Bobby Emma's Excellent Adventure
Chapter Three: A Rootin' Tootin' Good Time
The big cowboy looks at me as if I've just crawled out from under a rock, and another dirty smirk spreads across his face. "Think I'm stupid, do you, boy?" he sneers, before he closes his fists and draws back to hit me. In the instant before he does, I duck inside his guard and hammer my right fist into his gut with all the force I can manage, enclosing my hand in a thick layer of tough ice just so I can be sure of making an impact, and then dissolving it before anybody gets a chance to see it clearly. The cowboy staggers back, stunned and wheezing, and I can hear the rest of the saloon drawing in a collective gasp. Whether that's because they're stunned I managed to get this guy to take a step backwards, or because they think I'm about to get my head blown off, I can't tell just yet. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Emma standing with her arms folded and an interested look on her face, almost as if she's curious as to how I'm going to handle myself. Lisa looks pretty damn frightened, though – and given that she's the least human-looking of all three of us, that doesn't surprise me. Hiding in the distracted crowd ought to buy her a little time, though, especially in that bonnet and dress of hers.
Right now, though, I've got bigger problems. The big cowboy manages to get his breath back and wipes a trickle of spittle off his chin before he steps right back up to me, his eyes blazing in anger. "You really do think I'm stupid, don't you?" he hisses.
I smirk (probably not the wisest idea, but I can't help it sometimes), and pick up my shot glass, draining it in one go. The fire of the whiskey gives me a bit more bravery than usual, so I don't have any regrets about following up my contempt with a quick laugh. "Man, I don't think you're stupid – I know it." That gets his attention, and he lunges at me again, still without going for his gun. Maybe he's so angry that he's forgotten it's there, I don't know. Maybe he's just too dumb to remember it. It doesn't matter much anyway – again I duck inside his defence and aim an elbow right at his temple, cracking bone on bone and sending jarring shockwaves into my hand. It does worse for the other guy, though, and he staggers backwards far enough for me to easily grab his wrist and twist it up behind his back. In this position it doesn't matter whether he's bigger or stronger than me; I've got all the leverage I need. Knocking one knee out from under him, I push him down to the ground and keep his head firmly in a stinking puddle of beer while he screams and swears at me with a face gone beet-red with fury. "See what I mean, monkey boy?" I say, feeling adrenaline burning into my system like liquid nitrogen. "You're all talk and no balls. Now get the hell out of this bar before I nail your ass to the wall." Pulling him up to his feet, I march him over to the doors of the saloon and shove him out with all the force I can muster – and then watch him stumble away to where his horse is tied up, all the while swearing revenge on me. I walk back to where Emma and Lisa are standing, soaking up the silence of the other patrons, and then nod to the lady behind the bar. "Don't think he'll be bothering you again, ma'am," I say, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Maybe not, stranger, but he'll be coming after you," the lady says, looking astonished at how casual I sound. "That there was Jesse James you just beat the crap out of."
"You're kidding me," I gulp, suddenly feeling as astonished as the woman looks. "That punk was Jesse James?" The woman nods, her expression turning serious.
"Right," she replies. "And he'll be coming back to find you and your womenfolk before the day's out."
"That's all right," Emma purrs, and I'm suddenly sure I'm about to regret the rest of what she's going to say. "I'm sure Jesse James is no match for Rattlesnake Bob." What can I say, Bobby? she chuckles. All those viewings of Young Guns you forced on me must be paying off…
"I'm sure," I mutter in a low voice. "I never had a problem working with Two-Gun Em, after all."
Behind me I can hear Lisa sighing quietly, so I give up on trying to score another (pretty glancing) hit on Emma's radar and turn towards her, grabbing the shot glass I'd intended to give her before being challenged by the cowboy and passing it to her. Then, I lead her and Emma over to a table in the corner of the room. As we get closer to it, the people sitting there stand up respectfully and move away, which is what I'd been counting on; apparently beating the crap out of someone in public gets you more than just respect in this town.
