Violet awoke on the morning of May 1st in a cold sweat. A chill had crept in through the cracks of the cabin and roused her hours before sunrise. They were no longer staying at the cozy boarding house by the bay. No, they had checked out exactly five days ago to help build up their alibi. That kind of comfort, it seemed, was a luxury they could only afford for a short time. After checking out of their rooms, they ventured outward, and located the train yard owned by Jacob Abernathy DeWitt. When they found it, there were very few people on the premises. Mostly early comers to sign up for work. There were tents set up in rows, half of them still empty. Such a setting would have been ample time to kill Abernathy in a swift blow. But, after endless canvasing of the area, it was clear that the man himself was not present. He would, however, be arriving within the week, or so they were told. And so, surveying the immediate land around the train yard, the Railwalkers found themselves a deserted cabin a mere mile from the premises. It had been an old prospector’s home, with rusty tools and filthy floors. But it housed the four of them easily, and gave them a base of operations to stay low to the ground.
Taking a deep breath, Violet slowed her heart and leaned up against the log wall. She shivered, hoisting the fur up to her breast. She was wondering if she should try and sleep a little longer, when she realized that the bed beside her was empty, and there was already a sound of tinder by the hearth. Violet sat up to find Mei at the fireplace, starting a bit of kindling beneath their coffee pot. The boys, who had taken up various hay piles in either empty corner of the cabin, were still asleep, and Sitting Bear was snoring deeply.
“You’re awake. Good.” Mei kept her eyes on her work, fanning the embers until a small fire started. She spooned in a bit of their coffee grounds and set the pot center on the iron rack. “We head out in an hour.”
Violet rubbed her eyes and placed her feet on the icy ground. “We got any eggs left?” she asked.
Mei shook her head and handed her a chunk of hard tack. “Sorry.” It was better than nothing, at least. Crunching into the corner, Violet watched Mei mill about the cabin, futzing with her gun, swaying from foot to foot, and waiting for the coffee to boil.
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Couldn’t.”
Violet side and scooted from her spot. She pat the bed beside her and Mei took a seat. “It’ll work.”
“We don’t know that,” Mei said, glaring at the ground. “He’s seen us before. He could recognize us.”
“We’ll be four in a sea of hundreds. Maybe even thousands.” Violet gently tucked a strand of hair behind Mei’s ear. “It ain’t like you to be so caught in your own head. We just have to be careful, is all. Careful and ready to strike when the moment presents itself.” Mei gave no response. “Mei. Look at me.” She did. “We’ll catch the bastard. We’ll catch him, and we’ll kill him, and then it’ll be over.”
Mei leaned forward, their foreheads pressed up against each other. “I hope so.”
“I know so.”
Sitting Bear and Linus were up twenty minutes later. They had their coffee and their hard tack, with a few spare pieces of jerky to go around. Violet couldn’t wait to have Rory catch them some fresh game the next time they saw each other. She missed rabbit stew.
Once they’d eaten, it was time to change. During their time in the city, they’d procured bits and pieces of clothing to help them fit in. An old miner’s hat, some baggy jackets, a few questionable long johns, some worn-out boots. Mei had even found an old set of men’s traditional work-wear down in Chinatown. All she had to do was keep quiet, and most couldn’t tell there was a woman under all that fabric. By the time they were ready, the four of them looked like nothing but low-grade workers, ready to make a meager paycheck. It helped, of course, that the loose clothes were able to hide their weapons. They’d need to find deposit spots for Mei’s Winchester and Sitting Bear’s shotgun, but Linus and Violet had an easy enough time pocketing their pistols. Until then, the bigger guns were stuffed under coats and kept strapped to the back, well out of sight.
They walked on foot as the sun rose. Talk was minimal. None of them felt particularly chatty. The fact of the matter was, they all wanted this over with, and over with fast. Coming around the bend, the found a crowd of workers lining up to sign to a registry. Without so much as a goodbye, the four Railwalkers split into different lines, and folded into the crowd like salmon up a stream. Eventually, Violet lost sight of every one of her friends. She shuffled through the line, surrounded by chewed up prospectors and young bucks looking to earn an living. When she finally got to the front table, a finely tailored gentleman with glasses sat waiting for her. He was long and wiry, with bushy sideburns and narrow shoulders.
