Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) (2 page)

“Halt.” His voice sounded higher and a lot shakier than intended. Thomas cleared his throat and repeated the word. “Halt.” He lifted his gun at the man, who barely acknowledged his presence. The criminal took a step off the porch, his head swiveling from side to side, still sniffing as if he were onto a trail of something.

“I said don’t move.” Thomas found some stability in his tone, and he cocked the hammer of the gun. “You move again and I
will
shoot.” He thanked the stars this was a “dead or alive” bounty. The big man ignored him and took another step forward. Thomas sighed and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, and from the corner of his eye, he saw onlookers duck down. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion from that moment on.

A weird sound resembling metal scraping stone rang out. Thomas was sure his bullet had struck the large man, only he didn’t fall . . . or even acknowledge any pain. The bounty hunter blinked and screamed when something bit him in the arm. He looked at the offended limb and realized it wasn’t a bite; a bullet had grazed him.

Where did that come from?
Confused, he turned to the criminal, expecting him to hold up a weapon of his own, but the large man appeared to be unarmed. Thomas shot again, this time striking the man right between the eyes, a golden shot. The bullet hit, but instead of penetrating the skull, it ricocheted off his brow, hit the ground, and made a trajectory toward Thomas again. He felt the bullet whiz past his ear.

His jaw dropped open, but he couldn’t speak. He found it difficult to form a coherent thought. There was no way he was seeing this right. No one could withstand a bullet. He raised the gun again, determined to hit his mark this time, when a gloved hand grabbed his wrist.

“Now, I let you shoot twice,” a warm female voice said, “but you seem to be a slow learner. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, so you’re going to stop shooting.” It was the blond woman. She pulled at him, forcing him to face her. He stared at her with a sense of overwhelming bewilderment.

“Am I making myself clear?” She glowered at him.

Thomas considered slapping her; the woman’s mere presence was an affront to his ego.
How dare she talk to me like this?
The confusion he felt seconds before turned to self-confidence and bravura; he pulled himself loose and ran toward the large criminal. A madness came over him, fired by fear and wounded pride. He shot his cartridge empty on the large man, narrowly avoiding the rebounding bullets, and when his ammunition was spent, he threw his gun at his adversary.

The large man turned to him, baring his oversized bottom teeth, and before Thomas knew what was happening, his bounty leaped at him. A high-pitched scream rang through his ears, and it took him a second to realize it was coming from his own throat. The man—if indeed it was a man, Thomas was starting to have his doubts—landed on his chest like a massive boulder, and the crushing weight knocked the wind right out of him.

The man on top of him growled. He—or it—looked at Thomas with wild round eyes, spittle foaming in the corners of his mouth as the long lower teeth snapped at him. Thomas felt the warm wetness of his own urine spread across his jeans.
Dear Lord, this is a monster,
he thought as the creature brought its face close to his
. It’ll eat me alive.

A long strand of saliva dripped down with a frustrating slowness, dangling above Thomas’s face until finally it broke loose and fell down. Thomas moved his head, catching the slobber on his cheek. Hot breath bounced off his ear as the thing sniffed. It let out something that sounded like a high-pitched bark and opened its mouth impossibly wide.

Before the creature could take a bite out of him, a shot rang from several feet away. Everything seemed to freeze, and then the creature fell forward, his full weight pinning Thomas down.

He gasped and tried to catch his breath, but his chest couldn’t move. Blood rushed to his head, making his ears ring, and black spots appeared in front of his eyes.

A shadow blocked out the bright sun. Thomas opened his eyes enough to see the blond woman squatting next to him. He was actually grateful to see her, and he mimed the word “help.” She cocked her head at him.

“I told you to get out of the way.” She shrugged and pulled at the rim of her derby. “You weren’t equipped to deal with this fellow.” The woman looked up and nodded to someone who stood near Thomas’s feet. “I’m sure you are a very fine bounty hunter, Mister . . . but there are things in this world you really shouldn’t meddle with.”

She got up, stretching her long legs, and rubbed the dust off her jeans. The woman snapped her fingers and pointed. “You, big guy . . . come here and give us a hand getting this man free.” Then she pointed again. “You can help too. Come on . . . don’t be shy. You get to be heroes today.”

