Suba wandered around in a snit. He had passed Walter's little interrogation easily enough but now found himself planted at the furthest reaches of the Circle K, where all the newbies started off. Apparently you had to achieve some measure of respect before they allowed you closer to the main house.
Suba kicked the dirt, deliberately scuffing his shoes as he frowned. This was not how he had planned it at all. He had already been there for three hours and he was no closer to Nik than when he arrived. By his time table, he should be firmly ensconced in her bed.
Suba looked up as a skinny young man with spectacles walked by, engrossed in a sheet of papers, and the temptation was too much, he could not resist. He stuck his foot out and tripped him, laughing as the papers flew up and around.
"Hey!"
Suba looked around in surprise as the voice of indignation was not from the skinny one, but instead from Walter who had hurried over, a tremendous frown on his face.
"I saw everything and think you had better leave Suba, we don't want your type here," Walter growled while bending over to help the skinny kid retrieve his papers. "You okay, Birkoff?"
***
Nikita looked at the route and the reasoning behind it and could not fault Birkoff's suppositions. Indeed, it appeared he was correct regarding Madeline's next route as well as the timing which was for tomorrow. More than enough time to prepare. "This is excellent, Birkoff. You've really got the gift," Nikita complimented him.
"So, shall we make arrangements?" Birkoff asked, his color a little high and his voice a tad squeaky in his excitement and pride.
Nikita paused for a mere moment hearing Michael's request that she behave herself regarding Madeline's coaches and looked at Birkoff and his plan. He was so proud of this, the very first completely on his own plan, that denying him a chance to prove himself seemed unnecessarily cruel. Michael had just asked that she not raid Madeline's coaches but he had not really explained what he intended to do to stop her ravaging of the countryside as well as those poor women still trapped in her house. *I'll run backup, that way Birkoff can still have his glory and I won't be breaking my word to Michael,* Nikita thought, well aware she was splitting hairs.
"Sure, sounds good. Set things up and I'll run as your backup," Nikita stated.
Birkoff gaped while Walter grinned proudly. "You'll run backup?" Birkoff questioned, astonished as Nik had always been on point before.
"It's your plan, you get to run point," Nik stated calmly, amused by Birkoff's shock.
"Oh, Boy," Birkoff muttered as the full weight of the responsibility of his actions became apparent.
***
Michael headed back into Section One, his mind sorting through the available facts and truths about both Madeline's White Room and her rival the Red Cell. It seemed that Leon was just as bad and as unhealthy for the citizens of Section One as the Sheriff. *Perhaps I can make use of the rivalry between them. Madeline on one side and Leon on the other and me in the middle.*
He headed straight for the coffin builder, knowing that the little man had his eye on the situation and his ear to the ground. This was a gentleman who know the dirty secrets of both sides, after all, some secrets can not be buried.
************
Michael heard the rhythmic banging long before he saw the stack. It didn't seem to have grown much from the other day, but the builder appeared to be very industrious. No doubt, secret killings were still happening.
The builder stopped at the sight of Michael and wiped his head with a kerchief. "Hullo."
Michael nodded.
"Come to bring me some business, did you?"
Michael paused and then nodded.
The builder clapped his hands together once and rubbed the palms together. "Which shall it be? White Room or Red Cell, then?"
Michael paused. "Which would you recommend?"
The builder pondered for a moment and then agilely jumped down from his stack, looking like a sprite. "Now that is a golden question," he replied. "What say you and me have a drink over that one?" The builder swept his hand out in a grandiose gesture indicating a shack to the far side of the small mountain of the grisly boxes.
Michael's lips twitched and he nodded. He walked Diablo over to the single post and dismounted.
"What did you say your name was?" the builder questioned as he opened the door. "Everyone calls me Mick, by the way."
"You can call me Michael."
***
Harriet Gregg wiped her forehead as the talking paused. *Whew! It's a good thing I invented this method of quick writing or I'd never live through this confession.* She gripped her pencil and pad as Joyce began talking again.
"And then Sheriff Wolfe submitted a claim for parcel 13B21A, stating that he had bought it from the Jamiesons. Well, the very next day I received a letter from the Jamieson's, written by the local school teacher, claiming that the Sheriff had stolen their land and asking that ownership not be transferred." Joyce paused, "I am ashamed to say that I contacted the Sheriff and told him of their claims. At that time he told me he had won the land during a poker game and that Master Jamieson was simply too afraid of his wife to admit what had happened." Joyce started to cry into the already soaked kerchief she held in her hand. "Despite the obvious differences in the Sheriff's two stories of how he obtained the land, I went ahead and put the claim request through in the Sheriff's name."
George nodded, allowing Joyce to continue with her tears. He marked a red X through area 13B21A on the map on his desk and wrote the name Jamieson across it. The map was littered with similar markings as Joyce confessed her compliance with her brother-in-law's crimes.
***
"It depends on what you want as to which house should be your target," Mick explained as he took another sip of whiskey. "If you want guns then the White Room is the place to go, but if you want Whiskey then head over to Red Cell. Of course, if you are looking to acquire land, you had better look elsewhere." Mick smacked his lips. "Both Leon and Wolfe are into landsnatching."
Michael nodded as Mick confirmed his suppositions.
"So, which one will it be?"
Michael paused. "Both, I think," he stated, deciding that there was only one way to free Section One for the greater good and allow him to return to Nikita without her indulging in further adventures of righting wrongs.
Mick clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together in glee. "That's what I wanted to hear, old son. Should be some fun now!"
************
Suba packed up his gear, shaking everything several times as it was not unknown for dangerous creatures to crawl into blankets, boots and other gear and make themselves comfortable. *I hate camping out,* he thought sourly. He was unwilling to admit he was not ready to return to Section One and have to admit to Madeline and the Sheriff that his plan had failed. *Damn that Birkoff anyway. It's his fault I never got the chance to meet Nik.*
***
Birkoff glanced nervously over his shoulder for the umpteenth time. Everyone was in position, everyone was ready and waiting, everyone ... except him. Birkoff swallowed again, trying to calm his rolling stomach. It was one thing to create these plans and maybe be in the fall back position where he was one of the last stands and another thing to be out front, first in line. He swallowed again, his stomach clutching when a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. He was torn between pride that he was right and outright terror that he was right as the outline of one of Madeline's coaches appeared on the horizon.
Nikita checked her gun and patted her sheathed knife. She was ready but today was Birkoff's day, she was merely backup.
***
Mick laughed. "You missed your chance earlier," he teased Michael as he lifted yet another shot of whiskey to his lips.
"What do you mean?"
"You could have taken out both sides about an hour ago. The whole town, or what is left of it anyway, turned out to see off Madeline's latest coach."
Michael frowned and tamped down the irrational thought that Nikita was breaking her word and was, at this very minute, ambushing Madeline's latest coach. Of course, now that he thought of it, she did not actually give her word that she would quit harassing Madeline. Michael shifted in the chair, feeling a sense of foreboding settle over him. *She wouldn't! Oh, yes, she would!*
"Hey, old son, where are you going?" Mick asked the air as Michael bolted out of the chair and disappeared through the door.
