BARGAIN AT BRAVEBANK, PART IV: MACHINE PARTS
(if you want to start back at Part I, you can still read it here.)
Well, there was somethin’ there, all right, but it surely weren’t my natural leg. It was some kind of mess of metal, all long pipes and gears, and it laid on the mattress where my leg shoulda been.
I stared at it, a horror rushin’ through me like I’d never felt. And then a rage. My body trembled, my heart throbbin’ wild in my chest. Heat flooded my face as I brought my eyes back to the skinny man. The doctor. The man who had taken my leg.
Murder musta been clear on my face, ‘cause he went deathly pale and held up his hands palms out, as if surrendin’. “I was trying to tell you,” he said quickly, “your leg was terribly infected when we found you. Infected, and dead. There was no way to save it.”
My mouth worked. But the rage was takin’ all the words. “You,” I finally whispered, then had to swallow. I tried again. “You… you took my goddamn leg off!?”
“As I said, I saved your life!” He was indignant now. “The flesh of your leg was dead. The tourniquet you put on…” He shook his head. “It was on too long. It stopped the infection from spreading it seems, yes, but there was no circulation in the leg. I’m sorry. It was all that could be done.”
“I… you… you sonuva…” The room was spinnin’ again. I felt sick. I leaned over the side of the bed and retched.
The man jumped back, but there was hardly a thing in my stomach, and I didn’t make much of a mess. His wife was surely glad for that. I spit, my breath comin’ harsh and ragged. My left thigh—the half of it still there—still pulsed as if it’d been laid open. But now as I looked at it closer, I saw instead that the metal contraption had been attached to it. Flesh and metal fused together.
I retched again and squeezed my eyes shut. I clutched at the sheets and the edge of the mattress, thinkin’ I might actually faint. That’d be a good one… faintin’ clean away right in front of the women. I clung hard to consciousness, hangin’ on to the anger to anchor me.
“I… I’m sorry,” the man said again in his thick accent. “It is always a difficult thing to lose a limb. But if you had kept the leg, you’d have died. Do you understand?”
I understood, all right. I understood this man had picked me up outta the sand, drugged me, and performed some sort of unholy surgery on me. Some kind of twisted, dark experiment that had fused my body with a tangle of cold, hard, lifeless metal. “You took my leg,” I repeated.
“Yes,” he said again. “To save your life. It was the only way, I assure you. And I would argue the false leg I have provided you is an advantage, not a disadvantage.”
I took a few deep breaths, the anger helpin’ to bring me back from the edge of blackness. “An… advantage?” I lifted my poundin’ head to stare at him. “An advantage? You chopped off my goddamn leg!” I lunged outta the bed at him, but I was weak and clumsy and minus one leg.
The metal one didn’t work like a flesh and blood one, and he stepped easily outta my reach. I crashed to the floor instead, landin’ heavy with a cry as a new flare of pain gripped my thigh.
“Please do not exert yourself,” the man urged. “You must rest or your body may still reject the false leg and you’ll die despite my efforts.”
“Good riddance,” his wife said from the doorway.
“Hanna!” the doctor said, aghast.
I saw her booted feet step toward me and looked up from where I was curled on the floor to see her brandishin’ the choppin’ knife. She held the point of it at me, aimin’ at my forehead, though her husband put his arm out in front of her to stop her advance. I wasn’t sure if he was tryin’ to protect her from me… or me from her.
“I told my husband to let you die,” she whispered. “I told him you were trouble. That you were not worth it. I could tell it from the looks of you. But he would not listen. My husband is a decent man. A good man. Better than you could ever hope to be. He is too kind. He cares about those he should not care about. And so he saved you. And look what it has gotten him. Nothing.” She spit at me, and the wad of saliva fell just short of my face. “No gratitude. No thank you. No kindness. Just curses and anger.”
“Hanna,” the man said softly, but she would not be silenced.
“Go and leave if you wish. Die alone in the wild like the dog that you are. Like you should have died days ago. I will not mourn for your passing. I think no one will.”
She pressed the knife’s handle into her husband’s hand, gave him a fierce glare, and then spun on her heel and marched out of the room. Her daughter turned and hurried after her, leavin’ me alone with the man.
The good, decent doctor who had cut off my leg.
He looked down at me then with an expression I did not expect: sympathy.
I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes against it. Damn fool. He was surely going to end up dead. “You should have listened to your wife,” I croaked. “I ain’t worth savin’.”
