Eternal gratefulness to my two reviewers and all those who alerted and favorited this piece! Haha! But still I must wonder: so many hits, so few reviews? This math makes no sense to me, my friends. No sense whatsoever! Ah well. So sorry this took a bit longer than I thought it would, but I do swear what happens in this chapter has been giving me proverbial heck! There were so many options, yet so little time...I am happy with the result, of course. Please do submit your feedback...and I'll give you all the virtual cookies you desire! ^_^

Chapter 4 - Unjust Retribution

"Now I trust you all are familiar with what's gonna go down here tonight..." intoned Case, standing before all those who called the camp their residence. "Our prisoner got himself free and decided to try and have his way with Quince; scared the lady half to death, and we're dealing with him in the usual manner. What say you?" He ended the small, yet false reiteration in a much louder tone then what he had started with. From all around were voiced the shouts of approval concerning his proposition, though, as Jake stayed in his forced place, he noticed that not all of them had the exultant grins that their fellow camp-mates had on their faces. Clearly it could only mean one thing, an obvious thing at that.

The "usual manner" had to be far from pleasant. That much was expected.

Near Case, Quince beckoned a man to her and said something to him, at which he nodded correspondingly, leaving her side and making his way around until he was directly beside Jake.

Case concluded, "Well then, gentlemen...and Quince, let's get on with it!"

Even louder, more jubilant endorsement followed Case's words, and all of the sudden Jake was grabbed by the shoulders and shoved out a short distance from the rest of the people. The man Quince had spoken to was named Avery, who he had learned had the nickname Rod - for reasons of which he was uninformed, much to his surreptitious gratitude - and he walked up to him, very close in fact, reaching out. His hands began to fumble with the buttons on the fitted vest Jake wore, and on impulse those hands were assertively batted away by the owner of the attire. Avery glowered deeply, and looked about ready to act out in a violence of his own when none other than Riley Miller timidly showed up on the scene.

"Hey, Rod, just do your job." Riley stated, putting on a brave air.

Avery vehemently kicked dust at him in response. "You got some sand Miller," he spat, "showing your face like you don't know what's happenin'. You'll get right lickfingered when your man here is brought down. I hope you know that."

"I know that, I do," he confirmed, "but you wanna let me explain to him what he has to do while you're going about your business?"

"Not really, but I don't want to put up the effort to stop you," snorted Avery.

Riley looked straight at Jake then. "Can you let him?"

"Why?" Jake retorted, livid enough as it was.

"I'll tell you, just let him or it'll go even less well for you!"

With a sharp and annoyed exhale, Jake lowered his arms from their previous defensive position and Avery went back to what he was doing, finishing with the buttons on the vest. "Start talking," he growled, slipping his arms somewhat compliantly from the article of clothing.

"Out here it's the custom for an accused man to be sentenced to a death fight with our best. His names' Baylor Hayes - he's real sick. And I mean real."

Avery gave up on the tedious procedure with the long-sleeved white shirt and simply ripped it down the side in one quick motion. Jake shot a glare at him, but remained without comment. The torn garment was discarded with the vest on the ground, leaving the accused man feeling even more exposed than he had when they had taken his hat to begin with. Riley had paused, and Avery eyed his torso spitefully, gaze settling on the horizontal scar on the right, directly under his ribcage.

"Where'd you get that nasty lookin' scar, Old Scratch?"

No answer. He has no idea who he's calling the devil...

Riley cleared his throat, undoubtedly uncomfortable. "He like's all his opponents to be showing skin, so that...so that...ah..."

"So that he can see their blood when he beats them," Avery picked up, saying it much more wickedly than Riley ever would have, changing subjects subsequently, "I don't think you got any weapons in them pants of yours do you?" He paused, and then corrected himself with a dose of loutish humor, "Well, not the kind I'm supposed to be lookin' for anyway..." He returned to the previous subject at hand as if he had never left it.

"Baylor is such a nice fellow to know. Pray he'll kill you quickly, Scratch. Pray like your mama taught you." Avery looped around Jake and pushed him forward again, with Riley beside him.

"Just...Just...I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry."

