Yeah I was gone for a bit, but now I'm back. I kind of got drawn into this other story which is probably on here too somewhere now.
Leaving Precipice
A spark of triumph flared in Sarah’s heart as she rode away from Precipice. Despite the horrors of the afternoon, she even managed to smile to herself as Garcia’s steed lumbered underneath her. So much had happened in the few hours since Mary had burst into her room babbling that Alfredo Garcia was dead. It seemed impossible, but McLain and Garcia were dead, and she was leaving behind the horrible memories of the cellar. Sarah Black had only been in Precipice for two days, and in that time she had developed a deep and violent hatred for the place and almost everything in it. Her jaw ached painfully where McLain had struck her, and deep in her stomach she could feel nausea quietly hibernating, awakening each time the vision of McLain’s mangled corpse flashed in her mind. She was hungry, terrified, traumatized and hadn’t slept for almost six days, but she was leaving Precipice. Sarah smiled again.
‘By look of you, I reckon you’re from the East.’ The stranger puffed sedately on his cigar beside her as he took one last look back at the town on the horizon, noting to himself with approval that Aurelio had followed his instructions for disposing of the corpses, a column of dirty black smoke had risen into the sky.
‘Angeltown,’ Sarah spoke without meaning to, startled by the sudden question.
‘Angeltown eh,’ the stranger squinted, ‘where’s your family?’
Sarah shrugged, turning her head away from him as she rode to hide the tears which welled up in her eyes with infuriating pain. The stranger’s eyes softened a little, it seemed to be a story he’d heard before, and he remained silent. They rode on in silence for some time, the stranger smoking his cigar and Sarah desperately gathering her sorrow back inside with all her might. By the time she had regained control of herself, Sarah noticed that the small green smudge on the horizon that they had been riding towards had become a grove of trees.
‘There it is,’ he nodded towards it, ‘I need to salvage whatever they didn’t ruin.’ He spoke in the way which had cowed McLain, not making suggestions but prophesying the fulfillment of his will, and Sarah simply nodded mutely.
The sun had just touched the horizon as they tethered their horses to one of the gnarled, sickly trees which lined the small pond of brackish water. The smell made Sarah retch. Strewn around the waterhole were the stranger’s possessions, much of it was undamaged, but a tangled pile of bones and a shredded saddle were all that remained of the mount. The stranger gave an elegiac sigh, kneeling over the remains of his steed.
‘Poor girl,’ he muttered, a little anger peeking through his sorrow. Sarah hovered awkwardly near her horse, unsure of what to say. The stranger arose, and began to gather the items strewn about the waterhole, Sarah hesitated but finally relented and began to search the opposite bank for items of use. She worked her way around the pool carefully, gathering up a flint and some tinder, a pouch filled with tobacco leaves, a flagon with a small tear and a huge, waterlogged bearskin which she fished out of the water with a stick. Sarah was about to head back to the horses, puzzled by why anyone would have a bearskin in the desert when she noticed something in one of the trees. She piled the stranger’s belongings at the foot of the tree and took hold of the lowest branch. Whatever she was trying to get to was lodged high in the foliage, obscured by the broad leaves of the bough. As she edged out onto the branch she was thankful that the rough bark was easy to grip, but it also tore at the skin of her calves and knees as she crawled painstakingly towards the mystery object. Finally, ducking under a small leafy branch, Sarah recognized the object. Hanging precariously from the branch by one of its steel arms was a large crossbow. She reached out, clamping onto the branch with her knees, and plucked it from peril, simultaneously she overbalanced, and as she grabbed the branch to steady herself, she almost lost hold of it altogether, but managed to tuck it under her arm safely for the descent. The stranger was waiting at the bottom when she reached the earth again, inspecting the torn flagon with dismay, but his rigid features lit up when he caught sight of the crossbow Sarah had retrieved from the clutches of the tree.
‘Extraordinary,’ he exclaimed with delight as she handed it to him, panting with exhaustion, ‘I was sure they would eat this,’ he twanged the twisted animal sinew stretched between the steel arms. He began to cart as much as he could carry from Sarah’s pile back to the large one he had already made in front of the horses. Sarah trailed behind, carrying the few small items that he had left behind.
‘We’ll sleep here tonight,’ the drifter said matter-of-factly as he unceremoniously dumped the sodden bearskin and assorted items onto the pile. He massaged his chin with a pensive hand as he eyed the bearskin. ‘We’ll need a fire to dry this out,’ he instructed, ‘see what you can find to burn.’ As Sarah trotted away to gather firewood, she was already devising a plan of escape…
Escape
The sound was unlike anything Drake had heard. Instead of the solid thump which had kept time to enslavement for seven years, there was an awful meaty squelch as Rollo’s corpulent torso squished like an overripe apple under the weight of the gigantic stone. For an instant, Drake’s innards twisted in nausea, a tide of gore welled up against the edges of the chamber where Rollo had been an instant before, but then the inertia of opportunity bore his body onwards with inexorable force. Drake flowed like liquid over the short distance to the chamber, leaping nimbly up onto the now ascending crushing block as it rose again in its inevitable rhythm. Sawyer stood flabbergasted by the chamber, until that is, the rock that Drake hurled caught him with a clack and knocked him out cold. Drake’s eyes darted about him like a cornered deer as he rode the block upward. As it reached to top, he hauled himself onto the framework supporting it and with acrobatic skill he darted across the shaft attaching it to the mill. Finally, there was a startled shout from the corner tower, and as he ran, crouched low, Drake heard a crossbow bolt shatter on the stones nearby.
The mill guard took a wild shot from the ladder he had been climbing down, but it missed miserably, sailing into the emptiness beyond. Drake’s heart was pounding with fear as he reached the other side of the mill, and without hesitation he leapt outwards into the free air. His insides lurched violently as gravity took hold and he began to plummet, and fear boiled up in his blood as he dropped into nothingness. He allowed his legs to relax, and letting them reach out for the earth which was rushing up to meet him below. As he hit the ground he tried to absorb the impact into a crouch, and then rolled aside as Jaco had instructed him so many times. His vision turned black for a moment, and he felt the air in his lungs being pummeled out by the collision. As his sight cleared, Drake realized he was upside down, and he struggled to relocate his limbs in the mess around him.
Panic rose up. Drake began to cry with fear, waiting for the cruel impact of a crossbow bolt to end his life. His breath was little more than choking wheezes and sobs as he finally found his footing. Then, suddenly, he was in motion again, his legs moving under him in perfect synchrony, the air brushing his face as the tree line in front of him jolted closer with each step. The tears on his face turned icy in the wind as he ran, reaching out with his mind for the trees, for safety from the arrows. His lungs had been set ablaze, and now as he moved ever closer to the forest, his chest exploded with pain and each choking breath scalded his throat.
As Drake plunged into the thick undergrowth of the mountain forest, he could hear a great cheer rising over the walls of Montana De Oro as hundreds of slaves urged him onward. He veered left and began to tear downhill, narrowly dodging between the thick pines which crowded the slope. Another sound floated to him down the mountain as the cheer died away, one which sliced into him like an icy blade, the throaty howl of the hounds. Drake’s legs pumped harder, despite the terrible pain now pulsing with each heartbeat in his veins. The terrain around him became a blurry haze of green as the incline of the slope became more pronounced, and without warning, Drake stopped running and began falling. The ground simply disappeared, and around him the claustrophobic foliage opened into a great chasm of space, and he plunged, legs still pumping into the void without even the breath to scream…