'It isn't good,' said Meredith softly.
'There's a surprise.' Clem was feeling light-headed and faint, but he clung on. There weren't enough defenders and he wasn't going to die just yet. He coughed. Blood rose in his throat and sprayed out on to Meredith's pale shirt. Clem sank back. The sun was setting, the sky the colour of burning copper. Clem levered himself to his feet, staggered and righted himself by gripping the window-frame.
'What are you doing?' asked Josiah Broome, reaching out to grab Clem's arm. Meredith took hold of Broome's shoulder, drawing him back.
'He's dying,' whispered Meredith. 'He has only minutes left.'
Clem fell across the ruined window, then lifted his leg over the sill. The air was fresh and cool outside, not filled with the acrid smell of black powder. It was a good evening, the sky bright. Clem dropped to the ground and half-fell. Blood filled his throat and he thought he was suffocating, but he swallowed it down and staggered to the corpses, relieving them of their pistols and tossing the weapons through the window.
One of the Hellborn was wearing a bandolier of shells. With difficulty, Clem tugged it loose and passed it to Broome.
'Come back inside!' urged Broome.
'I like… it… here,' whispered Clem, the effort of speaking bringing a fresh bout of coughing.
Clem staggered to the edge of the building. From here he could see the horse trough, and the two men hiding behind it. As he stepped into sight, they saw him and tried to bring their rifles to bear. Clem shot them both. A third man rose from behind the paddock fence and a bullet punched into Clem's body, half spinning him. He returned the fire — but missed.
Falling to his knees, Clem reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling clear his last few shells. Another bullet struck him. The ground was hard against his cheek, and all pain floated away from him. Three Hellborn ran from hiding. Clem heard the pounding of their boots on the earth.
With the last of his strength Clem rolled. There were two shots left in the pistol and he triggered them both, the first shell slamming into the belly of the leading Hellborn, pitching him from his feet, the second tearing into an unprotected throat.
A rifle boomed and Clem saw the last Hellborn stagger to a stop, the top of his head blown away. The body crumpled to the ground.
Clem lay on his back and stared up at the sky. It was unbearably bright for a moment, then the darkness closed in from the sides, until, at last, he was staring at a tiny circle of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.
Then there was nothing.
Nestor and Wallace watched him die. 'He was a tough one,' said Wallace.
'He was Laton Duke,' said Nestor softly.
'Yeah? Well, don't that beat all!' Wallace lifted his rifle to his shoulder and sighted on a man creeping along beneath the paddock fence. He fired, the bullet splintering wood above the man and causing him to dive for cover. 'Damn it! Missed him. Laton Duke, you say? He was sure good with that pistol.'
'He was good,' agreed Nestor sadly. Glancing up at the redheaded youngster, he asked, 'You frightened, Wai?'
'Yep.'
'You don't look it.'
The youngster shrugged. 'My folks were never much on showing stuff. . you know, emotions and the like. Busted my arm once and cried. My dad set the bone, then whacked me alongside the head for blubbing.' He sniffed and chuckled. 'I did love that old goat!' Wallace fired again. 'Got him, by God!'
Nestor glanced out to see the Hellborn warrior lying still in the gathering dusk.
'You think they'll attack us after dark?'
'Bet on it,' said Wallace. 'Let's hope there's a good clear sky and plenty of moonlight.'
Movement in the distance caught Nestor's eye. 'Oh, no!' he whispered. Wallace saw them too. Scores of Hellborn were riding down the hillside.
Jacob Moon was with them.
As they neared, Wallace tried a shot at the Jerusalem Rider — but missed, his shot thumping into the shoulder of a rider to Moon's left. The Hellborn dismounted and ran to the shelter of the barn. Wallace spat through the rifle slit, but said nothing.
Nestor backed from the room and called down the news to Beth McAdam.
'We saw them,' she called back. 'Clem threw in some pistols. Better come down here and help yourself, son.' Nestor moved swiftly downstairs. Isis and Meredith held pistols now, but Josiah Broome sat defiantly on the floor, his hands across his knees.
'Are you some sort of coward?' asked Nestor. 'Haven't you even got the guts to fight for your life?'
'That's enough of that!' stormed Beth. 'Sometimes it takes more courage to stick by what you believe in.
Now get back upstairs and stay with Wallace.'
'Yes, Frey,' he said meekly.
Beth knelt by Josiah Broome, resting her hand on his shoulder. 'How are you feeling?' she asked.
'Sad, Beth,' he told her, patting her hand. 'We never learn, do we? We never change. Always killing and causing pain.'
'Not all of us. Some of us just fight to stay alive. When it starts, stay low.'
'I'm ashamed to admit that I wish he was here now,' said Josiah. Beth nodded, remembering Shannow in his prime. There was a force and a power about him that made him appear unbeatable, unstoppable.
'So do I, Josiah. So do I.' Beth called the children to her, and told them to sit with Josiah. Esther snuggled down and buried her face in the old man's shoulder. Broome put his arm around her.
Oz pulled clear his small pistol. 'I'm going to fight,' said the child.
Beth nodded. 'Wait till they're inside,' she said.
'They're coming!' Nestor yelled.
Beth ran to the window. Zerah, blood seeping from her shoulder wound, stood to the left of the window with her pistol ready. Beth risked a glance. The Hellborn were coming in a solid wedge of men, racing across the yard.
The few defenders could never stop them.
There was no need to aim and Beth and Zerah triggered their pistols into the advancing wedge of attackers. Bullets smashed into the room, ricocheting around the walls.
Upstairs Nestor levered shells into the rifle, sending shot after shot into the charging Hellborn.
They were half-way to the house when Wallace gave a whoop. 'Son of a bitch!' he yelled.
More riders were thundering down the hillside. But they were not Hellborn. Many wore the grey shield shirts of the Crusaders.
As they rode they opened fire, a volley of shots ripping through the ranks of the charging men. The Hellborn slowed, then swung to meet their attackers. Nestor saw several horses go down, but the rest came on, surging into the yard.
'Son of a bitch!' yelled Wallace again.
The Hellborn scattered, but were shot down as they ran.
Wallace and Nestor continued to fire until their bullets ran out. Then they raced downstairs.
Beth staggered to a chair and sat down, the pistol suddenly heavy in her tired hand. A face appeared at the window. It was Tobe Harris.
'Good to see you, Tobe,' said Beth. 'I swear to God you have the handsomest face I ever did see.'
Nestor gathered up Beth's pistol and ran out into the yard where bodies lay everywhere, twisted in death.
The Crusaders from Purity had moved on into the fields, chasing down the fleeing Hellborn. Nestor couldn't believe it. He was going to live! Death had seemed so certain. Unavoidable and inevitable. The sun was sinking behind the mountains and Nestor felt tears well into his eyes. He could smell the gun-smoke, and through it the fresh, sweet scent of the moisture on the grass.
'Oh, God!' he whispered.
Horsemen came riding back into the yard, led by a tall, square-shouldered man in a black coat. The man lifted his flat-crowned hat from his head and produced a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face and beard.
'By the Lord, you fought well here, boy,' he said. 'I am Padlock Wheeler. The Deacon sent for me.'