Lisa sits herself in the most secluded corner and risks a glance to left and right with her segmented eyes before she unrolls her long tongue from between her lips and sucks the whiskey up in two quick slurps. She coughs, trilling like a grasshopper, and then sets the empty glass down with her multi-jointed fingers. "Damn," she splutters, sounding astonished at how strong the liquor is. "Remind me to stick to Shirley Temples in future. That stuff is nuclear."
"Yeah, they don't make it how they used to, do they?" I agree, still feeling the buzz of the whiskey burning through my veins.
"Probably a good thing, Bobby," Emma remarks, sipping her whiskey genteelly. "Otherwise you might drink too much of it and get yourself into a fight." I don't dignify that with any kind of answer except a freezing glare. Emma chuckles, and finishes her whiskey with an amused look on her face. "Let's get out of here, shall we? Staying here is just asking for trouble."
"I agree," I say, finally feeling the burning at the back of my throat beginning to die away. Tossing a handful of coins in the direction of the lady behind the bar, I hop off my stool and then tip my hat to her. "Sorry about the mess," I say, as the three of us leave. "If Jesse comes back, tell him we're out of town, okay?"
"Sure, stranger," the lady says as she picks up a glass and wipes it with a damp cloth. I pretend I don't see her spitting into it to bring out its shine, and then walk out into the bright afternoon sunshine. Across the street, I can see some ladies leaning out of their windows and giving me bedroom eyes. The fact that they're all wearing more make-up than a convention of drag queens and wearing fewer clothes than Jenna Jameson in a heat-wave tells me all I need to know about why they're doing it – and I haven't the time or the money to find out if I'd get what I'd paid for. Besides, I can feel Emma staring a hole in the back of my head, so it's not a good idea to even try.
Down, boy, she sends to me, just to confirm my judgement. You might catch something.
Like a knife in the back? I ask her, already knowing what the answer is going to be before it comes.
Probably, Emma replies, totally serious. Although I might be more… creative… and start with 'little Bobby' and his two friends. I think you'd be a wonderful soprano, don't you?
Damn, Emma, you really know where to hurt a guy, I tell her, a hand straying protectively towards my family jewels as I do so. "We need to get out of here," I say aloud, to change the subject as completely as I can. The hovering camera buzzes annoyingly around my head like a mosquito, as if it's trying to get a heroic close-up of its leading man, and I slap at it with one hand. It takes all my strength to resist the urge to pull one of my pistols and blast it into iron filings, because I'm pretty sure that if I do that, I'll just end up stuck in Hicksville 1895 for the rest of my life. Mojo can be vindictive that way.
Fortunately for us, there's an empty stage-coach across the street, and walking over to it, I pull a handful of coins out of my pocket, hoping that it'll be enough to get us safely out of town. The guy seems pretty keen to take the three of us on, and ushers us all into the carriage once he's been given his money – at which point he was all smiles and couldn't be nice enough to us (everyone's nice when they've got cash in their pockets. Go figure…). He goes to check on the horses, and then calls "Everybody comfortable in there, screwloose?"
Oh, no…
"We have to get out of here, now," I say, grabbing the inner handle of the carriage's door before I find out that it's being held closed by something a lot stronger than your average lock. The driver comes back to where we can see him, his body changing shape and shifting so that it grows two extra pairs of arms and a set of form-fitting armour – and a crazy, cracked grin that gives me nothing but bad feelings.
"Time to go for a ride, kiddies," Spiral cackles, and one of her extra limbs snakes out to slap the closest horse on the ass. It shrieks and starts running away from her in terror, along with the other horses tethered to the carriage's harness. "Enjoy yourselves."
The carriage quickly picks up speed, and we're away from the town faster than I can easily process, the terrain around us shifting to barren, dusty red scrubland in almost the blink of an eye. It doesn't take me long to realise that if we don't get out of here we could be taken somewhere even less hospitable than the town, and then we'd be in really big trouble, so I brace myself against the side of the carriage and say "Hold still, guys. I'm just going to try something, okay?" Then I aim a foot at the inside of the door and kick it as hard as I can.
