"Open the gate!" Dale ordered, and the rusted hinges whined and groaned as two men pulled the heavy doors to his settlement open. He waited impatiently on the inside, growling something about the men on the ramparts not opening the doors fast enough.
Riley anxiously clutched her father's sleeve, holding her breath as the doors swung out.
Jerry shuffled in, leading the horses Jasmine and Charlie behind him, their flanks glimmering with sweat in the noonday sun. Dried foam coated their muzzles and necks.
Jerry's face was like a piece done by Picasso, the left side of his face distorted by his swollen black eye, the skin around it painted by purple and yellow bruises. His nose was bent at an unnatural angle. His hair wasn't any less greasy than the horses' coats. His tattered gray hoodie clung to his lanky frame, stained with sweat and filthy like he had taken a bath in a mud puddle.
A terrible, heavy silence settled between Jerry, Riley, and Dale as Jerry slowed to a stop in front of the black-haired man. Dale's expression was grave as he noticed the second empty saddle, but also expectant.
Jerry scratched a few flakes of dried blood off his left temple, careful not to irritate the swollen purple tissue around his eye. Sweat pasted his dull brown hair to his neck, courtesy of the unrelenting sun's heat. He took a deep breath, but it was more of a sigh as he answered Dale's unspoken question, "We found the sentries guarding the cattle, but…we got in a fight with them, and Ian…"
He glanced at Riley, her eyes wide with anxiety as her bottom lip quivered, just barely able to hold in the inevitable grief.
Jerry shoved one grimy hand into the front pocket of his jeans, studying the dandelion Charlie was sniffing at. "He got shot. Died instantly, no pain. I'm sorry," he said, his lips forming a grim line as he passed, leading the horses up the street.
Riley pressed a hand to her mouth, poorly stifling a sob. "No…No. He can't be. He can't…he promised…No!" there was no holding back the grief now, it flooded her body as she wept into her father's shirt. Her fingernails sinking into his arm were the only thing keeping her shaking body from collapsing onto the cracked pavement.
Dale barely registered the death grip she had on his arm as he awkwardly patted Riley's back. "Another for the tally. Jackson's gotta pay," he growled.
Riley instantly pushed herself away from her father, her face a mix of shock, grief, and anger. "How can you say that? This is your fault!" she screamed at him, the tears running freely down her cheeks. "I told you not to send him on that stupid scouting trip!"
Dale fixed a stern look on his daughter, "Riley, he knew the risks, he was ready-"
"Ready for what? To give his life up just so you could get revenge on Jackson?" Riley's voice trembled dangerously, close to breaking.
"Those were his friends those bastards killed. He wanted revenge just as much as anyone else here," Dale said.
Riley hastily wiped at her damp cheeks, but the tears were instantly replaced, "Yeah, but he was ready to move on! You weren't, he was just following orders! I knew he didn't want to go on those trips, but you never listened!"
"Riley, people we care about die all the time, that's the world we live in. You just gotta move on," Dale crossed his arms, his sympathy waning.
Riley let out something between a sob and a furious snarl. "I bet you're more than happy he's gone! I know you hated him!" she continued hurling accusations at her father.
"Riley, that's not true," Dale's voice was tinged with impatience, "he was a good man. He did a lot for us."
Riley held a hand out, as if to stop him from approaching her, even though he wasn't moving. "No. If you liked him, you would have at least let us promise ourselves to each other, let him die happy."
Dale pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration growing, "Don't bring this up again…"
"I wanted to marry him, maybe not for another few years, but I wanted to! You took that away for me!" Riley's renewed anger made her screech.
"I didn't kill him!" Dale bellowed.
His face had gone an angry shade of red, his expression contorted with barely contained fury as his patience for Riley's grief disappeared. "The people of Jackson did!" he roared, fists shaking at his sides. "If you want someone to be angry with, be angry with them!"
Riley stepped back, stunned. The echoes of their voices in the street faded to a tense silence. It was like the houses were holding their breath, not daring to creak or settle as the tension hung thick in the air.
Collecting herself, Riley balled her fists, shouldering past her father. She halted after a few paces, turning her head to look at him. "You're right…" she sniffled.
"What are you going to do about it?" Dale queried, his fury gradually simmering down to a strained calm.
Riley rubbed at her cheeks again, and this time they stayed dry. "I don't know."
"You want justice, don't you? The people who killed Dom, and all the others…they need to pay, don't they?" Dale lifted an eyebrow.
Riley nodded once. "So we find the guys who killed them," she suggested.
Dale chuckled darkly, sending a chill down Riley's spine. "Why not just kill them all? If we do it right, Jackson will be nothing but corpses and ashes."
Riley winced at the mental image. People burning alive, skewered with arrows. Charred bodies heaped into great pyres, their grey ashes floating freely on the wind like autumn leaves. For a moment, she thought she felt the ground shake, heralding the oncoming charge of Cobras on their horses, the blades of their swords glimmering crimson with blood in the moonlight, red all the way to the hilt.
It would be just like Denver.
Gritting her teeth, Riley tightened her fists. Maybe I couldn't do anything about Jason, but the people who killed Dom…them I can do something about. They don't deserve mercy. She could feel the acidity of revenge burning away her grief, shutting everything else out. It left her veins cold and gradually encased her heart in ice, as if she were slowly stepping away from a hot flame.
"They need to die. All of them," Riley finally agreed, her voice devoid of emotion. She resumed her march up the overgrown driveway to her house.
Dale's lips twitched upward just a fraction. "Couldn't have said it better myself," he said, following suit.
"You feel that?" Dr. Anderson lifted an eyebrow at Ian, gently poking the skin of his left palm with a dull pin. Four days had passed since Ian had arrived at the infirmary, but improvement was slow.
"No," Ian shook his head, his eyes on the ceiling.
Dr. Anderson moved up to the crook of Ian's elbow, poking the skin there. "What about that?"
Ian nodded, "Yeah. A little."
"On a scale of one to ten, ten being full feeling?" the doctor asked.
Ian shrugged his good shoulder. "About a four."
Dr. Anderson leaned back in his chair, scribbling down notes on his clipboard. "You're showing a bit of improvement, the numbness in your arms is going away. Slowly, but it's going away," he gave Ian a small smile, but the young man only managed an upward twitch of one corner of his mouth in reply.
"How long until I can get out of bed?" Ian asked, his words a little slurred together.
Dr. Anderson's smile faded, replaced by his accustomed neutral expression common to those in his line of work. "Well, you've still got those holes in your gut, that one in your shoulder, and on top of that you're still a long ways away from recovering from the botulism. I'd say give it a few weeks. The antitoxin might have stopped the botulism from spreading, but it has still done some damage," he explained.
Ian gave a weak groan, wiping the sweat collecting on his forehead away with his limp right hand. Dr. Anderson propped him up with pillows, pulling the sling over Ian's head. The rusty fans whirring in the corners of the infirmary provided little relief from the heavy humidity and oppressive summer heat.
They both glanced up as an unfamiliar woman entered through the infirmary doors, a small brunette girl of four or five hoisted on her hip. The woman's tangled, greasy, mouse-brown hair clung to the back of her neck despite being tied up in a short ponytail. Ian guessed she couldn't be older than him, but the dark shadows under her eyes and the stress lining her otherwise youthful face almost made him think twice.
Dr. Anderson stood, his face slipping into an expression that was welcoming, but had an almost forced kindness to it as he approached the woman, her eyes darted around the infirmary as if scanning for any potential threats.
"Ah, Liz, good to see you again. Please, take a seat and I'll be with you in a minute," he addressed the mouse-haired woman. Ian detected a hint of strain in his voice, as if the new patient wasn't someone he enjoyed dealing with. Liz curtly nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed opposite Ian's.
Liz placed the little girl on the bed beside her, so they both had their feet dangling off the edge. She massaged her pale arms like she was relieving the burden the weight of the child had placed on her body. To Ian, her collarbones popped out too much, as did her shoulder blades underneath her faded pink tank top. Liz caught him looking at her, and shot him a glare too vicious to use on strangers.
Before Ian could smirk in reply, Dr. Anderson diverted Liz's attention as he sat down in front of her with a new clipboard. Liz hoisted the child off the bed, placing her on her feet so she could explore under her watchful eye. Dr. Anderson proceeded with asking Liz questions, while the little brunette girl curiously wandered around the infirmary.
The child didn't look too different from Liz in terms of cleanliness. Her cheeks were a bit hollow, with dirt smeared on them. Her shoulder-length, thin brunette hair looked like it hadn't been brushed that morning. The holes in her purple t-shirt weren't sewn up, and the hem of her blue floral skirt was frayed beyond repair.
She strolled over to Ian's bed, her gray eyes transfixed on the IV bag hanging from a thin metal pole beside him. The sunlight hitting the clear fluid in the bag created wavy dapples inside it, which reflected dots of light onto the floor. Ian followed her gaze, smiling a little.
"Pretty, eh?" he commented.
The little girl didn't reply. She didn't even turn her head.
Trying to get her attention, Ian reached a hand out to tap the girl's shoulder. He would have, if Liz hadn't roughly yanked the girl away. The child let out an ear-splitting screech, even making the nurse at the other end of the infirmary wince. Liz glared harshly at Ian, like the child's cry of protest was his fault.
"What did I say about approaching strangers, May?" Liz hissed at the girl, who was still trying to wriggle free of the woman's tight grip.
Liz yanked on May's tiny wrist again, giving her a stern warning look. It looked more like she was threatening her with her eyes to Ian. May didn't scream again, and stopped trying to struggle free. She stared at the floor, wiping the tears collecting at the corners of her eyes with her free hand.
"Jeez, give your sister a break, she's not doing anything wrong," Ian scoffed, throwing Liz a disapproving look.
Liz let out a sarcastic bark of laughter, narrowing eyes identical to May's at Ian. "Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before," she snapped in a Louisiana drawl, "She's not my sister, she's my daughter. And I don't want you coming near either of us, got that?"
Ian couldn't help but lift an eyebrow in surprise. "You don't have to worry about that, I'll be bedridden for the next few weeks. Then I'm outta Jackson as soon as possible," he shot back.
"Sure fucking hope so, we don't need another inked up son of a bitch like you around here. I lived in Denver for a short while, don't think I don't know a fucking Cobra when I see one," Liz spat, hoisting May up onto her hip again.
"Glad the reputation extends as far as Jackson, Wyoming," Ian growled, watching May's eyes become fixed on the IV bag again. It was like she was in her own little world, completely oblivious of the spat between her mother and Ian.
As Liz left the infirmary, Ian wondered why May's mother didn't mind using such vulgar language around her child. Then he thought back to May's obliviousness.
It was like she couldn't hear them.
Dr. Anderson ambled over to Ian's bedside, lowering himself into the chair as his knees emitted faint cracking sounds. He rubbed a tired hand down in face, taking any sweat away with it.
He gave a dry chuckle, "Handful, isn't she?"
"That's putting it lightly," Ian smirked. It faded quickly as his expression darkened. "May's deaf, isn't she?"
Dr. Anderson nodded grimly. "Yes…Elizabeth doesn't know Sign, either. I'm no speech expert, but I don't think May was ever taught to communicate properly."
"That's so sad...How long have they been here?" Ian queried.
"Couple of weeks, maybe. They're still adjusting to life in a community, but they're coming along alright. Maria's been helping them a lot," the doctor replied.
Ian pursed his thin lips, falling into a thoughtful quiet for a few moments. "Has anyone tried to teach them Sign?"
Dr. Anderson shrugged. "Maria's tried, she knows the language. But…Liz doesn't seem to care. She's too busy popping pills and locking herself in her bedroom," he said, giving a sad sigh. "Poor little May has nobody to give her any attention. Her mother almost completely ignores her, save her scolding her."
"She's addicted to pills? What kind?" Ian tilted his head, interested.
"Anti-depressants, stimulants, anything she can get her hands on. Luckily for us, she's smart enough to leave the painkillers alone. She's stolen pills from this infirmary twice already, and Maria's trying to find her stash, but no luck. That woman is smarter than she looks," Dr. Anderson chuckled without any mirth.