More shadows crossed Thomas’s face, and he struggled to see clearly. His eyes were teary, and the lack of air dimmed his vision. There were some grunts, and then the massive weight lifted from his body. Thomas gasped for air, filling his lungs until they burned. Strong hands hooked under his armpits and pulled him free of the fallen monster. The hands released him a few feet away, where Thomas turned to his side, wheezing and coughing.

“Are you okay, Mister?” asked a ratty-looking man with a soft, nasal voice.

Thomas shook his head. His arm was throbbing and his ribs were sore; he did not feel okay.

“He’s fine.” The woman reached out her hand and motioned for him to get up. “Have that wound on his arm checked out, but I don’t think he broke anything.”

Thomas stumbled reluctantly to his feet. The woman eyed him critically, hands resting on her hips.

“Can you breathe normally?” she asked him. He nodded. “Then you have no broken ribs. Should be fine.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and turned on her heel to join her companion at the corpse of the monster.

Thomas felt a strange sort of awe for her despite his earlier agitation. She wasn’t just any woman. She knew things he didn’t.

“Who is she?” he asked the ratty-looking man.

“That?” The man rubbed his thin, brown moustache and twitched his nose. “Why, that’s Coyote.” The man raised his eyebrows at Thomas. “You never heard of Coyote?”

“
The
Coyote?” It was Thomas’s turn to raise his eyebrows. He pulled off his hat and scratched his hair. “But . . . but . . . no one ever told me Coyote is a
woman.
” Thomas stared at her as she instructed four dumbfounded men who stood around the large corpse.

“Yeah, and that guy over there is her partner.” The ratty man pointed toward Caesar. “Guy’s a former slave.” He whistled between crooked teeth. “Oddest pair, but I sure as heck wouldn’t mess with them.”

“Well I’ll be . . . ” Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. His bones still ached. He recalled the stories about Coyote, his eyes wide in wonder.

“I know.” The rat-faced man shook his head mournfully. “What’s the world coming to, eh?”

EQUALITY

The sun was setting, tinting the sky with brilliant orange and pink colors, by the time Coyote and Caesar saw the next town in the distance. They were both a little saddle sore. Transporting their dead bounty to one of the safe havens had taken longer than expected, and Coyote was aching for a hot bath to soothe her tense muscles.

“You should not have let that man shoot at the bounty.” It was the first time Caesar had spoken of the incident. His voice was a slow baritone, and his accent had an exotic but meticulous lilt, articulating each word.

“I was wondering when you’d give me grief for that.” Coyote tugged on her derby, a frequent, subconscious habit. A smile curled around her lips. “It was pretty funny though, you have to admit.”

“Very irresponsible, Coyote. You knew that bounty hunter was a human and knew nothing of Outlanders, let alone how to deal with the different types. In fact, I believe it is safe to say the man has never even heard of a rip.” Caesar ran his fingers across his eyes, rubbing the sand from his lashes. “He did not know his foe and could have been injured in his attempt to capture the Plzovar.” He glanced at her, his face placid but his dark eyes burning.

“The Plzovar was no real threat with me around. I wasn’t going to let it
bite
the poor man.” Coyote fumbled with the breast pocket of her shirt and produced a fat, brown cigar. She rolled it between her fingers and sniffed, letting a contented smile grace her face.

“He could have injured someone with his shots.” Caesar’s voice was soft, but his words stung.

“Fine, it was irresponsible. I shan’t do it again, even if the guy was a beef-headed coot who needed to be taught a lesson.” She put the cigar in her mouth and lit it, blowing the smoke in rings.

“You have a strong urge to teach any man who reminds you of being a female a lesson.” Caesar rubbed the neck of his horse and didn’t look at her as he spoke.

“I don’t mind being reminded that I’m a woman,” Coyote said, her voice terse. “In fact . . . I quite like being a woman.” She took another long toke from her cigar. “It’s when they treat me as
inferior
that I get a little . . . sensitive.”

Caesar sat up straight and shook his head. “This is the way of the world, Coyote. Everyone is assigned a place by society, and those within that society will accept these places as a form of truth. You cannot decide your place does not suit you without having to face the consequences of judgment.”

“So you are saying it’s my job to deal with their ignorance?” Coyote let her breath escape between her teeth, and a hint of anger rose in her stomach.

