Part 1, The Streets of Serenity
The last time I felt like this was the time that I'd been kicked in the lung by an ornery old, swayback army horse that I'd been trying to shoe. The last thing I remember was Murdoc's triumphant leer, a flash of light, and a loud bang! One moment I was standing on the veranda above the Wainwright Hotel... and the next I was lying flat on my back with my left leg was twisted under me. I found myself thinking about that old horse, and wondering idly if I'd managed to get the shoe on first.
It felt as though my air had frozen, which was strange, because everything was on fire. Things must have melted a bit because I finally managed to cough. As I drew a ragged breath in, I could hear people shouting, right in my ears it seemed. Someone raised my shoulders. That made breathing a bit easier. I drew in another breath and opened my eyes.
Miss Penny was kneeling beside me; she had my head pillowed on her lap. She was crying and laughing at the same time. I wanted to ask her how she managed to get down from the balcony so fast, but I couldn't seem to form any words yet. Breathing was so much work and I was tired… so tired. I wanted to let my eyes close and just sleep right here in the street. I could feel the faint kiss of snowflakes on my face.
A gloved hand grabbed mine and I turned to see Thornton , kneeling in the snow beside me, concern and relief warring on his weathered face. He squeezed my hand hard, and somehow the feeling crept past the furnace in my chest.
"Ow." I said. The word never made it into the air.
"Where'd he get you?" Dalton asked anxiously. I saw him then, down somewhere near my right foot. My left foot was not there, I noticed with a sense of detachment. What had Murdoc done with my left foot?
I glanced down at myself. My left leg was still there--with the foot attached, but bent up at an uncomfortable-looking angle. That was when I noticing the hole in my tunic, just over my heart; a tendril of smoke rose from the powder-burned hole. I couldn't see any blood... there should be blood, shouldn't there?
With hobbled fingers I probed the damage. Nope, no blood. Clumsily, I extracted the little knife-- a gift from the kind old Swede who'd helped me find Serenity-- then I lay back blinking dumbly at the bullet-shaped divot that marred the hand-worn handle, just beyond the small carved cross.
It had deflected Murdoc's bullet and saved my life.
Down the street I heard a stallion scream in protest as the villain brutally reined him in; hooves skidded in the icy dirt, throwing up plumes of dust. The black beast reared, but was unable to shake the black clad killer; the horse snorted and raced down the road out of town.
I can't say I wasn't glad to see the back of him—but I had a feeling, as my eyes weighed down again and I sank into warm darkness, that this wouldn't be the last I'd seen of Murdoc.
It was, however, the last thing I saw for a long while.
