Author's Note: Finally I've found some time to continue this. :) HoW is coming back in a month, though... are you ready? I know I am! Just a reminder, this is pretty AU and won't be following any conventional story arc that the writers have come up with for season 3. As always, HoW doesn't belong to me. Sad! Please R&R, if you get the chance. Enjoy!
Two: I Think They Will Drown You
Suddenly I'm awake but still I feel like one of the dead, like the world I've come back to is all wrong. The air around me smells like fire. Opening my eyes hurts and moving my body is nearly out of the question. How long have I lain as a corpse?
Dreary sunlight pokes through the charred ceiling of the rail car and I realize that the afternoon is on but not for too much longer. So Cullen hasn't made his way back, then. I sit up slowly, looking about. There's not much of a home left, let alone a room. He probably won't miss it anyway. My feet are tingling, as if the fire were continuing to lick at them. I take this as a sign to get moving.
I make my way up from the floor, all stiff and muscles aching with abuse, my neck taut from Thor Gundersen's death grip. I give myself a shiver thinking of that bastard's face. I'd been a fool to believe that appearing helpless would have played to my advantage. If anything, it fueled the destruction he'd planned for me long ago. In my last moments I'd come to accept his insanity — but I never imagined I would have lived to reflect on it mere hours later. I sigh but instantly regret it, for the pain in my throat is unlike any I've ever felt. It's pure hellfire, burning and steadily scraping my delicate flesh. Water… oh, seems like a distant dream.
Out of the corner of my eye I spot my forgotten pistol, the butt a little sooty but the rest looking as usual. I hesitate though some sort of intuition tells me to retrieve it immediately and I listen, checking the gun for ammunition and to figure out just why it had jammed. I'm pleased enough and it goes straight to my hip, the familiar weight comforting me some. I'll forgive its treachery for now and figure that I can always use the damn thing as a bludgeon, if needed.
The air outside is somewhat stifling and my throat aches more for it. I see clouds moving off to the east, wishing they'd make a turn back. Now I know what put out the fires but it's hardly reassuring. Blood remains in the drying, cracking earth; broken arrows and spent casings litter the area; buildings and tents are mere skeletons of themselves, if not completely reduced to nothing. And then it hits me that, among all the debris, there are no bodies… as well as a peculiar lack of people to clean them up. I halt, standing virtually alone in the middle of town. Is it possible that the Sioux returned for all the rest? Dizzily I swing my head every which way, listening, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, anyone. I find my legs moving without me telling them to. My footsteps are so, so loud among the silence.
I round a corner, heading for the railroad office. It looks to be in bad shape although the foundation seems to have persevered. Thomas Durant is the last person I want to see but he could be my only way out of this. He still has some money if he spent all night protecting the safe, and his influence, though waning, surely has help on the way. I jog the last few steps, stopping short when I notice a female figure resting strangely near one of the downed support beams. Had I a voice I would call out to Hannah Durant, but my only recourse is to approach her quietly and hope that the scene isn't too gruesome.
I couldn't have asked for a worse sight — or smell — as I reach her body. The front of her expensive blouse is ruined by blood and gore, the source of which is a rather large tear from her ear to her larynx. I realize then that the entire part of her neck is missing and I have to look away for a moment to gather myself before continuing. Her scalp is in tact but her skirt wasn't as lucky, though it appears to have been ripped by accident, not intention. Her legs are covered in bruises that her pale skin only emphasizes and her nails are rusty, like she'd been clawing at someone… I'm breathing deeply to control my stomach. Another look at the extreme gash leaves me bewildered. No knife could have torn at the neck in such a way. It's as though she's been gnawed on by a ravenous animal.
Oh, God, she just…! I start and stumble backward to where the opposite wall used to stand, my shoulders eventually finding a hard beam to settle on. I draw my gun, pointing it at the deceased Mrs. Durant. She's slumped in a terrible way, hands parallel to the floor, and I could swear she just reached out and made a grab for my ankle. I'm shaking, shaken, trying to steady the pistol. Hannah is still as the floorboards beneath her.