It doesn't budge.
"Nicely done," Emma says sourly, untying her bonnet and throwing it against the seat in front of her. "Any more bright ideas?"
"Actually, yes," I snap. "Lisa, can you dissolve that door away with anything – like with venom, or whatever?"
"No – ah, dammit!" she replies, as she fends off a case falling from the racking above her head with one arm. "Sorry. I'm a pretty useless mutant, really."
"Okay," I mutter, cracking my knuckles and aiming both hands at the door. "Let's try this again." Flexing my fingers, I shoot a concentrated layer of ice onto the inside of the door, freezing it solid – and hopefully making it easier to break. Bracing myself again, I kick the door a little harder than before, sending cracks racing across its surface and making the wood complain loudly. That's a start, I think, before I move around so that I can put my full weight against it. Icing up my shoulder so I've got at least a little bit of protection, I throw myself against the door and hear it cracking even more. One more push ought to do it…
Throwing my full weight against the door for a third time, I hear the hinges creaking loudly as the door finally swings open. "Right," I say, breathing hard. "Now all we have to do is get this thing to stop. Emma, can you do the honours?"
Emma scowls. "I'm insulted that you even asked me that question, Drake." Then she puts her fingers to her temples, closes her eyes, and begins to try and calm the horses down. She's only just begun before she frowns and opens her eyes again. "Damn it," she snarls. "They're too afraid to listen to me – I think I'm going to have to do this the hard way. I'd hold onto something if I were you." She closes her eyes again, and begins muttering something under her breath.
Suddenly there's a violent lurch, and the carriage begins tipping to one side, like it's had half its quota of wheels removed. It slams into the ground with a crash, and I hear Emma scream loudly, just after the tell-tale sound of bone snapping fills my ears. I'm too stunned to do anything about it until my head clears from the impact, and then I blink once or twice to help me see what's going on. Emma and Lisa are sprawled at the other end of the carriage, and Emma is screaming because her right arm is hanging limply from her shoulder, and her forearm is bent in half, exactly where it shouldn't bend. And as if that weren't enough, a bloody shard of white bone is jabbing through her sleeve. "Damn it!" she screams, grabbing at her shattered arm with her other hand. "This is all your fault, Drake!"
"It's okay, Emma – we'll get you out of here," I say, trying to sound positive now that a straightforward sideways exit has become a slightly more difficult vertical climb, and ignoring my opportunity to point out that if Emma hadn't used her powers, we wouldn't be in this position (somehow, I don't get the feeling it would be all that appropriate). "Hold still, okay? Don't move around too much or you'll –"
"Shut up!" Emma howls, tears streaming out of the corners of her eyes. "Shut up! Get me out of here!"
"Okay. Okay, Emma, hold still," I tell her again, trying to keep as calm as I can and hoping that it might rub off on my girlfriend in the process. "Lisa, you get ready to take hold of her legs."
"What?" Lisa asks, still sounding a little shell-shocked over what's just happened. "What can I do?"
"Simple," I say, gesturing to the open door above us with a single extended finger. "I'm going to climb out and try to pull Emma up after me, and I'm going to need you to help me support her weight, okay?"
Lisa nods. "O-okay," she mumbles, still rooted to the spot by the blood soaking through Emma's ripped sleeve and pooling on the floor of the carriage. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I get her to focus on my eyes and nothing else.
"Stay sharp, Lisa – I can't have you cracking up on me now, all right?" She nods then, quiet determination writing itself onto her face. "Good. Now get ready…" Turning away from both women, I stand and grab the edge of the door, pulling myself up and out onto the side of the carriage. When I'm out, I can see why we ended up like this – all four horses are sprawled on the dusty ground, their harness cleanly snapped off where the carriage went over too far for it to follow. Can't worry about that now… Looking down at Lisa and Emma, I nod encouragingly and hold out my hands. "Come on up, guys - the weather's great."
