The Only Road I've Ever Known (18+ GraphicViolence\Language)

[Simon Toews]

Simon took one last swig of his beer and walked to the garbage can.  “What about you, Pops?  What’s your plan?”

Virgil shrugged and opened his arms, gesturing around him.  “Same thing as always.”  He told the younger man.  

“Just gonna kick around here?”  Simon asked.

“Don’t see why not.  Worked so far, ain’t it?”  Virgil said.

Simon chuckled and glanced over his shoulder.  “Kate on board with this plan?  Stayin’ around here, hiding out forever?”

“It’s safe.  It’ll have to be enough.”  Virgil posited.

Simon gave him one last glance.  “Sometimes bein’ safe ain’t enough.”

He opened the can and tossed the bottle in.  That was when he noticed it.  The rows of corn were shifting.  Somebody was moving through them.  Alarms were going off in his head like mad.  He knew immediately what this was.  Simon whipped around.  “GET DOWN!”

Almost as if on cue, the rifles opened.  Automatic weapons fire tore through the wooden walls of the barn, shattering glass jars and sending splinters flying as the bullets pinged off of the car with sparks.  The two men dove for cover, keeping low to the ground.

Virgil reached for a pistol that wasn’t at his hip.  The old man cursed himself for not having it.  It was sitting on a counter not far away, but it was right in the line of fire.  The shotgun, he thought urgently and crawled on his elbows towards the other side of the room.  

Simon glanced up and moved toward the car, reaching out for the handle before pulling away as a bullet hit the sheet metal.  He hissed through his teeth and went again, yanking the door open, and pulling a pair of pistols out from under the driver’s seat.  He thumbed off the safeties on both and got ready as the automatic fire stopped.

One of Callum’s goons was heard stomping up toward the door.  A voice yelled out “No, wait!”  But the lummox kicked in the door.  Simon’s guns rang out two shots a piece, tearing through the man’s chest and sending him stumbling back into the dirt.  

Virgil racked his shotgun and blind-fired a few times over the counter and out the busted window toward where the voice had come from, sending them scattering behind a tractor for cover.  The automatics must have dried up, Simon thought, because the response was simply small-arms and shotguns.  

Simon rose to a knee and moved toward the Virgil, pressing up against the wall.  He tucked away one of the guns as the weapons fire ripped into the barn.  “You alright?!”

“I’m fine!  Get to the girls!”  Virgil barked before another blind-fire out the window.

Simon grit his teeth and looked toward the house, formulating a plan.  “I’ll draw their fire, you take ‘em out, yeah?”

“I got your back, kid!”  Virgil yelled to him.

Simon wasn’t completely sure of the plan, but it would have to do.  It was the best they had.  He readied himself to run, evening out his breath.  

“Simon!”   Virgil called to him, the young man glancing back.  “Be good.”  He said with a nod and a smirk.

Simon took one last look at the old man, mustered a smile and got ready.  Millie.  Kate.  They were his goal.  He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

“GO!”  Virgil hollered.  

Simon ran as fast as he possibly could, raising one pistol and firing blindly toward the shooters.  He could hear the bullets whizzing past him as he sprinted.  One by one the shooters went quiet, Virgil taking them down with precise blasts of his shotgun before they figured out that they were focused on the wrong target.  He ran until his lungs burned as much as his legs.  When he reached the house, his heart sank.  The door was wide open.  With one final push, he leapt into the air, diving into the house.  He hit the tile of the kitchen floor with his shoulder, sliding to a stop, and kicked the door closed behind him.

[Kate Wilder]

Kate’s eyes were closed, Millie still in her arms when she heard it.  The unmistakable sound of gunfire coming from outside, tearing up the barn.  Dear God.  They’d found her.  She had been so careful, but they finally found her.  For just a moment, she let that fear in, let it fill her...and that was all it got.  

**** them, she said to herself.  If they wanted to come for her, she’d make them work for it.

Millie woke, screaming in terror as her mother gathered her up and got low with her.  Kate covered the little girl’s head, formulating a plan as she realized the weapons weren’t hitting the house.  Her room.  The Mare’s Leg.  If they were getting out of there, they weren’t doing it unarmed.

“Baby.  I need you to listen to me.”  She said, taking Millie’s face in her hands and looking her in the eye.  “We’re going into mommy’s room.  I need you to follow me and do what I say.”

“What’s happening?!”  Millie cried.

