Chapter Eleven.
The smoke rose thick and fast as the house burst into a ball of fire. Yellow flames licked around the scorched window frames, and rose from the roof like fingers reaching up to the clouds. Curling, reaching, stretching figures, winding around dripping beams and blackened mounds that used to be chairs, cupboards and tables.
Ezra was hot. Very hot. The wafting frills of the flames were reaching out for him like fingers, and, head low, he was trying to stifle the smoke, and peer through the chaos at their surroundings, which swam like a reflection in a puddle. He could feel drops of perspiration trickling off his forehead, and down his cheekbones, clinging to his jaw, running down from under his hat, and threading through his shirt. He took a deep breath as best he could through his handkerchief, and turned to look at Mrs. Roth.
Her hair was plastered to her face, the heat sticking the loose threads to her cheeks. She was holding her shawl to her mouth, her eyes streaming.
"Madam, when I indicate, you must run for the barn. Don't pause, or turn or stop. Keep your head down and run as fast as you can. Do you understand?" He shouted over the cacophony,
She nodded uncertainly, her eyes fixed on him intently, asking a silent question,
"I shall be right behind you," he replied. She bit her bottom lip, and he turned his attentions back to the front of the house, which had all but burned away. He could hear shouting, and the sounds of gunshots still. The battle was still going on, but he also knew that they would be baying for his blood even more than before. He'd heard Luke's brother shouting for his father, and knew that the McKale boys would not look kindly on the death of one of their own. Catherine and Hannah's plight had told him that much.
A flame lashed out overhead like a whip, and Ezra ducked. The back of the house looked set to go down, and before him, the flames were starting to reach out for the beams of the barn, which he knew would go up like a shot. He paused and waited for a gun volley to start up, meaning attentions were elsewhere.
He turned to Mrs. Roth, and looked round to see a figure materialising out of the smoke behind them. Another McKale boy. The man almost fell over them, and then the eyes widened and the mouth opened, as the two objects huddled against the wall became clearer through the smoke,
"Hey pa -,"
Ezra gave Mrs. Roth a push and drew his gun, shouting at her as she went,
"Go!"
With that he lifted his gun, watched as the McKale boy fumbled with his own weapon, and took a shot. As another of the McKale boys fell face-first into the dust, Ezra followed through the cacophony of guns, roasting timbers, roaring flames, shouting of men and rushing of smoke.
Mrs. Roth was cowering against the side of the barn, her hands gripping at the wooden slats like a safety blanket. He touched her arm gently,
"Are you alright?"
She looked straight through him before blinking and slowly meeting his gaze. She nodded again, and took a deep breath, standing up a little more straight,
"Yes. I think so."
Ezra nodded, and looked around,
"Good."
The smoke was starting to drift around them, swirling in like a cloudbank. As the barn roared in flame above them, Ezra swallowed and pulled out his handkerchief again. He could no longer see just a few feet in front of him. Flickers of orange were the only markers he had, as they continued to punish the crumbled house.
Mrs. Roth groaned in fear, and Ezra turned to her again,
"This may yet work to our advantage. If we cannot see our assailants, then they may not see us. If we go around the outside of this barn, and follow the inclination up to the tree-line, we should find ourselves back in the comparative safety of my comrades..." overhead, the barn creaked and he paused briefly, "...and I suggest the quicker we leave, the better,"
He took her arm gently, guiding her along, one hand on the barn, feeling his way to the edge, when he felt nothing but air, he led her in front of him, and ushered her ahead.
"Go on, keep low,"
She scrambled off uncertainly across the hidden ground, cutting through the smoky gloom.
Ezra followed behind her, checking over his shoulder occasionally and seeing only smog. As Mrs. Roth stumbled before him, he turned and put his arm out to steady her, waiting until she looked steady enough on her feet to let her carry on. He turned to look over his shoulder again, and jumped at the sight of a face bearing down on them through the smoke.
McKale. Wearing a demonic, possessed look, his hair wild, his son's blood on his shirt and smudged across his cheek. Ezra watched as the older man's shaking hand rose and pointed a gun in their direction. He dived away at the last minute, the sound of the bullet seemingly magnified by the close confines of the smoke.