"Why? 'Cause you didn't chain me tight?" Jake replied, under no inward vow not to speak with Riley. He extended an arm as they walked very close to the crowd again, surprisingly not bound behind his back in the haste to give out punishment. "Jake," he said lowly, and Riley caught on, taking his hand and gripping it tightly as if meeting for the first time.

"No hard feelings then, Jake?"

"None yet."

And then, just like that, Riley disappeared, leaving Jake with Avery and the eyes of the group they approached. They had formed a large circle, and Jake was once again shoved forward into it, Avery taking his place among the onlookers. It took a moment for the accused man to take a visual sweep of all who watched him, finding Case and Quince were the ones boring him with the most intense gazes. Once again, the woman said something solemnly to the group's leader, and he, in turn, raised an eyebrow with what seemed to be a heavy amount of disbelief. Case shook his head after that, stepping out into the circle to join Jake. They revisited their concentrated staring contest, each with equally remorseless eyes, colored wintry blue and deep, threatening brown.

"Allow me to explain what goes on here with you," Case told him roughly.

"I already know," was Jake's firm reply, heard by few.

"Oh! Well then, I reckon we can get on with it then!" He made a sweeping motion with his arms. "He knows what's gonna happen, so, let the fight begin!"

There was no warning, as was anticipated, but when the sudden powerful blow took him from behind almost directly after Case had gotten the last word in, Jake was on the ground in the blink of an eye. But in that same time, he jumped back to his feet, spinning around to face his attacker. Baylor Hayes, as Riley had notified him, was indeed, a big man. Gigantic even. A good foot taller than Jake and a literal gorilla in physicality. One of his eyes was grotesquely missing, evidently polluted for quite some time. It hit the accused one then, just how true it had been when it had been implied that no one ever lived against him. They circled each other, and before he knew it, Jake's back was in the dirt again, the crushing fists slamming into his skull again and again without relent. Through it all, he raised one arm and punched Baylor as brutally as he could in the jaw, but even that could not stop him. So he punched him again, and again, and with each of his own, the ones being directed at him became more atrocious still. Finally, it appeared to have some effect on him, for Baylor rose to his feet and cracked his neck from side to side. Not hurt - preparing for round two.

Jake strained to get up from the now gore splattered ground, using his arms to force his body up. When he was standing, he spat the accumulation of blood from his mouth, surprised that his teeth were all still in tact, as well as bones. He swiped a hand across his face, smearing the red substance and grime across it with the feeble attempt. If the misery he currently experienced was the first of much more, he would have high-tailed it out of there...like a coward. Jake Lonergan was not a coward. For that, he cursed himself for what seemed like the hundredth time in his three day stay at the camp, and carefully took into consideration the situation. Past where Baylor stood, eyes locked on him like a buzzard to a carcass, there was an onlooker with a shotgun, doubling as a sort of support to lean on. The possibilities...

"That's a right pretty scar you got there," Baylor remarked in a mocking voice befitting to his frame, a nasty smirk stretching the corners of his lips.

"I could say the same about your eye."

"Oh, now, the fogys' got himself a voice, here..."

Baylor had waited long enough, and dove at Jake again with his bloodied fingers outstretched for his victim's neck. In that second, there was perceived a mark on the back of both of Baylor's hands, different, yet disturbingly matching. Jake was prepared, despite his seeing this, and moved out of the boor's way. Baylor twisted to catch Jake, but was too late, crashing to the earth like a boulder.

Feeling the need to, Jake spit on his opponent's bare back as he lay there, followed by a callous series of kicks in the ribs, a tactic he had experienced many a time; a tactic he knew would cause pain if prolonged. Baylor's one hand caught his ankle, dragging him to the ground with him before he could do any more damage. Jake rolled to the right, away from him and in the direction of the man with the shotgun, but was pursued with the utmost dilution. Massive arms crashed down upon his chest to prohibit any more means of escape, high enough for Jake to take a shamefully feminine rout and bite into one of them, ripping off a hunk of flesh. Lifeblood poured from the abrupt wound onto he who had caused it. Baylor grimaced violently, but did not remove either arm. By then, both were stained with each other's blood.

It was obvious by the crowd's detached state that they were not familiarized with such intensity from both parties in a death fight.