************
Birkoff kept his gun trained on the driver as Chuck started to unload the coach. Birkoff could not help but ponder why no guards were accompanying this coach. Not that he was complaining, but it was incredibly unlike Madeline to send her coach without some type of escort. *What did Madeline know that he did not?* The question worried him on several levels and he once again glanced back at Nik, double-checking her position.
***
Suba adjusted his sight and squinted through it again. His lips compressed in concentration and he made another adjustment. Nik's companion was in his sights and he wanted to do this right. If he could rescue her from her attacker then he was sure to be welcomed into the big house and it was such a small step from gratitude to marriage, he'd make sure of it.
He loaded the rifle with two bullets and slowly released his breath as his finger quivered just in front of the trigger.
***
Nikita glanced around, feeling something in the air. Birkoff's plan had called for only the three of them and was proceeding smoothly, but she could not deny the feeling of uneasiness that was creeping up her back.
A shot rang out from the left and Chuck cried out as he went down, a bag landing on him and speeding his fall to the ground. Nikita glanced to the left catching sight of the gleam of a rifle barrel. She returned fire as a second shot rang out. She heard Birkoff cry out and wheeled Angel around, kneeing her into action while the shot still echoed in the air. Nikita watched in horror as Birkoff tipped over and fell off his horse, a red stain spreading across his chest. The driver of the coach leapt off the seat and dove underneath the coach.
Nikita was off of Angel before she had drawn to a halt, kneeling beside Birkoff, rolling him face-up. "Birkoff! Speak to me," she said, her voice quavering with dread. Birkoff groaned at the movement and fluttered his eyes, the sand clinging to his face and glasses. "I blew it," he muttered.
"No, no," Nikita tried to comfort him and distract him while she located the wound. She almost fainted with relief when she realized had the bullet been a few inches more center ...
"Can you sit up?"
"Nik ..."
The world went black.
************
Suba watched in disgust as the driver of the coach snuck out from under the coach and knocked Nik out with his gun butt. Even from this distance he could hear the man's chortle of glee at the capture of the infamous Nik. *No doubt Madeline has a healthy award waiting for him.* Suba glared at the bullet imbedded in his rifle barrel. Nik's shot had struck true and it was only by his own good luck that he had been able to duck out of the way in time. Silently, he watched as the driver loaded the unconscious Nik inside the coach along with the bag of money sprawled across the other guy.
***
The driver gave a cursory kick or two to the other two bodies but received no response. He shrugged and climbing back on board the coach, hefting the reins. *This will please Madeline,* he thought, looking forward to gaining favor with the most influential woman in town.
***
Suba waited until the coach was lost on the horizon before he stepped out from behind the rocks. Neither of the bodies had moved. He wandered over but the pale horse that Nik had been riding barred his way and would not let him get too close. He could not tell if either of them were still alive. He might have pushed the issue had he cared enough to be that interested. With a shrug of his shoulders, Suba mounted his own horse and left the area without a backward glance. His mind was reeling with plans on how to get Nik away from Madeline and into his clutches. *Really, this is most inconvenient.*
***
Michael and Diablo watched from a distance as Madeline's coach sped across the sands, heading back into town. Michael felt the sense of foreboding pushing down on him more and more. He had intended to follow the tracks out until he was convinced that Nikita had not waylaid the coach. Now, however, he knew that Nikita had done something and that something had gone terribly wrong.
Michael and Diablo continued following the original tracks, looking for something, anything, that would relieve their minds when Diablo's ears perked up and he stopped. Diablo lifted his head, his nostrils flared, his lips curled and his ears lay flat on his head. Diablo then went from standing still to a full gallop, his long legs eating the miles as he moved forward intent on his destination.
Michael saw the vultures circling first, then he saw Angel standing beside two other horses and the two bodies on the ground and felt his heart wrench in his chest. He was helpless in his grief as Diablo galloped closer. With a selfish sigh of relief Michael could see that neither of the bodies had flowing blonde hair but he felt no real reassurance as he knew that Angel traveled only with Nikita.
Diablo slowed in response to Angel's whinny. He stopped beside her, his chest heaving and his flanks sweating. Michael climbed off of him, wiping the lather off of himself with an absent hand. "Move around boy, you'll seize up," Michael stated as he walked over to the two men lying on the ground. Angel moved aside so that he could reach them. Michael recognized the kid with the glasses from his earlier spying on Nikita as well as from the story or two she had told him on the road. "Birkoff?" he asked hesitantly, almost sure that was the kid's name. He clamped down on his need to know where Nikita was and concentrated on taking care of her family. He had to do that for her, she would expect it.
************
Birkoff opened his eyes, squinting against the sun. "Michael?" he breathed, sure that he was now hallucinating.
"Yes, can you move?"
Birkoff groaned and shook his head. "I can't. I tried a little while ago but it made the blood start again, so I've just been laying here, waiting." He glanced up at the vultures that still circled. Michael looked at him closer and saw that the dark brown, barely visible, stain on his brown shirt was dried blood. "Angel kept them away," Birkoff confided with another glance at the birds who had landed a good distance away and were now glaring at Michael as though he were personally responsible of depriving them of a tasty delight.
"How's Chuck? He hasn't said anything in a while," Birkoff asked, his tone filled with despair and lost hope.
Michael looked over at the other man, noting with relief the rise and fall of his chest, though shallow. "He's alive."
"Thank God," Birkoff whispered.
Michael could no longer restrain himself. "Where is Nikita?"
"Don't know."
"But she was here?"
"Yeah, she was running backup but then Chuck got shot and I got shot and ... and ... I don't know what happened, one minute she was here, right where you are, then nothing," Birkoff apologized as tears slowly streamed down the side of his face.
With stunning clarity Michael knew that Nikita was in Madeline's coach, already back in town. His hands clenched in fists of rage. Michael closed his eyes and reached for his control, digging deep past the panic and the guilt, burrowing beyond the despair until he found it, that deep cold center that lived in him. He had discovered that center the very moment he had realized that Simone had betrayed not only his love but his honor. Now he called on that coldness, he pulled it out and felt it grow and grow until it threatened to overwhelm him, threatened to freeze him solid. He needed it now, needed the control to do what he must do.
Michael opened his eyes and moved over to check on Chuck. Chuck had been shot but it was just a graze across the left side of his head. However, as head wounds do, it had bled quite a bit and the blood loss and the location were responsible for his loss of consciousness more than the actual severity of his wound.
Michael moved back to Birkoff, pleased to see the young man still had his eyes open and seemed coherent. "I can't move either of you alone. I'm going to go to the Circle K and get some help."
Birkoff looked panicked at the thought of being left out in the sand but firmed his trembling lips resolutely. "Okay, but be careful. Walter is gunning for you."
