bleak terrain

Que tiene de caza? = What do you have in the way of game?

it was really wet outside and her long skirts clung onto her legs making it near impossible for her to walk with any real dignity. coupled with her shackled ankles, she moved as quickly as she could, motivated by the sharp constant jarring of his shot-gun into the small of her back. Kate knew now without a doubt that it was all over for her. the Count had left her there to die. his sweet promises at dawn, whispered into the hollow of her aroused neck, as he hastened his fast exit out of her life was a lesson well learnt in hind-sight. he had taken all the gold with him, and had left her there for the marshals to find. if they had not been in a hurry to move on to their next bounty, she might also have faced the unspeakable horrors of forced sexual encounters with the 3 filthy men that had burst into her hotel room to find her naked and sound asleep.

she had been forced instead to dress hurriedly and in broad view of their lecherous stares, and one had even followed her into the outhouse as she tried to get on with her delicate toilette. she had kept her teeth firmly gritted together and tried hard to ignore his foul presence. two of them were now mounted on tired horses, and the third was on the ground with her, ushering her forcefully in to the woods just outside of town. they had also woken up the town photographer and forced him to ride his carriage alongside them, with all the equipment necessary to take the photographs of her dead body swinging from the tallest tree. before they would cut her down and take more stills of her lying dead, and in various stages of undress on the soggy ground. these photographs were sorely needed as evidence for their bounty collection, and many more would be kept and sold individually as souvenirs. she had long since given up smoking but wished fervently for a cigarette now, desperate to counteract the bile in the back of her throat.

they finally stopped walking her at what seemed to be the most enormous oak she had ever seen. the man on his feet, walking with her hit her hard in her lower back with the butt of his shotgun, forcing her to fall down onto her knees. he spat out his tobacco unapologetic as the small cry of pain escaped through her clenched jaw. they started stringing up a broad branch with the thick rope they had quietly unpacked. one man held a gun firmly to her right temple as she sat in obvious pain, hunched down on her knees. mr. shotgun went over to help the visibly shaky photographer set up his equipment under a black umbrella in the pouring rain and she took a deep breath and tried to remember the prayer her father had taught her as a little girl. she forced herself to say the broken but comforting sentences in her head, over and over again. she was by now shaking herself, and balled her hands into tight fists, digging her fingernails into her palms to steady herself. she looked up at the noose that was ready for her, and felt the men start to drag her forward.

mr. shotgun asked her if she had any last words, and she chocked back the curse she had ready for him. instead, she shook her head, forcing back the unshed tears, and focused on keeping her mind blank. she was numb from the recognition that these were her last moments on God's green earth, and looked around ruefully to see that she was indeed all alone. the Count must have been on his fast journey to retirement down south in Mexico, and she closed her mind to his sweet breath against her open, hungry lips. she stumbled to the oak, and mr. shotgun pulled a small black cloth bag firmly over her head. she felt them struggle to get her up onto the horse, and she was indeed dead weight to them. they struggled too for a long while, to keep her steady and standing in the saddle, as she remained motionless and completely unhelpful. she then felt them pull the heavy noose down around her neck, and balked at how final it all felt. it was a fairly thick rope but she doubted sincerely that it was proportionate enough to her weight to be able to snap her neck instantly. she knew then that she would stay alive for anything from 5 to 15 minutes after they pushed her off the horse, and she didn't know what terrified her more. the certainty of a death out here in this bleak terrain and the ensuing burial in an unmarked grave. or the long last painful minutes of hanging from the rope, waiting for her soul to leave her, chocking to death in degrees, just as her poor father had.

she heard them slap the horse into a run, and felt her legs fall away from their steady footing on the saddle. she was falling into open space now, and felt her neck catch on the noose. she bounced twice and then was swinging from side to side. she could feel herself losing the air from her lungs and she started to feel her world blacking-out. the sudden gun shot startled her into urinating into her underskirts and she could feel the warm liquid trickle down her inner thighs. she started to struggle in earnest now thinking they had shot her to speed up their assignment. she felt the rope above her give and she was falling down into the wet, soggy ground below. lying in a heap, she was dazed and confused, still shackled and blinded by the tight bag around her head. she heard the subsequent shots. there were 4 in quick succession, and then the silence was deafening. she heard his sure steady footsteps approach her quickly, and she waited in silent anticipation, frozen. he whispered to her soothingly as he pulled her across his strong lap, tearing the bag off her face. she was panting at the sudden fresh air, gulping it down greedily as she was twisting upwards to look into his worried face and his honey colored eyes flashed their concern at her. the large rain-drops fell into her brown eyes, and ran into her nostrils causing her to splutter and to turn away coughing.

she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head and accept the fact that she had just escaped the sentence of 'death by hanging' and a sure decapitation after, as the marshals would have taken her head back to Captain Isaac for his trophy case. the Count picked her up and rocked her gently, and she passed out into a much needed state of oblivion. sure only of the fact that he had come back for her, and that she wasn't alone after all.

~a fictional piece by amreeth~