“Name?” he asked, keeping his eyes on his open book.
“C. White,” said Violet, hoping to keep her voice low. No luck. The registrar looked up at the effeminate tone in Violet’s voice and squinted.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” he said bluntly, “but if you’re lookin’ for cookin’ work, it’s around the corner there—”
“I ain’t here for cookin’ work,” said Violet abruptly. “It don’t pay half as well as layin’ track, that’s fer damn sure.” The man’s eyebrows shot up at Violet’s language. Violet doubted that he hadn’t heard worse, but something told her that it was Violet’s sex that caused the man to pause. He’d probably never heard a woman swear his whole life. “Just write me down, will ya? I’d do it m’self but I ain’t to good with my letters.”
The gentlemen put his pen aside with a deep frown. “Ma’am, this here is dangerous work. I can’t in good conscious sign a young lady up to do what these fellas do.”
“Why not?”
“Well…It’s long hours. In the hot sun. Not to mention how dangerous it gets when trains start to run the tracks. And there’s plenty of lifting, as well.”
“Liftin’, huh?” Violet eyed the area. She spotted a pair of men heaving a sack of nuts and bolts between them. By the look of both their faces, they were nearly passed out from the weight of the thing. So much so that they paused to drop it, letting it slap the ground in a cloud of dust. Violet gestured to the bag. “Like liftin’ that there?”
The gentleman turned and spotted the bag. The two men carrying it were now fanning themselves and blotting their faces. “Yes,” he said. “There will be a lot of tools and materials transferred from one place to the next. We need men who can bear them kinds of loads, ma’am.”
Violet smiled. With no ceremony at all, she approached the bag. It was teeming with all kinds of metal odds and ends; pikes, hammers, nuts, bolts. By the look of it, it was possibly eighty pounds or more. Violet took each end, and after a little positioning, hoisted the heavy sack into the air and on her shoulder. Once she got it situated, she turned to the registrar, who had nearly toppled over in his chair. “So? You gonna sign me up or not?”
The man gaped, like a freshly caught fish, and finally turned back to his open book. “White, was it?”
Violet grinned and rounded to the two equally gobsmacked workers behind her. “Where do you need this one, fellas?” Timidly, one of them pointed a few yards away. Violet whistled as she walked it over, no problems in the slightest. Safe to say, her first day on the job would go over without much fuss.
Once she was set up, she was assigned a tent, though not exactly in the same area as the rest of the men. She was put up with a young Chinese wife and her baby girl. It wasn’t ideal, given how far it was from the main building of the train yard, but Violet wouldn’t complain. It was safer for her to blend in with the women anyhow. The last thing she needed was some tough rail worker getting drunk and frisky and Violet having to blow the poor bastard’s head off. It was an easy way to lose her cover. The work, as promised, was grueling. Although it was only the first day, there was much to set up and move aside before any construction could even happen. Violet joined a line of pickers, who dutifully broke rocks and dug trenches in preparation for the new track. Violet kept up but didn’t expend unnecessary energy. Fortunately, there weren’t many of her fellow workers who expected much out of her. This let Violet use her wits to keep track of everything in her new surroundings.
In her section, there were five foremen who watched over the premises. Numbers one and two took the morning shift, both fat-bellied bulldogs who constantly barked at the men to move faster, and work harder. Numbers three through five walked the afternoon shift, and only differentiated between the first two from the color of their vests. Beyond the foremen, there were various smaller leaders among the workers, none of whom seemed to be directly connected with Abernathy’s company. So Violet was safe to rule them out as possible obstacles.
At dinner, there was stew and water to go around. Violet would admit, even with her pacing, it was an exhausting job, and she was so famished that she licked her tin plate clean. Supper went much the same, only this time, Violet had a little more time to relax, and in her case, scout.
As the men settled by a few fires and shared a bottle of watered-down whiskey, Violet swallowed a cup of stale coffee to perk up her energy (admittedly, sleep sounded wonderful after the long day working) and walked the perimeter. She’d been kept to the upper left of the area, and decided to make her way towards the center. With her coat up and her hat down, Violet was just another worker, woman or not. Getting closer to the main building, Violet took a decent look around.
