A Twisted Justice (sequel to A Face from the Past)

Disclaimer: This story was written simply for pleasure. These characters do not belong to me.


A westerly wind brought the scent of the ocean, a salty smell that lingered among the pines and redwood. The sun was just beginning to cross the horizon and the east was alight with mauve and gold, the clouds a distant visage of flame and sea. Dust trailed and settled along the road, mixing with the dew and laying heavy among the thin branches and long grass that bordered the old road.

The morning was warm, though the wind spoke of the approaching fall. It was a beautiful dawn, but the five men who traveled the road cared little of beauty. They were rough men, dressed in light clothing that lay tattered and stained on their thin bodies. The men rode silently, their faces cold and hard. Time and work had carved deep etches into their tanned skin and they looked older than their thirty and forty odd years. Swords hung at their sides, old weapons that were dented and beginning to rust, and a revolver sat in the waist band of two of the men.

They spoke little as they rode. Each man knew what was to be done and they saw little need in discussing it. The first rider halted his chestnut and raised a closed fist. His companions surrounded him, their faces set as though in stone, frowns carved indelibly on their once handsome features. "We shall wait here," the man commanded. "We strike quickly and hard. Remember…I want Monastario, do not kill him. He will pay for what he has done. We will see to it."

The grim figures nodded in agreement and dismounted. Monastario had beaten and broken these men, had imprisoned them and had threatened their lives, and now they were going to even the debt. The Capitán would know what it means to suffer, to barely survive, holding on by a thin thread when the world seemed a dark and unforgiving place. These men would make Monastario feel the hollow pain of loss, the sharp sting of defeat, and then the stillness of death.

A twig snapped and the five figures froze. The tallest man, the one who had spoken, moved first. He grabbed the reigns of his horse and moved off the road, into the brush and trees. He tied his horse loosely and smiled as he saw his companions doing the same. The man drew his pistol and moved forward, his light shoes making little noise on the dew covered grass. The others had followed him and were fanning out along the road.

Capitán Monastario and two other soldiers rode easily. The morning was pleasant and the Commandante was in no hurry to return to the Pueblo de los Angeles. He had been unsuccessful in Monterey but he had pushed that thought out of his head as he rode. His horse walked gently and the swaying motion eased the tension from the military man's shoulders. He had requested a transfer from this god-forsaken land but was refused. Monastario shifted his weight and turned his face to the east, the warm sun spilled across his bearded features and he closed his eyes a moment, taking in the little comfort he could before returning to his duties.

Monastario's world flared into a brilliant shade of red as pain lanced through his shoulder. The force of the bullet caught and lifted him from the saddle and he hung a moment, suspended in time and place, before he crashed painfully into the hard road. His head caught the ground and blackness invaded the red. Monastario was aware of shouting and the distinct sound of steel on steel before he succumbed to the darkness. He did not see one of his soldiers fall dead from his horse and the other bloodied and bruised, his body limp over his horse's neck, escape down the road, his mare running terrified from the sounds and the smell of blood.

Monastario woke to a deep throbbing pain behind his eyes and a steady ache in his left shoulder. He shifted his body and opened his eyes, but immediately regretted the motion when pain and nausea coursed through his system. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught and moaned slightly, his teeth clenched against the wave of pain that crashed against his nerves. The sun glared down at him and he could see the bright glow behind his shut lids. He turned against the intruding light and took several deep breaths. What happened? Monastario took a deep breath to voice his question but an unfamiliar voice stopped the motion.

"He is awake, Felipe." A boot sunk into his leg and Monastario opened his eyes slowly, the pain from the kick barely noticeable through the pounding in his head and shoulder. Once his eyes focused, Monastario found himself lying beneath a small tree. Five men surrounded him, their dirty and tanned faces glaring down at him. He didn't recognize any of them, but they were no different from the hundreds of other poor farmers he had seen. Monastario could feel their hate for him and for a brief moment he wondered what he had done to them.

The tallest man moved forward and placed a booted foot on Monastario's chest. "If you run, we will kill you."

