Ellen's Arc

Chapter 14 of 45

Dawn came gray over the flats. Ellen crouched behind the iron wagon and watched the plain. The women slept behind the plating. Cade sat against a wheel, feeding shells into his shotgun. His wound had crusted overnight. She had walls now, but only for one night, and the night was ending. Somewhere east, Brennan's last gunman still rode. That man knew her face. He knew this wagon. Until she lost him, she could not move the women anywhere. "He'll come at first light," Cade said. "That's when I would." Ellen studied the wagon's side. A row of Gatling barrels hung there, bolted to a swivel mount. Old, but greased. She turned the crank a half-turn. It held. "You know how to work it?" she asked. "I count exits. Not triggers." Cade nodded at the barrels. "But that'll do the counting for us." A sound cut across the flat. Not a horse. A low mechanical whine, climbing. Ellen turned. A figure walked toward them out of the dust, red and gold, plated in metal that caught the pale light. Each step pressed the dirt flat. She did not know him. She reached for her knife. "Save it," the man said. His faceplate glowed at the eyes. "You've got a shooter tracking you from that ridge. I've been watching him watch you." "Who are you?" Ellen said. "Stark." He did not slow. "I fix things. This is a mess. Where's the one hunting you?" A rifle cracked from the east. The round sparked off Stark's shoulder and spun away. He turned toward the shot without flinching. The gunman had broken cover on a rise, firing, giving up his hiding place at last. "There," Cade said. He swung onto the wagon and gripped the crank. "Ellen. Feed the belt." She grabbed the ammunition chain and lifted it clear of the dirt. Cade cranked. The Gatling barrels spun and roared. Brass rained past her boots. The rise vanished in a wall of kicked-up dust and splinters. The gunman fired twice more, wild, then broke and ran for his horse. "He's rabbiting," Stark said. A panel opened on his forearm. He lifted off the ground, low and fast, and cut across the flat. The gunman never reached the saddle. Stark dropped in front of him, one gauntlet raised, and the man froze with his hands up. Cade climbed down, shotgun ready. Ellen ran to them. The gunman looked at the armored figure, then at Cade, and dropped his rifle. "Last of Brennan's eight," Cade said. He did not raise the gun. "He knows where we sleep." "Not anymore," Stark said. He hauled the man up by the collar. "He's coming with me. Far from here. You've got a window now. Use it." Ellen watched the armored man march the gunman east, away from the wagon, away from the women. For the first time in days, no one on the plain knew where she would go next. The tracker was gone. But Brennan still lived, and Vincent still counted her debt. The window was open. She had to move the women before it closed.