The destruction of Savvytown took less than an hour.
The fighting was limited to the killing of four of the Devil's Dancers. Three of them were standing together waiting for Lido to come out of Savvy's trailer where he'd gone to get the feel of being in charge. He'd never been in charge of anything before except in third grade when he delighted the faculty by volunteering to take a collection for poor Mrs. Leander when she took sick with pneumonia. Lido had promised to buy her some flowers, but had stolen the money instead and claimed he'd lost it. This trick had worked several times through school before he dropped out after his third time through tenth grade. He poked around Savvy's desk, played with Flex's gun, but other than that he didn't know what to do except what they'd always done. Keep the whores on their backs and the whiskey still boiling. Maybe mark the cards a little. Or change the name of the town to Lidotown or Lidoville. It didn't matter what you called the place, from now on it was Fat City for the Devil's Dancers.
He was admiring his new alligator skin shoes when he heard the noise. Something like a zipper being closed too fast. Then a scream. Randy hollering, "Fucking shit!" More screams.
Flex's 9mm was in his hand as he charged out the door, saw Alex and Greaseball lying in the dirt with a couple arrows sticking out of them at all kinds of angles. It made him think someone was going to start yelling, "Indians! Circle the wagons."
Randy was crouching behind a trailer, popping out to blast both barrels of his shotgun, then ducking back and reloading.
Lido dove for cover just as two arrows whizzed toward him. He caught a glimpse of the blonde with the big tits shooting her bow from behind the porch of the infirmary. What the hell were they doing back here? They'd done their damage and split. He figured they'd be miles away by now. Shit. What to do now? He raised his gun and fired twice at her, but missed. Damn thing pulled to the left.
"Over there," Randy warned, "behind the craps trailer. A guy with a bow."
Lido waved thanks, but saw Randy suddenly slapping at his neck. Something sticking out of it, an arrow. No, too small. A dart. Stepping out behind him, the nip girl. She threw another dart into his back and Randy spun angrily with his shotgun. But before he made it all the way around, a dark-haired girl with a bow popped up and fired an arrow into Randy's stomach. Lido could see the tip poking out his back as he fell.
"Fucking cunts," he growled, aiming the 9mm at the dark-haired girl, adjusting for the pull to left. Tightening his finger.
But his finger never got a chance to close. He felt a hand yanking on his hair, jerking him backward off his feet. The gun tumbling out of his hand. A nudge at the bottom of his stomach. He looked down, saw Eric's hand wrapped around a knife. The blade was embedded to the hilt in his stomach. Now, dear God, it was traveling upward.
He pushed at Eric's hand, trying to stop the movement. But the strength had already drained out of him. His stomach was on fire and crazily he thought maybe the fresh air would help cool it. There was a pressure at his chest as the knife bumped the sternum. He watched his intestines spill onto the alligator shoes, and died.
Most of the customers had been asleep when it started and were only now rousing themselves now that it was over. They figured it was just a business dispute, nothing more. They took one look at what had happened and decided to get out of town, maybe come back when the new owners had settled in. The two remaining members of the Devil's Dancers had shunned their denim colors and left town with the others, hoping they wouldn't be recognized.
Those that remained-the abused women, children, the doctor, a few men who'd been at forced labor-approached their liberators with caution, then suspicion. Finally, shouts of happiness mixed with tears of loss.
It took longer to convince Tracy, Season, Rydell and Molly that they should stay while Eric went on alone. There were protests and arguments, but in the end there wasn't much they could do. They accepted his decision and his advice for them to stay on here and get the place in shape.
He rode out while they argued over what to rename the town. Molly had suggested Gotham City.
He noticed her following him almost immediately. Tracy wasn't a very good rider and was an even worse tracker. At first he'd been angry with her, determined to teach her a lesson by shaking her right away. But then he'd decided it would be better if she gave up on her own. He'd give her three days. After that she wouldn't be able to take it any longer. Too hungry, too thirsty, too tired, too lonely. She'd have to turn back.
By the fifth day he almost lost her. The winding trip through the San Gabriel Mountains had been too much for her and he wasted half a day's riding while waiting for her to pick up his trail again. For awhile he was worried, considered going back after her, but then he glimpsed her dark hair bobbing up and down on the trail below and sighed with relief. She'd become a better rider, he noted.
By the seventh day Tracy was still there. Eric admitted surprise, even admiration. She was tougher than he'd given her credit for. Still, where he was going, what he had to do, she didn't belong. She'd proven herself in combat back there in Savvytown, but that was easy compared with what lay ahead. No, for her own good, he should lose her. Somehow she'd make it back to the others. And she'd be better off.
Yeah, he should do that, he really should. All he'd have to do is ride faster, cover his trail. She'd never find him. He should do that right now, kick his horse in the ribs, trot up over that ridge and she'd be out of his life forever. Right now.
He sighed, reined his horse, and climbed off the saddle. He picked out a shady spot by the side of the trail, sat down with a smile. And waited.
On the other hand, there was something about her…