Michael nodded his head in acknowledgment and called to Diablo. Diablo left off his pacing around Angel, having refused to leave her side even while he heeded Michael's directions to keep moving.
"Come on, we need to get to the Circle K," Michael informed Diablo. Diablo shook his head no. Michael considered for a moment and decided he was not surprised. He was not sure that if Nikita had been one of the bodies on the ground, he would have been willing to leave her either. Michael nodded toward the vultures which still hung around in anticipation. "Protect." Diablo whinnied his understanding.
Michael moved over to the brown mare standing close to Birkoff. "Hey girl," he held his hand out for her to sniff before he reached up to rub her nose.
"Her name is Maggie, she'll take you home," Birkoff assured him, adding, "take him home Maggie, that's a girl."
************
Walter dropped a quick kiss on Belinda's cheek as he left the kitchen.
"Bring Lucy back with you," Belinda called out to his retreating back.
Walter waved his hand signaling his acknowledgement of her order, without turning around. He stepped into the small barn and grasped the wheelbarrow handles. With a quick grunt of effort he lifted the wheelbarrow and backed out of the barn. The sun hit the schoolbooks loaded in the wheelbarrow with a merry twinkle and Walter chuckled to himself as he thought of the expression on the kids' faces when they realized that Walter had discovered where they had hidden the books.
*Miss Lucy will make you pay for that, my lads.* Walter whistled softly to himself as he headed for the new schoolroom and one severely lecturing schoolmarm.
***
Madeline frowned as Vizcano knocked on her door. *What now?* "Enter."
Vizcano entered hesitantly. "The coach is back and the driver wants to speak with you."
Madeline sighed a long-suffering sigh of a woman well past her limit of tolerance. "Very well," she said, her tone as sour as if she had eaten a bushel of lemons, "bring him in."
Vizcano curtsied in her terror and rushed out of the room in an undignified haste.
A startled "Hey!" was heard in the hallway and the driver was unceremoniously thrust into Madeline's parlor by quickly retreating hands.
***
Michael cantered up to the gates of the Circle K. He noted that the unseen guards were still in full force and nodded in professional approval.
Several of the people working the gardens stopped what they were doing and stared at him in horrified disbelief, obviously recognizing both himself and Maggie. A slow murmur rippled through the workers.
Michael dismounted and carelessly threw Maggie's reins across the hitching post. He doubted she would be inclined to wander off.
With quick steps he bounded up the porch, knocked once and opened the door. "Walter? Belinda? Someone come quick!" he called out, his voice echoing around the empty parlor.
Belinda rushed out of the kitchen, her eyes wide. "What? What is it?"
"There has been an attack, the coach robbery was foiled. I need a buckboard and several strong men. A gate also if you have one, Birkoff and Chuck are down."
Belinda called out, "Chris!" and Chris Davenport appeared as if by magic. She repeated what Michael had told her and Chris was out of the room while the last word echoed in the air.
Belinda pressed a hand to her lips. "And ... Nik?" her voice quavered.
Michael's mask slipped for a moment and Belinda saw the anguish in his eyes. "Madeline's got her," he told her, his tone harsh and bleak.
Belinda gasped and turned white, swaying a little.
Michael reached for her but Belinda grasped the wall and pulled herself together. "Go!" she urged. "Rescue her!"
************
"What can I do for you ... my good man?" Madeline questioned as she dubiously eyed her coach driver.
He stood before her, gaping at the luxury of her private parlor. He had never seen such finery. *Why there's fabric on her walls.*
Madeline snapped her fingers sharply. "Why did you come back? I know you could not have made it to the Center and back in the short time you were gone."
The driver twisted his hat in his hands and swallowed. "Well, Ma'am, there was a problem," he stumbled out, awed by her presence.
"Obviously," Madeline muttered and refrained from tapping her foot in an effort to speed this simpleton up.
"And?" she urged him to continue.
"We was pulled over by that Nik girl," the driver said, suddenly braver now that he remembered what else he had to tell Madeline.
"You were robbed?" Madeline questioned, her voice quiet but still so sharp as to raise all the hair on the driver's head as his skin crawled in an attempt to get away.
"No, no ma'am. They tried but they didn't." He smiled, real pleased with himself. "In fact, two were killed and I brung you a present."
"Oh?" Madeline arched an eyebrow in enquiry. She felt a small rise of excitement start to flow. *Could it be?*
The driver rocked back and forth on his toes and heels. "Yes, ma'am. I done brung you that Nik girl." He paused to look at her in what he believed to be a sly way. "I knew you were wanting her."
"Where is she?" Madeline asked, ignoring his attempt to ingratiate himself.
"In the coach."
"Vizcano!" Madeline snapped.
Vizcano timidly entered the room. "Yes?"
Madeline smiled at the driver who was looking at her in surprise. "Vizcano, I want you to make this ... uh ... gentleman very happy tonight. He is to have anything he wants, anything. Do you understand?" Madeline instructed, ignoring Vizcano's look of horror.
The driver grinned widely and displayed several gaps in his teeth.
Madeline hurried out of her parlor, eager to have Jack and Peter unload her "present."
Vizcano moved over to the driver and gave him a sickly smile. "I bet the first thing you want is a bath, right?" she offered hopefully.
"Hell no, gal." The driver grabbed her shoulders and pulled Vizcano close. "I take a bath on Saturdays and, shoot, it's only Friday."
************
Michael helped them load Chuck onto the buckboard, his body laying next to Birkoff's.
Birkoff wheezed and raised a hand to Michael. Michael moved closer to the buckboard on Birkoff's side.
"Go get her," Birkoff whispered. "Don't let Madeline have her."
Michael nodded solemnly and moved over to Diablo. "Come on, you too," he indicated to both Diablo and Angel. "If she's in any condition to travel, she'll need you." Diablo nodded, approving of Michael's logic, and within moments the three of them were heading back to Section One.
***
Jack and Peter placed Nikita's bound body gently on the bed as Madeline had instructed. Nikita stirred slightly at the movement but did not awaken. The two men looked at the blonde loveliness laying on the bed and shuddered at the thought of this beauty being at the mercy of Madeline. Jack reached down and made sure that the ropes around Nikita's wrists and ankles were still tight, knowing his life would be worth less than nothing were the girl to escape.
Madeline bustled into the room and dismissed the men with a careless wave of her hand. She seated herself on the bed by Nikita's side and prepared to wait. She wanted to be there the very moment Nik opened her eyes and realized where she was. *Indeed, the very moment.*
***
Suba rode into town and headed for the White Room immediately. Over in the corner he could see the coach driver living it up with a bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him and Vizcano on his lap. The driver's voice boomed across the room as he regaled his eagerly listening audience to a highly exaggerated tale of his capture of the infamous Scourge of Section One.
Suba noticed that his part in the adventure had been completely obliterated as the driver had become as wily as a fox, as strong as a bull and as sneaky as a snake, taking out six armed gunmen as they attacked the coach all by himself.
***
The men in the White Room listened to the tale, not believing it for a minute, but agreeing it made a good story. Somehow the fact that this rapidly inebriated fellow had managed to bring back the lovely Nik was true enough. Madeline had announced moments ago that Nik was back in the house and had promised them a special 'treat' this evening. They could hardly wait.
***
Nikita felt a terrible throbbing in the back of her head first. This was slowly followed by the unmistakable smell of perfume which almost made her ill. *Perfume?* She tried to raise a hand to her head only to find she could not. Puzzled, she lay still for a moment longer, trying to sense what had happened. The last thing she could remember was seeing Birkoff being shot. She opened her eyes a little and looked straight into Madeline's gleaming brown gaze.
"Welcome back," Madeline greeted her.
************
Michael stepped into the White Room Saloon, keeping to the edge of the main room. It was not a difficult task as it was filled to almost overflowing. He kept quiet and listened to the talk flowing freely around him. Nikita was there already and apparently Madeline was planning on doing something particularly awful to her. Michael backed out of the saloon, avoiding eye contact with any of the men crowded into the room.
He headed for the back of the saloon and the back stairway he had seen earlier, the same stairway he had used to access his own room during his brief stay. He knew the girls were all located on the third floor and guessed that Madeline would install Nikita there immediately in an effort to make sure Nikita knew she was back to 'work.'
***
Nikita clamped her lips together, not only to keep her scathing reply to herself, she knew how Madeline delighted in responding to 'inappropriate' comments, but also to keep herself from crying out in dismay and fear.
"I see you have learned a lesson or two from before. That's good. I rather hate repeating myself," Madeline commented as she picked up a knife from a side table and moved closer to Nikita.
Nikita looked at the blade's sharp gleam and then at the corresponding gleam in Madeline's eyes and gathered her resolve. If Madeline was going to kill her, then she would die without begging. She would not give Madeline that pleasure, that triumph.
Madeline laughed. "Oh, don't worry, I have definite plans for you and they don't involve your death, not for a long time to come, anyway." Her smile was not reassuring at all. Madeline methodically and efficiently cut Nikita's clothes off of her, baring her body to her professional gaze. "You are still too brown and too muscular for my taste, but I am sure you will lose your tan eventually. If not, well, I picked up a stripper that will help remove all that brown skin and the muscles you have will soften as you become more and more attuned to your new work."
Nikita glared at her, still refusing to respond.
Madeline reached out and poked, prodded, weighed and turned her this way and that as she inspected Nikita. "Still, all in all, you are in pretty good shape, plenty mileage left on you." She brought her hand down on Nikita's bare bottom in a casual, yet cruel, slap as she rolled her back over onto her tied hands.
Madeline stood and smoothed her dress down. "Now, behave yourself. Maybe you should take a nap, after all, you won't be getting much sleep tonight." With a sly, wicked smile Madeline exited the room, taking the knife with her.
***
"Can I help you?" A deep voice rumbled from the shadows of the stairway as Michael approached.
Michael smiled and weaved a little in his steps. "I hope so," he slurred. "I can't find my room and I got a cutie waiting for me, if you know what I mean," Michael winked outrageously.
Peter sighed and straightened up. He towered over the drunk by a good six inches and must have outweighed him by 50 pounds. Still, he was a paying guest. Peter sighed again. "What's your room number?" he asked with a patience long practiced from dealing with horny drunks.
"Number?" Michael blinked.
Peter sighed again. "Come on." He slung an arm around Michael's waist as it appeared Michael was getting ready to fall down. "Let's get you up to bed."
Michael giggled and squirmed against Peter. "It tickles." He swayed into Peter, knocking the man slightly off balance. "I'm going to give you 20 minutes to cut that out," Michael cheerfully bantered.
Peter sighed and staggered suddenly as Michael's body went limp in his arms.
Michael waited for the misstep and then hooked a foot behind Peter's leg, apologizing in a slurry tone just before he headbutted Peter, knocking him unconscious and down the three steps they had managed to climb.
Peter fell down the stairs like a proverbial ton of bricks, oblivious to the world.
"Excuse me."
************
Nikita gave herself a moment to just shudder in horror and then stopped the self-pity. She forced herself to look around the room, seeking some avenue of escape. There was very little in the room aside from the overly elaborate bed, a small side table, now empty of weaponry, a mounted full-length mirror positioned to reflect activity on the bed, a wardrobe, and the edge of a chamber pot peeking out from under the ruffles of the bedspread from underneath the bed.
Nikita twisted a little and rolled closer to the side of the bed before she swung her legs up and over allowing her to sit up on the edge of the bed, her bare toes curling on the wooden floor.
She knew the futility of calling for help and so did not waste her breath. Even if some of the other women did want to help her, they would not risk the wrath of Madeline to render aid.
She hoisted herself up and hobbled away from the bed and over to the mirror. Nikita stood examining the extreme vanity of its placement before she turned her back on it and casually rammed her elbow into the silvered glass. A sharp crack was heard in the room and in Nikita's bones. She immediately felt the cut and the beginning of the trickle of blood, but was more concerned with whether she had broken the mirror enough. Turning, she saw a fissure running across the mirror. Satisfied, she turned again, raised her arms and slammed her elbow back again. This time the sound was unmistakable as the mirror broke, slivers showering down on her back and legs. The pain was unmistakable as well and Nikita dared a timid glance at her elbow, relieved to see that there were no pieces of mirror sticking out of her skin, but she was definitely cut.
Nikita moved forward a couple of steps and did a little shimmy trying to dislodge any stray slivers before she turned to observe the pieces of mirror on the floor. Grasping one of significant size, she twisted it inward and proceeded to start sawing on the rope binding her hands.
***
Suba dug his way out of the saloon, gasping for air. The hole he had created was instantly closed as more and more men pressed closer.
***
Madeline accepted Christopher's hand and help as she climbed up on the bar. "Gentlemen."
The noise continued unabated.
"Christopher."
Christopher pulled a gun and shot at the underside of the bar a couple of feet away from where he stood.
The noise stopped at the sound of a gunshot.
"Gentlemen." Madeline smiled professionally as the crowd turned en masse in her direction. "I believe we all know why we are here tonight. Shall we start the bidding?"
************
Once her hands were free, it was nothing for Nikita to rid herself of the rope around her ankles. Nikita took a quick inventory of the available materials. She brushed the last of the mirror off of her body and hacked into the bedspread to make a pad and wrap for her elbow. Once she was bandaged and free she began to explore the room, looking for both clothing and an escape route. A glance out the window showed that the sun would soon be setting and she knew she was running out of time.