It was a wide warehouse, with open barn doors to accommodate future tracks. One track already pointed out of its northern side, but it looked like at least three more would stem from within its walls. There was a turnstile inside, and within it sat Abernathy’s foremen. Their clothes were barely rustled compared to the hundreds of hard laborers they’d snapped at all day, and their food looked and smelled considerably better.
Beside the warehouse was a smaller, less assuming building with a light on. It looked like an office building of some kind, with a few bungalows behind it to accommodate Abernathy’s higher paid men. One in particular was larger than the rest, and while they seemed rather temporary in their construction—tin buildings always were—the last bungalow had a certain feel of superiority to it. Violet’s heart raced as she pieced together who would be staying there.
“Violet.”
Mei’s whisper caught Violet totally off guard, and she whipped around, her hand reaching for her Smith & Wesson. Fortunately, the sight of Mei calmed her down, and the pair of them slipped back further in the shadows. They both stared at the bungalows in trepidation.
“That’s the one?” Mei asked.
“Seems like.” Violet peered further into the darkness. “I don’t see no lights. Could be out?”
Mei shook her head. “My section is close to the main road. I didn’t see no one worth seein’ move in or out today. My guess is he ain’t even here yet.” Mei shifted slightly, and spotted a few drunk workers sing and sway in their general direction. Mei tilted her head, and Violet agreed. They walked casually into the night, avoiding the wandering eyes of their drunken coworkers. “What kinda man don’t show up on time to his own work site?” Mei seethed, her eyes jumping back to the empty bungalow. “Rotten fucker. It’s like he’s biding his time on purpose.”
“He’ll come,” Violet assured her.
“He better.” Somewhere along their walk, they went quiet, contemplating their next moves. Unlike the city, where Violet felt empowered to take Mei’s hand on their strolls, she didn’t dare do so here. If it wasn’t the middle of the night, Violet wasn’t sure if Mei would even let her walk by her side.
“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Violet asked.
“As long as it takes.”
“But how long do you think?”
Mei huffed in agitation. “I don’t know, Vi.”
“The longer we stay—”
“I know.” She took a deep breath and stopped walking. “The longer we stay, the bigger the risk.” Violet dug her hands in her pockets. She ran her thumb against her wedding ring, and it pleased her to see Mei’s own square on her finger, too. Mei spoke again. “I know you’re anxious to have this over with. Believe me, I know. But I’ve been hunting this man practically my entire life. Since I was fourteen years old, Violet. This has to end here. We have to make this a perfect kill. If we don’t…it won’t end. It just won’t.”
“I know, Mei. I know.” With one cursory glance around them, Violet stepped forward and took Mei’s hands in the moonlight. She slipped her wife a simple kiss. Perhaps the only one she dared even try around here. “I’m ready for the Railwalkers to die. And I’m ready for our lives to start.”
Mei let a smile slip through, and she nodded. Her eyes scanned the area once more, and they let their hands go. “I’ll keep an eye on the main road. We’ll meet here every night until he shows his ugly face. And then? We end this.”
Violet nodded. “And then we end this.”
Days passed. Then weeks. The work stayed consistent, and unrelenting. Violet had gotten more than one reprimand for being slow on the job, and a threat to dock her pay. Violet would only nod and promise to do better, but stayed her course. The last thing she needed was working so hard she had no energy left to hunt the grounds at night. By the end of the twelfth day, she’d learned the schedules of all the foremen, both during the work-day and generally when they decided to retire. So far, all four of the Railwalkers had gone unnoticed by the higher ups. Sitting Bear had a few eyes his way, but it was thankfully only in awe of his strength and stamina. No one, so far, had an inkling as to who they were and why they were there.
Violet had also gotten to know her tent mate and daughter. What little English the woman knew told Violet that her name was Biyu Li, and the daughter was Chen. They worked with the few other women and wives on the property as cooks and laundry maids. Before meeting with the others every evening, Violet was sure to smuggle a little extra food and water to Biyu and Chen, who were fed, but just barely. Violet discovered that Biyu was only seventeen, and she and her husband had moved to America while she was pregnant. Despite the long hours, and the constantly hungry infant in her arms, Biyu was unbroken in her optimism. She was certain that once the railroad was built, the family would find prosperity in America, their new home of opportunity. Violet wished, more than anything, that they would find it.