Monastario glared at the men and he found his voice, thankful it didn't sound as weak as he felt, "What do you want with me?"

"Oh…we just want to have a little fun. You see, we owe you and decided it was time to pay the debt." The wild look in the man's deep brown eyes frightened Monastario and he leaned further into the tree trying to distance himself from the man.

"When my soldiers find you every one of you will hang for this." Monastario put as much venom into his voice as his weakened body would allow. He wanted these men to know he did not fear them, that they could not intimidate him. A sudden thought came to him and Monastario looked around the small enclosure. "Where are my two men?"

The tall man smiled, "They will be no help to you, Commandante. Dead men rarely are."

"Madre de dios." He whispered under his breath. Monastario noted the strange look in the tall man's eyes and he shuddered. A feeling of doubt washed over him and he suddenly feared that he would not leave these men alive.

Felipe turned to the other men, "We will let him rest for now. This evening…this evening the fun will start."

Monastario shivered and sunk deeper into the hard earth. His shoulder ached mercilessly and his head gave him no respite from the constant drumming. The commandante could not fight the fatigue that stole across his body and he fell into a fitful slumber. He did not awaken when Manuel, the youngest of the men, bandaged his wounded shoulder.

ZZZ

Diego sat with his father outside the tavern enjoying the fresh morning air, cool glasses of orange juice rested before them and they talked little as they watched the pueblo stir to life. Normally, the de la Vega's would not be in the pueblo so early, but a cattle auction had stirred the two men out of bed early. Don Carlos and Don Miguel were going to meet them soon and together they would ride to the auction.

The peaceful morning was disrupted by a quick and high-pitched shriek. Diego and Alejandro stood immediately and moved quickly down the dusty road. A crowd had all ready gathered and Garcia was stumbling out of the cuartel, his left boot held in his hand. "What is going on?" He demanded as he rounded the cream colored wall.

Diego and his father were on Garcia's heels as he stopped short. The crowd had parted to let the Sergeant through and as Diego stepped to the side he could see a brown horse pawing the ground. A bloodied soldier was half sprawled across the neck of the beast. He lifted his head and moaned as the horse shifted beneath him. Diego turned to a wide-eyed boy - his dark eyes hidden by wind tousled bangs - and asked him to bring Dr. Hernandez. The brown-eyed youth nodded and took off across the plaza, sandaled feet stirring up dust as he ran to find the doctor.

Diego approached the soldier and laid a gentle hand on his back. Alejandro stepped up beside his elbow and watched as Diego lowered the man from his horse. Garcia came around the other side of Diego and knelt. "Miguel," Garcia asked as he looked into the pale face of the soldier. A sudden thought struck Garcia and his own face blanched. "Madre de dios!" He exclaimed as he bounded to his feet.

Garcia was yelling for a nearby soldier, his deep voice easily carrying across the short distance. Sanchez nodded in reply and turned toward the garrison, his lean body slipping through the half open gate with ease. A call sounded a moment later and the sound of moving men and horses drifted to where Diego knelt.

He had retrieved his handkerchief and was wiping the blood from the wounded man's face. Garcia stood beside him and he asked hesitantly, "Miguel, where are the others? What has happened to the Commandante and Pedro?"

The soldier opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. His breathes came in ragged gulps and it took him a moment to force enough air into his lungs to speak. The soldier's voice was low and raspy and Diego leaned forward to hear him. Garcia knelt in the dust and turned his ear to the man's lips. "Pedro…Pedro is dead. The Capitán is hurt, maybe dead. Ambushed on the road." The man paused and took several breathes before continuing. "Not sure who. Five men. There was a shot and the Commandante fell. Pedro was dead before he hit the ground." The stuttered speech had drained the man's remaining strength and he succumbed to darkness that had lingered on the edge of his awareness.

Diego looked around for Doctor Hernandez but he couldn't see past the mass of people surrounding him and the wounded man. A strange wheezing noise caused Diego to turn back to the man. Blood pooled at the corners of the soldier's mouth and dripped slowly down his cheek to rest by his ear. A cough raked the man's body and Diego held him until the fit passed.

