Loss of Innocence

Ehawee goes into the bedroom and shuts the door, holding back tears as she straightens out her dress and lies down on the bed. If her people are doomed to lose this fight, she wonders, then why is she going through all of this to free them? What if this is just postponing the inevitable? Normally such troubled thoughts would keep her awake for quite some time, but she is so exhausted by her recent trials that she falls asleep very quickly.

She awakens sometime later, when it has grown much darker in the already darkened room. She senses that she is not alone and hears someone fiddling with their clothing. She lies still for a moment, trying to see who it is in the darkness, then realizes that they are behind her and rolls quickly for the edge of the bed. Unfortunately, as she starts rolling, someone grabs her ankle.

"Hang on there, bitch," a man's voice says, as the grip tightens and starts pulling her back. "What's good fer the lieutenant is good fer me."

A cold chill washes over Ehawee at these words. She frantically tries growing the bone spikes on her hands, but finds that fear doesn't seem to be the proper motivator in changing her form. Realizing that the man will be on her before she gets her body to cooperate, she screams and kicks at him with her free foot, aiming for his groin. She lands the kick hard, and the man grunts in pain and lets her go. Backing away a few steps, he draws a revolver and cocks it. Desperate now, Ehawee grabs a china water pitcher from the stand next to the bed and hurls it at the man as hard as she can. It flies across the room and smashes into the forehead of her attacker, who slumps to the ground and does not move.

Ehawee stands there stunned for a few moments, her heart pounding loudly in her ears, not quite able to believe that it's over. Then it occurs to her that there might be more like him...maybe even in the next room. This thought is enough to spur her into action, and she carefully approaches the downed man, looking for his gun. Fortunately, it is easy to locate, and while reaching for it she notices that the man is bleeding rather profusely from his forehead. This pleases her immensely. Gun in hand, she moves towards the bedroom door, listening for sounds of movement in the other room.

Ehawee hears the front door to the cabin open and someone walking quickly towards the bedroom. She positions herself so that she will be behind the door when it opens and waits, holding the gun tightly, her hands starting to shake slightly. The door begins to open quickly, and she hears another revolver cock, but the door slows when light from the outside room spills across the still form of her attacker. There is the smell of cigarette smoke in the air.

"You can come out. It's just me," says the voice of the man that had sent her to bed in the first place.

She emerges slowly, still keeping her back to the wall and the gun in her hand. "How did he get in here?" she asks warily, her eyes darting from the man with the cigarette to the man on the floor.

He lowers his weapon, but does not put it away, keeping a close eye on her gun. "I'm afraid I couldn't stay in here all afternoon. There was the pretense of duty to keep up. He must have slipped in while I was away. It's not like they bothered to put locks on this blasted cabin. Are you all right?"

She nods, starting to shake a bit more noticeably now that the adrenaline's wearing off. She lowers her gun to point towards the floor, but still clings to it as she looks back over at the prone man. "Is he dead?" she asks, trying to see if he's still breathing without moving from her current position.

The man her attacker had called "the lieutenant" shrugs. "Do you care?" he asks. "You've got plenty more killing ahead of you this night, if you want to see your menfolk live on the morrow."

She straightens a bit at that, anger replacing some of the fear still lingering inside of her. "I care only because if he isn't dead, we will have to kill him," she insists.

"All right," he says, and heads over to the man with a spring in his step. He removes the prone man's gun belt and brings it back over to her. "You'll have to do it quietly, though. I'd suggest this: put your hands on either side of his head and twist hard and fast. That should break his neck. While you do that, I'll keep watch, just in case your scream aroused anyone else's interest."

He moves back toward the other room, leaving her with the unconscious man. Stalling for time, she puts the gun belt on first, and slides the gun into it, making sure to uncock the hammer first. Then she approaches her attacker, watching him carefully, part of her afraid that he will suddenly spring upright and come after her again. She crouches by his head, finding it surprisingly difficult to kill him now that the moment has arrived. She tells herself that she killed many whites during the battle, but those deaths were not in cold blood to an unconscious enemy. She stares at the man for several long minutes, reminding herself of what his kind did to her people. For all she knows, this might be the very man who killed her father. Then she forces herself to remember the way she felt when he grabbed her, and what he intended to do to her...what he'd be doing right now, if she hadn't stopped him. What he may have done to other women in her tribe. She grabs hold of the fear and anger these thoughts invoke in her, wrapping herself in them, letting them fill her to the point where she can take the man's head in her hands and, with a deep breath, twist his head quickly sideways as she would an animal's. She is rewarded with a sickening crack, and the man's breath escapes in a sigh, to be drawn in no more.

Ehawee releases the dead man's head abruptly, like she was holding a poisonous snake, letting it fall back to the floor with a thud. She stares at the man's body numbly for a minute or two, unaware of the tears that are beginning to trickle down her cheeks. Then, as the enormity of what she has just done finally sinks in, she is suddenly, violently ill.

She hears a tsking from behind her. "Come, come, kitten. You'll have to be a lot tougher than that if you're to survive the night," the lieutenant says.

She does not turn to face him, but he can practically hear the daggers she'd be glaring at him if she did when she speaks. "Perhaps you are used to killing men in this way, but I am not."

"There is a first time for everyone. Had we more time...but alas, we don't. Are you ready to continue?"

She takes a few deep breaths, testing to see if the nausea has passed, then nods. She wipes the corner of her mouth and stands, only a little shakily. "How are the two of us going to free my people?" she asks, unable to believe that they alone will be able to accomplish this.

"How do your people sneak up on a whole herd of buffalo? We will be silent killers, like wolves in the night. We'll kill the sentries first, then go from tent to tent and take care of the others, just like you took care of him," he says, nodding to the body.

"He was unconscious. Won't the sentries cry out before we can do...that?" she says, also motioning to the body.

"Not if you're quick about it. Hesitate, and they'll raise the alarm. Understood?"

She nods solemnly, beginning to feel the weight of what they will be attempting...and how easily she could cause them to fail. One mistake, just one, and any chance for the men to survive will be lost. So much is riding on her.... "Won't those who come later be suspicious when they don't find your body?" she asks, trying not to dwell on the enormity of the task ahead.

"No worries there. I've planned ahead. Are you ready?"

She takes a deep breath. "Yes, but...is there any more water before we go?" she asks, wanting to remove the taste of vomit before they start, lest it inspire more of the same.

"Not in the cabin, I'm afraid. You'll have to steal the canteen of the first man you kill. Give me a few moments. I want to clear the area. I wish you hadn't screamed..." he mumbles mostly to himself as he heads out.

"Who will notice? They'll just assume you were having your way with me. Or he was. Be thankful he didn't shoot," she retorts, resenting the implication that she did something wrong....but also hating herself for having been so weak that she actually did scream.

After the lieutenant leaves, Ehawee does a quick check of the rooms, hoping that maybe the dead man brought a canteen in with him. Finding none, she settles for spitting to remove as much of the bad taste in her mouth as she can. Then she forces herself to look at the dead man, doing her best to think of him as no more than a vicious animal, and the rest of the whites outside as the same. "You deserved death," she mutters. "All of you do. The spirits will be glad that there are less of you when this night is over."

The dead man makes no comment, of course.

"Deadwood"
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All text on this page is © 2001 by Kris Fazzari.

Last modified on June 11, 2001 by Kris Fazzari.