“Baby, please!”  Kate said, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice.  “Follow me!  Follow Mommy!”

She pulled the girl out into the hall overlooking the main floor.  She heard the kitchen door kicked open and footsteps coming inside while a firefight ensued outside.  God damn it, she thought, hustling her daughter into the room at the end of the hall.  They made it just before they could be seen.  Kate reached up to the top shelf of a closet and pulled down the sawed-off shotgun and a box of shells.  

Millie stared at her, wide-eyed as her mother loaded the weapon.  Kate did everything she could to appear calm and collected, though she felt like she could just break at any moment.  “Baby, I need you to get in this closet and hide.  You stay here until Mommy or Pops comes and gets you, okay?” she said, in a whisper.

Millie was in full panic mode, but her attention snapped to her mother when she said forcefully through grit teeth.  “Millie!”

Those big pretty eyes stared up at her mother.  “You hear me?”

Millie nodded slowly and crawled into the closet.  Kate smiled nervously to her.  “Good girl.”  That expression changed as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs cautiously.  She pulled the lever, racking the weapon. Her breath came rapidly, her chest rising wildly despite her trying to control it.  She was not a killer.  She was not a fighter, even.  But she WAS a mother.  And these sons of bitches had come for her baby.

Her eyes opened again and she wheeled around.  It almost felt like an eternity as she took aim on the man upon the stairs.  She recognized him.  Lyle Marks.  Those beady little eyes wide with surprise beneath that balding scalp.  She’d never cared for him.  And now, she hated him.  With a squeeze of her finger, his chest was shredded by shotgun fire.  The force of the blast took him off his feet and sent his mortally wounded body back off the stairs, knocking him into his older brother Emmett.  The pair of them stumbling to the ground.

Kate ran into the bathroom across the hall, flattening against the wall.  She had expected to feel relieved at the death, to feel the adrenaline pumping and readying her for more,  Instead she felt sick.  When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she was flecked with his blood on her face and clothes.  She had to fight to keep herself from vomiting as she struggled to breathe normally.  The footsteps came up the stairs quicker this time.  

Do something, Kate.  DO something!  Her mind shouted over and over again, willing her unresponsive body to open fire.  Finally she readied to lean out, but a shotgun rang out from Emmett.  With a shriek, she kept cover, crouching low.

The fat dullard was covered in his brother’s blood, running on pure rage and seeking vengeance.  “C’mon!  C’mon, Katie Mae, you ****in’ ****!  Come get what’s comin’ to ya!”

The next blast ripped through the wall right above her head.  Katie grit her teeth, taking in a deep breath and wheeled around for the kill.  But he was waiting.  Emmett gripped the weapon and redirected the Mare’s Leg upward, her shot ripping into the ceiling, sending down drywall dust.  He ripped the gun from her hands, but didn’t count on her responding just as quick.  Her knee slammed into his groin as she plowed her shoulder into his chest.

Emmett stumbled backwards grabbing her and pulling her with him.  The pair of them hit the ground, her weapon tumbling over the side as his slid down the hall.  She landed atop him, scrambling immediately for the gun over his body.  She’d almost reached it when he grabbed her leg and yanked her back.  

Kate dropped off her elbows, her chin whacking against the wooden floor.  Pain blossomed from the impact, her teeth clacking together hard enough that she thought they might have cracked.  She took her free foot and kicked as hard as she could at his face, he heel catching him and snapping his head back with a yelp.

She was free for a moment.  She got to a knee and began to run for it, but felt those strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her away.  He whipped her around like a rag doll, squeezing her so tight her ribs strained against his arms.  Kate let out a scream, struggling against him until, finally, her foot caught the wall.  With one massive push from both legs, she kicked them both back against the railing, his big ass busting through, sending the two of them free falling into the room below.

[Simon Toews]

Gunfire continued outside, Virgil doing his damndest to hold them off.  From the sounds of it, he was giving better than he was getting.  Good, Simon thought.  Take ‘em down, old man.  He checked his weapon and surroundings, stepping forth.

Simon moved through the house slowly, his pistol raised and at the ready.  The house was basically untouched.  But he knew he wasn’t alone.  Adrenaline continued to course through his veins as he rounded a corner.  Lyle Marks lay dead on the ground in a pool of blood, the exit wound of a shotgun protruding from his back.

Well, he thought.  One less to deal with.  His eyes trailed further up and once again, his breath caught in his throat. Kate and another man were on the ground surrounded by the remains of the upstairs banister, both unmoving, both injured. He seemed to have taken the majority of the damage from the fall, but she wasn’t unscathed.  Blood trickled down one side of her forehead and from the gash at her chin.  For a moment he wasn’t certain if she was dead or alive.

“Kate.”  He called out in a hushed tone.  If there was another in the house, he’d rather not give away his position.  “Kate!”  

A swell of relief filled him as her eyes fluttered open. The dazed fog was written in her gaze, but she was at least conscious.  She barely seemed to register him as he cautiously approached, eyes darting to every window and door.   Finally, he made it to her side, crouching low.  He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder.  “Kate.  Look at me.  Can you move?”

It took a moment, but she managed to push herself up with a pained groan.

“The **** took you so long?”  She grumbled.  


Simon smiled and tried to help her up as the door behind him burst open.  One of the gunmen had made it past Virgil.  Simon spun about-face, but the shot rang out before he could get his arm up to shoot.  Searing pain bloomed as a poorly aimed bullet tore through flesh, grazed his arm, his body instinctively jerking to one side.  His shoulder slamming against a wall and his weapon clattering across the floor.

Kate let out a shriek and scurried as quick as she could to cover, hiding behind an alcove at the front door.  

Simon tried to right himself, but the gunman was charging forth, firing off rounds like a mad man.  He barely got out of the way in time as the bullets pocked against the wall in shower of dust and tiny debris.  Simon hit the floor on his good shoulder, reaching to the small of his back for his backup weapon.  A practiced, precise motion brought the weapon to bear upon his attacker, discharging a few rounds toward the kitchen, but the shooter had taken cover.

Simon cursed under his breath, scrambling up onto his feet.  As quickly and quietly as he could, he moved toward the kitchen, pressing up against the wall and waiting.  He could hear his target breathing heavily on the other side of the wall, steeling himself to take his next shot.

The gunman turned the corner to find only the still body of Emmett waiting on the other side.  Confusion and panic took over his face of one short-lived moment.  Simon moved quickly, pushing the weapon upward, the shooter accidentally sending out a few shots before Simon put his shoulder into the man’s chest, driving him backwards.  The barrel of the tatted fighter’s glock buried in his stomach, pumping round after round into the man until the slammed against the sink counter.  The gunman crumbled to the ground, but Simon wasn’t taking chances.  Not tonight. He put one last shot into the man’s head, sending blood and brain matter all over the wood and linoleum counters like a grotesque Jackson Pollock.

[Simon Toews]

Millie watched as her mother disappeared out into the hallway, firing her gun and kicking the door closed behind her.  And then she was alone.  Her mother was gone, and outside there were just loud noises, like when Pops went “varmint huntin’”, as he called it.  The look on her mother’s face and the tone of her voice told her this was decidedly NOT that.  No, this sounded like more like a fireworks show or one of those old movies her Pops watched with the cowboys, but this was real.  I was louder, scarier.  The little girl just cowered in her closet as the loud bangs continued to ring out.  

Who were these people, she wondered?  Why had they come onto her Grandpa’s farm?  Why did they want to hurt her family?  She had no answers, no ideas.  All she knew was that she was terrified and the sounds outside her door had stopped.  The seconds seemed like hours to the frightened little girl as she dared to stand up from her hiding spot.  Her small fist clenched the folded knife in her pocket, just in case, she thought.

Her Mama was out there somewhere, but the silence filled her with a sense of dread that her young mind simply couldn’t comprehend.  Her feet felt like she was dragging and immense weight, every step a struggle as she reached out for the knob.

BANG!  BANG!

Shots rang out downstairs, startling Millie and sending her stumbling back.  She was so focused ahead that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her or the cool night air through her open window.

“Hey there, pretty girl.”  the man’s voice made her jump, the small girl whipping around and backing into a dresser.  He was tall...but of course everyone was tall to her.  He was skinny...gaunt.  And he had ugly, tired-looking eyes...he just looked...wrong.

Hank smiled those yellow teeth and crouched low.  He held up a hand to her.  “No no no...It’s okay.  It’s alright.  I’m a friend.  My name is Hank.  I’m here to get you to safety.”  He did his best to smile comfortingly, but it just creeped her out.  She did NOT trust this man.  

He gestured for her to come to him.  “Come on, sweetie.  Come with me.”