"Shut up, Drake," Emma hisses through clenched teeth, before she steps just underneath the open door and lets me begin lifting her, with Lisa's arms wrapped around her legs so that she's not in any danger of falling. It's hard, but eventually we get her up and sat down on the side of the carriage. When she's sure that Emma's safe, Lisa climbs up herself and sits down next to us…
… and that's when the next problem hits me. Emma's arm is broken in at least one place, her shoulder is obviously dislocated, and medical care at this point in time is limited to hacking faulty bits off and stitching the holes back up again. I guess we'll have to make do the best we can. "Hold still, Emma," I say. "I'll make you a sling." Pulling my shirt out from my pants, I begin tearing a strip of cloth off when Lisa puts a hand on my wrist.
"Wait," she says. "Maybe I can help you after all." She reaches up to her mouth with both hands, and begins pulling long strings of mucus out from two small, almost unnoticeable glands at either side of her lips. When she has two handfuls of the stuff, she notices both Emma and me looking at her in shock. "Don't worry," she says, as if to answer our unspoken questions, "this stuff will dry rock solid after about five minutes. It's as good a cast as you're going to get out here."
"You have got to be joking," Emma snarls, pain colouring her every word. "If you think I'm going to let you put that on my arm –"
"Look, honey," Lisa snaps, suddenly angry, "don't argue with me, all right? Count yourself lucky you don't have to sleep in this stuff like I do."
"What?" Emma gasps, tears of agony mixing with her surprise and slipping down her sweat-streaked face. "What do you mean?" Lisa half-smiles and holds up the handfuls of mucus as if they're gold trophies.
"I have to make a cocoon every night, just to keep my wings from snapping off when I'm sleeping," she explains. "Trust me, it's strong enough for what I'm suggesting. Now hold still – and brace yourself, because I can promise you this is damn sure going to hurt." Crushing the two handfuls of mucus into one squishy lump and handing it to me, she reaches down and quickly pushes Emma's broken bone back inside her arm.
Emma screams again, and I can feel her pain so intensely that I almost pass out. Lord knows how bad it was for her.
"Quickly," Lisa says, pointing with one of her long fingers at Emma's arm and glancing up at me, her compound eyes gone wide as saucers. "Spread a layer over the wound – that'll keep it from going bad." Kneeling beside her, I dip my fingertips into the slimy handful that she gave me and awkwardly cover Emma's forearm with it, watching Emma bite her lip until it bleeds to stop herself from crying out. Then, Lisa takes back what she gave me and begins spinning new strands to back it up, weaving them around Emma's arm in many different layers. When she's finished, she smiles at Emma and nods towards her handiwork. "See? Told you it'd work."
Emma moves her arm a little, winces once or twice, and then tries to push herself to her feet. Quickly, I grab her uninjured arm gently but firmly, and help her to stand. When she's able to stand by herself, she shrugs me off with an irritated look on her face. "I don't need your help now, Drake," she snaps. "Let me go." I can tell that she's just trying to win back a little bit of her dignity through the pain she's in, so I let that one slide. Just then Emma turns her head to look at something in the distance, her expression going distant for a second or two.
"What is it, Emma?" I ask, concerned.
"We're not alone out here," she announces, narrowing her eyes, and pointing behind me to a rapidly approaching cloud of dust.
"Come on," I say, gesturing to Lisa to get close to me. "We can get out of here if I use an ice-slide –" Emma shakes her head.
"No, you won't," she says. "They're moving too fast for you to get away from them. And do you really think they won't shoot you in the back if it suits them?"
"Good point," I say. "Get behind me, Emma. I don't want you getting hurt any more."
It doesn't take long before Emma's assessment of the situation quickly becomes reality, and the three of us are surrounded by men on horseback. The leader gets off his horse, pulls down the neckerchief covering his face, and grins a nasty, gap-toothed smile – and that's when my stomach does a few backflips.
"Well, well, well…" he says, an evil light gleaming in his eye. "Look who it is. Looks like it's my turn to be the big man now, boy."