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As they leave the shouting guards behind, one of the arrows strikes his mirror shattering it to bits. Marshall had been using the mirror to look at Angelica. He hears her moan softly for just a second and she tightens her grip to him. "Are you all right Angelica?" "Yes, milord, I am all right." Even though the dirt roads are covered in a thick layer of mud, Marshall and Angelica make good time away from the village. Marshall's experience riding the dirt track circuit and his knowledge of this bikes handling keep them way ahead of the mounted guards. They ride for almost two hours making their way into the countryside. Thinking the guards have given up on them by now, Marshall shouts over his shoulder to Angelica asking if she knows which way from here. Again she responds by pointing a direction. Another quick turn and off they go again down a winding road to a small structure. Marshall pulls the big bike off the road and around the back of this small hovel. It's a wooden structure half buried in and covered by earth. There is one door, one window and a chimney. There is a lean-to off the structure where Marshall parks the bike. Laughing, he turns off the big bike then drops the kickstand and shouts in his best Jack Nicolson voice "Hi, honey, we're home. Angel, if you step up on that peg and swing your leg over the seat we both can get off this monster." standing up to hold the bike steady. Angelica moans softly, then stands and swings her leg across the seat then falls hard to the ground. Marshall eases the bike to its stand and then dismounts. He goes to her, dropping to one knee. Touching her softly on her cheek she feels cold. "Damn, hypothermia. I need to get you warmed up." He picks her up and carries her inside. He lays her down, covers her with furs, and lights a fire. Soon, the dried wood blazes brightly. Finding oil lamps and candles, Marshall lights them too and soon the room is flooded by light. As he walks to her side, he notices something on the leg of his leather chaps. It's wet looking and thick, oil he thinks and touches it, raising his fingers to his nose to smell what kind of oil. He then notices its bright red color. Shock crosses his mind and he turns and rushes to Angelica's side. Kneeling on floor beside her bed, he takes her hand "Why didn't you tell me you were hit?" She looks into his eyes, smiles a pain filled smile and whispers in the faintest voice "If you had known I was struck by the bolt, you would have stopped. Then you would have been captured. I did not want to be your demise." She coughs and a bloody bubble appears in her mouth. Marshall then realizes the best he can do is try to make her comfortable because she will not last long. Time passes slowly and the day lingers on. Marshall sits quietly by the young girl's side thinking about what her life could have been. Stroking her hair and face with a cool moist cloth, he softly sings to her. She suddenly reaches for him, struggling to pull him close to her. She kisses him softly then closes her eyes and is gone. Not a word was spoken, not a tear shed. Marshal undresses the girl and then wraps her in furs. He then gathers stones from around the area and digs a shallow grave. He places the young woman's body in the grave and says a few uneasy words. Then he covers her with dirt and the stones to mark her grave. He stands looking away from the village for a few minutes watching the clouds pass overhead, listening to the birds sing in the trees. He walks to the bike, drawing the sword as he reaches it, throwing the jewel incrusted scabbard to the ground. He opens his saddlebag and removes two zip ties. Marshall lays the sword across the handlebars with the hilt to the right side and loosely yet snugly ties the katana to them. With a grim smile, he pulls on his shorty style riding gloves, checks the fasteners on the chaps' then pulls off the long rain slicker. He folds the wet coat carefully after shaking as much water and mud off as possible and stuffs it one of the bags. Next he pulls on his heavy and very well broken in riding leather. He then grabs the 4 extra clips for the .45 from the other bag and reloads the clip that was in it, placing the old Colt back in the quick release holster inside his jacket. He checks the tank, muttering to himself, "I need to find a gas station soon or you are going to be worthless to me." First, he puts on his full-face helmet and fastens it snugly. Then, he pulls out the kick starter peddle. One kick to prime her, one for life, he starts the bike. Lifting it off the kickstand and smoothly tucking the stand under the bike, he stomps it in gear and races off toward the village again. The bike, now much lighter, squirms its way down the muddy roads. He tops a small rise and notices a mounted horse. The rider sees him at the same time and draws his sword. Shouting some war cry, the rider charges toward Marshall. They come closer and closer as Marshall twists the wick a little tighter. At about 20 feet, when the mounted guard has brought back his sword to chop Marshall, he releases the throttle, reaches into his jacket. Now, at about 12 feet, he grabs the 45 and releases the safety. As he points it at the rider, they are about 6 feet apart. Marshall sees the determination in the rider's eyes and the total astonishment as he pulls the trigger. The first shot pierces the riders nose guard, disappearing into the helmet, the second shot is almost point blank and takes the right side of the man's face off. The rider falls from the horse just as Marshall and he pass one an other. Marshall watches the man fall, turning in his seat and following him to the ground with the barrel of the automatic. Then, he turns forward, and twists the throttle again. The evening sun is behind him as he races towards the village. There are 4 more mounted riders laying in wait. Marshal turns on his headlight then flashes it up on bright. He reaches into his pocket and finds the book of matches he knew would be there. He wedges these into the crack between the throttle and the handlebars. The matches act like a throttle lock. The riders charge Marshall, their horses running hard and fast. Marshall draws the Colt and fires. The first shot goes wide of the intended target but strikes the second man in the chest and he falls by the way. This leaves three. The gap is closing quickly. One draws his sword as marshall blasts past him. Marshal turns in the seat, holding the gun in both hands and fires four quick shots. A second rider falls tumbling from his horse the third rider's horse trips over the body and that rider is slammed to the hard packed ground face first. The last rider turns and begins chasing Marshall into the village. Marshall pulls out the matchbook, draws in the clutch and stomps on the brake. He drops the kickstand and steps off the bike letting it idle. The approaching rider is in full attack mode, closing fast, riding close to the saddle. Marshall stands with his hands to his side, waiting for the rider to get close. He waits until it's almost too late... POW - POW - POW - CLIK sounds the Colt. The rider passes Marshall, slumped in his saddle. Then he slides off from one side but his foot is caught in the stirrup and his lifeless body is dragged into the town. Marshall drops the clip out, and replaces it with a fresh one, retrieving the one he dropped. "That should let them know I am coming!" he laughs. He remounts the bike and wonders where the captain of the guard is. He eases the bike into gear and slowly rides toward town. © |
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