Bab 68: An Ear for Violence
He looked down to the five deceased, lying ready to find new homes six feet underground. Their skin milky-white, eyes glossy without a glint of light, flesh holes no longer draining. In the air was the smell of shit and urine, from their bowls releasing like sludge and grime through piping.
Jostice pointed, "pick up those men and tie them down to their horses, sitting upright. We need to appear strong and have protection … draw their fire from us."
Boris raised an eyebrow. "What are you thinking?"
"These sorry souls, may they rest in peace, are going to be our shields."
"You don't mean," The man shook his head, cheeks wobbling. "These men are to be buried."
"And so are we if we don't draw these Yurks gunfire." Jostice said. "With them at the front of the raid, the barrels will be aimed at them, send the deceased towards the barn while we make haste for the farmhouse."
"That is," Boris stammered, "disgracing these men … their bodies are to be preserved."
"Why?" Jostice asked. "They ain't using them anymore."
Krix chuckled then pointed to the oversized man. "Brugar, you heard the man, pin them up!"
Boris yelled, "you will do no such thing. I will not be a part of such blasphemy … the Mayor will be hearing about this—"
The crooked lipped deputy crouched down, and hoisted one of the deceased onto his right shoulder; a black hole where his cheek had been. Limbs flailing. Blue irises rolled up into his skull, showing the glassy-white balls of his eyes.
"What are you doing?" Boris hands were at his hips. "Put him down this instant—"
"Wilkes didn't come here and die for nothing." The man bared his teeth. "And you heard the Sheriff … we'd be dead before you'd be able to tell the Mayor, you little weasel. Now help or step aside and let the real men do work, while you, dog, run back to your master."
Boris ironed his deputies uniform with a palm, offended. He kept his argumentive thoughts to himself.
Jostice nodded, watching the bloody sun drip down the western horizon. "Well, let's get to it, and by dusk we'll strike."
Twenty-minutes later five dead sat upon horseback. Their milky-white hands wrapped around the reins while their boots were tot in the stirrup. The horse's stood, whipping their head back at the corpses they carried. The mounts eyes bulging like black stones out of the sand, while their neighs and bucks told and showed of their disagreement with the plan. Even a horse knew when he was on a suicide run.
Jostice found that the blood drip sun had gone and left a black, hideous sky. There was a chill in the air, but not a mountain chill, the chill of a glacier river, or the desert chill on a cloudless night. This was the chill only death brought; the kind that tickled the back of ones neck and made one hairs stand like frightened hackles.
He whispered, "I'm coming for you, P…" He fought to say the word, "Jerocobish." Even after all this time, and what they'd been through, his father was nothing but an old man. "She would've hated to see me like this. Ma Jean, I'm sorry … but I can't find it in myself to forgive that bastard." Krix grabbed his shoulder and Jostice almost made him pay with a bullet between his eyes. He lowered his revolver. "What is it?"
The bounty hunter chuckled. "If you're finished praying, we're ready to start the raid…"
Justice grimaced. There was no time for prayer, but he always made time to reflect on Ma Jean, the only person in the world who never had an ill thought about him. And if she had he'd never know it.
With a quick whip of his wrist, palm slapping against the bare hide of the lead, corpse carrying, mount; the horses were off. Dirt waking behind them. Hooves beating the earth to death. And pants of the beast waking the quiet that followed the dead.
"Let's ride, Gentlemen!" He pinched his leg and kicked stirs into the thick, brownish hide of his horse. The beast a high, rumbling cry then was off, chasing the lead horses trail.
The lead was the largest horse in the raid, and seemed to be the smartest. Unafraid of what awaited beyond the gates of the O'donovan Ranch. Jostice horse, which was provided for him, was as stubborn-headed as he was, running patterns behind the others until the Ace kicked him so hard he ran straight to rid away the pain.
Krix rode beside him, his eyes glowing like golden stars. The eyes of a man about to be paid, even if he was only collecting what he'd already lost. Behind him was the crooked lipped deputy the the other bunch. And behind them was Brugar who didn't have the fiercest mount or the ideal weight to keep up with riders, trailing ten paces back, while Boris took the rear, doing his best to stay out of range and unnoticed.
Not a second after the lead horse passed the gate he raised his head and let out a loud, high-pitched squeal. Next second he collapsed. Right leg twisted at the knee where a bullet struck. On impact, Wilkes catapulted ten feet from the saddle. Body flailing like a wild gosling on first landing.
The barn and farm house lit in the night. White and red flashes flickering like fireflies. Guns blared and bullets hissed. And men began to drop.
"To the farmhouse!" Jostice said, pulling his reins right while kicking his horse with his left boot. "We'll take it first."
He didn't look over his shoulder, assuming at least six would make it there unscathed. He dismounted at the porch and climbed the steps, crouching, while he moved past the two rocking chairs, swaying. Somebody had left them abandoned. Jostice slammed against the wall on the left side of the door. Krix against the wall on his right. The bounty hunter was proving to be more valuable than he thought.
"I don't know why I agreed to this," a bullet clipped his right ear, severing it in half, "shit!" The flesh dangled. Krix raised a hand from his bowgun, ripping the chunk and tossing it aside. He looked to Jostice and chuckled. "Who needs it anyway..."
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone