Billie the Kid: The Sky Fire Chronicles Book 1 Page 2

  Harrison was a good man. He and Billie’s mother had been together for nine years and married for six. Catherine’s health had deteriorated over the last few months, the dry air wasn’t the God-send the eastern doctors promised. They had nothing to lose, but to go back east. Besides, the eastern states were cooler and there were trees and grass—and it rained there! Billie had never seen rain before and often daydreamed what it would be like to see water fall from the sky.

  Fortune finally smiled on them, a week ago her stepfather’s luck changed. He dug up half a bucket of sky rocks from a dry gully on his claim. And one nugget was as big as your fist! It would be enough for them to buy a few supplies and leave this godforsaken land—for good. Billie vowed never to return. All they needed now was for Harrison to get a fair price at the exchange—but they all knew he wouldn’t. The exchanges were owned by the big mining companies and it wasn’t in their best interest to allow the independent miners, like Harrison, to make any money.

  The store’s front door opened and a cloud of yellow dust and two middle aged women blew in. Billie grimaced. They were well known as the local gossips. Without acknowledgement, the older women strolled passed Billie in their long puffy dresses, which were all the latest fashion. Their hair was contained within frilly bonnets which were secured with wide ribbons under their ample chins. As they passed, the women looked away from Billie, continuing their conversation as though she wasn’t there.

  Old bitches.

  Mr. Thomas greeted his new customers with a smile as he whirled passed them to close the open door. With a quiet click, he shut out the wind and the dust from entering his immaculately clean store. The store keeper didn’t look pleased for a moment before his friendly smile returned.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Peabody, Mrs. Robinson,” said Mr. Thomas. “How may I help you today?”

  “Just the usual order,” said Mrs. Peabody. Billie had never seen someone with so much flesh. Everyone she knew was so thin that you could count their ribs, but not these two women.

  “Nothing for me, Thomas,” said the second woman, not looking at the man as she spoke.

  Ignoring the two women, Billie continued to browse and before long, found herself staring at the weapon rack at the back of the store. The timber frame contained four swords. Her mind flashed back to the day saw the stranger ride out of the wasteland…that horrific day had given her nightmares for years—she went cold with the thought of the butchered law officers and the blood. No one came forward that day as a witness—meaning she was the only one to see the killer’s face. It was a face she would never forget. The shape of his chin, each crease of his skin and those eyes…she would never forget his piercing eyes.

  For two years, her mother feared the killer would come to silence Billie and slay their family. But the killer never came for them.

  Billie looked down at the odd silver coin in her hand, the one the killer gave her that day. She always carried it and she wasn’t sure why. It might have been that she felt at ease when she held it. Billie turned the coin, running her fingers over its cool and smooth surfaces. It was without any marks except for two small notches on its edge. She made sure that no one saw the coin or knew she had it—only once, a few years ago, Joseph found it under her pillow before she could snatched it away from him. He never saw or touched it again and she was sure he’d forgotten about the coin as he’d never mentioned it again. It was her secret. Her link to that gruesome day.

  Putting the coin back in her pocket, her gaze returned to the weapons. The weapons were mysterious things to her. Pieces of harmless steel capable of so much carnage in a skilful hand. Reaching out, she ran a finger lightly down one of the blades. It was smooth, like the silver coin—

  “Do you want a look at one?” said Mr. Thomas, appearing from nowhere. Billie withdrew her hand quickly and tip of her finger scraped over the sword’s edge, drawing blood. Instinctively, she grabbed her hand, too scared to see how much damage she had caused.

  “Oww!”

  “Here, let me have a look, Miss,” said Mr Thomas. “You’ll live, it’s just a scratch, but I think we should wrap a clean rag around it.”

  While Mr. Thomas went to find a bandage, Billie kept pressure on her finger tip. I have to be more careful.

  In the silence, the two women’s voices seemed to fill the small store. “…three breasts,” said Mrs. Peabody. “And claws on all her toes, they said. A hideous beast.”

  “And for years she’d been teaching those precious little children!” said Mrs. Robinson.

  Billie shook her head. No doubt they were spreading rumours about someone they didn’t like.

  “They say a brave marshal from Karsen City shot her right between the eyes. And she spewed out black blood for several minutes before she died!”

  “Oh, my. These mutants are becoming harder to detect. For all we know…” Mrs. Peabody glanced around the store to see if anyone was listening. “Any of these common folk could be a mutant,” she whispered.

  Hidden, Billie peeked through a rack of coats, listening with interest. Joseph and Alice were still deep in conversation at the counter, gazing at each other awkwardly and paying no attention to the old biddies.

  Clawed toes? Black blood? I don’t think so. The only mutant I’ve seen lately was Joey this morning.

  Mr. Thomas returned with a roll of narrow cloth and wrapped it around her cut finger. “Would you like to handle a sword?” he asked, nodding toward the weapon rack.

  “No, sir,” replied Billie. “My ma would tan my hide if I touched a weapon.”

  “Then we better not tell her.” He reached up and lifted down a sword, giving her the hilt first.

  Its straight blade was almost three feet long and it was much heavier than it looked. She swung it through the air, being careful that its sharp edge touched nothing by accident. Most of the wealthier families living this near the wasteland gave swords to their sons on their eighteenth birthdays. It was a sign of manhood. Harrison barely made enough money to feed them and they had no money for swords. Joseph didn’t have one and didn’t seem to notice other men his age with either swords or revolvers hanging from their belts. To the rich, a quality sword was a sign of good breeding and social status. It wasn’t in Joseph’s nature to carry a weapon for show and it made Billie proud.

  Well, he’s still a doofus.

  The store owner looked on and smiled as Billie swung the sword again. She wished her brother would notice—

  “Mr. Thomas! Why is that girl holding that weapon?” asked Mrs Peabody. “You never know what she might be...”

  “She’s a paying customer like you, Mrs. Peabody,” said Mr. Thomas, winking at Billie. She smiled back.

  “I hope you know what you are doing. Remember what they discovered about that school teacher over in Rockgully. That’s only thirty mines from here.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Peabody. I heard that rumor.”

  “It’s no rumor. Mrs. Brown heard it first hand from someone there. She said when they burnt the mutant teacher at the stake, the flames didn’t affect her. It was only a steel bullet from that brave marshal that ended the mutant’s life and stopped it from killing the whole town. Steel always kills mutants.”

  “You mean he shot an unarmed woman tied to a stake?”

  “Mr. Thomas! None of that talk, if you please. The monster was tried by her peers and found to be a mutant. Execution is the only punishment for such abominations.”

  “If you say so, Mrs. Peabody.” Mr. Thomas turned to Billie, whispering, “We better put this back before she has us all tried and burnt at the stake.”

  Billie smiled, handing back the sword. He returned the weapon to its position in the rack.

  “I’ll see how the boys are going with loading your order.” He produced something from his waistcoat pocket, handing her a green candy. “I hid this one from your brother.”

  Billie ran her hand along the rolls of colored material, feeling their different textures. There was only a small
range of colors and patterns, but she still struggled to choose one she liked for a dress. Dresses aren’t practical. She selected a roll of floral material and laid the end over her arm. The pale pink design contrasted with her suntanned skin. No, that won’t do. Too girly, she thought, shaking her head. She selected another—a dark red material with white stripes and placed her arm next to it. A little better.

  “What’s going on there?” muttered Mr. Thomas from the front of the store. He was looking through the large storefront window out into the main street.

  Billie glanced over at the store owner. Something was wrong, he looked tense. She hurried toward the window and in her haste, she knocked a few rolls of cloth off the table, falling unheeded to the floor. Standing beside Mr. Thomas, Billie’s gaze followed his. In front of the exchange, her parents cowered in the street as a group of dust-covered men mounted horses.