"You're dead," I say, though it comes out as a whisper. My pulse is rocketing throughout me. She makes no move to agree or disagree and after a few more minutes of keeping my gun trained on her, I decide that I need to get going. My mouth is dry from adrenaline and dehydration. Water. Right.
I avoid all other places on the way to the well. In fact, I'm maneuvering quite purposefully, so as not to become distracted again. I know the reality of the situation but if there are any more dead townspeople around, I don't want to see them, not yet. As I sneak along I can't help but think of Cullen and the small band of men he'd taken out to the bridge. Was it safe, or had the Sioux destroyed it as well? My head hurts with doubt. He's not coming back… I fight it as best as I can in order to stay focused.
An industrial water pump sits on the outskirts of town, dirtied and looking somewhat defeated. I can only hope that the supply line hasn't been damaged but from here there is no way to tell. With fervor I give the pump a try and my efforts produce nothing at first, then a small stream of warm water gushes forth. I use my hands to quickly clean the dirt from my face and nails and I drink what I can before the water stops. I have no vessel but I now know that the pump works and that I can come back if I have to. It's a small victory amid an entire day of loss.
Closest to me is the church, so I decide to head there, thinking that maybe some survivors found shelter during the battle. I am saddened but not so surprised to see almost all of its canvas walls have been torn or burnt down, and what remains are the doorposts and a few splintered pews lined up near the pulpit, serving as a crude barrier against invaders. The cross that once hung has been felled, trampled and disfigured by angry braves. There are bloody arrows and pages of scripture all over the place. As reluctant as I am, I go to look behind the barrier because I'll never forgive myself if I leave someone to die, lost and alone. I've known that feeling a few times and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone else.
I approach cautiously but even before I can draw near, a strange sound freezes me in my tracks. A grunting accompanied by a wet, sort of tearing noise has me so unnerved that I fumble for my pistol. I say a quiet prayer and cock the weapon, and as the click echoes for an eternity, someone stands from behind the pews. Disbelief washes over me, cold in the hot afternoon.
"I thought you'd gone…" I must have spoken the words because it elicits a reaction from the person, though it is a jerking and abnormal response. Ruth has her back to me, the braids of her red hair loose near the nape of her neck, dress soiled from the arduous night. Her hands are stained and I think for a moment that she's been helping the injured… but when I call her name and she turns, a shadow crosses the threshold of my soul.
My mind plays a quick, flashing scene of Hannah Durant, her jugular vein severed and ripped from her throat by the bloodied mouth of Ruth Cole, the dead Reverend's daughter. Mrs. Durant screams for her life, her hands of no use against her attacker, and she is forced into death while the girl devours her kill.
Ruth stares me down with eyes cloudy and unseeing, full of animalistic intent. She bares her reddened, rotting teeth, a low growl emitting from behind them. I've no idea what to think until I spot it: an arrow, broken off but lodged deep in her chest just beneath the collarbone, near her heart. She must have attempted to save herself but how she stands before me now sends me reeling. She must be sick… in a fever frenzy. I'm trying to make sense of this, to calm myself, when the girl lurches forward, snarling and swiping at the air.
"I don't want to hurt you!" I rasp, aiming my pistol straight at her. She can't hear me; she doesn't care and continues toward me in a rage. I move back, watching in horror, and notice that her pace is only hindered by a swollen, probably broken ankle. She's oblivious to the pain but it's as if I can feel it with every crunching step she takes. My mouth salivates and my vision bursts with fireworks as the adrenaline rushes to my brain. Before I can stop myself, I reposition as best as I can and fire.
It takes a bullet to the head for her to finally go down in a heap. Nearly halfway out the door, I can hardly contemplate what's just happened. If I had the will there would be tears but the shock rolling through me is too great. Though abuzz with gunfire, my ears still manage to detect footsteps behind me and I turn on my heel, pistol at the ready to take down the next threat.