It was dinner time. Violet was unsure what day it was, but after some rough estimation, she realized that they’d been on the property for over a fortnight now. Fourteen whole days and still no sign of Abernathy. She was beginning to wonder if Abernathy was even coming, or if this whole operation was done in his name alone.
After wolfing down her chuck and cornbread, she meandered towards the main road. The sun was directly above her, pelting down on her hot, sweaty neck. She’d taken to wrapping a ripped sand bag around her shoulders to keep the burn off. It helped, but was scratchy as all get out. As Violet walked, she wondered if she should chance walking into the other sections, to see if she could find Linus or Sitting Bear for a quick chat, and maybe even a song or a drink. It felt like an eternity since they’d had that leisure time.
That’s when a dust cloud drummed up at the edge of the road. Violet turned to look, when she saw a horse and coach drive up the road. Violet hung back, and kept her hat turned low as it passed. She watched it from beneath her brim, noticing its pristine white rims and glossy finish. When she felt safe enough to look properly, she watched the coach park itself by the farthest tin bungalow. Casually as she could manage, Violet approached.
First, the driver left his seat. After patting the horses, he unloaded the small mound of luggage on top of the coach, taking it into the bungalow. Second, the door to the coach opened, and out stepped two long legs, draped in a pair of fine, tweed trousers. Stepping out from behind the coach, Jacob Abernathy DeWitt stood to observe his work site, content with the sprawl of his army of labor.
Violet ducked behind a stack of crates and waited. She was less than twenty yards away and was able to hear bits and pieces of conversation. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like she’d been seen, and she chanced one last look from out behind the crates. She was prepared for anything, even ready and willing to shoot Abernathy from where she stood.
Well…almost anything.
“Boy!” Abernathy suddenly snapped. “Hop to it! I need my effects sorted now. And be careful with that there, it’s worth more than you are.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
That voice. That quiet, squeaky, young voice. It dropped Violet’s stomach like a rock into icy waters. Peering into the bungalows, she saw her worst fears come to light. A shock of red hair. Two tiny arms hoisting up a piece of luggage twice their size. And a face, smudged with dirt and freckles.
“Rory…”
Click. Violet felt something cold and hard press into her lower back. Her body tensed up, and she stopped all movement, even her breath.
“Afternoon, Miss Donovan,” came Marshal Hearst’s voice. “Shall we have a chat?”
* * * *
Violet sat in that room for she didn’t know how long. Hearst had escorted her around the back of the warehouse into a small storeroom, where he locked her in for hours. It was barely a four-by-four foot area, crammed with a few spare parts and tools. There were no windows, and she could only guess at the time of day from the light in the door crack. Of course, she tried busting it down. But either Hearst had barred the door with something extra, or that flimsy shed had one hell of a lock on it. She’d managed to dent the wood by slamming into it repeatedly, but in the end, all she had was a few splinters and a sore shoulder. Of course, if Hearst hadn’t found her gun, she’d have an upper hand. Alas, it seemed the Marshal had learned her tricks, and she was left totally defenseless. The only thing she had to count on was the endless junk around her, and she had settled on a small wooden mallet. It would barely make a dent in a decent man’s skull, but it was better than nothing.
Finally, after endless attempts at escape, Violet found an upturned bucket and sat. She waited. And waited. Occasionally, she felt the western most wall of the shed, and realized she could guess the time by judging the warmth of the wood. On her fifth check, the wood had cooled considerably. It was sundown. It was then that she heard a pair of footsteps head her way. She stood and clutched the mallet tightly with both hands. Something big and metal was shoved out of the way of the door, and a key undid an external lock. When the door opened, she was greeted to Marshal Hearst’s gun aimed directly for her chest.
“Not an inch, Miss Donovan.” Violet clung to her mallet, until Hearst shifted his gun, instructing her to drop it. She did so.
“I thought you were gonna shoot me the next time we met,” said Violet.
“So did I,” Hearst agreed. “That was until I found new employment with Mr. DeWitt. Speaking of, he would like a word with you.” Hearst smiled faintly. “Maybe then I’ll get to make good on that promise. Come on.”
Hearst yanked her arm and guided her out of the shed and across the property. Violet focused only on her steps ahead of her. If she happened to catch eyes with one of the other Railwalkers, it could compromise their whole plan. And so, she kept her head low, and her mind focused. There was still time to salvage this.