Mrs Roth turned with a start, and Ezra, lying on the ground, ushered her forward through the smoke,
"Go! Go on!"
As she scrambled through the fog and disappeared, Ezra stood coughing. McKale had disappeared, and that worried him. It was eerily quiet. There were still the sounds of gunfire from out the front, and the barn and house roared, but once those sounds had been zoned out, there was little else.
Something began nagging inside him, and he took out his gun and spun round pointing it instead into thin air. He took a deep breath and tried not to cough and give himself away. As he listened and waited, something began biting at him again. The slightest sound was all it took, and he threw himself sideways again, as another bullet screamed past. This time however, he could see McKale, whose wild eyes were squared on him through the gloom.
Ezra stood again, looking over his shoulder. He had no idea which way the tree line was. He had no idea which side the barn was on, all he knew was that McKale was pointing his gun at him, and he was pointing his gun at McKale.
McKale stepped forward,
"You killed my boy Standish. My Luke."
Ezra kept quiet, sensing it not the time for a quip or for pointing out that since then he'd also killed another of them. Instead he took a step backwards, hoping not to connect with the barn wall. McKale carried on,
"No one kills a McKale boy. You're little friend found that out, and now, so will you,"
Ezra took another step back. He was assuming that McKale wasn't shooting in order to try and 'maintain' him for some other death, although what that was he shuddered to think.
There was a sudden burst of red and oranges, and a huge roar, and to the left of the men the roof of the barn crashed out of the sky into a pile of leaping sparks and ashes. As McKale shielded himself with his arms, Ezra took the chance and ran.
The smoke was still swirling thick, although Ezra watched as the ground began to clear, and light broke in, illuminating objects around him. He noticed that the ground wasn't sloping upwards, and knew he was running in the opposite direction to the others, but it couldn't be helped. He couldn't be helped. He needed to kill McKale or be killed, and that was not possible in the smoky environment. As the landscape began to clear, and as the gun battle was left behind, Ezra began to determine the sound of feet crunching the dust behind him, and McKale's throaty cry,
"Standish!"
A bullet whipped past his head and he ducked slightly, heading for cover. His eyes were streaming from the smoke, and his throat felt dry, and narrow.
As he dove behind some rocky coverings, wiped at his eyes with a sleeve and checked the bullets in his gun, he hoped Mrs Roth was having more luck than he was.
"Come out Standish you coward! You murder my son and run away! You're as bad as that bitch and her daughter!"
Ezra sighed. The fire had done little to cheer McKale's disposition. He lay low, hoping to maintain the advantage of surprise. All he needed was the opportunity to strike, and, as he listened to McKale stagger about nearby, he tensed.
It was all or nothing.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Mrs. Roth screamed as she thudded into someone's arms.
She was tired. She had scrambled up the slope, through bushes and stones, her hair and face were hot, sticky and smudged with ashes and dirt, her dress was covered in dust, and her hands and knees were scratched and grazed, but she wasn't beaten, and so as arms closed around her, she fought for all she was worth.
"Whoa! Whoa!" the voice that belonged to the arms sounded surprised, and at once the man let go, staggering backwards slightly.
"Grace!" the new voice was deep, soothing and calm, and Mrs Roth looked up to see Josiah, hands up, standing before her, looking confused and concerned at the same time. Vin stood beside him looking surprised, and a little wary, and as soon as Mrs Roth's took them in properly, she collapsed on the ground crying with relief.
Josiah bent down beside her, hushing her, and placing a gentle hand on her back,
"There now. It's all alright now Grace, you're safe."
Mrs Roth felt very ashamed about blubbering in front of them, but the floodgates had been open, and she could do nothing but shake and cry and gulp at the clean air.
Slowly, Vin bent down beside her, pushing his hat back to get a better look at her, and show her that he meant no harm,
"Mrs Roth?" she looked at him, "Where's Ezra?"
As she took in another shaky breath, she cast around slowly, seeming almost confused, and then alarmed. She turned back to them.
"He was behind me."
