Stately’s Stead
Crack, bang, squeal. Bonnie and Callum crossed to the thick wooden trees of the forest, gunfire whizzing over their heads as the horses whined in fear. Lawmen yelled, shooting revolvers and rifles into the woods. They were a couple hundred feet back, but that didn’t make it any more comforting for the pair.
They offered their own shots back, aiming in the direction of noise than at any specific target. Through the trees it was hard to distinguish anything. Moonlight cut through leaves, lighting only hints of both their behinds and fronts. Occasional lights of gunpowder flashed, though never for long enough to show the way.
Their horses, it seemed, didn’t care. Leaping over roots and bushes and trees, they shot through as fast as the bullets behind them. Bonnie felt them heave between her legs, their strong lungs pulling in whatever oxygen they could.
She’d have to give them a nice apple, if they got out of here.
As Bonnie fired of her sixth shot, she reloaded her chamber, hot casings clinking to the ground as she carefully inserted the next rounds. Callum rode up beside her, covering them both.
“We can’t keep this up together,” he called. “Split up?”
“Risky play,” Bonnie replied. “I feel much more comfortable riding with you than by myself.”
“If we stick together, we’re a much bigger target. Lawmen will spot us. But our horses are dark, and so are our clothes. If we split, we’ll blend in to the night. I know this place. The forest gets a lot thicker up ahead. Meet me near the town Spiceberry tomorrow. There’s a spot there we can lay low and make our way back to camp.”
Bonnie thought for a moment, head down as a particularly nasty branch appeared before her. There was only so much they could do now. She’d already guessed they’d have to hide out for a while. With a destination in mind, there was now the semblance of a plan.
“Alright,” she nodded. “We’ll meet up around mid day. If you don’t see me by nightfall, assume I’ve died.”
Callum pursed his lips gravely, but nodded. He turned his horse and took a few more shots at the lawmen, before galloping off in another direction. Curses flew out of his mouth, inciting them to follow after him instead of Bonnie. Draw the heat away from her.
Bonnie galloped in the other direction, laying low and avoiding fire. It didn’t take long for the yelling to stop. Even as the main suspect, the law couldn’t resist showing off how brave they were in the face of Callum’s insults. She grinned and continued to dash through the dense and shrouding trees.
Twenty minutes went by, and Bonnie felt safe enough to slow to a trot. Sounds amplified around her: the calls of wolves, hoots of owls, wind rustling through the leaves. Yet no gunfire. She pat her horse and kept an eye out for any more enemies. Shapes moved between trees, but if they were law or nature, it was impossible to tell.
The further she went through the forest, the more familiarity it spawned. She couldn’t exactly explain why. A tree would stand out as climbable. A rock-face, relaxing. Tracks became well-worn and instinctive. Each turn and trot were one she had made before. Her heart began to race. Did her gang once camp out here? Was there a plain just ahead where she would be able to lay low?
Who could say. Right now, all she could think about was rest. Bones ached from the hours of riding. Her wrist pained from recoil. Even having stripped it two days ago, her chest was still bruised by the corset.
As light appeared at the edge of the forest, Bonnie strained her eyes as moonlight poured down over the plains. A bumpy-flat biome, few wild animals roaming like ants on a plate through the tall and waving grass. Signs of civilisation scattered the earth – small dirt tracks, a couple fence posts, even the remains of a house.
A familiar house.
Bonnie hurried her steed and galloped down to the old and destroyed cabin. She refused to believe it. There was no way that she had somehow ended up here. Because after all these years it couldn’t come back to haunt her now. Not now.
But of course it did. Of course, for the past week, all she had been doing was bringing up the extinct and dirtied memories of her childhood that she could never truly dig herself from. Of course, in the most fraught period of her life, as she ran from the law, separated from the only people who knew her, she would return to the place it all started.
Her home.
Where we always end up.
Galloping down, it shocked her just how little had changed since she left this place all those years ago. The tree was still there. The house was still a crisp. Old beer bottles that lined the fence post still stood, ready to be shot. Her hand instinctively went for her revolver, ready to practice her aim. She stopped herself, no wanting to risk further noise. She was far enough from her foes, but not far enough that a stray bullet couldn’t alert her position.
