as tears drained down the black skin of his cheeks. He searched the crowd with his eyes until he found Arrington where he stood on the gallows. A scowl of deepest hatred crossed Washington’s face.
There’d
been no discussion about the possibility of a hooded hangman. Washington was Lieutenant Arrington’s servant
—
and a black man, to boot.
There’d been no
question that Arrington would perform the honors while staring his former employee in the face. This was Texas, after all.

Washington reached the gallows and was
steered into
place
above
the
trap door
. His eyes never left Arrington’s. The local minister said a prayer over Washington
,
and then asked if he had anything to say for himself.

Before anyone realized what he was doing, the condemned man spat a wad of phlegm he must have been saving since he’d left the jailhouse into Lieutenant Arrington’s face. “Nothing I
ain’t
said already.“

Arrington
couldn’t
help but smile as he wiped the mucous and spittle from his face. He maneuvered his hand to conceal his expression.

“Very well
,“ the
preacher said and stepped back.

Judge Bordeaux read from a paper he held in his hand as he said in a booming voice, “Herbert Franklin Washington, the great state of Texas finds you guilty of murder on two counts, that of Libby Washington and her unborn child. You are sentenced to hang on this day of April 28, 1863, until you are dead, dead, dead
.
“

Two men pulled a hood over Washington’s face and then slipped the noose around his neck.

“Lieutenant Arrington,“ Judge Williams said, his fleshy under-chin wagging with each word, “you will now carry out the sentence of the court.“

Arrington squeezed his hand around the lever that would release the trapdoor beneath Washington’s feet. He was exultant. He was in almost as good a mood as on the day he’d strangled Libby Washington. The woman had kicked
like an angry mule.
Then at last, Arrington had watched transfixed as her struggles ceased and her eyes glazed over. In that moment when the light of life had exited the husk
that’d
been Libby Washington, Arrington
came
harder than he ever had in his entire life.

Arrington had almost thanked her dead body for telling him she was pregnant with his child
,
and so forcing him to
kill her
. Libby Washington’s death had unknowingly introduced Arrington to a whole new world of ecstasy. And having been introduced, there was no going back. Arrington was determined to take advantage of his
new found
garden of earthly delights, and would take steps to ensure that opportunities to do so, many and frequent, presented themselves
—
especially when it appeared he’d have so little trouble getting away with it.

“You will now carry out the sentence, Lieutenant Arrington
,“
Judge Bordeaux said, his voice bringing Arrington back to the here and now.

Arrington shook himself and nodded to the
Judge
. He turned from the crowd to hide the erection that had formed in his trousers and then pulled the lever. Washington’s body dropped like a sack of mail. He twitched and jerked as he hung at the rope’s end. Arrington wished he could see what was going on beneath Washington’s hood. The lieutenant imagined his former servant’s eyes jutting from his face like twin boiled eggs and nearly came
in
his pants.

Finally, Washington’s body stilled and it was all over. Arrington
felt
the
same
loss and depression he’d experienced after he’d murdered Libby. He
wasn’t
sad at his actions or their loss of life
—
only that the experience was over so quickly. He was already beginning to need longer, more intimate sessions to satisfy his hunger. Arrington thought of his upcoming assignment to Kit Carson’s regiment and began to smile again.

“L
ose
the gun belt
.“
Captain Arrington cocked the hammer on the revolver he
pointed
at the bounty
hunter’s
chest. Having little choice, Dewayne reached down to unbuckle his guns. “Careful!“ Arrington warned. “I got you dead to rights. If you suddenly feel the itch to pull leather, ignore it.“

Dewayne scowled as his hands closed around his belt buckle. He unfastened it and his weapons dropped to the ground with a loud
thunk
.

“Now walk your black ass over here
.“
The bounty hunter stood
,
unmoving. “Right goddamn now,
Nigger
!“ Arrington said. “Or I’ll put a bullet in your monkey’s heart!“ Reluctantly, Dewayne walked down the hall, stepping over the bodies in his path
as he
entered the saloon.

“That’s plenty close enough,“ Arrington said. “Now turn around and put your hands behind your head.“ Dewayne slowly turned and placed his hands behind his head. Arrington came to stand directly behind him. “Now, get down on your knees.“

“What for?“ Dewayne asked.

“I said get on your knees,
Coon
!“ Arrington kicked the back of Dewayne’s knees. The bounty hunter groaned and sank to the floor, his knees slamming hard against the timbers. Dewayne felt the cold steel of Arrington’s revolver press against the back of his skull.

“When I give you an order, you obey it,
Nigger
,“ Arrington
grunted
. “You just consider me your new
mas’a
. You remember having a
mas’a
, don’t you, Nigger? He’s the white man who told you what to do
. When
to get up
. When
to lay down
. When
to plow his field
. When
to suck his white cock. Would like to suck your new
mas’a’s
cock,
Nigger
? I bet you would. You got that look in your eye. Or maybe you want it up the ass?

“Yeah, now that’s it,
ain’t
, Nigger
? You want me to stick my lily
-
white cock up your fat black ass, don’t you? You
—“

“If you’re gonna shoot me,“ Dewayne said, “quit running your damn mouth and go on and do it.“

Pain exploded in the back of Dewayne’s head. He fell forward, catching himself with his hands
before his face could smack the floor
. Dewayne glanced
over his shoulder
at Arrington. The captain’s face was purple with rage.
 

“You don’t say a fucking word unless I tell you to!“ Arrington fumed. “You got that, Nigger? Not a fucking
—!“

At that moment, an explosion sounded in the distance. Arrington whipped his head in its direction as though he could peer through the saloon wall
and
see what was blowing up. Taking advantage of the distraction, Dewayne kicked out his leg. His boot caught Arrington on his shin. Arrington howled
,
his weapons
clattering to the floor
as he doubled over in pain. Dewayne whirled
and swung
his fist
. The
strike missed
, and his
momentum sent
him
crashing into
Arrington
.

The two men tumbled to the floor. They grappled there, wallowing in blood, each trying to gain an advantage. Being the stouter of the two, Dewayne
came out
on top
. Literally
. He
straddled the captain and smashed the back of his head into the blood-soaked floor.

Dewayne
was about to pound Arrington’s face
into hamburger
when the captain’s hand closed around his sword. He brought the hilt upward and struck Dewayne hard on the temple. The room spun and bright lights swam before
the bounty
hunter’s
eyes. He collapsed and rolled off Arrington onto his belly.

Arrington got to his knees. He closed both hands around the sword’s hilt and slashed drunkenly at the bounty hunter. The blade sliced across Dewayne’s back and a diagonal gash of bright
red blood appeared its wake. The sensation
of pain
brought
Dewayne swimming back up
to
reality
.

Now staggering on his feet, Arrington swiped the sword at Dewayne again. This time the blade opened the bounty
hunter’s
shoulder just below the wound from the
skinwalker’s
hand. Dewayne rolled, dodging
a stab from Arrington’s
sword. With the bounty hunter out of its path, the blade sank into the wood of the bar. Arrington jerked and pulled on the sword hilt. After several moments of struggling, the captain dislodged the blade. Captain Arrington turned toward the bounty hunter. A triumphant smile rode on the captain’s blood-splattered face as he raised the sword high above his head. Arrington’s smile evaporated when he saw
the pistol in Dewayne’s hand
.