Mille glared at him and shook her head slowly.

That smile faded.  Hank was grinding his teeth those eyes taking on a sinister light.  “Now, you listen here.  You do what you’re told.  You come with me.  Now.”

Millie balled up her little fists, her face scrunching up like she was building herself up to something.  Finally, the dam burst.  “No!”  She shouted, turning and trying to run.  HELP!  HEL-”

Hank moved quickly, grabbing her from behind and clapping his hand over her mouth.  “Shut.  The ****.  Up.”  He snarled into her ear.

Millie struggled against his superior strength, her screams muffled into his hand.  It made it hard for her to breathe, panic filling every fiber of her being.  Finally, she came up with a plan and bit down on his skin, hard enough that she tasted blood.  Hank yelled in pain, his fingers digging into her face so hard it hurt.  

“You rotten little ****,!!”  He squeezed her jaw, the little girl’s screams now free and loud.  The door to the room burst open, Simon entering with his gun drawn, followed by Kate.  The distraught mother broke down at the site of him with her baby.

Mille stared through tears as Hank backed them into the wall.  “Mommy!”

“Shut up.”  Hank growled his hand going around her throat.  “Put the gun down or I snap this little bitch’s neck!”  

Kate was fighting the urge to sob.  “Please!  No!  Baby, it’s okay, Mommy’s here.  It’s gonna be okay.”

Simon kept his eyes locked on the thin man, weapon still trained and ready.  It just seemed to make Hank more agitated.  “You  think I’m ****in’ around *** hole?  Drop the ****in’ gun!”

“You hurt her, there ain’t gonna be nothin’ left of you to bury.”  Simon threatened.

“Simon!”  Kate pleaded with him.  “Please…”

Simon glanced her way, his jaw clenching before he hesitantly began to lower the weapon.  He locked eyes with Millie.  “Don’t hurt her.  Just don’t hurt her.”

A look crossed the little girl’s face, like she just realized something.  Her hand drifted down, subtly to her pocket, glancing back at him to make sure he didn’t see. Hank was focused ahead, but Simon caught it.  Atta girl, he thought..

“Throw it in the hall.”  Hank ordered.  “Do it!”

Simon held up one hand, keeping the tweaked out little man focused on himself as he tossed the weapon outside the door, giving Millie a nod.  Her hand yanked out the butterfly knife he’d given her, and in one, smooth, practiced motion, the flipped out the blade and the plunged it into Hank’s thigh.  He let out an ear-splitting scream, his grip loosening enough for her to break free.  

Simon was already charging at Hank as Mille was swept up into her Mama’s arms and carried out of the room.  His shoulder caught the assassin’s stomach, crashing through the doors of the closet and pulling down the hanger rod and all the clothes inside.  Simon’s fist hammered his ribs again and again and again.

The blows just seemed to make the skinny man angrier.  He grabbed Simon by the hair and yanked his head back, driving his fist right into Simon’s throat.  The tatted fighter clutched his neck, gasping for air as Hank struggled to this feet.  Whatever he was on, he barely seemed to notice the blade in his thigh.  Again, his fingers wrapped in SImon’s hair before he threw a knee into the man’s face.

Hank stood over him as Simon sprawled across the floor, a slight limp as even the drugs failed to numb all the pain.  A hand came down yanking Simon backward and up onto his knees, but the fighter was quick.  Using the momentum, he elbowed Hank as hard as he could in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him until he could get to his feet.

The two of them faced off, SImon’s fists raised while blood ran down one side of his face.  He could hear his breath leaving him in a raspy wheeze.  That gaunt lowlife glared with those dilated, bloodshot eyes, daring him to make the first move.

Simon threw the first punch, but Hank moved aside, moving backwards out of his reach.  Then, the next.  Simon had to give it to the stranger, he was fast.  When the tatted fighter followed through on the next punch, Hank, side-stepped quickly and grabbed a shirt from the bed behind him.  When Simon went to hit him again, he ducked under the blow and managed to get the article of clothing wrapped around his neck.  Simon gasped desperately for air, his gnarled hands trying to pry the fabric from his throat.  

“Just.   ****ing.  DIE”  Hank snarled, his knuckles white, gripping as tight as he possibly could.

There were pops in his vision.  Simon HAD to get out soon.  He grabbed around for anything he could use, until it suddenly occurred to him.   He reached back and grabbed the knife, ripping it out of Hank’s leg.  The assassin let out an agonized scream, his grip loosening.  