  No!

  The men’s faces were covered with bandanas and one levelled a revolver at her parents—the exchange was being robbed!

  Chapter 3

  Catherine and Harrison walked across the street to the mining exchange. A sudden weakness overcame Catherine and she stumbled, leaning on her husband’s arm. She flashed a smile as Harrison steadied her. He wasn’t Wilhelmina and Joseph’s father, but he loved her and her two children. Their real father—she shuttered. He wasn’t a man she wanted to think about. Not now, not ever. After today, they would finally have the money to leave the bad memories and this dry land behind.

  A wind gust picked up the yellow dirt and threw it into the air. A coughing fit racked Catherine’s thin body and she squeezed Harrison’s arm. He offered her a white handkerchief and she covered her mouth to protect her fragile lungs. Harrison looked at his wife, concern showing on his face. She was getting worse.

  Catherine smiled weakly at him and wiped her mouth, missing a small spot of blood at the corner of her lips.

  “Just a little dust,” she said. “I’ll be all right in a minute.”

  “Are you sure?” He placed a hand against her skeletal cheek, gazing into her eyes. She was weaker. How much longer did she have? “Do you want to wait in the wagon? I won’t be too long.”

  “Harrison Antrim, do you think I will miss seeing you get paid for all the hard work you have done?”

  “All right, but you will have to rest this afternoon.”

  “And I thought you would take me dancing.”

  “How about when…when we get back east.”

  “I guess I can wait. I’m a little tired anyway.”

  They continued on to the exchange, stepping onto the timber boardwalk and under the shade of the exchange’s roof. Catherine was relieved to be out of the energy sapping sun. To her it seemed hotter than usual.

  The dry wasteland heat was slowly wearing her down and she longed to feel cool air on her skin again, to see grass and rain. In all the years she had lived along the borderlands, it hadn’t rained once. In fact, she didn’t even remember seeing a single cloud out here. Day in, day out, the sky remained a strange blue color and it was always cloudless. Many scholars theorised the cloudless sky was a side effect of the Apocalypse—that’s what the church called that fateful day. The beginning of the end.

  Ten years ago, fire rained from the sky, vaporizing all the water and vegetation in the south. The government reported nothing had survived. No people, animals or plants, and all the towns and cities caught fire and were reduced to piles of ash. Water became and remained an expensive commodity, almost as expensive as sky rocks. The rocks were discovered in the first years after the Sky Fires, scattered across the newly formed wasteland. These precious rocks were mined and shipped east by the big mining companies, for what purpose no one seemed to know.

  Harrison open the exchange’s door for Catherine, but a sound caught their attention. A group of men rode sturdy desert horses down the street toward them. These men were wealthy as few could afford the upkeep of a horse here. A desert horse was a smaller and hardier breed than a standard horse, but still expensive to maintain as their feed and water was shipped from greener regions. Most people owned desert mules.

  The horsemen rode past the exchange, throwing more dust into the dry air. They were heading to the saloon down the street. Catherine locked eyes with one rider as they passed. He was an ugly bent man and when he noticed her, he respectfully tapped the brim of his dusty bowler hat.

  “Out of towners,” said Harrison. “Come on, let’s get our money.”

  Catherine tore her eyes away from the horsemen and entered the exchange. For a moment, Harrison stared uneasily after the horsemen, before following his wife in doors.

  Coming in from outside, the exchange’s interior seemed dim. The columned entrance was wide and airy and constructed from a dark polished timber. The room was simply furnished, but it radiated wealth, as all the construction materials would have come from an eastern or a northern state. There were no trees within a hundred miles of Deepwell.

  Toward the back of the high-ceiling room, two men and a woman sat at desks writing in leather-bound ledgers, too busy scribing to notice the Antrims’ entrance. Beyond the clerks were two solid timber doors. One led to the manager’s office and the other to the vault room.

