Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) (9 page)

“Liar,” shouted Westwood. She felt his hot breath graze her ear and cheek; it even tickled the back of her neck.

“You’re calling me a liar?” Her father locked his gaze with Westwood, and despite his trembling hand, Coyote had no doubt that he wouldn’t miss his target. She felt no fear, as her father had always been a fantastic shot and he wouldn’t miss now.

He leaned forward to put emphasis on what he was saying. Strands of his hair moved gently in the breeze, while other parts clung to his sweat-soaked brow. A smile that wasn’t quite a smile appeared on his face, turning his expression maniacal. “You protect these . . . these
vermin
from the law.”

“I don’t protect all of them, William,” Westwood snarled. “But some need protection from monsters like you.”

Coyote felt Westwood’s body press against hers, the skin of his face warm against the back of her head. She looked at her father’s round eyes, at the way the muscles in his face moved. He was afraid, and yet so brave.

“You’re scum, James.”

Her father’s face was caked with dirt and blood. His nostrils flared and his chest rose and fell rapidly with frantic breaths. The lines on his face appeared deeper, and in that moment he looked so old, so worn down, and so small next to that big Outlander. Only minutes ago, he and the Outlander had fought for their lives. Her old man had put up quite a fight, but the other guy had been too strong. Coyote had wanted to rush to her father’s aid, but Westwood grabbed her and pulled her to him. A few times, she had thought the Outlander would kill her father, snap his neck or crush his skull, but her father had lived. Somehow, during the fight, her father had managed to get his hands on a gun, setting the stage for this final, desperate standoff.

The word “scum” still echoed through the canyon, and Coyote saw venom in her father’s eyes. Behind her, Westwood sucked in a breath of air.

“So are you, William.” There was sadness in Westwood’s tone of voice. “You’re scum as much as I am.” The fingers squeezed Coyote’s tight shoulder muscles. “And you’ve become too dangerous. I didn’t want to do this in front of your girl, but you leave me no choice . . . ”

His words made Coyote’s stomach sink. She felt the strong hands grip her and turn her around. With his right hand, he held her arm. With his left, he pushed her chin up and forced her to look at him, into the face of the man she hated. James Westwood.

He was about six years her senior. He had a handsome face, topped with an unruly mop of black hair, and his bright green eyes held hers as if he were trying to hypnotize her.

“No,” she cried and struggled. Westwood’s hand let go of her chin, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her to his chest the way a mother held a child. She tried to get away from him, putting her full force into doing so, kicking and pushing him, but he was so strong, so very strong.
Fight him
, her mind screamed,
don’t let him win
. But it was of no use. She couldn’t break free, and he wouldn’t let go. She buried her face in his cotton shirt and smelled his strong masculine scent. It was almost sweet.

“Papa.” The fabric of Westwood’s shirt muffled her voice, and her scream was no more than a whimper. Her saliva moistened the cotton; she could taste his shirt between her lips as she moaned. She tried to turn to her father, but the hands held her in an iron grip. There was a deafening sound, louder than any shot should ever be, and then . . . a scream, already fading as James Westwood released her. He moved his warm body away from hers and left her to feel the cold breeze. Coyote did not turn around, not right away. She stood frozen in her fear for minutes that felt like hours. Then, slowly, her knees shaking, she turned and walked toward the place where her father had stood only moments ago. She sank to her knees, the rough, rocky sand skinning them through her trousers and scraping the soft flesh of her hands. Ignoring the pain, she crawled toward the rim and peered over.

Her father’s corpse lay sprawled at the bottom of the ravine, his plaid shirt blossoming with a moist flower of fresh blood and his skull cracked open like a ripe watermelon. His limbs were twisted in unnatural positions, making him look like a broken doll.

“Father!” she cried.

“
Can you see it
?” the voices whispered. “
Did you see it
?”

The sight of him was just as horrendous as it had been seven years ago. Hot tears cascaded down her burning face and mixed with the dust on her skin. She could not stop weeping. Wisps of smoke swirled around her. She felt a hand on her back, not Westwood’s. Rougher, smaller, gentler.