Simon fell forth, gasping for air.  The second he could move without coughing, he slashed wildly behind him, completely missing his target.  Simon scrambled madly up to his feet, ready to go.  

Simon wasted not a moment, slashing away at the dodging man, moving him back further and further toward the doorway.  The drugged out killer kept his eyes on the knife and watched as Simon went to bring it down in a stabbing motion.  Hank caught him by the wrist with both hands...just as he wanted.  Hank threw a knee into Simon’s groin and another.  His shoulder planted and gave the tatted fighter a hard shove.

Simon stumbled backwards toward the stairs, and before he could do anything a boot caught him square in the chest.  The kick was so hard, he sailed over the first couple steps, but the rest, he felt every bit of as fell down to the ground floor, slamming into the wall at the bottom.  For the moment, it all went black.

[Hank Austin]

His boots thumped out of sync, the bleeding wound on his leg causing a limp.  Before, killing the girl was an unpleasant aspect of a job.  But now?  That little bitch stabbed him.  Oh, now it was about so much more.  He was going to enjoy this.  

He could hear them whimpering in the next room, Kate’s Mares Leg clenched tight in his hands. He’d kill them with the very thing meant to protect.them.  Hank kinda enjoyed the poetic justice of the idea.  

 Kate was in there trying shush the kid.  As if it would matter. He wasn’t deaf.  And neither were they.  They had to hear him.  Let that step-thump, step-thump, step-thump be the sound of their approaching end.  Let them feel every second of terror, knowing there was nothing they could do.  Let them die hopeless.

He rounded the doorway, relishing every moment, a smile on his bloodied face as he saw them.  Kate stood before the closet like a goalie, a baseball bat clutched in her hands.  She looked like a wild animal, her eyes wide and feral.  Even in that state, bloodied and frenzied, she was a looker, Hank thought.  It would be a shame that nobody would be able recognize her face when he was done with her.

“Well, well, well.  Hi there, Katie Mae.”  He sneered through blood stained teeth.  “Been a while.”

She held that bat out like a knight with a sword.  “You stay away from my baby, you sick ****!”

Hank tisked and waved a finger.  “Such bad words from Mommy.”

“I said get AWAY!”  Kate shrieked, swinging wild at him.  Hank leaned out of the bat’s path and pivoted, slamming the stock of the Mare’s Leg right into her stomach.  Kate let out a breathless, pained grunt and dropped to her knees.

Hank looked down at the agonized mother with pitiless eyes.  

“Say goodbye, Mommy.”

Kate spat at him.  “Go **** yourself.”  She snarled.

Hank smirked and nodded.  He respected her.  Going out like a champ.  He racked the lever of the shotgun and rose the barrel to her forehead.  She glared up at him...defiant to the end.

[Simon Toews]

Simon woke from the blackness, his head aching, neck bruised and his body battered from the tumble down the stairs.  Drywall coated his skin from where his head had bashed through the wall. His body aches as he struggled back up to his feet.  

Voices filtered from upstairs.  That redneck prick was in the room with them.  

No.

He pulled himself up the stairs, leaning against the wall to support himself as he made his way to the doorway.  

Hank was standing over a kneeling at his feet. The barrel of a shotgun was pressed to her head.  

“Say goodbye, Mommy.”  He said

Simon didn’t hear her response or see her spit at him. He lunged off the doorway, grabbing him from behind.  The shotgun aimed up at the ceiling, Hank accidentally firing a shot up into the attic.

Kate pushed up onto her feet and grabbed for the the weapon, trying to wrench it from his hands.  Hank managed to slam the heel of his boot into her chest, putting her into the wall and sent Simon and himself stumbling into the other side of the room.  

They hit with a grunt, bumping into an ironing board. Hank threw a few elbows back into his attacker’s ribs. One arm still wrapped around him, Simon reached out, fumbling around for something to use as a weapon.  

As yet another blow landed at his torso, Simon’s fingers wrapped around the iron.  With a vicious swing, he brought the iron down onto the back of Hank’s head.

The shotgun clattered to the ground as Hank collapsed to his knees, blood trickling down the back of his head. He looked back at Simon in a daze, only to catch another crack to the face, knocking him onto his back.

