Chapter 8 - Decisions And Destiny
Jack wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious. The sun didn't appear to have moved all that much since the last time he'd looked.
He sat up and he remembered. Something exploded.
"Mei!"
He jumped to his feet and saw only smoke and debris where the G'voda vessel had been before.
Hank staggered next to him. "What the hell was that?!"
"The ship."
Both of them tried to run, but found it difficult to get their bodies to cooperate. As they neared the wrecked ship, they realized there was little but bits and pieces remaining. A number of the nearby trees were engulfed in flames.
"Mei!" Jack called out.
"Over here," a weak voice replied.
Jack ran over to a group of trees and found his wife slumped up against one. "You okay?"
"Not really," she said as Jack helped her to her feet. She glanced over at the shattered wreckage. "The ship self-destructed."
"Please tell me that son of a bitch Zachary was inside that thing when it blew," Hank said.
Mei-Wan shot him a disgusted look. "Shut up, Hank."
"Don't tell me you're gonna shed tears over that murderous bastard! After what he did? After what he tried to do to you?"
"As much as you may want to deny it, Hank. There was, in the end, still a small portion of humanity left in Duncan Zachary."
"Small doesn't cut it in my book, Mei."
She closed her eyes. "Sometimes a father's love is enough."
Fifteen feet away from them in a clearing, a ten foot wide mass of energy appeared.
"Is that what I think it is?" Hank asked.
A weak smile came to Mei-Wan's face.
"Step through," the booming, but familiar voice of the Guardian instructed them.
While Hank walked over to where he and Jack had tied their horses, Mei-Wan turned to her husband. "Jack, I…"
He smiled. "Remember when I let Horace go and I told you I'd made the only choice I could?"
"Yes, but..."
"I realized that if I stayed here I'd eventually be forced to become someone I wasn't. As much as I love this place, this time, the man I want to be can't kill a young boy because of what he might do in the future."
"I don't understand."
"Jedediah was right about Horace Prange. Eventually he'd be coming after me. A man of this time would have killed the boy, but that's not who I am." Jack brushed a section of Mei-Wan's hair away from her eyes. "When I saw the fear on Horace's face, I figured it out. If I'm not here, neither he nor his father has anyone to come after. I was the problem, not Horace. He belongs here. I don't. I belong in the twenty-fourth century."
Hank Evans came back with their bags. "Wouldn't be a good idea to leave these behind." He turned to Jack. "So, I suppose this is finally goodbye."
Mei-Wan shook her head. "He's coming with us."
"What?" Hank asked as Jack and Mei-Wan approached the Guardian's portal. "When the hell did this happen?"
Jack and Mei-Wan walked through.
"Those two are going to drive me insane."
A moment after Hank entered the portal, it vanished.
***
John Prange stood with his men, staring at the various wooden buildings that made up Culbertson, Nebraska. He'd spent the last year looking for his chance to settle the books between him and the man who'd killed his two sons. This place had provided the only lead they'd been able to find. Prior to this, it had been as if Jack McCall had disappeared off the face of the Earth.
Silas Greene walked up to Prange. "He's over in the saloon across the street."
John Prange's tired eyes looked at the saloon as its front doors swung open.
"That's him," Silas said.
"Who’s the other boy?"
"Don't know."
Prange stood to his full height. "Looks like they're heading to the stable at the end of the street."
"That'll be as good a place as any to talk to him."
"I intend to do far more than talk," John said as he stepped out into the street.
A few short minutes later, John Prange and his seven hired guns came upon a young man in his mid-twenties, his head covered in a thick crop of chestnut hair, preparing a saddle. His companion, a dark-haired man of about the same age was doing the same.
"Your name be McCall?" Silas asked as the others stood behind him.
The lighter-haired man turned to face them with a tight, toothy grin. "I go by a lot a names, mister."
His friend chuckled.
Silas wasn't amused. "I asked you a question."
"I go by Jack McCall."