“What happened?” This voice, louder, real, not some echo of a memory. Caesar’s voice.

Coyote opened eyes she hadn’t known she’d closed. She was on her knees in the sweat lodge, bent forward, her forehead touching the swept dirt. Anguish tore at her soul. Tears ran from her eyes in slick, wet trails and mixed with the soil. Strings of snot and saliva dangled from her nose and mouth, connecting her to the earth beneath her. The pain in her heart exploded in her head and throat.

“
Did you see it
?” the voices whispered again.

“It is best we stop.” This time it was Tokala who spoke. “Coyote has seen what she needed to see.”

There was a sound like wings flapping in the wind. Pale grey light entered the sweat lodge, and a welcome cool breeze penetrated the smoke.

Coyote allowed the two men to lead her, coughing and crying, from the lodge, her undergarments drenched in sweat.

Wea women grabbed her and wrapped her in furs, leading her to a place where she could cleanse herself with cold water. Their voices were calming and their touch motherly. The sun peered over the horizon, casting soft, grey light over the Indian village. Like the hero in a story, it chased away the darkness and the painful memories.

The cold water helped her collect herself. She washed the snot and the tears from her face, her hands lingering on her eyes. Why the visions had taken her back to that day, she didn’t know, but the memory of her father made her all the more determined to catch this Outlander. Coyote righted herself and watched the rising sun, surprised that her vision had taken all night, and when the pale light turned into a rich golden color that bathed the land in warmth, she knew it was time to go.

Tokala urged Coyote to stay, to rest. “The visions you have encountered have drained you. You haven’t slept at all.”

His pleas fell on deaf ears.

“I said I would leave in the morning,” she said, all tears forgotten in the daylight. Her determined finger pointed at the rising sun. “It’s now morning.” She put on her clothes with a ferocity normally reserved for fighting a foe. Her heart pounded as if it wanted to escape her chest, and she battled a growing aggression. “I have to find this Outlander.”

Tokala took her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. His deep amber eyes held hers, and Coyote felt her muscles relax.

“I understand, Coyote. But you must heed what the visions told you.” His tone was warm and soothed her senses; there was something mystical about the way he spoke, and Coyote imagined she heard a thousand other voices mingling with his.

“What is there to heed, Tokala?” Her own words were dreamy. “The visions told me of the past, of things that have already occurred—things I already knew. They revealed nothing.”

“We don’t always see what is in front of us. Sometimes there is novelty in memory.” He shook his head and took his warm hands off her face. She felt the wind cool down the spots where his palms had held her.

“Just tell me what I need to know about my Outlander, Tokala.” Her heart was heavy. “You know the information I need, don’t you?”

“You will find him with the one you hate most,” Tokala said. Coyote nodded and placed her hands on her hips as a gesture of impatience.

“He’s with Westwood; this is not the information I seek.” She blew a loosened strand of hair from her cheek. “Give me something I can work with, Tokala.”

The shaman sighed and ran a shaky hand across his weary brow. “You are an unreasonable and stubborn woman. Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay a few days? At least until you have figured out what the visions have tried to convey to you . . . ”

Coyote softened, but shook her head. “No, I’m restless, and this Outlander can be a great danger to his surroundings. He likes to eat children; you confirmed this yourself. I can’t risk him running around any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Very well.” His thin lips curled slightly at the edges, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. There was a heartbreaking sadness in them.

“Information, please.” Her voice was cold.

Tokala shrugged and looked her in the eyes. “You will need a particle beam pistol to kill him. Normal weapons won’t penetrate his skin, nor will any of the Outlander weapons you know. It’s too tough and too flexible for any weapon created on Earth, or in most other realms. But a particle beam pistol should do the trick. They’re very powerful.”

“I’ll see if one of my contacts has one.” She adjusted her derby.

“Be careful, Coyote.” Tokala’s eyes pleaded with her. “You are at a crossroads.”