Simon only saw red. The world around him was only vaguely there.  He straddled Hank, the skinny assassin reaching weakly up to defend himself.  But Simon knocked his hand aside, bringing the iron down with all his strength.  Again and again he hit him in the face. He hit him until skin tore.  Until bone fractured.  Until it shattered. Again and again and again like a man possessed.  Simon hit him until Millie’s horrified shriek brought him back to reality to realize there was only a gory hole that had once been a man’s face.  Blood pooled on the floor, coating his skin and turned his clothes red.  

Kate stared in wide-eyed shock at the man who had once seemed so gentle and kind, now a bloody monstrous killer.  She saw him for the first time as he saw himself.  And with Millie it was worse. She was scared of him. Well and truly scared.

“Millie..” He panted and held a hand out to her. The girl screamed and ran out into a room at the end of the hall, slamming the door behind her, leaving Simon defeated.  

Kate reached out with trembling hands and grabbed the shotgun. For a moment, he thought she would turn it on him.  Instead, she racked the lever. Her sights were elsewhere.  

“Keep her in there.” She ordered him.  The raging mother brushed past him and headed downstairs.  

Everything was in shambles, Simon thought.  Whatever good he’d found here had just been erased.

[Virgil Marston]

Virgil was out of ammo, but the return fire had ceased.  He dropped his weapon to the ground and stepped outside.  He could hear all manner of commotion from inside the house.  Katie and Millie were in trouble and that didn’t speak well for Simon.  

He stepped out into the driveway between the house and barn, the cool night breeze hitting the old man’s skin. That was when he heard it. The hammer of the dead man’s gun being pulled.

Virgil froze where he stood.  Slowly, cast his gaze to his left.  Wyatt stood there, pistol pointed his way.  The boy had gone a bit grey in the hair, he noticed.  His skin a sickly, pallid white, like a man who had seen a ghost.  

“Son.”  Virgil managed hoarsely.  

Wyatt swallowed hard.  “You should have stayed in the barn.”

Virgil turned to face his boy, arms spread to show he was unarmed.  

“Turn around.” Wyatt ordered him.

Virgil shook his head slowly. “No, kid. You don’t get off that easy.” He said. “You gonna kill me, you’re gonna look me in the eye.”

“You think I won’t?”  Wyatt blustered, taking a step forward.

Virgil stood his ground, watching the boy he’d raised pointing a firearm at him, his heart aching enough he thought it might kill him before Wyatt could even pull that trigger.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt.”  He said. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

“Shut up.”  Wyatt snarled.

“I tried, kid. I really did.  I’m sorry it weren’t enough.”  Virgil stared into his eyes, tears welling in his own.  

“I said shut up!”  Wyatt shouted. “You took her from me!  You took my baby!”

The old man shook his head.  “She was scared a’ you.  Scared a’ this.”  Virgil explained, gesturing his way.

Wyatt wanted to say something, but the words never came.  Virgil could see tears rolling down his son’s eyes.  

M“Wyatt.   Son. This ain’t you.”  He whispered.

“Yes it is.”  Wyatt said stubbornly.  But Virgil could hear and see the doubt inside of him.

“You’re better ‘n this.”

“Shut the **** up!  I ain’t lettin’ you **** with me!”  Wyatt shouted.

Virgil kept still, steady. “You don’t have to do this.”

Wyatt’s chest heaved with confused, nervous breaths.  He said nothing just trying not to break.

“Put down that gun, son. We can make this right.”

His son’s breath quivered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It’s too late.” He said with a shake of his head.  

“No it ain’t.”  Virgil dared take a step forward. “It’s never too late. You done some bad things, but it ain’t too late to make it right.”

Wyatt pointed the gun half heartedly.  “Stop.”  He said meekly.  

Virgil reached out. “Just give me the gun, son.  We’ll end this together.  Me and you.  Come on, kid.”

Virgil’s fingers were nearly to the pistol.  Wyatt simply couldn’t pull that trigger. Not again.  

“Dad…” he whispered.  

Virgil’s fingers gently wrapped around the weapon, and Wyatt finally let go.  Virgil pulled the weapon from his hand and took his son in his arms. Wyatt gripped the old man tight, holding on like he might float away if he let go.  All the pain and anguish from over the years poured out of him as he clung to his father.  

“It’s alright, boy. It’s alright.”  Virgil soothed his son.  

Wyatt pulled back finally, seeing his father for who he was for the first time in a long, long time. The love in the old man’s eyes transcending every awful thing he’d done.  

And then, the shot rang out.