She opened the side table, but it was empty. The wardrobe, however, was another matter. Nikita spared only a second to rue the fact that the clothing available to her was suited to the house before she began to dress. She bothered only with slipping a dress over her body, eschewing the bloomers as impractical, modified as they were for quick access. Her nudity taken care of, she began the arduous process of tugging the bed closer to the window. She only managed a few feet before she was almost too exhausted to proceed. She decided that the bed was close enough to the window and began stripping and tying the bedspread and sheet together. Though not nearly long enough to reach the ground from this height, Nikita decided she'd rather jump the rest of the way than press her luck any longer. She double knotted one end around a bedpost and wrenched the window open, draping her makeshift rope out the window. Dusk was definitely settling and the noise from downstairs was reaching ominous levels as apparently an auction was taking place. Nikita shut her mind to the possibilities and backed out of the window, creeping down the sheet/rope.
***
Michael moved up the stairs and opened the outside door to the third floor. Various squeals and groans emanated from behind closed doors as business proceeded as usual. He started down the hallway pausing briefly at each door, listening.
Most of the doors hid standard moans and groans with creaks occasionally thrown in. A couple of doors hid sharp cracks and skin against skin and a voice crying out in pleasure/pain and one of two of the doors hid noises Michael did not care to ever understand. *Baaahhh?*
At the end of the hallway, however, he found the door he sought. No noise, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Michael twisted the knob but it was locked. *Naturally.* He grasped the knob, twisted violently and applied his body weight against the door, his desperation granting him strength. The door cracked and suddenly opened, the knob still clasped in his hand even as the door swung inward. Michael stepped inside.
************
About halfway down her handmade rope, Nikita paused, convinced she had heard something. She had been fortunate enough to not be jailed in a room directly over the front of the White Room so she was not highlighted by the lights spilling out of the saloon. She was, instead, lowering herself into almost complete darkness, with only a sliver or two of moonlight exposing the alleyway.
"Nik? Are you not the infamous Nik?" a voice almost whispered to her in the dark, a voice she did not recognize.
Nikita froze.
***
"You are, are you not? Hold on. I'll help you."
"Who are you? I don't know you."
"Fear not, my gracious lady, I am an admirer of your deeds. Take care you do not fall."
Nikita remained dangling, calculating her chances with this new voice when a man moved into the moonlight.
"Allow me to introduce myself, I am called Suba," he bowed, "at your service, my lady."
Suba could not believe his luck, there hanging from a sheet like a ripe fruit ready to fall into his hands was the very fruit he was seeking, Nik, the Scourge of Section One. *This is so perfect. I must be living well to deserve this.* Suba strived to keep the triumph out of his voice. He had believed that being thrown out of the Circle K would cause him to rethink his plans and instead, *I love it when a plan comes together.* He looked around for some way to help her down into his arms and into his clutches.
***
"Nikita?" Michael's muffled voice floated through the window from inside the room. "Nikita are you in here?"
"Michael?" Nikita called out, trying to keep her voice down and still be loud enough to be heard.
Suba cursed to himself and began frantically searching the alleyway. There! Next to the building, a barrel! It was a little short, but it would work.
"Hold on my lady, I will rescue you," Suba assured her, trying to keep Michael from overhearing him.
***
"Nikita?" Michael's head appeared out the window and he said something that, although it sounded very exotic in French, Nikita immediately knew she did not want it translated. "Hold on," he instructed as he began hauling the sheet/rope up, pulling Nikita up with it.
Michael could not believe his eyes. Nikita dangled foolhardily outside the building, clinging to a sheet. While part of him was proud of the Amazon that would not be held captive, another part of him wanted to haul her over his knee for being so foolish with her own safety.
***
Suba grunted with the effort to move the barrel into place. Abandoning all attempts to hide his presence from Michael, Suba called out to Nikita, "Beware my lady. He works for Madeline. I have seen him with her. She paid him to arrange your capture."
Nikita looked upward where Michael had stopped pulling on the sheet/rope, his face completely blank of expression as he looked down past her at Suba. "Michael?"
Michael gazed down at her and felt the ice of his control beginning to melt. Only Nikita could affect him so. He would not allow her to go to Suba, no matter what she believed of him. She was his.
Her soft voice seemingly galvanized Michael into action.
"Hold on."
"Drop down my lady, I will catch you," Suba pleaded.
"Nikita, don't you dare let go of this rope," Michael threatened, his voice rough with tension.
"He has betrayed you. He sold you to Madeline," Suba interjected, using his own knowledge of the situation. "Can you trust him? Do you really know him?"
"Nikita, if you let go, I swear I will beat you within an inch of your life," Michael growled, his whole tone and demeanor menacing to the extreme.
"Consider my lady, has he ever told you why he is here? Do you know what it is he does? You know he is a bounty hunter. Who has the biggest bounty on her head in the territory? You do! He tries to save you to collect on you twice," Suba injected as much false sincerity and alarm as he could into his tone.
Michael swore and continued pulling her up.
Nikita looked down at the apparently sincere face pleading with her and then up to the now grimacing, threatening, swearing face of Michael as he hauled her closer and closer. The same Michael that took her list. The same Michael who confessed his sordid past in the stables. The same Michael who tried to seduce her into obeying him.
As Michael reached down his hand, she made her decision and released the sheet/rope.
************
"Going, going," Madeline looked around the room one last time. "Gone. Sold to Mr. Fanning who traveled all the way from Adrian to participate tonight. Congratulations, Mr. Fanning."
David Fanning tucked his thumbs into his suspenders and smiled gloatingly at the men around him. He chuckled hugely, more pleased to have beaten the others than with his purchase. He sauntered up to the bar and started to count out the gold coins to pay his debt. He noticed the lovely legs on the auctioneer and thought about all the things he had heard about this particular woman. "Ma'am," he touched his hat and nodded. "If you don't mind, I'd sort of like to see my winnings down here." David glanced around at the crowd of men hanging on his words. "In fact, I don't know why I can't just take my prize right on down here, so everyone can enjoy it," he finished expansively.
Madeline smiled, enjoying not only the increasing stack of gold coins growing on the bar but enjoying Mr. Fanning's request as well. *Another step to pay back that little bitch for the agony she has caused me.* "A man after my own heart," she congratulated Mr. Fanning. "Jack, go get Mr. Fanning's winnings."
A roar of approval went up from the drunken crowd.
***
"Be careful on the last couple of steps," Michael stated, his voice sounding strange. He was still in shock. *She had chosen him, despite everything.* The thought still stunned him. He had been certain that his past was coming back to haunt him. He had been certain she would go to Suba instead of risking a man who had lied to her, a man who was threatening her, a man who was frantic with worry. *She had chosen him.*
"What's wrong with the stairs?" Nikita asked, looking at Michael in perplexion. He had been acting strange ever since she had grabbed his forearms and let him pull her back into the room.
"Nothing is wrong with the stairs, there is a body at the bottom."
"Oh?" Nikita squinted and recognized the face of one of Madeline's henchmen. "Oh, well done Michael."
Michael looked at Nikita in bemusement. "I never realized you were so bloodthirsty."
Nikita frowned. "Well, I'm not usually, but I think you will agree, this is a little unusual."
*Little?* Michael shook his head. *What was he getting himself into?*
They crept further down the alley, heading for the shadows where Michael had stashed Diablo and Angel.