“I am saying that your actions will get reactions.” Caesar steered his horse into the small town, and Coyote followed. She looked around at the dirty wooden buildings, and an instant dislike for the place overcame her. Perhaps her foul mood did not aid her judgment.

“What’s this place called then?” she said, steering away from her conversation with Caesar, though she still felt unsatisfied. “The Rat’s Behind?”

“I believe its name is Opossum’s Hole.” Caesar’s face didn’t betray any mirth, but Coyote laughed.

“I wasn’t that far off then, was I?” She stirred her horse in the direction of the music she heard. “If that isn’t a saloon, I’ll eat my hat.” The thought of a stiff drink did her good, and her bad mood lifted enough for her to smile again.

Minutes later, they dismounted in front of the most miserable looking saloon Coyote had ever come across. One of the swinging doors hung loose on its hinges, and a dirty sign with a badly painted opossum on it told them this was the Opossum’s Hole.

“I can only imagine what they mean by Opossum’s Hole.” She turned to Caesar. “Don’t opossum live in trees?”

Caesar nodded and Coyote shrugged. She eyed the painting on the sign with some suspicion, muttering something about it being the ugliest opossum she had ever seen, and how she was sure to get nightmares. She was determined to hate the place, and when she stepped inside the saloon, she had a suspicion she would get a reason soon enough.

The saloon went quiet as they entered. The twenty or so patrons that sat slumped into their wooden seats, their eyes bleary with what Coyote suspected was an overabundance of alcohol, all turned and stared at them. There wasn’t a smile on anyone’s lips, and Coyote rolled her eyes.

“I can tell this is the welcoming sort of saloon,” she whispered at Caesar, who moved slowly and deliberately as if trying to disappear into the shadows. Caesar had the gift of remaining unnoticed if he wanted to, but in this saloon, her partner stuck out like a sore thumb.

Coyote walked toward the bar, where a tall, skinny man with unhealthy, pale skin was pouring drinks. A toothpick dangled between his horsey teeth, and his narrow, wrinkled face betrayed no kindness. He squinted at her through one open eye and leaned forward.

“What do you want?” The statement dripped with hostility, and Coyote knew he wasn’t taking her drink order, but she feigned ignorance.

“I’ll have a whiskey, and my partner will have a beer.” She pushed her derby up and gave the sour-faced man her most ingratiating smile. The man sneered at her, pushing the toothpick deeper in his mouth. His yellow teeth became visible under the dry lips, and he wiggled the pick between his molars.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” The man leaned even closer to her. Coyote wrinkled her nose at the smell of old sweat and tobacco.

“You seem to be a bit slow in understanding the situation,” she answered, struggling to keep her tone amicable. “I’m ordering drinks for my partner and myself.”

The man shook his head and plucked a sign from the other side of the bar. He placed it in front of her. A leering grin made his sallow face appear even more unattractive. The sign was painted with thick black letters in handwriting so challenging to read it took Coyote a few seconds to realize what it said.

No collered aloud

Her first reaction was to laugh; she pointed at the wooden placard and said: “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

“It means, Missy . . . I don’t serve no niggers.” His teeth clenched on the toothpick and he hissed the words.

Coyote felt hot blood spread from her ears to her cheeks. It took a lot to anger her to the point where she got aggressive, but her self-control was slipping. She hated that word. Her hand slid toward the pistol that hung heavy on her side. A cool hand touched her arm before she could draw, and she turned to look at Caesar’s calm face.

“Let us go, Coyote. We are not welcome here.” His voice was soft and kind. Coyote wanted to pull away and turn on the barman. She wanted to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget, to humiliate him in front of his patrons. It wouldn’t be difficult; her tongue was sharp, and as far as she knew, there was not a soul in Indiana that was a faster draw. And yet the dark pleading eyes of the man she considered her brother changed her mind. Her hand, reaching for her weapon, froze in mid air.

“Please?” Caesar’s hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled gently, urging her to come away. “Let us leave.”

Coyote shot a look at the barman, who wiggled his toothpick at her. He opened his mouth partially to say something, but something in Coyote’s face, or the way she stood, must have made him reconsider, and he snapped his jaw shut. A voice inside her whispered that she could at least shoot at the sign, blow a few holes in it before they left, but Coyote knew Caesar would be disappointed if she did.
This is his fight. I can’t make this about my own pride.