Hearst brought Violet to the back bungalow and knocked. “Mr. DeWitt!” Hearst called. “I have her, sir.”
“Good,” came Abernathy’s voice. “The door is unlocked, Mr. Hearst.” Hearst opened it and shoved Violet inside.
For a tin bungalow, it wasn’t bad. It had been freshly furnished with a feather mattress, some curtains to keep out the glare, a wardrobe, wash bin, and writing desk. There were even several expensive kerosene lamps to keep the place well-lit and comfortable, and a rug to keep the floor warm. But it wasn’t the décor that caught Violet’s eye. It was Rory, bent over a pair of shoes, shining them vigorously. When the door opened, he looked up in shock. Violet wanted to shout to Rory, tell him to stay where he was. To stay as safe as he could. But it would have been no use.
Jumping to his feet, Rory ran for Violet and barreled into her midsection, hugging her as tight as he could. Violet melted. Bending forward, Violet pulled Rory in tighter, and fell to her knees. “Rory…” Their moment was cut short when two rough hands yanked Rory from Violet’s safe arms. Violet jerked in response, but Hearst kept them apart.
“Boy.” The venomous voice of Abernathy sucked the air from the room. “Are my shoes done?”
Tearful, Rory shook his head, and immediately went back to his work. “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Good boy,” Abernathy cooed. “We don’t want the switch again, do we now?” Rory visibly flinched, and Violet boiled.
“Don’t you lay a finger on him, you damned dirty rotten—” Hearst stood between her and Abernathy, his gun the only reason she didn’t climb over his desk and wring his ugly neck.
“Language, Miss Donovan, language.” Leaning back in his cushioned writing chair, Abernathy laced his fingers together. A tense moment followed. “Why don’t you have a seat, my dear?” He gestured to a stool in front of his desk.
“I’d rather die,” Violet seethed.
“And I’d rather you didn’t,” said Abernathy. “At least, not so soon. Please.” Violet stayed still. “I insist.” With a prod of Hearst’s gun, Violet slowly found her way to the stool and sat, her back stiff and her shoulders squared. Abernathy pulled a glass decanter from the shelf behind his desk, and two glasses. “Care for a little brandy, Miss Donovan?” Violet didn’t reply. Staring at the decanter, she was reminded all too well of her night with Munts. The first of so many evil men. At least now she wasn’t quite so easily frightened. Realizing Violet’s refusal, Abernathy instead handed the drink to Hearst, who took it gladly. “Do you know why I’ve let you live, Miss Donovan?” Again, Violet didn’t answer him. “You know things that I, regrettably, do not. For example.” Abernathy took a sip of his brandy. “Where is that little spitfire of a chink? The last time we met, she seemed rather determined to get her hands around my neck.”
“We got that in common,” Violet spat.
“So you do. But why, I wonder?” Abernathy leaned forward at his desk, and Violet took in his features clearer. He was, she might surmise, a handsome man. Handsome, charming, well groomed. His mustache was waxed and trimmed, and his hygiene was better than most. The Violet Donovan from a year ago would have trusted this man in an instant. The thought curdled her stomach.
Abernathy continued. “Sadly I can’t say I recognize your friend, hard as I’ve tried. That being said, I know the type of people who come under my employ. And I’m sure, somewhere along the way, there was a misstep, or perhaps a slight against her or her character. I employ so many people, you see, so it’s difficult to say. And if it’s reparations she wants, I’m certain I could settle this in a lawful manner.” Abernathy pulled out a pocket book and a fountain pen. Licking the tip, he opened up his book and began to jot down notes. “What was it then? Was she harassed? Was her pay redacted? Was she injured on the job?” Pausing, Abernathy looked up from his pen, still calm as ever. “You’ll find that I can be a generous man. If there is any responsibility of your friend’s distress on my behalf, I promise you I can make amends through some means of monetary compensation. It’s more than most men of my position would be willing to do, I can assure you.”
Violet’s face wrinkled in disgust. “We don’t want your goddamned money, you bastard.”
“It’s ‘we,’ now, is it?” Abernathy tapped his pen gently on his desk. “Curious, curious. Mr. Hearst mentioned that you were a proper young lady once. Only unfortunate circumstances led you to who you are today. And even more unfortunate decisions on your part have dug your grave further and further. You might have even been pretty once.” Abernathy finished his brandy. “A true shame.