Garcia looked on with large eyes. The sergeant did not know what to do for the man so he let Diego take care of his soldier. Diego knew more about medicine than the soft-hearted Sergeant and if anyone could help the man it was Diego. Alejandro also watched as his son gently wiped the soldier's face and placed a comforting hand on his chest as pain coursed through Miguel's body.

Diego felt the man still beneath his hand and he knew there would be no need for the good doctor. Hesitantly, Diego reached for the man's neck. He was not surprised when he felt nothing and with a sigh he sat back on his heels. Garcia's eyes widened further as he saw Diego's features darken. Sergeant Garcia swiped a hand across his face before he stood and turned to his men.

Without hesitation Garcia ordered his men out on patrol. "Divide into two groups. The Commandante will have taken one of the main roads. One group search the roads and the other group the hills. I want the Capitán back here before the sun sets," Garcia ordered. His men obeyed quickly and twelve soldiers left the pueblo at a gallop.

When Garcia turned back to Miguel, Doctor Hernandez was kneeling by the body whispering softly to Diego. Garcia turned to Sanchez and ordered four men to carry the dead soldier inside the cuartel. Solemnly, the men approached their fallen comrade and gently lifted the prone figure. Doctor Hernandez followed and as the soldiers disappeared inside the garrison the crowd dispersed, whispering among themselves as they left.

Alejandro and Diego followed the soldiers inside and watched quietly as they laid the figure on a cot in the barracks. Doctor Hernandez went about his business quickly. Padre Benitez arrived and he knelt beside the doctor, his voice low as he said a prayer over the fallen soldier.

Diego took his father's arm gently and the two walked into the sunshine. "I must go Father. There is nothing we can do here. Not anymore. Wait for Miguel and Carlos. I am going to see what I can find. I have a feeling Monastario is in grave danger."

Alejandro nodded and wished his son a safe journey. "Find the Commandante, Diego. But watch yourself. It is obvious these men care little for life." Diego promised his father he would be careful and without looking back strode quickly to his horse.

ZZZ

Tornado raced across the dirt road, his black mane flying wildly in the wind. Zorro had taken the old road that ran beside their hacienda. Monastario had taken this road before and Diego had a feeling he had taken it again. The soldiers would be scouring the main road first and the hills around it and Zorro knew he could easily discover what they had found. Moving swiftly, Zorro scanned the horizon. The sun had just begun to reach its Zenith when the masked rider found the dead soldier. He dismounted and squatted by the still figure. Blood surrounded the man and Zorro gently rolled the soldier over. Dark stains covered Pedro's tunic and spread across his left arm. A bullet had found the young man's heart and the Fox knew he had died almost instantly.

Footprints marred the road and it was difficult to tell which way the bandits had gone. It took several minutes before Zorro found the blood on the rock and the small trail that lead into the brush. Zorro took Tornado's reigns and moved slowly through the trees. The woods were thick with underbrush and Zorro cursed under his breath as his cape caught on the brambles. Tornado protested against the dense woods with a soft neigh but moved without hesitation after Zorro. The Fox stopped and his eyes widened in shock. The trail had disappeared. He turned and followed the trail back to the road. Leaving Tornado on the road, Zorro reentered the small woods. Again he followed the light trail. Boot prints in the dry ground faded and reappeared, thin limbs that were bent or broken lay scattered randomly, and then it simply stopped. Zorro shook his head in frustration.

He returned to Tornado and ran a hand down the horse's neck. Zorro moved to the center of the road, to where the dead soldier lay. He had covered the young man's face with a small cloth. He would return him to the pueblo and his family tonight. But for now, Zorro began scouring the ground once more. He walked to the other side of the road but saw nothing that indicated that anyone had been through the underbrush. The road itself was a mosaic of boot prints and horse shoes, animal tracks, and wind blown patterns.