Baylor clambered up so that he sat well above Jake and gave him a repeat of the prior facial thrashing he had received, until the sufferer's fingers found his good eye. Wrenching away, Baylor covered it, looking very surprised. This gave Jake the time he needed to close the distance between him and the shotgun-holding man, ceasing the weapon much to the owner's alarm, and gripping it by the barrel, much like he had only just done in his confrontation with Quince. He stood above Baylor, who had regained his sight and went to stand, but was too late. The gun was used as a club, and with it Jake repeatedly brought it down onto the bleeding, dirty body of Baylor Hayes. Through it all, the man on the receiving end of the beating stood against the pain and made a move. In the same moment did Jake take up the shotgun in the correct fashion, cock it - praying that it was loaded - and pull the trigger.

Time stilled.

The close range caused the bullet to enter Baylor's upper torso and exit through his back. The skin around the place where it hit seemed to splinter. He looked down at it with a mixture of confusion and horror, then up at the battered and bloodstained man whom he had been expected to kill. Jake took one look at him, and contemptuously shot him again, giving him a much needed shove backwards with the barrel. Baylor hit the ground, shuddering only once, then expiring.

No one made a sound. Not one utterance.

Jake had won. Baylor was dead. It was, by far, wholly unexpected.

"I did him in. Can I go free now?" He broke the silence disdainfully, throwing the shotgun down beside the dead body and crossing his arms across his nauseatingly bloody chest. It occurred to him that he must have looked like he had come from hell to those who played the part of spectators.

Case emerged again, face contorted with an indignation so great that it was practically screaming all on its own. "This was not supposed to happen."

Obviously! Jake nearly yelled at him.

"This has never happened," he furthered.

"You want him shot, Case?" asked Carson keenly, infuriated as his brother was.

Case raised a hand touchily. "No. No one touches him." He took deep, livid breaths and then commanded piercingly, "Somebody bring out Riley Miller! Now!"

Jake stood stiffly straight when Riley was ruthlessly jostled into the company of the two men in the circle, and pushed down onto his knees. He whimpered softly, and Jake could only wonder what was about to happen to him.

His answer came when the same shotgun he had just killed Baylor with was pressed into his hands by a very outraged Case.

"Kill 'im." He was directed.

Jake's mouth opened only just in response, and he slowly shook his head. No sir, I can't do that...He thought resolutely, not saying it aloud.

The glare Case gave was heartless. "The winner was gonna kill him anyway. We just didn't expect it to be you. His buddy."

Riley, with eyes wide, begged, "No, please! I just wanted him to be comfortable is all! I never meant for him to escape and - "

"Shut your mouth, Miller, or I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to you!" came Carson's voice again, "What happened to your promise, Case?"

"Remind me again..."

"Castration?"

"Ah." Case did not smile at all. "No. I will break that promise. The winner is to kill him, and so he will. Won't you...?"

"No," Jake countered.

How could he? He might have been apathetic to most things, but he knew who his few friends were, and Riley just happened to be one of them. He could never murder someone who was an ally, if even for a short time, to him. It would have to be the product of some ill insanity, and Jake was quite sure he was still sensible enough to resist the demands of his captors.

There was a tense silence for a second time.

"Well," Carson broke it at last, "I'm not waitin' any more." He stormed out towards Riley, a pistol in his hand, finger on the trigger.

"Stop!" His brother raged. "You can't go against the plans!" He went to physically stop Carson, when the impossible happened.

There was a sound like no other. A haunting chorus of whispers that reached Jake's ears at a deafening pitch. He covered them firmly with his dirty hands and did a full turn. There were some that had the same reaction as he, and there were some that stood tall. The ones that were unaffected all took the same stance - with the back of their one hand pressed against the other in front of them. Their faces were austere and their eyes seemed to glow with a fire that only the devil himself could have provided. He counted sixteen of them in total, positioned impassively among those of their fellow camp members who showed the pain that the sound was causing Jake even as he tried to block it out.

On his second turn staggering in a circle, his eyes landed on a figure.

He saw something that deeply disturbed him.

Quince was one of those sixteen who were standing.

She looked as though she was waiting in all her darkness.

Waiting for something to happen.

...

...

Wow, okay. There. I typed basically all of this in one night for you...and I'm currently far too exhausted to proof read. I shall do so tomorrow if I find the time. Please do enjoy otherwise! Have a nice day/night XD