James Axler – Cold Asylum

“No.”

“No, Michael? Why not?”

“The woman.”

“Leave her be.”

The teenager shook his head, staring, stone-eyed, at the horses, with Marie Mandeville lurking somewhere among them, still holding her father’s revolver.

“Got to finish it, Ryan.”

“No time.”

“Time for this.” He started to walk back toward the burning north tower, bolstering his own Texas Longhorn Border Special .38.

“Chill her if she appears, Mildred,” Ryan said. “Don’t wait. Just do it.”

There was a crack of thunder and a brilliant magnesium flare of vivid chem lightning, almost blinding everyone.

“Shit?” Mildred cursed. “Done my sight for”

They all heard the vicious crack of the baron’s revolver, held in the hands of his vengeful daughter.

The ribbon of azure silk had fallen out, and her hair tumbled unchecked, soaking wet, reaching below her waist. The white blouse was transparent in the rain and she stood spread-legged, the spurs on her maroon boots gleaming in the firelight.

“You bastard little fuck-brain!” she screeched, her face contorted with a blind rage, eyes narrowed to razored slits.

The gun flashed twice, bucking in her hand. Michael never deviated from his path, walking slowly and steadily toward the woman.

Ryan had the Steyr to his shoulder again but, against all his impulses, he didn’t shoot, instead waiting and watching.

Another shot. This time the bullet visibly kicked up a clod of mud a yard to Michael’s right.

“It’s an Iver Johnson Cattleman model,” J.B. said. “Sounds like it’s firing a .44. Five rounds gone. Just one more to go.”

Now the gap between them was less than ten yards, and still the bare-handed teenager didn’t hesitate.

The revolver was steady in her gloved fist, centered on his chest.

“No,” Krysty breathed. “She’s going to miss.”

Marie Mandeville fired the blaster a sixth time. Michael seemed to sway to one side, like a cobra dodging the charge of a mongoose. Ryan felt the wind of the bullet passing him by, like the warm breath of the hooded man with the scythe.

The somber sky lowered over the last act of the drama.

Marie stared at her nemesis, pulling the trigger on the empty blaster, again and again, the dry clicks barely audible to the six watchers. With a sob of frustrated anger she threw the revolver at Michael, now less than five paces from her. His hand plucked the gun from the air, throwing it over his left shoulder without a single glance.

“Should we not do something to deter the young lad from this act of murder?” Doc asked, answering his own question. “No, I suppose in conscience that there is no valid moral reason for the woman to carry on defiling the earth.”

It was more melodrama than drama the backdrop of the burning building, the rearing, frightened horses, the skulking, terrified hounds, the bodies on the grass that streamed with rainwater, the thunder and lightning seaming the sky around them, the beautiful woman, in her tight, elegant leather pants, falling to her knees in front of the inexorable figure of vengeance, face turned up to him.

The young man, his black hair pasted flat to his skull by the storm, reached out to her with his pale, strong fingers.

Only the two of them heard that last brief exchange of words. Only one of them could possibly have told it to anyone else. But he never did.

The passing of Marie Mandeville, mistress of the mighty ville of Sun Crest, was blessedly brief, far more brief than her corruptly evil and perverted life merited.

They heard the small noise of a brittle bone snapping, then the lifeless head lolled to one side, the eyes staring blankly.

Michael laid the woman on the grass.

“May the Lord have mercy upon the richly deserved ending of the life of milady,” Doc said.

“Amen,” Mildred breathed.

“Now let’s go,” Ryan repeated. “Once we get safe into the woods I don’t believe that the sec men’ll have any stomach for following us. Not with their home burning down about their ears and their leaders stiffening in the dirt.”

J.B. touched his arm. “Look. We got company.”

A number of ragged and filthy men and women stood in the shrubs at the fringe of the forest, watching them in motionless silence.