“But your circumstances don’t interest me, Miss Donovan. I have no quarrel with you, a simple Midwestern girl with a family name worth more than most. Why you chose to follow a woman like that, I will never understand. Nor do I care to. However.” Abernathy’s coy expression dropped, and he settled further in his seat, his hand clutching the arm rest firmly. “If there is a reason a woman wants me dead, I think I have a right to know why.”
A tense moment passed. Violet slowly leaned forward, her words carefully chosen, and deathly serious. “You have a right to nothing,” she said. “Your only right is to sit there…and wonder. And worry. Your right is to get up every morning, watching your back. Looking over your shoulder. Constantly. You think you’re gettin’ out of this alive? No sir. You have a right to stew. Stew slowly as you think through every decision you’ve made in your miserable life that’s led you to here. Every person you’ve hurt, every bond of trust you’ve broken. And know that somewhere, in that web of deceit that you’ve woven, you crossed precisely the wrong people at precisely the wrong time. And Mr. DeWitt…that’s all you got the right to in my book.”
Abernathy’s hand tightened on his pen. His face had dropped its cordial facade, and Violet could feel a change in the air. Slowly, Abernathy stood, and walked around the desk to face Violet fully. No one dared speak a word as Abernathy stared Violet down. Violet dared him to look away.
Slap!
Abernathy’s hand stung, but Violet had had much worse from lesser men. So she sat where she was, and turned her head back in place. Abernathy raised his hand again. Slap! Again, a sting, but hardly. As Violet turned her head back, she could see rage build up in Abernathy’s face. Fist clenched, he finally punched Violet square in the jaw, jerking her body to one side. It was not enough to knock her down, but she faltered, if only a moment.
“Sir!” The next to speak wasn’t Abernathy, but Hearst. Turned to face him, Violet saw that Hearst was visibly upset with the treatment. He hadn’t put down his gun, but the angle lowered. “Sir, please. No need to hit the lady. Not like there’s much she can do.”
Violet stood. Her lip was split, and her jaw ached, but she stood all the taller. She realized, with delight, that she and Abernathy were the same stature. His looming superiority was an illusion. Violet raised her chin, as if giving him a new target. Spitting blood to the side, she spoke to Hearst.
“No need to fret, Mr. Hearst. I won’t hurt your boss none.” Rounding back to Abernathy, she delighted in the frustration swirling in his steely eyes. “I don’t like to fight a man who’s only willing to throw a punch when he’s got a leg up. It’s how I know he’s a coward.”
Face twisting, Abernathy punched Violet in the gut. It knocked the wind out of her, but she stood on her feet. Abernathy threw a few more punches. Some to her face, some to her gut. Still, no matter how much her stance wavered, she stood tall. Her head spun, and she felt the urge to vomit, but she kept it down. All of it down. She refused to show an ounce of weakness to Abernathy at any and all costs. However, it was proving difficult the longer she took the abuse. Finally—
“That’s enough, Mr. DeWitt!” Hearst once again dove between the two of them, this time to protect Violet from Abernathy. “She ain’t gonna tell you what you want to know! This is useless cruelty!”
That seemed to stall Abernathy. Huffing from the exertion, he rubbed his bruised knuckles with a pristine white kerchief from his breast pocket. Hearst breathed a visible sigh of relief, and turned to pull Violet away.
Wham.
With all the strength she could muster, Violet slammed her forehead directly into the hook nose of Jacob Abernathy DeWitt. Down he went like a ton of bricks, crying out in shock and surprise. He crashed into his table, knocking over the fancy decanter and empty brandy glasses. His pocket book went too, and was quickly doused in liquor, ruining it instantly. As Abernathy writhed on the floor, Hearst was quick to turn his gun back to Violet, but she had made no more moves to attack. Instead, she wiped blood from her face with a shrug. “Guess I lied.”
Abernathy struggled to his feet, clutching his broken nose with his kerchief. He was livid, his eyes bulging from his pointed head. No longer was Jacob Abernathy DeWitt the pinnacle of proper sophistication. Now, he was a man. Bleeding, feral, and angry. “Hearst!” he snarled. “Take this woman out back and shoot her in the head.” Both Hearst and Violet snapped to attention.
