Osceola drew his finest arrow and notched it in his bow, aiming at Harpe while he was bent over and wrestling to keep himself from ripping the creature off.
Mahpiya waved a fan of feathers in front of Osceola’s arrow and stepped back, raising his hands to shout the last incantation. Osceola’s arrow punctured the creature’s bulbous head, making jets of green filth spew out of it. Harpe lifted his head back and gasped for breath. His hold on the men lessened for a moment, and Royce Halladay forced his pistol away from Jem’s chest, straining to turn the weapon on Harpe.
Harpe hollered in outrage at Halladay, “No! No! Stop! I COMMAND YOU!”
Halladay’s face turned purple and blood spilled out of his mouth. He started to cough but managed to take another step forward. Harpe shouted, “SUFFER! SUFFER!” making Halladay hunch over in pain, but still he took another step.
“Suffer,” Harpe panted.
“Been doing that for as long as I can remember,” Halladay said. He grabbed Harpe around the waist and spun him around to face Jem, shouting, “Shoot him!”
The creature made terrified high-pitched noises and was trying to re-attach itself to Harpe. Jem tried to turn and get one of his guns centered on the creature while Harpe struggled with Halladay even as the creature’s tentacles lashed both of their faces. “Get the hell out of the way, Doc!” Jem shouted. “I don’t have a clear shot!”
“If I let go, we’re done for. Shoot now.” Halladay looked at him and said, “As a friend, I am asking you, Jem. Shoot.”
Jem cocked back the hammer of his Defeater and fired into the center of creature’s head. The bullet passed through the creature’s large mouth and punched through Little Willy’s heart.
Royce Halladay let Harpe slide out of his hands and smiled at Jem, “Nice shot.” Something burned in his chest and put his hand up to it just as a warm rush of blood spilled out of the hole from Jem’s bullet. He looked at Jem and said, “Oh dear” before collapsing to the ground.
Jem ran to him and pressed both of his hands over the hole, trying to keep the blood inside. “Bart!” he shouted.
Bart Masters was bent over on his hands and knees, retching into the sand.
“Bart! We need help!”
Halladay coughed forcefully. “That truly was an admirable shot, Jem. Sam would be proud. I intend to discuss it with him in the next minute or so.”
“Stop that. You aren’t going to die. I’ll get Anna and she’ll fix you up. Just lay still.”
Halladay coughed again, more fiercely this time and blood pumped into Jem’s hands. “I have been dying for twenty years, my friend. I just needed the proper motivation to get it over with.” Halladay’s eyes searched the night sky above, peering at the limitless stars. He smiled gently and tears streamed down the sides of his face. He took one deep, final breath, and when he let it out he said, “There’s my girl.”
20. No Snakes Alive
Anna Willow stood waiting by the front gate with her medical bag ready. People had begun to crowd the town square as word about the rescue party spread. Bart’s wife, Emma Masters, stood wrapped in a blanket. Her face was like a flood of full-blown despair held back by the last stitches of a torn suture. Emma’s sister, Janet Walters, was at her side, and somehow, Janet managed to look even worse than Emma.
Adam Wells rocked back and forth, nervously touching the tip of each finger to his thumb over and over. Frank Miller sat in his wheelchair holding hands with his wife, drumming on the twelve-gauge shotgun sitting on his lap. Claire stood staring at the road beyond the security gate and did not look away.
When the sky darkened, candles were passed around to the people and their lights drew the customers out of the Proud Lady to come and see what was going on. Anna listened to people giving excited explanations, and leaned close to Claire to say, “What a bunch of gossip-hungry wretches too cowardly to go with them, but they’ll stand here all night waiting to see some bloodshed.”
A burst of automatic gunfire echoed from Coramide Canyon, and then another right behind it. As soon as the shooting stopped, one of the men said, “That’s it. They’re done for. Jem and Bart and Halladay are dead! Find every wagon you can and evacuate the town!”
Mothers scooped up their children and ran down Pioneer Way as men grabbed their wives by the arm and started dragging them away from the front gate.
Claire Miller picked up the shotgun from her husband’s lap and fired it into the air.
Everyone stopped and turned to look at her standing there with the gun held high and smoke pouring out of the barrel. She lowered the gun and jacked the spent casing out and chambered another shell. Claire’s face was still swollen and the salve on her bruises shined brightly in the candle’s glare. “Marshal McParlan was the first one digging your sorry asses out of the rubble when the bomb went off, and then he gave himself over to his enemies to try and save a town full of people who didn’t lift a finger when the time came to go rescue him. Royce Halladay ain’t seen the inside of Seneca 6 since I was six years old, but he went. Bart Masters never got into a fight since the day I was born, but he went too.”
People in the crowd said nothing and did not move except for the few that looked at the ground and scratched the back of their heads. “So now, if those brave men are dead, who is left to defend this place and these people?” She showed them the gun and said, “This gun belonged to Sheriff Sam Clayton, my daddy, the last lawman we ever had in this sorry excuse for a town. If he were here tonight you can bet your sweet ass he’d use it on the first son of a bitch who came through that gate to do us harm. Since he ain’t, I’ll do it for him. It’s time somebody made a stand.”
Janet Walker pointed behind Claire and screamed in panic.
“Not funny, Janet!” Claire barked, then as she turned to look, she saw a half-naked Beothuk warrior sitting on a destrier at the gate’s entrance. Haienwa’tha was smeared with war paint across his face and torso, and he did not move when Claire lifted the gun at him and said, “Holy shit!”
“Hoka hey,” Haienwa’tha said. He raised his empty hands in the air and said, “Hoka Hey! El-halcon kola owa sich!”
“Give me that gun, Claire,” someone shouted. “Shoot him!”
“Shut your mouth, goddamn it,” Claire shouted back, never taking her eyes off of Haienwa’tha. “You stay right there, boy, or I will blow a hole through you. Now, what the hell are you trying to say?”
“El-halcon.” Haienwa’tha formed his hands into a pair of guns and made firing noises, saying, “Pow pow.” Claire shook her head in confusion and Haienwa’tha sighed in exasperation. He struggled with himself for a moment before finally saying, “El-halcon, friend. Haienwa’tha, friend. Friends hurt. Need medicine.”
“Medicine?” Anna said.
Haienwa’tha nodded quickly, “Medicine, yes. For friend.”
“I have medicine!” Anna said, holding up her medical bag. She ran past Claire toward his destrier and said, “Take me to them.”
Haienwa’tha looked at the crowd of angry-looking people and at Claire’s gun, then nodded and held out his hand to her.
“Get away from him, Anna,” Claire said. “It ain’t safe!”
Anna looked back at her and said, “This is me making a stand, Claire.”
Haienwa’tha grabbed Anna’s hand and yanked her up onto the back of his destrier, and with a kick in the animal’s side, they were gone.
McParlan’s wrist had torn free of its bolt and was dangling at this side. Jem and Bart lifted the heavy beams out of the ground and lowered them so that the Marshal was lying flat. Bart went to look for the drill, and Jem tried to rouse McParlan. There was no response.