[Wyatt Marston]

Wyatt was not prepared.  Virgil lurched forward into his arms, a chilling grunt escaping from deep within him.  For a moment, Wyatt didn’t process what had just happened.  And then he saw.  Callum lowered his rifle, smoke still emanating for the barrel. His father wheezed, shock, pain, confusion on his face.  As his legs began to fail him, Virgil reached up, fingers brushing his only child’s cheek.

“Wyatt…” He exhaled before completely collapsing.  It took most the younger man’s strength not to drop him.  Carefully, he let down his father, laying him back.  

“Dad...I’m here.  I’m here, Dad.”  He whispered, grasping his hand.  Virgil took hold as hard as he could, eyes boring into his son’s as he gasped his last breath.  

“I...I...I love…”

For a moment Virgil’s eyes seemed distant...and then he was gone.  Wyatt stared down in shock.  He’d done this.  He hadn’t pulled the trigger but were it not for him Virgil Marston would be alive.  His head dropped, eyes upon the Dead Man’s Gun still clutched in his hand.  

Callum’s boots clomped through the grass and dirt. Callum who had stolen from him his redemption.  Had taken his true family right when he should have gotten it back.

The scar faced old man glared down at him.

“Coward.” He spat out.  

Wyatt’s blood boiled, the world going away.  The accumulated pain and betrayal of the years spent following this false messiah finally coming to a head. He rose, his father’s gun in hand.  Those bloodshot eyes locked on Callum.  

“What?”  Callum sneered.  “‘****’s your problem?”

Without a word, Wyatt brought the weapon up and pulled the trigger.  The bullet ripped through Marks’ left eye and blew out the back of his head.  Callum’s one good eye registered surprise, his body staggering back as if it weren’t just rendered lifeless.  His mouth opened but nothing came out but a rattling noise from deep within his throat.  Finally, he fell dead with a thud, lying in the dirt with a puddle of red gaining purchase upon ground beneath his head.

Wyatt had two fathers in life.  Both of them had met their end because of him, and only one of them did he regret.  He returned to Virgil and knelt over him, reaching out and sliding his eyes shut gently.  

“I’m sorry.”  He whispered.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

He froze where he crouched.  He knew whose boots were striding across the gravel before he even saw her.  He knew what it looked like.  Knew what she was thinking.  He could say something, yes.  He might even get to walk away, yet again.  But sooner or later...everyone gets what they deserve.

He turned to face her, the bloodied, revenge-fueled mother’s eyes telling him everything she needed to know.  He’d sent them after her baby.  Killed the only man in her life who had never let her down.

Everyone, no matter the man, gets what he deserves.

The shotgun blast hit him square in the chest, sending Wyatt sprawling onto his back, hitting him like a Mack truck.  He lay there gasping and staring up at the stars.  For a moment, he could remember being with his father, making up their own star constellations and stories behind them.  He could almost hear the old man laughing.  Smell the familiar scent of tobacco and aftershave that were almost constant upon him, growing up.  Wyatt turned his head, gazing at Virgil in his last moments.  He reached out with a shaky hand, and took his father’s, clinging tight as the light finally left his eyes.

Wyatt and Virgil lay side-by-side, clutched hand in hand.  Gone forever.

[Simon Toews]

The sun rose over farm the next morning.  Simon, showered, bandaged and in fresh clothes, shoveled the last load of dirt upon Virgil’s grave.  He was buried at the foot of the prairie on his own property.  It seemed appropriate.  Wyatt, however, lay in a mass grave out in the prairie with Callum Marks and his sons and goons, never having even laid eyes upon his daughter.

Toews wiped the sweat from his brow, his last hard day’s work on the farm.  The entire time, he couldn’t get the sound of Millie’s horrified shriek from his mind.  The monster inside of him had gotten loose and the redneck Kate identified as “Hank”, had taken the full brunt of its rage.  But afterwards, the girl wouldn’t speak to him.  Wouldn’t so much as look at him.  He’d changed in her eyes, and it ate him up inside.  What she’d seen, she would carry with her for the rest of her life, and it was his fault for not keeping control.

While he worked, Kate packed.  The farm was no longer their home.  It was just the place where Virgil had died and bad men had tried to kill Millie and her mama.  Where a good man had turned into something that would haunt the girl’s dreams for years to come.

Simon hammered a cross into the ground over Virgil’s grave and finally stepped back, giving the old cowboy a moment of silence.  Simon wasn’t a praying man, but for Virgil, he could at least give him that.