"Or just really paranoid," Ian added.
Dr. Anderson opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted by the infirmary doors clapping against the walls, signaling the entrance of someone. Maria and Tommy strode in, and the doctor took that as his cue to leave. He gave up his chair to Maria, busying himself with another patient.
Tommy pulled up a second chair, nodding curtly in greeting to Ian. "Sorry I hadn't come by sooner, Maria wanted to make sure you were in the clear. Name's Tommy," he said.
Ian narrowed his eyes at Tommy, a spark of familiarity lighting up his eyes. The feeling didn't bring any positive memories. "I know who you are. You worked with my father, back in Denver. Marlene around here somewhere, too?" Ian asked, trying to keep the venom out of his tone.
All the while, memories from last fall were thrown into sharp focus again. Ian remembered his friends bleeding out on the ranch house's decaying floor, and catching glimpses of Tommy's face from the second floor, along with another man's. That face had haunted his mind ever since, bringing with it the drive for revenge.
This was the man.
The man who killed his friends.
Tommy lifted an eyebrow, his expression one of mild surprise. "Sorry, have we met?" he queried.
"Not properly. You remember a man by the name of Major Kelly Rowland, don't you? I'm his son…was his son," Ian corrected himself.
"I'm sorry," Tommy's mouth formed a grim line. "It's good to meet you, Dominic. That aside, we'd like to ask you a few questions."
Ian nodded, letting Tommy continue.
"Why were you and…whoever did this to you," Tommy gestured to Ian's injuries, "so close to our cattle?"
Ian chuckled weakly, knowing where Tommy was going with the question. "You don't gotta worry, I'm no cattle rustler. I'm not stupid enough to try, not that I could even make off with one without getting a bullet through my skull," he said.
"So what were you doing, then?" Tommy didn't even crack a smirk at Ian's sarcasm, and neither did Maria.
"I was on a hunting trip," Ian lied, "and we just happened to come across your herd. Then my partner turned on me and pinned me to a log with my own sword." He easily looked Tommy in the eye, adopting a casual drawl.
Maria took over the interrogation. "Why'd he try to kill you?"
Ian let out a dry bark of laughter, which turned into a few coughs. The pain flared up in his abdomen again, and he took a few moments to let it subside. "Look, this fucker framed my brother and got him executed by a firing squad, alright? He's a two-faced rat and it was only a matter of time before he decided to do me in, too," he explained.
Maria and Tommy exchanged looks, and imperceptibly nodded at each other. "This…partner of yours, any chance he might blame your 'death' on Jackson?" Maria asked, using air quotes.
Ian scoffed, "Oh, there's every chance. He probably already has." At Maria and Tommy's worried expressions he reassured, "But you don't have to worry, from what I can tell my group doesn't stand a chance against you guys. They'll be mad, but I don't think they'll bother."
"You sure?" Tommy asked suspiciously.
"You think a little band of survivors could stand a chance at defeating a fortified settlement like this? Get real," Ian rolled his eyes.
Tommy regarded Ian with a hard stare, as if trying to detect any indication that he might be lying. But eventually he bobbed his head in agreement, rising from his chair. "Alright. You're free to leave anytime you want. If you need anything, just let us know," he said, as Maria stood as well.
As they turned to leave, Ian called, "One more thing."
The pair halted, listening.
"That woman, Liz…Dr. Anderson told me she stole pills from this infirmary. Why haven't you done anything about it?" Ian queried.
"We have. We might not sanction our people the way you're used to, and frankly it ain't none of your business," Tommy replied curtly, his tone harsh as he growled the last part of his sentence. Maria covertly hissed at him to stop being rude as she tugged on the sleeve of his plaid shirt, and Ian smirked as Tommy's icy expression faltered just a little.
Yes, new characters have appeared! They will certainly shake things up for Ian in the future, but for now I'm content to let you ponder upon who they are and who they might become to Ian. Remember when I said there will be some Downton Abbey references in this story? Well...next chapter might be sensitive for some people, so I'm just warning you now. Thanks for taking the time to read and (hopefully) review, be sure to tune in for the next chapter!