“No!” Rory, in tears, clutched his scrub brush, pleading on his knees to the devil in tweed. “No, please, sir! Please, sir, don’t hurt Violet no more! Please! She’s real sorry, I promise!”
“Take the boy, too.” Abernathy turned from the three of them and grabbed rubbing alcohol from his cabinet. “I want the little urchin to watch.”
A whole new wave of sickness hit Violet, and she grit her teeth so hard they nearly snapped. “You…you vile…”
“Mr. DeWitt, please,” Hearst argued weakly. “There are laws—there’s procedure to these things!”
“Your procedure be damned,” Abernathy hissed. “The law is a sluggish institution whose only purpose is to keep fat politicians fed.” He wiped the rest of his blood away and held a threatening finger to Hearst. “I am the man who pays your salary. As far as you are concerned, Mr. Hearst, I am the only law you need recognize.” Abernathy glared at Violet, who hadn’t stopped staring daggers into his veiny neck. “I want this woman dead. And I want that boy learned. Do I make myself clear?”
Hearst hesitated. His face twitched as so many words struggled to leave his tongue. Violet turned to him, and quietly asked, “So? What kind of man are you, Mr. Hearst?” Hearst floundered, helplessly looking between his employer and his bounty. There was a chance, however fleeting, that he would defy Abernathy. But instead, his shoulders slumped, and he lifted his gun.
“I’m sorry, Miss Donovan. Please.” Rory, openly sobbing, ran to Violet and held her tightly. Violet squeezed Rory’s shoulder, and with a sick heart, she and Rory were escorted out into the cold night air. They walked far enough away to be out of sight from most of the train yard. Once Hearst was satisfied, Violet was dropped to her knees, with her hands placed behind her head. Rory was stood in front of her, crying massive, ugly tears. Violet’s heart bled for her boy.
“Rory…” Her voice was shaky for the first time that night. “Rory, baby, you listen to me. Look at me. Chin up.” Her lip trembled as she heard Hearst stand squarely behind her. “I love you, baby boy. I love you so, so much. I want you to shut your eyes when he pulls that trigger, okay? I don’t want you seeing this.” Rory trembled and choked on his own tears. Violet felt the cold muzzle of Hearst’s gun against her scalp. Her whole body jumped, and her legs weakened. “The minute you hear that gun go off, I want you to take off running. I want you to hide until this is all over. Can you do that for me, sweet boy?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good. Good. I love you, Rory.”
“I l-love you, V-Violet…”
Cl-lick. As Hearst pulled the hammer back, the whole gun shifted. Violet’s own tears were free now, and she shut her eyes, preparing for the worst. Her breath was choppy, and short. Her muscles were tense. And all the while, the only thing she could think was: I’m so sorry, Mei.
Bang! The shot was deafening. But Violet realized, ever so slowly, that she was still breathing. Still upright. And that the bullet, as she noticed upon opening her eyes, was embedded deep within the dirt just inches away from her knee.
Violet curled forward, falling to her hands, and vomited. Fear and relief and horror hit her all at once as she drank in fresh air. Rory, who had also shut his eyes, now opened them, and to his shock, found that Violet was very much still alive. He ran into Violet’s arms, and she embraced him tightly. When they had steadied each other, Violet looked up. Hearst stood there, his gun still smoking, and his eyes remorseful.
“Run,” he said, quietly. “Run now.”
Violet took a steadying breath. “Thank y—”
“Don’t you thank me, woman. This makes us even. Go.”
Violet didn’t waste another second. She scooped Rory onto her back and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Behind her, Hearst fired into the air, and the panic began. Workers ran in all different directions. Children started wailing. Foremen hurried out, guns at the ready. Violet was able to slip easily into the chaos, and she gunned it for the closest out towards the cabin. Unfortunately, the foremen had horses at the ready, and at least ten of them were now storming through the hectic campsite, guns flailing and faces red. Violet did her best to weave in and out of the madness, but just as she found a pocket of air, a foreman on a spotted horse blocked her way. No doubt having heard Violet’s description, he recognized her immediately and yanked his gun from its holster.
“I found her! She’s here—hulch!” What followed was a sickening squelch as a bullet pierced the foreman’s belly fat, spraying blood into the night. As he collapsed, Violet spotted Linus, atop his own stolen horse, his Colts at the ready.