Making it down to the centre of the stead, she hopped down and surveyed the area. The more she looked around, the more she reminded herself of the small things. How she used to need to get help climbing the stairs. Her Pa rocking his chair on the patio. Running around for hours with the dog as it would bark after her in excitement.
The dog. She glanced back to it’s little house, saddened to find it missing. She never found him. Dead or alive. She’d always put it up to the bastards killing him and using his meat for food. While horrible, she couldn’t put it past them.
She cursed them all. Even with two dead, she still hadn’t avenged her parents. Would it take finding the last man to fill her voided heart? Or would it always be empty?
Interrupting her thoughts, the sound of hooves in the distance. Bonnie frowned and drew her revolver, hiding behind the remains of the stairs. There wasn’t any time to hide her horse.
Around the stairs, through the steps, her weary eyes watched the shrouded rider gallop into the farm. A dark hood covered the figures massive frame. Under the moonlight, the white horse gleamed like an angel. An angel of life or death, Bonnie couldn’t be sure.
The rider dismounted and glanced around the surroundings passively. It noted Bonnie’s horse, slowly stepping over to inspect it. It placed a large hand on his mane, patting it like a stern father.
She recognised the hand. Breath drew in and out of her lungs in quick rhythm. Forehead sweat glands sprung to action. Revolver grip tightened. Eyes squinted. Mouth open in shock as the man dropped his hood and turned around, revealing his slicked back hair over his brilliantly white face.
“Bonnie McAdam’s!” Obadiah Stately called out. “I know you’re here. Why don’t you come out and face me like a man?”
Memories of him killing her father, just above her head, ploughed through her mind like a locomotive bundling down the desert plains. Memories of him killing her mother, buried just ten feet from his boots, swirled around her brain. Memories of her running away from their gunfire pounded through her. Her scar flared in searing white-hot burns.
Of course. Of course, the only thing it would take for him to appear was for her to return to the best and worst place of her life. Of course after she killed his two compatriots he returns. Of course he knew she’d show up here.
How did he know he’d show up here?
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Obadiah called once more.
She frowned. Something was off about his speech. When he talked to her father he was measured, sure of himself. He had confidence and was able to discern what he was doing. Now, he was agitated. Flickery. On edge for wherever she may spring from.
This wasn’t a man who was ready to die, like Pete. This wasn’t a man who was caught off guard, like Jonah.
This was a man ready to kill.
Bonnie gripped her revolver and made her way out from her stairwell, escaping from where her Ma hid her all those years ago. Even with his back turned, she knew he sensed her arrival.
Obadiah whipped around and shot off towards her. Her ear burned as the bullet whizzed by. She groaned and checked her ear, eyes focused on the man. Not bleeding. Just a near miss. One he was sure not to make again.
He grinned and lowered his revolver just a touch. He’d made his case. This was just a warning shot. Something to put her on edge while he gloated over the grave of her parents.
“Well, well, well,” he said. “Bonnie McAdams. You’ve made quite the name for yourself out in these fine states.”
Grimacing, no response escaped her mouth. Her hand tightened around her weapon. She knew she shouldn’t. Too tight a grip and the shot would be all off. The hand shakes more than one might think, and even at this short a distance that could separate the living from the stupid.
“Not much of a talker?” Obadiah raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Your words would not mean much anyway. Not coming from a murder like yourself.”
“Murderer?” she finally croaked. “As you stand over your own victims?”
“I am?” Obadiah said, glancing down to his feet and by the epitaph.
It would be so easy. His eyes escaped hers. Feet facing the other way. His right hand was lowered as he inspected his unknown trophy. The shot was begging to be made. Scar pulsing in her arm as if contracting her muscles to aim.
But she couldn’t. She’d seen his quick draw. With the gun already in hand, it was suicide. He had to be fully, completely distracted.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Bonnie said, slowly making her way round the drive. “You showed up just before I did.”