John Prange's eyes widened. "Where's your pa, boy?"
Young McCall glanced at Prange. "Why should I tell you anything, mister?"
The darker haired young man inched his right hand toward the gun on his belt. "Just tell 'em what they want, Jack."
"Shut up!" McCall shouted. I know what I'm doin'!" His gaze fixed on Silas Greene once again. "Don't I know you?"
Prange gave a curious look to Silas. Any connection between these two might mean this mouthy boy was indeed related to the man who'd killed his two boys, Chester and Luther.
The dark-haired man with McCall pulled his gun, thinking things were about to take a turn for the worse. But Silas Greene had the kind of reflexes that didn't require thought. When he saw a man draw a gun, he acted.
Greene's gun fired.
McCall's companion fell to the ground.
"You son of a bitch!" McCall shouted as he ran to his partner.
"Silas!" John Prange called out. "They're no use to us dead!"
"He went for his gun," Greene said with a calm voice. "I had no choice."
McCall turned. "Silas? Silas Greene?"
Greene eyed McCall with a steady gaze. "How do you know me?"
"Now I remember you!" Jack McCall shouted as he held his dead friend in his arms. His grief evaporated, replaced by rage. "You came with Wild Bill to my daddy's stable in Jefferson Town. Wild Bill said my pa did him wrong with his horse."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Greene asked, checking his pistol.
Young McCall was now enraged. "You beat my pa right in front of me! And then Wild Bill said, 'Silas, go get my money out a that cash box.' My pa was never right after that!"
John Prange stepped up to Greene, but his gaze remained on the young man bleeding to death in front of him. "What's this crazy boy talking about?"
Silas nodded. "A thief who ran a livery in Kentucky. It has to be more than ten, fifteen years ago, back when I worked with Hickok. His pa ain't the Jack McCall we're looking for."
Prange closed his eyes. It had all been for nothing and now someone else was dead.
"And now look!" McCall screamed. "Now you killed my brother! Did Hickok send you to do this?! Wasn't what he did to my pa enough?!"
"Hickok has nothing to do with this, boy." Prange looked down at the other young man as the last of his lifeblood drained from him. "He's about the age of my boy, Horace," he murmured. Another man's son was dead because of him.
"We don't belong here," Prange said under his breath. "Least of all me." He stood and tossed a small purse to Jack McCall. "Take this. It's over five hundred dollars. I'm sorry, about your brother. I truly am."
McCall's red face glared at Prange. "You think you can end this with money?! You think I'm gonna forget this?!"
"Trust me boy. It's better to forget it." Prange turned to Silas. "Let's get the hell out of here and go back to where we belong."
John Prange wanted to see his remaining son, Horace. He'd had enough of death and dying.
Jack McCall watched the men leave the stable. "I'll make 'em pay, Bobby. I promise I will."
Young Jack McCall went to the door and watched the men walk away. A twisted, toothy smile haunted his face.
Hickok was behind this, he thought. He's always been the problem.
"And he's gonna pay for it too." His smile widened. "I'm gonna get Wild Bill and I'm gonna get him good."
***
On the second day of August in the year 1876, young Jack McCall stepped into the Number Ten in Deadwood and eyed a man who represented all the pain of his short life.
James Butler Hickok stood at the bar in his favorite Prince Albert frock coat and a wide sombrero hat. His long hair draped down the front of his shoulders. He smoothed out his handlebar mustache as he often did before taking a drink. Hickok downed a shot of whiskey then made his way to a table for his regular game of cards.
But young Jack had come to settle scores. It didn't matter if those scores had any substance to them. They rarely did in a place like Deadwood. After several long minutes of hesitation, McCall pulled his gun and fired.
The following March, young Jack McCall breathed his last at the end of a hangman's rope. His place in history had come to an end.
But history, as it always does, moved ever forward.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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Dark Horizon Story and Characters Copyright ©2004 Michael Gray
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