Violet hopped into the saddle, Rory safe in front of her, and she pulled out the Springfield rifle from its scabbard and flipped open the trapdoor. One bullet in the chamber. She could hear the rest rattling loose in one of the saddle bags. Grabbing a handful, she stuffed them into her jacket pocket, and sent her horse flying into the night. Linus was quick to join her, and the two zigzagged through the mayhem. Violet tried her best not to fire unless necessary, and desperately avoided any bystanders fleeing the area.
More gunfire sounded off into the night. Violet’s head was on a swivel, marking any men who rode their way. She doubted she landed a hit on anyone, due to the darkness and the jostling. But in return, she was avoiding any and all shots to her person and protecting Rory as well. That, at least, was a win. As she and Linus cleared the train yard, Sitting Bear and Mei joined the posse, also on stolen foremen’s horses. Between the dead ones and the ones without mounts, the odds were good for a weak pursuit.
The Railwalkers thundered into the night, avoiding bullets and returning fire in kind. With Sitting Bear leading the charge, their horses ran like wild stallions, curving into open land, storming over hills, and finally breaking off into a wide spread of riders. As they all turned about face, Violet saw only three foremen chasing them. The Railwalkers circled their enemy riders like sharks, and amid the confusion, their horses swayed and spiraled, knocking together and bucking off their riders. One foreman was so unlucky that a spur caught onto one of his holsters, so that when the horse finally took off, he was dragged behind it by his foot. Foreman number two was shot in the shoulder and knocked clean off his saddle, while the other one’s horse took a bullet and plummeted into the ground, trapping the rider underneath. By the time that last foreman would manage to squirm out from under his dead horse, the Railwalkers would be long gone.
They rode until they could no longer see the lights from Abernathy’s train yard. Slowing down, Mei craned her neck over the horizon. They had lost all of Abernathy’s men, and vanished into the darkness. The same as they’d always had. Finally, the troop could breathe, at least for now. And what luck! In all the chaos, they’d even managed to reach the cabin.
Mei sighed deeply. She turned to the others to say something, when she paused. At first, Violet thought she was going to comment on Rory, and Violet began to smile. But that smile faded when she saw the color drain from Mei’s face.
“Linus?” she said. “Linus, what are you…?”
Linus didn’t answer. Turning, Violet saw Linus slumped on his saddle, sitting at an odd angle. He shifted, as if to say something, when instead, gravity pulled him down and he collapsed into the brush.
“Linus!” Violet screamed. Everyone dismounted and raced to Linus’s side. Sitting Bear flipped him gently to his back. It was with renewed horror that they all saw a pool of blood bursting from a wound in his gut. Violet felt her heart beat a thousand times faster. “Oh God. Oh no. Oh no no no no…Linus. Linus, no.” Violet snapped up to Sitting Bear and Mei, helpless. “What do we do?! He’s been shot. We should—we should take the bullet out. We should—” Linus coughed. Blood splashed from his lips, which were steadily growing ashy. Frantic, Violet yanked off her coat and ripped apart her large shirt. She pressed it to the blood, trying desperately to stop the gushing. It didn’t do much.
“Linus, no. Don’t you do this. Don’t you do this, please.” Violet couldn’t stop pleading. She watched as Linus’ breaths became shallower. His eyes began to flutter. And then, he stopped. He didn’t breathe, he didn’t move. His eyes, half open, stared into the night sky. They were glassy and colorless. Blood in great globs dribbled from his lips.
Surrounded by his family, Linus Cooper lay dead beneath the stars.
It didn’t feel real. Violet touched his face. It was still warm. Still soft. Tears clouded her eyes. Sitting Bear, slowly, laid Linus flat on the earth, letting the grass curl over his body. Rory, paled and sickly, slumped against Violet’s breast and quietly sobbed. Sitting Bear couldn’t seem to emote at all, simply staring, shell-shocked, at his departed friend. And Mei, unable to bear it, stood. Violet watched as Mei shifted on her feet. Violet wished she could say something to ease her pain, make this better. But there was no making this better. Linus was dead. And it was all their faults.
Mei shuffled back, nearly collapsing a few steps away. She fell against the cabin wall. But she didn’t collapse in tears. Instead, her face twisted in fury. Slamming her hands into the side of the cabin, Mei screamed into the night sky. All that answered her back was the hollow whispers of the wind.