Behind them a roar resounded in the air. Madeline's place was certainly busy tonight. Both Michael and Nikita shivered at the thought of the reason for the jubilation.
Angel whickered a greeting and moved away from Diablo.
Michael had to help Nikita mount Angel, the billowing skirts of her dress hampering her natural grace.
As they started a hurried walk out of town, Nikita leaned closer to Michael. "How are Birkoff and Chuck?"
***
"SHE WHAT?!?" Madeline shrieked.
************
Miss Lucy wiped the blood away from Birkoff's chest and moved closer, peering at the wound. She then turned to the book that was open on the bed and peered at the drawing. "Well, I would say if he had to get shot in the chest, he picked the right place," she pronounced in thoughtful tones. Doc stood next to her nodding his head in agreement.
"Belinda, I need a bottle of whiskey, a bowl of hot water, clean towels, and a needle and thread," Miss Lucy directed as she began to open Birkoff's shirt the rest of the way, pulling the fabric aside slowly so as not to further aggravate the wound.
Belinda left the room, intent on her mission to gather supplies. Walter paced back and forth at the end of the bed, his eyes moving restlessly from Chuck's unmoving body to Birkoff's softly moaning body again and again.
Doc raised a trembling hand to his mouth, wiping his lips, his eyes half-shut in contemplation. "I picked you Miss Lucy because, of everyone here, you have the strongest nerves."
Miss Lucy nodded and tucked the loose ends of the shirt underneath Birkoff's body.
Birkoff trembled in unconscious reaction and moaned.
Miss Lucy moved over to the other bed and tilted Chuck's head to one side, exposing the long red streak an inch above his ear. It had quit bleeding but Chuck had yet to awaken since being shot.
"A simple cleaning?" Miss Lucy questioned, glancing up at Doc.
He nodded and shoved his shaking hands into his pockets. "Damn old age, I can't even hold a scapel anymore," he muttered, moving his head in regret.
Miss Lucy and Walter traded glances as both thought it but neither said it. It wasn't old age that caused the hands to tremble and the nerves to go.
Miss Lucy shored up her thoughts and prepared herself to do surgery.
***
Sheriff Wolfe suppressed his smile as Madeline almost fell off the bar in her fury. While the situation ultimately was not amusing, he had to admit a secret delight in seeing the ever so calm and in control Madeline lose her composure.
David Fanning snatched his gold coins back, a scowl on his face. "I don't pay for goods I don't receive," he snarled.
Madeline refrained from kicking him in the teeth only because she did not want to waste her time on him. Instead, she stood on the bar and directed several men to saddle up and see if they could reach that little bitch before she made it back to the Circle K. *This time, I'll just kill her!*
***
Once they were out of sight of the town, both Michael and Nikita let Angel and Diablo have their leads and the horses thundered across the deserted plains.
Nikita pondered Michael's brief explanation of Birkoff's and Chuck's conditions, thankful that he took the time to insure they were taken care of before coming after her. There were hidden depths to this man and Nikita sent a small, selfish prayer that she would be able to spend the rest of her life learning his secrets.
************
Walter handed Miss Lucy the needle and thread and moved the lantern closer. With small, precise stitches, she closed Birkoff's chest wound. Her brow was bathed in sweat and her eyes were a little glazed with tears but she resolutely continued with her task until done. Once she snipped the thread above the small knot, she leaned back in the chair and sighed a long sigh of relief, her hands beginning to tremble with repressed tension.
Walter carefully placed the lantern on the dresser and reached down to gently pull Miss Lucy's shaking figure out of the chair. "Come with me, Hero. I think Belinda has some nice lemonade for you."
Miss Lucy laughed shakily and walked out of the room, leaning on Walter. "I think I need something a little stronger than lemonade."
***
Nikita burst through the front door of the homestead, heading straight for the sick room.
Michael followed at a more sedate pace, unsure of his welcome. He watched the glistening gold material of Nikita's dress go through a door and he paused. No one came running out of another room yelling at him or threatening him so he proceeded inside.
He followed the glittering golden trail that was Nikita. Inside the room he watched as his fair-haired angel leaned over Birkoff's bed and whispered in his ear. For a brief moment, a vision of this same woman kissing their children goodnight swam in front of his eyes and Michael felt the world tilt and narrow until there was only Nikita. The fact that he loved her burst over him in a tidal wave of shocking strength. He felt dazed. He felt overwhelmed. He felt fiercely protective. He felt vulnerable. Michael almost staggered with the truth.
***
Walter patted Miss Lucy on the shoulder and passed her another full shotglass. Miss Lucy slugged the shot back. She didn't even cough this time. She shook her head once and hiccupped.
Belinda smiled at the sight of the normally conservative school teacher slugging back shots of whiskey like a seasoned drinker, her normally pristine appearance looking worse for wear and her hair escaping its bun to straggle across her shoulders and back.
Walter stood up. "I'm going back to sit with Birkoff in case he wakes up."
Belinda nodded and brushed a kiss across his cheek. "I'll take care of Lucy," she reassured him.
***
Michael crouched next to Nikita. "How is he?"
Nikita ran a tender hand across Birkoff's forehead, smoothing back his short hair. "It looks like someone's already patched him up." She pointed to the colorful bandana wrapped around Birkoff's shoulder, a bulge in the middle indicating padding. "Looks like Walter's had a hand in it. That's his favorite bandana."
Michael smiled slightly as he thought of the older man. He had no doubts that Walter hovered over the whole procedure, making sure everything was done just right.
"Nikita," Michael paused, waiting until he had her attention, "I have to go back to town. Someone has to stop them."
Nikita's eyes hardened at the thought of 'them.' "Let me get changed and I'll come with you," she stood up.
"No."
Nikita stiffened, "Michael ..."
"No. You are needed here. I believe that Madeline and the Sherriff will be readying an attack on the Circle K. I think we pushed Madeline over the edge tonight."
Nikita hesitated, part of her acknowledging the wisdom of Michael's words and part of her longing to revenge herself and her family in the most direct way.
"I have to go." Michael looked at her. *Even in a cheap tart dress, her beauty shines through like a ray of sunshine.*
"I'll be waiting for you," Nikita whispered.
Michael nodded and with one last look into her eyes, he turned and walked away.
************
"Walter," Belinda stalled him at the door for a moment. "Here, just in case." She handed him a canteen from the cellar, the hide cool to the touch.
Walter nodded his thanks and understanding. The front door swung softly shut as he walked into the room, but he was too preoccupied to give it more than a cursory glance, catching the merest glimpse of shadow on the other side of the door. *The alarm would have been raised if anything was happening.* Reassured, he hurried into the sick room.
He stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of Nik all dolled up in some satiny gold gown leaning over Chuck's bed, rubbing water over the man's lips.
"Nik!?!"
Nikita turned and smiled at Walter. "Chuck's awake," she told him happily.
Walter forgot his astonishment and hurried over to the bed. "Hey buddy, how are you doing?"