  On either side of the entrance door stood a guard in a brown-striped suit and a bowler hat. One held a double barrel shotgun and a broadsword hung at the hip of other. The swordsman nodded to them as they passed, but the other guard, a heavy set man, didn’t acknowledge their arrival.

  “Good morning,” said a tall, weasel-like man who appeared from nowhere. “How may the Southern Star Mining Exchange help you today?” The man was known to all in the district as Mr. Brown, the assistant manager. He was a man with reputation for his height as well as his short temper.

  Catherine felt uncomfortable being close to this man. Her first impression was he wasn’t trustworthy.

  “We’re here to sell sky rocks,” said Harrison. “And a mining claim.” He gave Brown a quick grin, but Brown didn’t return it.

  Catherine could see sweat on Harrison’s top lip and it was not from the heat of the day—these suit-wearing men made him nervous. They had power over anyone coming into their establishment. They knew it and so did he.

  “Very good. This way.” Without waiting for a response, Mr. Brown turned and walked to the closest desk. “Sit here. Mr. Moody will attend you now.” Brown walked briskly away.

  The balding clerk looked up from his journal and over the top of his glasses like a disapproving school teacher. “What do you have?”

  Harrison handed the bag to the clerk who examined its contents. After only a brief inspection, Moody shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. Poor quality. Very poor quality.”

  Moody attracted the attention of another clerk, who took Harrison’s bag into the vault room. “He has to weigh it,” said Moody and he returned to his writing.

  “I want to sell my claim as well.” Harrison handed him an official looking piece of paper.

  Moody skimmed over the paper’s contents. “Oh, your claim is out there,” he said and not in a good way.

  After a few minutes, the second clerk returned and whispered something into Moody’s ear.

  “Fourteen pounds of rock,” he said after the other clerk left. “Not much.”

  “I thought it was more,” said Harrison, looking more nervous.

  “It was heavier when we left home,” said Catherine. “Maybe some evaporated. It is a hot day after all.”

  “Yes. Amusing.” Moody looked like he didn’t find anything funny. He leaned back in his chair, putting his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. “For the sky rocks and your claim, one hundred dollars—”

  “What?!” said Harrison, standing, his chair screeching against the floor boards. There was movement behind them. The guards were alerted that there may be trouble.

  “Please, sir, be seated. That’s better.” Moody scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Harrison. “If you’re interested, ta
ke this over to the cashier and you will get your money.”

  “Come on, Harrison, let’s go.” Catherine stood and placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. He met her gaze and she could see the disappointment in his eyes. Without saying another word, they walked to the cashier.

  Four dust-covered men walked through the exchange door, bumping into the Antrims as they left. One stepped aside and tipped his hat to Catherine as she passed. He was the same twisted man that rode past earlier—the unfortunate man was a hunchback. As he moved off, Catherine glimpsed a revolver handle under his coat. There was nothing unusual about being armed this near the wasteland. Life was cheap here and many were desperate to make a living whatever the cost. Even Harrison carried a short-barrelled revolver when he was prospecting. It was a parting gift from his father. Thank God he has never needed it.

  Outside, Harrison stopped. “My claim was worth two hundred alone!” he whispered through clenched teeth. “They’re bandits!”

  Catherine slipped her arm through his. “We can still leave with one hundred dollars. We’ll buy enough food to last for a month’s journey.”

  “And pay our tab at the store.”

  “How much is that?”

  “Eighty dollars,” he muttered.

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll just work for the company and earn some extra money.” Harrison looked miserable as he gazed across the street toward the store. “The children will be disappointed…”

  “Cheer up, darling. We still have each other.” She smiled, but started to cough and covered her mouth with a handkerchief.

  Harrison was concern for his wife. She needed to see specialist doctors back east as soon as possible. “Maybe we can leave in a few months—”

  The exchange door burst opened and a group of men stepped out onto the timber footpath, crushing into the Antrims. Catherine staggered forward and almost fell off the footpath into the street.