“Bonnie,” he chuckled. “Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie. I’ve had tabs on you ever since I killed your parents. Those low-lives, mixing races like that. Life is like a painting. Keep mixing colours and eventually you’ll just get brown. And we can’t have that now, can we?”
“Then why follow me?” she growled.
“Did you just growl at me?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You really are the sum of your parts, aren’t you? Base and savage. You know, some men claim that a mans attitude is reflected by their environment as much as their genetics. Hogwash, I say. Like when you killed my friend Jonah. You were among the highest class of people, dressed in fine clothing, and you still managed to find a way to hack him to pieces.”
“I killed him,” she began. “Because of what he did to my parents.”
“Revenge is a terrible game, Bonnie,” he sighed. “I never killed your family for that. It was purely business.”
“Why did you follow me!” she yelled.
Obadiah stared at her for a moment, almost impressed by her aptitude. Bonnie’s vision darkened, red haze covering the moonlit surface of her old home as the man who took it from her stood right there, dumbstruck and exposed. Maybe now she could do it? Take her shot? No, not now. First, she had to know why he followed her.
He broke into a smile. Not a happy one, nor a scared one. It was a smile of a scientist who’s noticed an interesting feature of their latest specimen. One who had probed the creature to a breaking point.
“There she is,” he grinned. “The child. The terrified, alone child crying out for Ma and Pa.”
“Tell me!”
“Alright then,” he said, lips tightening as he regaled her. “Because the job wasn’t done. I stopped the cause, but that didn’t fix the illness. If I could just get to you, then my cause in this world would be complete.”
He grumbled, turning away ever-so-slightly. His revolver still remained in his hand, muscles twitching with excitement.
“But you were surround by allies. Close ones, too. Isaiah’s gang is a fierce one. Led by a savage, filled with savages and deviants and cross-dressers. Low-lives united. So I took a page out of Julius Caesar’s book: divide and conquer. Get rid of their sharpest shooter, and you’d all fall like chess pieces.”
“Then how did you know I’d end up here? I ran in a completely random direction. There was no way to know where I’d go.”
He smiled. This time, it was with complete and utter satisfaction.
“Oh Bonnie, didn’t you know? I own this land.”
Dirt crunched as she took a step back. Eye widened in shock. Her revolver grip faltered as his revelation crumbled down over her.
So that’s why he killed her family. Not out of revenge. Not out of hate. Purely land reasons. Ownership of a section he wasn’t meant to own, rights he wasn’t able to secure. He could spout all day about how he killed them for race mixing or prejudice, but it all came back to control.
Bonnie raised her revolver right back up, keeping him dead in sight. Obadiah mirrored her. Neither took the shot.
“Bonnie,” he spoke calmly. “Let’s be reasonable here. You’re a damn good shot. Yet think about it. You kill me, and you’re on the run for the rest of your life. Killing a police captain and a land owner in the space of two days? You’ll never know a quiet night.”
“Obadiah…” she started. “A quiet night? I lost that when you killed my parents.”
Crack. Both revolvers hammers pulled back. Cylinders locked in place as gunpowder waited eagerly to be blown.
Bang. Hammer down on the bullet. A chain reaction of sparks and metal bounded around inside the casing, pressure building up and up until finally the bullet could take no more. Tiny explosions propelled the metal forward at the speed of sound.
Splatter. They found their mark. A tiny hole escaped the white head of Obadiah. His legs crumpled to the ground as signals inside his brain ceased. The massive frame collapsed, blood pouring out of exactly where Bonnie aimed. The brain behind atrocities for personal gain. Now no more than a pile of wet goo.
Bonnie stared at the corpse, stunned. It was over. As easily as it had started. Yet she hardly felt any better. Maybe the quest for revenge was a pointless one? One where she should have reflected more?
Or maybe, it was due to the bullet in her stomach.
Pained yells filled the prairie. Clutching her chest, Bonnie felt the blood pour out of the hole in droves. Her hands pushed down on it, only wedging the bullet further. Teeth gritted, she kept it down. Blood still oozed out, perhaps slower, but no less burning.