Chuck grinned crookedly. "Here I thought I was in heaven with beautiful angels, but there's no way I'd be meeting you old man," he teased Walter.
Walter chuckled. "Not for a long time amigo, not for a long time."
***
Angel followed Diablo slowly to the gate. She started to move out of the corral when a quick nicker from Diablo stopped her.
Michael watched the two horses exchange a long look and stifled a smile as Angel gave a quick toss of her mane and turned her back on Diablo, the pout on her face obvious.
Diablo rolled his eyes and watched her with a single-minded intensity as Michael mounted. As Michael gave him the knee nudge to leave, Diablo whinnied in the night and, after the briefest of hesitations, Angel responded. Satified, Diablo headed out into the night and back to Section One.
***
"So tell me, sugar, why are you wearing that dress?" Walter questioned in a low voice as the two of them sat beside Birkoff's bed.
"I had to put something on, Madeline cut all my clothes off of me." Nikita looked down at the incredibly gaudy revealing golden garment. "I guess I better change."
"Don't on my account," Walter leered good-naturedly.
Nikita rolled her eyes and stood up.
"How did you get out of Madeline's anyway?"
"Michael rescued me," Nikita stated casually over her shoulder as she hurried to her room.
************
"What do you mean Michael rescued you?" Walter asked as he followed Nikita to her room.
Nikita paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Just what I said. He broke into Madeline's and took me away from her."
"He's here? Where?!"
"He's gone."
Walter slapped his hand against the wall and turned back to the sick room, muttering under his breath.
Nikita shook her head, wondering what was finally going to happen when the two men finally came face to face. *I better make sure I'm there.*
***
Diablo galloped ahead, his mane flying in the wind, his steps sure and fleet.
Michael bent low, his mind racing with possibilities. He breathed a sigh of relief that he had been able to keep Nikita from accompanying him, knowing that it was going to be ugly. He wanted to keep her safe from harm and further damage to her soul.
***
"Bring him to me," Madeline hissed, her voice as deadly as a snake's venom.
Suba smiled and leaned against the wall, watching as all of Madeline's little worker bees scurried to do her bidding.
After the men filed out of the room, intent on their purpose, Madeline turned to Suba and arched an eyebrow. "You are sure of this?"
Suba grinned and nodded. "Oh yeah, he stole her all right. Mikey's your man."
***
Michael looked around the white room with clinical detachment. He knew as soon as he had seen the posse surrounding him that he would soon be a visitor to this 'legendary' room.
Madeline stepped inside and closed the door with a resounding click.
Michael stared straight ahead.
Madeline smiled and felt her pulse increase, the throbbing vein in her neck revealing her level of excitement. It had been a long time since she had had a strapping young man in this room, most of the white room participants required ... help to fulfill their duties. She clasped her hands behind her back and paced in a tight little circle around him. *This one certainly doesn't look like he will need any help at all.*
Michael stared straight ahead.
"I have good news and bad news. You're going to live, that's the bad news. There is no good news."
Michael stared straight ahead.
Madeline ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the tactile sensation of silk sliding through her fingers.
"You took something from me tonight," Madeline whispered into his ear. "Something I've been wanting for a long, long time. Now," she walked over to the wall, "you've upset me."
Michael stared straight ahead.
************
Sheriff Wolfe leaned against the wall next to the white door. It had been a good ten minutes since any sound had filtered through, not even a muffled grunt or two. *What could Madeline be doing to him?* He sucked on his cigar and tried to keep from thinking of what it was that Madeline could be doing to Michael. He had seen that look in her eye. *Better to not think of it.*
Madeline opened the door and stepped out into the hall before carefully closing the door. It was the very essence of control that vibrated off of her that was terrifying.
"You can have him," she stated without looking at the Sheriff.
Paul blew a cloud of smoke to obscure his features. "What did he tell you?"
Madeline ran a smoothing hand down her bodice, flicking non-existent lint off of her clothes. "Nothing," she admitted as she walked away.
Sheriff Wolfe choked on his latest lungful of smoke.
***
Michael shuddered as the cold water splashed him in the face again, his body aching from the previous beating. He listened to the raucous laughter and could not help the flood of relief that he still felt at the knowledge that he wasn't with Madeline. *That woman is just plain evil.*
"Hey, hey," Suba's voice crowed out. "Loverboy's back with us."
There was a general whoop of excitement and Michael was hauled upright and thrust into the center of a circle of men. A circle of grinning and leering men.
Michael didn't need to see him to know that Sheriff Wolfe was watching the proceedings. Watching and waiting but never questioning.
Michael found his footing, barely, peering weakly as Peter prepared to throw another blow. He had fought back as evidenced by Peter's guarded stance and bruised face, but there were too many of them and he had been weakened by Madeline's 'attentions.' It was over too quickly for the men. He went down again, unconscious.
Several disappointed and disparaging remarks were muttered as they kicked him around before pushing him down the floor. Michael's body rolled down the small incline, slamming against the wall on impact. The two men who had been chosen to guard him complained that they were going to miss out on the victory party but Suba assured them they would have first chance when Michael recovered. "After all, we don't want to kill him, yet."
For a time Michael lay there, recovering and trying to clear his mind of the pain. He needed that coldness now, more than ever. A picture of Nikita avenging him by taking on the whole town of Section One flashed through his mind and he opened his eyes. He breathed shallowly, trying to spare his bruised and probably cracked ribs. He pushed himself upright, wincing as his hand reminded him that it had been stepped on earlier. He peered around the barely lit room. As his eyes took in the barrels of gunpowder and the gun boxes stacked in the corners, a plan bloomed. This was obviously where Madeline and Paul stashed their supplies, which meant it was probably the little building behind the White Room Saloon.
He crawled over to a barrel and used it to pull himself standing. He stood for a moment, panting as his body screamed in protest. Gathering his strength, he lowered the barrel to the floor and popped the cork out of the bung hole. Black powder slowly spilled out, leaking lazily. Michael moved the barrel forward, using the other barrels as props and pushing the leaking one with his left foot. Once at the door he stopped to listen. Only snoring echoed back through.
************
The explosion rocked the White Room saloon and all of its occupants. People poured out of the doors and gaped in wonder as the building behind the saloon burned out of control, small explosions continuing like fireworks, one such firework falling onto the White Room's roof. Shrieks, quickly followed by half-naked men and women, echoed down the street. Madeline was tight-lipped in fury as Sheriff Wolfe yelled orders and organized the bucket brigade. Unnoticed in the panic, a figure staggered towards the undertaker's cottage, swaying in the breeze.
***
Leon laughed so hard he had to hold onto the building. He laughed so hard he fell down. He continued to laugh until he couldn't breath and Terri knelt beside him urging him to calm down.
***
Mick stood in his doorway safely observing the mini-riot. The sheriff had organized a slapdash bucket brigade but it was sufficient and the small blaze on the White Room's roof was extinguished even if there was no saving the out building. Mick turned to close the door when he heard his name called out. Or did he? The sound was barely loud enough to hear. Shaking his head at his fanciful imaginings, Mick turned inward once again.
