“Ok, Pa.”
“You just keep an eye on that one,” Boles said. He put his gun down on the ground next to Harlan and patted the old man down. He removed the few dollar bills folded in Harlan’s shirt pocket. He continued searching, giving Junior instruction on where else to search for money. “Sometimes they hide stuff in secret pockets, and you got to check, now.”
“Ok, Pa.”
Jem grabbed the shotgun’s barrels and tugged while the boy’s eyes were on his father. Junior instinctively yanked the gun back and Jem shoved it forward, slamming the stock into the boy’s gut. Junior folded in half and sent a pile of sickness splattering onto the ground. Jem kicked the boy’s legs out from under him and sat him down hard.
Boles spun at the sound of the commotion, scrambling for his gun. He nearly had it but froze at the sound of Jem cocking the shotgun’s hammer back. Boles put up his hands and said, “You wouldn’t shoot a man in the back, now would you?”
Jem pulled the trigger.
The weapon clicked, empty. Jem switched the hammer to the other side and said, “Still got another barrel. Let’s try that again.” Boles scrambled across the dirt like a crab and sat up to beg for mercy. Jem put the shotgun’s barrel against Boles’ forehead and pulled the trigger. Also empty. “You are one lucky son of a bitch,” Jem said.
Boles grabbed his revolver off the ground and stood up, looking at Jem in disbelief. “You really would have shot me. You crazy bastard!”
Jem dropped the empty shotgun and held up his hands. “I’m guessing Junior forgot to load his gun?”
“I reckon he did,” Boles said. “First time in my life I’ve ever been grateful that boy is an idiot. Junior? Stop crying like a little girl and get up. I’m fixin’ to execute this murderous prick.”
“That seems kind of excessive, friend,” Jem said. He scratched his stomach, feeling the Mantis two-shot tucked away behind the buttons.
“You were going to shoot me from behind!”
Smoke and flame flashed from Jem’s vest. The Mantis’ bullet hit Charlie Boles in the hip and Jem smacked the revolver out of Boles’ hand.
Jem tore off his smoldering vest and threw it down. He pressed the Mantis against the side of Boles’ head and hissed, “You really must have an angel sitting on your shoulder today, you piece of trash. I was trying to gut shoot you. I was going to leave you here to die in the desert with your insides spilling out of you. I’ve got one more bullet though. Where do you want it?”
Harlan Wells groaned and tried lifted his head. “Mr. Wells? Harlan,” Jem shouted. He pointed at Junior and said, “Get that carriage door open and check on Adam.”
Junior limped over to the wagon to open the door. Adam was splayed across the floor motionless, with white foam spilling from of the corners of his mouth. “Harlan!” Jem shouted. “Get up and check on your son.”
Junior helped Harlan to his feet and the old man staggered over to the carriage, clutching his head. He reached inside and checked for a pulse on Adam’s neck. “He had a seizure,” Harlan said. “But he’s passed out for now. He should come out of it soon.”
Jem threw Boles against the carriage hard enough to rock it. He stuck the Mantis under Boles’ chin and used it to lift his jaw so that their eyes met. “Lucky again, Boles. I was going to shoot you between the legs if that boy was dead, but now I reckon I’ll settle for just taking you off the planet.”
“Go ahead and shoot, you son of a bitch,” Boles said. His foul spittle splattered Jem across the face. “You think I ain’t ready to die?”
Jem was about to squeeze the trigger, when Harlan Wells wedged himself between him and Boles. “I won’t let you do this,” Harlan said.
Jem pushed Harlan away, but the old man grabbed the front of the gun and covered the barrel’s opening with his hand. “I said, don’t.”
“Are you insane? He was going to kill you so he could steal your clothes. Look what he did to your son.”
“Look what you’re doing to his,” Harlan said.
Jem looked at Junior and said, “Walk away, boy. Get going. I’m doing you a favor.”
Junior stood in place, covered in his own sickness, begging Jem not to shoot.
Harlan stared Jem in the eyes and said, “Let him go, son.”
“Stop calling me that! I am not your goddamn son.”
“You let him go. Or you shoot me too.”
Jem slammed the Mantis across Boles’ face. Boles dropped to the ground and Jem kicked him in the gut several times, then spit on him. Boles fell over on his side and Junior pushed past Harlan to dive on top of him to protect him.
Jem looked down in horror at the boy.
Boles spat out a mouthful of blood and groaned, “I’ll find you, you son of a bitch. I’ll find you and when I do, I’ll kill you.”
“I hope you do, Charlie,” Jem said. “I’ll be at Seneca 6. Just ask for Jem Clayton. They’ll know where to find me.”
Charlie Boles and his son limped off into the wasteland long before Jem opened the rear of the carriage to remove his weapons. Harlan looked at him and said, “So which is it? Tom Howard or Jem Clayton?”
Jem strapped on his gun belt and said, “I know it must seem a surprise to you, being that you don’t associate with people like me and Charlie Boles, but it doesn’t pay to get familiar nowadays.”
“We were going to Tradesville,” Harlan said. “What’s in Seneca 6?”
“You and Adam need to see a doctor, and it’s the closest main settlement to us. Plus, we need to get to safety. It won’t take long for Boles to get fixed up and come looking for us.”
“What makes you think he’ll come looking for us?”
“Because that’s what I would do,” Jem said. “Just get in the back with Adam and I’ll handle it.”
In the distance, Junior was walking beside his father, helping him stay on his feet. The boy looked back at Jem, and Jem paused at the hatred in his eyes. He recognized it intimately. Jem snapped the reins on the wagon and got it moving.
9. Ghosts
Flames licked the soles of his feet, bringing him to consciousness. He started to flail, panicking, ripping off the chunks of red hot metal that left hissing welts on his bare skin. Jimmy McParlan tried yanking his legs away from the fire but was pinned by one of the ship’s support pylons. A hundred different pieces of the hull were piled on top of him and all around. McParlan rolled over on his side, struggling to escape from the pylon’s weight before his clothing caught fire. He was still strapped to the co-pilot’s chair, buried under a pile of smoldering debris.
Ash filled his mouth and he gagged on the taste of burnt plastic. Finally, he managed to unbuckle the restraint and press the column an inch off of his legs. Enough to slide them from the flames. He rolled away and crawled through the wreckage on his belly.
There was the smell of roasted meat. McParlan saw a blackened body on the ground nearby. The hands were not cuffed together. McParlan cursed and poked his head up, looking around. “Elijah? You dead too?”
He tried to get his cybernetic eye to focus, but instead of scanning the landscape, it filled his head with static. McParlan unscrewed the thing and tossed it into the ashes.
A pair of shackled hands raised in the air, ten feet from the frame of the shattered rear wing of the ship. McParlan climbed over sharp paneling and tangled wires and debris. He tore his elbows and knees as he crawled toward Elijah. “Still alive, you son of a bitch?”
Harpe laughed, “The Lord just isn’t ready to take me today, Marshal.”
McParlan drew his Balrog and put the barrel an inch from Harpe’s head, then laid flat and panted, trying to catch his breath. “We’ll see about that, Elijah. Here’s the deal. I don’t think I’m long for this world, but if I feel the claw of the reaper come around my shoulder the last thing I’m going to do is tighten my finger around this trigger.” He coughed up something black and oily. “You break anything in the crash?”