Her legs collapsed to the ground. She wheezed, throat burning as she held down the screams. The ground could provide some pressure, she thought. At least for a little bit longer.
As her eyes wandered around, looking towards the fallen body of the old land lord, she chuckled. So. It was over, was it? Were the nightmares going to fade away as the day became night? Or was she going to see worse things? Images of those she killed haunting her for the rest of her days.
It didn’t matter. Her parents were avenged. Blood of their killers seeping into the grounds they once toiled away on. Perhaps it was time for it to end. Because who could be left?
“Bonnie!” A far-away voice called.
She frowned, breath heavy. Who would know it was her? Who would be looking after her now?
Forcing herself onto her side, pain escaping her teeth. Up on the hill, another figure appeared. On a dull brown horse. Was that her Pa? Coming home to rescue her? Was it the law? Finally arrived to bring her in for the crime’s she committed of avenging her loved ones?
“Bonnie!” the voice called again.
The timbre, the tone, the familiarity. Maybe it was Callum. Run around to come back to her. He was always a bit of a loose one. Tell him to go one place, he’d pop out the other.
Stomps of hooves met up with her head. She peered up to the nights sky, silhouetting a man. She frowned once more.
“Do I know you?” she wheezed, before coughing up a splatter of blood.
The man dismounted and applied pressure to her wound. Her vision had faded too much to make out who, but some part of her felt it was her father. She smiled, closing her eyes as he worked is medicines on her.
#
“Rise and shine, Bon!”
Light peered into the tent, followed by the annoying figure of Callum. His huge grin and relieved eyes woke Bonnie up more than Wiley’s splash of water the other day. She forced her eyelids open, smiling at her friend.
“Still hurts,” she winced.
“Oh come on, Bon, you’ve been like that for a week! Rest of the gang’s waiting on you’re triumphant return now. You can do it.”
She would have thrown something at him, if her arm wished to cooperate. Instead, it jerked like wet spaghetti before falling back into the tents dirty canvas floor.
“That’s enough, Callum,” Isaiah said. “She’s still a long way from recovery.”
Callum nodded, shoulders slump as he left the tent. He gave one final wish of luck to her before closing the doors, leaving Bonnie alone with Isaiah. Isaiah sighed and squatted next to Bonnie, inspecting her closely for any further ailments.
“You did a very stupid thing, Bonnie,” he said. “The law’s after you now. A lot more than we’ve ever had. We’ll have to move west again. Probably even into a new state.”
“But their gone now, right?” she croaked. “The three men?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes they are.”
Bonnie smiled, drifting her head back on the dirty pillow.
“Good,” she said. “That explains the peaceful sleep I’ve had.”
“I suppose it would,” Isaiah smiled. “Though I imagine that also has something to do with you nearly dying on me out there.”
She grinned. No matter how much she asked him, Isaiah would refuse to explain how he found her on the stead. There was no way for him to have known where they’d end up. No way for him to have been sure. Yet there, as she was dying, he appeared.
Bonnie didn’t say it, least she imply something she didn’t want to, but she wondered if her parents guided him. Isaiah always went on about the ancestors guiding them. Who could say how close they would have been.
“You should get up though,” Isaiah said. “You need proper fresh air.”
“And do what?”
“We can just talk. Wiley’s got a nice pot of rabbit boiling.”
Bonnie smiled and nodded. She lifted her arms up, Isaiah catching them. He pulled her up to her feet and supported her as they departed. Outside, the rest of the campers were around the fire, drinking and playing pins. Simple games, simple life.
“I ruined it, didn’t I?” she said, looking up to Isaiah. “Our life here? Now we’ll have to go on the run again.”
“It won’t be all beer and skittles,” he nodded. “But we’ll have each other. And that’s what matters most. Because that’s what saves us.”
She touched her arm, noticing that whatever herb that was applied to her chest must have been put there as well. The scar from childhood had finally smoothed over. She was free.
The End
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Cheesman Chronicles 
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