***
Michael almost panicked as the undertaker turned away. He gathered his strength, thought of Nikita and called out once again. "MICK."
***
Nikita joined Walter on the porch. The blaze on the horizon could only be from one place, Section One.
"It looks like your Michael is making quite an impression in town," Walter remarked.
"He's not my Michael," Nikita protested self-consciously.
Walter snorted in reply.
"I hope he's all right."
Walter wisely kept his doubts to himself.
***
"Eh?" Mick turned around again, now positive he had heard something. He walked outside and looked around. With the fire still blazing from behind the White Room, his area was pretty well illuminated and it didn't seem anything was different or was it? Hadn't he left an open coffin on the wagon, ready to be filled with the next victim of Section One? Now the coffin was closed. Mick pulled his shotgun from beside his door and cocked it before he advanced on the wagon. "Who's there?" he called out, sighting the lid.
The lid trembled.
Mick's finger glided down the trigger, starting to put pressure mid-way.
************
"Dammit, this thing is too small," Michael's voice rasped out in the night.
Mick paused in shock, his finger frozen in mid-pull. Recovering, he eased his finger off and lowered the gun. "Bloody Hell, 'ld son, that's the way to get killed around here," he laughed tensely.
Michael squirmed, his shoulder bumping against the lid.
Mick laughed some more, this time more relaxed. "Told you I'd need to make one special for you, but didn't think you'd be needing it so soon." He strolled over and pushed the lid a little further off, uncovering Michael halfway to his gaze. "Blimey, you look half done in."
"Thanks," Michael said dryly. "I'll be all done in if you don't get me out of here."
"Ah," Mick nodded in comprehension. "I gather you are the cause of this night time display?" he chuckled.
"Could be," Michael replied, sighing as his strength rapidily deserted him. "How about it?"
"Mick's conveyance at your service," Mick snappily saluted and moved the lid back, closing it as much as Michael's bulk would allow. He hurriedly closed his door, harnessed his horse and climbed onto the wagon. With a quick flip of the reins, his old horse started to meander towards the cemetey, having the learned instincts of a homing pigeon.
Michael gritted his teeth as the wagon began to sway none-too-gently but then he supposed Mick's usual passengers never complained about the ride. From his coffin he could see people running around and the line of men and women passing buckets curving around the saloon. He could also hear the distinctive voice of Madeline. "Find him! I want his body!"
***
Walter hurried his horse along, the heat of the fire of Section One blazing out at him in the night. He had left the Circle K with only a quick word to Belinda. There was too much, too much fire, too much shooting, too much everything. Something was happening at Section One, something bigger than Michael going after Madeline, something bigger than whatever George had asked for, something much bigger.
***
To say Leon was astonished when the dynamite flew in his window would be an understatement. That Madeline and Wolfe would attack while their own property was in danger had never occurred to him. He barely had time to be surprised before the first bundle went off, blowing up the front room of his saloon. Cries and gunshots followed as his people ran outside to escape the blaze and were gunned down. To Leon's dismay more than one of his people surrendered without a protest, changing sides like the turncoats they were. A few stayed inside, breaking windows and returning fire, but it was a futile effort as more dynamite was lobbed into Red Cell headquarters. Leon staggered out, cut and bloody, his guns blazing, defiant to the end. "Damn you, Wolfe." The Sheriff calmly shot him down and moved on.
Madeline waited at the back of Red Cell. Her men had mowed down everyone who had ran out, crawled out or begged and pleaded out, now there was only one person left and Madeline waited.
Terri appeared in the doorway, backlit by the fire which burned, engulfing everything in its path, eating on the wood like a living thing. She held a shotgun and had a crazed look in her eye as she faced the woman who had so casually destroyed her. "You'll never get away with this," Terri called out, raising her shotgun in one last act of defiance. Madeline shot her, once, twice, three times. "Oh but my dear, I already have."
************
*How do I get myself in these situations?* Walter asked himself as he loaded another canteen of water into the burlap sack. He shook his head and tied the sack closed with some rope. He checked to make sure the way was clear and then sauntered out of the storage room with his sack full of purloined goods.
***
Michael opened his eyes and looked at the dirt totally surrounding him. *Had Mick buried him?* A cool breeze made a lie to the thought and Michael breathed out a sigh of relief as the memories of the previous days came back to him. Mick had stashed him in an abandoned mine and was taking care of him, helping him heal, all the time bringing him news of what was happening at Section One. Red Cell had been destroyed, those not killed had sworn their allegience to Madeline and the Sheriff. According to Mick, the terrible twosome were regrouping and rebuilding becoming bigger, better and stronger. Michael didn't like the thought of that. It was not good news.
He sat up, his ribs only a little sore, the swelling almost subsided. He had regained most of the strength in his nearly crushed hand. Every day, hour after hour, he had pounded a hammer on a piece of steel, building his hand strength back up. Endless pounding, the ringing echoed with a ghostly eerieness down the abandoned shaft only to rebound and return in the form of a lonely wail.
He pushed himself beyond common sense, ignoring the stern advice of Mick, driven by the knowledge that he did not have long. Not long at all. He knew that Madeline would be attacking the Circle K soon, he could feel it in his bones. He had to prevent that action. He had to save Nikita.
***
Walter paused at the mine entrance. It appeared to be boarded up but Mick had assured him Michael was inside. He contemplated turning back and leaving Michael there, trapped inside, but the thought of Nik's heartbreak stiffened his spine. Placing two fingers in his mouth, Walter blew and issued forth a shrill whistle, the sound carrying in the still air for what seemed like miles. There was a brief moment of resounding silence and then a corresponding whistle split the air. *Perfectly in tune,* Walter grimaced. He pushed uncertainly at the upper right hand corner of the boarded door and watched in amazement as it tilted inward, the bottom swinging outwards toward him.
*It's like some kind of batcave in here.*
Walter stopped as the sound of a gun being cocked pierced the gloom.
"Where's Mick?" Michael's voice whispered through the air.
***
Madeline rubbed her hands together in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. "Two more days should do it, then all of this territory will be ours. Mighty obliging of Leon to keep all of his deeds in a steel box."
Sheriff Wolfe smiled, showing all his teeth, looking like a coyote. "Yes, mighty obliging of him. There should be no problem transferring them to my ... our names. My ex-sister-in-law does me favors all of the time."
Madeline allowed a small moue of distaste to grace her face at the thought of Paul's ex-sister-in-law and how 'helpful' she had been to him. She mentally added a note about severing that tie as soon as it was practical. "Yes," she stated in a flat voice.
Sheriff Wolfe smoked his cigar, oblivious to the plotting going on around him. His mind was occupied, instead, with visions of money and power that holding the railroad land would bring to him. Of course, he'd have to do something about Madeline eventually. She was just too controlling to keep around for long.