“I’m always at a crossroads. Indiana is the crossroads of America,” Coyote said with a bitter smile as she mounted Shenanigans. The creature stirred nervously, whinnying a little. “Thank you for your help.”

There were no hugs, no tender goodbyes. Not this time. Coyote was grateful for Tokala’s help, but she had been stung by the visions and her reaction to them. She hated losing control, and she had lost it that night. It made her feel weak, and that was something she struggled to deal with.

“The spirits have shown you what you saw for a reason, Coyote.” Tokala grabbed her leg, his fingers digging strongly into her calf. “Listen to them. Don’t just dismiss what you’ve seen, even if you don’t understand it yet.”

“No . . . I won’t. I promise. Though I’m not sure what they were trying to tell me, Tokala,” she answered honestly. Tokala shook his head and then reached for a chain around his neck. He pulled it off and held it up to Coyote.

“This is one of the last things I have left from my true home,” he said. “And certainly one of the most precious things.” The necklace dangled in the air, a black leather thong with a small, silver triangle hanging on the bottom. It looked a little like a very fine point of an arrow, and yet it was different. The lines were too crisp, the make too exotic. The silver-grey color was almost translucent, giving the alien object a crystalline appearance.

“It belonged to my mother.” His eyes went misty as he spoke. “It is a healing crystal, also known as a healing stone.”

“It’s beautiful.” Coyote held her breath as she admired it.

“I want you to have it.” His offer surprised her, and Coyote shook her head.

“I can’t take your mother’s necklace.” Her eyes darted over the Wea tribe, who observed them from a distance. “It belongs to you. It’s one of the last things you have of your people.”

“You can take this.” Tokala held the necklace toward her. “You can use this as a trade for the weapon you need.”

She shook her head again then looked at Caesar.

“Say something about this,” she pleaded with her partner.

“To deny a gift of such magnitude is to deny an offer of friendship.” Caesar spoke with his soft calm voice, and Coyote threw her hands in the air.

“Tokala, please . . . ”

The Outlander shook his head and placed the necklace in her hand. He grabbed Coyote’s long, thin fingers and wrapped them around the precious trinket, his hands cupping her fist. The crystal gave off a little heat, pulsating against her skin like a gentle heartbeat. There was something about the thing that gave her sense of peace and happiness. It broke her heart to take such a precious item from a friend she held so dear. She held her hand out, torn between what she wanted and what she believed to be right.

“This is only an object, Coyote.” His words urged her on, though she knew he had to be lying. Her eyes met his, and she pleaded silently with him to take it back, to not let her trade such a precious thing for a weapon, but his face was a mask of resolve.

“The true bond to my people lies in my memories, in
me
.” He tapped his chest. “I wouldn’t be your friend if I let you face this foe without my aid. The Quavar are my enemies too. They have harmed many of my people. Avenge them, Coyote.”

A moment passed between them, a moment of perfect understanding. Coyote squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. Her hand reached the brim of her hat, and she adjusted it as she nodded.

“As you wish.” She held out the stone, letting it hang from her fingers.

“It
is
my wish.” The crystal dangled between them for a moment, and then the bounty hunter put the chain around her neck. She paused, her head cocked to one side, and considered Tokala with some interest.

“You know what the spirits were trying to tell me, don’t you?” Coyote’s voice was barely above a whisper.

There was a spark in Tokala’s dark eyes. “Yes, I have seen the visions myself. Soon you will know what they meant too.” His brown hand patted the large stallion. “Now, go if you must go, or stop being stubborn and get off that horse so that you can rest here.”

Coyote shot Tokala her infamous crooked smile. “Are you ready, Caesar?”

The black man yawned and pulled on his reins.

“Coyote?” Tokala held up his hand.

“What?”

“Be careful. The Quavar are very dangerous. This one will be no exception.” He took a deep breath.

“I know.” She pulled on her derby. “I wouldn’t be hunting him if he wasn’t.” She spurred her horse on and rode away.