Kate stepped up beside him, bruised, scraped and a butterfly bandage adorning her left eyebrow.  She watched Virgil’s grave in silence standing beside Simon.  She reached out and took his hand, clasping it tight as she said a little prayer for Virgil...and one for Simon.

After a moment, she released his hand, the pair of them ambling toward the house.  “She alright?”  Simon asked.

Kate eyed the gravel, giving a rock a little kick as she did.  “I think she will be.  Eventually.”  She glanced at him with a weak little smile.  “What about you?”

Simon smirked bitterly, hand stuffed into his pockets.  “I always am.”

She gazed at him doubtfully.  “I don’t think that’s true.”

His smirk faded, his eyes lowering just slightly.  “You might be right.”

“What are you gonna do?”  Kate asked.

“I don’t know.  Get back into town.  Spend a few days in bed with a beautiful blonde I got waiting for me back home.”  He grinned.  “Just see where life takes me.”

A knowing little smirk crossed Kate’s lips.  “Maybe go see a doctor before you go hopping into bed.  Don’t want to break a hip.”

Simon chuckled.  “Yeah, might have to do that.  What about you?”

Kate glanced over.  “Me?”

“Yeah.  What’s next?”

Kate stopped in her tracks and looked out over the farm that had been her hiding spot for 8 years.  She gave up everything to eek out a life spent in fear of even a single misstep.  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she realized what this all meant.  Wyatt was gone.  Callum was gone.  

“I’m going home.”  She said, turning to Simon.  Kate Wilder stood a little taller in that moment, a weight lifted from her shoulders.

The tatted fighter smiled brightly to her.  He took in the image of her in that moment, a proud, strong, confident...and most of all...free woman about to embark on a new path, a new life.  For now, the guilt faded.  

The pair of them glanced to the truck where Millie sat.  Kate glanced at him and opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her.  Simon knew.  He knew she didn’t want to see him or say goodbye.  He even understood why.  

Her smile was fleeting, replaced with concern and bit of sadness.  The pair just stood there and stared, neither daring to speak.  Kate reached up and carefully wrapped her arms around him, embracing him tightly, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Thank you.”  She whispered.  “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t.”  He responded.  “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me.  Virgil would still be alive.”

“Or we’d all be dead.”  She corrected him.  “You saved us.  We get a second chance.  That’s on you, Simon.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that, but he didn’t argue.

“Sooner or later...you’re gonna have to forgive yourself.”  She said, pulling back.  “You deserve to.”

Simon forced a smile and nodded.  “You just take care of that girl.”

“With all my life.”  she assured him.  “Goodbye, Simon Toews.”

“Goodbye, Kate Wilder.”  He responded warmly.  

She leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek.  “And Simon….”

“Yeah?”

“Be good.”

Simon watched as she released him and walked over to the truck, climbing inside with her daughter.  She pulled down a pair of aviators from the visor and slid them on, a blissful little grin on her lips as she turned on the engine.  Kate took Millie under one arm and kissed the top of her head.  She put the truck into gear and head on out of his life for good.

Simon smiled to himself, walking over to his bullet-ridden car.  It still ran perfectly, it just wasn’t pretty.  It suited him, he decided.  The battered fighter climbed into the driver’s seat and fired the old Charger up.  With his last moment on the farm, he turned and looked out to Virgil’s grave, silently said goodbye, leaving the farm, the death, and a part of himself he’d carried for years behind.  He didn’t know where the road would take him, or what fate had in store.  But he would meet it nonetheless.

The makeshift cross stood strong as the wind blew across the prairie lands, Virgil in his home, and Wyatt much like in life, on the outskirts, his father just out of reach until the Prairie eventually reclaimed them both.

Simon threw the car into gear and drove off, leaving behind a trail of dust in the afternoon sun.


Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
Where the coyotes wail and the wind blows free
And when I die, don't bury me
'neath the Western sky on the lone prairie

Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
These words came soft and painfully
From the pallid lips of a youth who lay
On his dying bed at the break of day

But we buried him there, on the lone prairie
Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free
In a shallow grave, no one to grieve
'neath the Western sky on the lone prairie

Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
These words came soft and painfully
From the pallid lips of a youth who lay
On his dying bed at the break of day
On his dying bed at the break of day

William Elliot Whitmore-Bury Me Not on The Lone Prairie