章 99: A Duel of Attrition
Leslie bit down on her lip and shimmied left. There came a bang and a flash from a cubby positioned between three smaller boulders. Leslie jerked right, flesh tearing from her arm; she found cover and groaned, applying a hand to the wound.
"I know where you are, you prick!"
There was no doubt the shooter would reposition after that. And it could give her enough time to make the final jump. But then again, why move when all she's got is a revolver and the hope of a lucky shot?
Leslie didn't stay to wonder, springing from behind the stone and racing towards the gap. Fifteen paces away. Ten paces. Five paces. Bullets whistled past her until she reached the edge. Leslie leaped, turning in mid-air; she fired. Luck hadn't been with her lately, but it was today. The cubby burst into flames as a bullet ripped through her leg. Leslie tumbled down the boulder, rolling, and slamming hip, shoulder, and head. At the bottom, she gasped, embraced by the sands that drank her blood.
Leslie lay still, her body aching. Pain coming from all directions. Leslie landed awkwardly. The revolver beneath her chest. Sun warming her back.
Light faded around her, and her eyes suddenly went dark.
"I see you breathing, doll. Wakie, Wakie!"
Leslie's eyes shot open, bloodshot. Hair in disarray. It was hard to move her body, but surprisingly nothing felt broken. And the bullets had only nicked her flesh. More fortunate than usual.
Leslie kept herself still, eyeing the pocked-face woman standing ten paces away. She had wounds of her own. Her head and arm black and charred. Leslie had no idea how she was still standing, much less aiming her rifle.
"This is revenge for my cousin Kenneth ... You take one of us and we'll take all of you; every Kin member you've got, including your brother.
"Kenneth was a prick," Leslie laughed, "just like you."
The pocked-faced woman lowered her rifle, grimacing. She dropped it on the ground and ripped a knife from her hip. "You're going to wish you hadn't said that."
Leslie laughed. "No ... you're going to wish you never dropped that rifle—"
Leslie rolled on her hip, yanking the revolver from beneath her stomach, drawing on the woman. Her face twisted ugly. Leslie fired. There was a flash and fire, then body parts and blood rained down.
Leslie's arm dropped in the sand, and she smirked. "Looks like I've had all the luck today."
Leslie gathered enough strength to get back on her feet.
The button shirt was torn. Leslie ripped it from the bottom, exposing her abdomen. She then slipped a piece between her teeth, tearing the strand in two. With much work, Leslie tied the wound at her shoulder and the one at her leg, groaning from the sharp pain.
"A horse … I just need one damn horse."
Walking was more challenging than before. With each step, a stream of blood filled her boot and her leg screamed, but that was not what bothered her most. Leslie's head pounded, eyes fighting to stay focused. The fall had shaken her up. Only a stiff drink and good sleep could knock her right.
Leslie stopped and overlooked the dunes. The dirt must've been brought in with the wagons that rest half sunken and battered. Wheels and boxes scattered while horses galloped, bobbing their heads.
With the gun drawn to her chest, Leslie walked the dunes, searching the wagons. Inside there were many valuables. Some stashed with boxes of coins, a distraction she believed. Others had knives and extra ammunition; she pocketed the rounds and left the knives. After five wagons, Leslie stumbled upon one with a box full of hay and herbal goods.
"Numbwillow," Leslie mumbled, holding the bottle in hand. She bit the cork and spat then swallowed enough to make her feel more confident and rid the pain for at least the time being. Next to the bottle, was a canteen she used to quench her thirst and a jar of Tonic Sap. Leslie applied it to the wounds, feeling a burning sensation then cooling relief, clotting the blood flow. All temporary remedies that would at least help for the day.
Leslie acquired a sack, throwing the contents inside then the sack across her shoulder. It was a suprise the wagons hadn't been raided and the horses taken. The competition was steep, and everybody was looking for an edge.
Leslie rubbed her chin, watching a beautiful brown horse twenty paces away. Ears back. Something was spooking them. "Unless they all fled …" Leslie was very exposed in the dunes, though nobody had tried to take her head. There was something else there, she could feel it.
With a palm extended, Leslie walked towards the horse. "Easy girl … easy." Leslie stayed light on her heels and toes, cautious not to scare the beast. One false move would send the horse racing. It was no tamed beast afterall. Not anymore.
There was a light wind that churned the sand, kicking up orangish-white clouds that spun, moving up and over the dunes. Scorpions had made the place their home, burying themselves on her approach, raising their claws and pointers. While crows sat on wagons, watching with beady eyes. Interested in her as the crowd that sat in the benches.
Leslie almost forgot about them. Since the tournament started they'd grown hushed. Their eyes glancing through enhancers, trying to locate where the action was, and cheering when there was an explosion or gunfire.
Leslie took another step, the horse studied her. A once tame horse never forgets a pair of soft hands, and Leslie's hands had grown soft. No longer calloused like they'd been on the ranch. Only five paces away, Leslie kept her eyes with the horse. Exuberating confidence and warmth.
From the years on the ranch, Leslie learned to read their energy. Each mount's personality differs. Only one with patience and confidence had this ability and it'd taken her life to master it. This horse was afraid, yearning for comfort. Either from something in the dunes or the loud roar of the crowd and explosion; whatever it was Leslie couldn't allow herself the same fear.
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