Frustrated, Zorro growled under his breath. He returned to the side of the road and traced the path once more. As before, the trail simply ended. These were clever men, Zorro mused. And deadly. That was a dangerous combination and Zorro felt a new urgency to find any trace of where the men had gone. It was clear where they had kept the horses, for the ground was trampled in several places, but the clever Fox could not find the path they had chosen after they had taken Monastario. It was somewhere, Zorro chastised himself. He just had to find it, that one broken limb or a trampled plant. A partial hoof print off the road or a boot print out of place could lead him to the bandits. But two hours later, Zorro had continued down the road, had ridden through the woods and yet he found nothing.

The road was still used and it was impossible for Zorro to determine which prints belonged to an innocent bystander or which belonged to the kidnappers. Returning to the soldier, Zorro gently lifted the man. Tornado did not shift as the stranger was placed upon his back and he quietly followed Zorro as he pulled gently on his reigns. Man and beast walked steadily down the road. Now, Zorro's duty was to the soldier, but later, he would return before the soldiers came. Tonight, under the half moon, Zorro would ride. The Commandante's life depended on Zorro's swiftness. The men who had taken the Capitán had all ready proven their willingness to kill and Zorro had no doubt that the Commandante was in grave danger.

As he walked Zorro scanned the road and the tree line. He hoped that he would find a trail that lead off the road and into the hills, but he saw no such path and as he entered the gates of the city a cry rose from the lips of the women. His father was still in Los Angeles and he and Don Carlos pushed past the crowd to step beside the dark figure. Sergeant Garcia was a step behind and his deep voice echoed through the plaza, "Madre de dios."

Alejandro put a hand on Zorro's arm and he could feel the tightness of the muscles beneath the black shirt. His son was angry. Alejandro knew he would not see his son home tonight. As much as Alejandro disliked the Capitán and feared what he meant for his son's future, he would never stand to see the man injured or murdered. A group of soldiers dispersed the crowd and one tall soldier his dark eyes wet, lifted his fallen comrade from the black stallion and carried him inside the cuartel.

No one even considered the fact that Zorro was within their grasp, that he was surrounded by armed soldiers. It would have been easy for a soldier to grab Zorro's black sleeve or to knock him unconscious by a swing of the musket. Instead, the men cared little that Zorro was in the pueblo; their thoughts were on their dead friends and their commander who was still missing. With barely a whisper of his black cape, Zorro mounted Tornado and turned once again to the old road and the questions that lay along the worn path. Alejandro and Carlos nodded as Diego left. Tomorrow, the Dons would form their own search party. By noon, the hills would be covered with soldiers and caballeros. There would be little room for the bandits to hide.

ZZZ

Monastario woke to a sharp pain in his ribs. He rolled away from the source of the blow and curled in on himself. His head still throbbed with each beat of his heart and his shoulder burned with a slow fire. Fever touched his skin and his face glowed under the heat, sweat clung to his hair and cheeks and his mind was blurry from both pain and fever. He did not remember where he was when he finally forced his eyes open. The sun was beginning to set and a cool breeze chilled his heated skin. A dark figure stood over him and Monastario blinked to clear his hazy vision.

The wild eyes of the stranger brought everything to a sudden clarity and Monastario felt fear rise in his throat. The words of this dark-eyed man reverberated in his mind, this evening…this evening the fun will start, and Monastario moaned against the images that came to mind. For what perceived injustice did these men find him guilty? What did they plan to do to him? The thought of his dead men not only fueled his anger but stirred a deep fear in him. If these men were willing to so callously and casually take a life, what hope did he have of surviving the night? In a strange twist of fate, Monastario felt himself wishing for the clever bandit and his black stallion to arrive, whip cracking in the evening air and his steel flashing. What hope did he have, though, that Zorro would come to his rescue? Monastario held little optimism that his men would find him in time, and reluctantly, as the first of a dozen kicks rained down on him, the Commandante prayed that Zorro, his enemy, would rescue him.

TBC

A/N: I will try to update weekly, but I will definitely update at least every other week. I hope you enjoy this story and please let me know what you think. Thanks.