I was a fool, too. A fool and a failure. I hadn’t stopped those men from killin’ Mama and Pa, or from burnin’ down our house and everythin’ else we owned. I hadn’t kept Ethelyn safe; I’d left her and she’d disappeared. I hadn’t killed Nine-Fingered Nan when I’d had the chance, and now my leg was gone. I’d finally found the end of my searchin’, finally thought I had a chance to get Ethelyn back, after all these years, and instead I hadn’t lasted even two days in the desert ‘fore nearly bein’ buzzard food.
How long had I been here, in this man’s house?
How far away was Bravebank from here?
How long would Nine-Fingered Nan’s man be waitin’ in the Stag Saloon?
After all of this, after everythin’, Ethelyn could already be gone. Shipped off. Sold. And Nan laughin’ at the both of us as she counted her cash.
“Nonsense,” the man said quietly, bringin’ me back from the mires of my misery. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
It was my turn to laugh, a choked, bitter sound. “That’s the biggest pile a’ horseshit I ever heard.”
I could think of a few people who surely didn’t deserve to be saved. Nine-Fingered Nan chief among them. I’d not hesitate to send that woman to Hell if I ever laid eyes on her again.
If I didn’t end up there first.
The man gave a heavy sigh. “I understand this is difficult for you. The adjustment will take some time. But please, give it a chance. My wife… her words are harsh… but she speaks some truth. If you leave now, you will die out there. Alone. And you might be trouble, but you looked to me like a man who wanted to live. Was I wrong? Are you instead a man who wishes to die?”
I almost laughed again, then pushed the heels of my hands against my eyes to stop the swell of self-loathin’.
That was the question I’d been askin’ myself since Ethelyn and I had run off terrified into the dark, into the hills behind our homestead that night. Pa’s blood still warm where it’d splattered across my face.
I’d wondered then if maybe it would have been better to die with our parents. And I’d wondered again when I’d returned from scoutin’ out hideaways to find Ethelyn gone. I’d spent so many sleepless nights frettin’ about her. Wonderin’ if she was dead… or wonderin’ if she was wishin’ she was dead.
And so many times in the years since then, when I was gone hungry another day, or robbed of what little I had, or shootin’ another fella in the face ‘cause he was tryin’ to rob what little I had. Or any of the days Holt and I had taken from the honest folk, or been chased away from another backwater town by the bullets of lawmen and the threat of bein’ hanged.
How often I’d wondered if it’d just be better to die.
And yet, despite everythin’, despite my wonderin’, I just kept livin’.
I kept tryin’. I kept fightin’. I kept shootin’ and robbin’ and lyin’.
“I gotta find my sister,” I said, and the words surprised me. I hadn’t meant to tell him that. I hadn’t meant to answer him at all.
“I see. Well, son, it seems to me you cannot find your sister if you are dead. Hmm?”
I ground my teeth. Yes, damn him, such was the curse of my existence. As long as there were rumors of Ethelyn Delano bein’ alive, it seemed I was doomed to keep on livin’, too.
As long as she was alive, as long as there was a chance fer me to find her… I had just enough hope to keep on goin’. Just enough hope to think maybe I wasn’t a complete failure, that maybe I was worthy of still breathin’… long as I didn’t give up on her.
I heard the man’s bootsteps move, and dropped my hands and opened my eyes to look up at him. He set the knife down carefully atop the bureau on the other side of the room. “I trust I will not need that, no?” He came back to me and reached down to hook his hands under my armpits. “Come. Let us get you back into the bed.”
He grunted as he hauled me up off the floor, and I braced my good right leg under me to help him. I could have used the leverage to knock him off his feet. Could have lurched over to the bureau and grabbed that knife. Could have left the house right then.
But I didn’t.
Instead I let him help me back to the mattress and eased down onto it. Sat back against the pillows he propped up behind me. Let him throw the covers back up over my legs to my waist, coverin’ up the brace of metal that had replaced my left leg.
My body felt numb, my mind strugglin’ to accept any of this. Strugglin’ to accept his kindness. His understandin’.
His sympathy.
Maybe I was finally dead, after all.
Maybe this was Hell.
“Please, rest,” he said. “I will bring you some broth. You have been on a liquid diet for a few days… you will need to work up to solid foods.”
He turned to move for the door.
“How long?” I blurted.
He turned with an eyebrow raised. “I beg your pardon?”
“How long since you found me in the desert?”
“Oh. Nearly four days now.”
I made a noise of despair, sinkin’ back into the pillows.
His brows furrowed. “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah,” I husked. “I gotta get to Bravebank. Need to meet someone there. Not sure how long they’ll stay.”
That expression of disapproval came across his face again. “I’m so sorry. You really should not travel for a few more weeks yet. But I would be happy to take the wagon to town and deliver a message to this person for you, to tell them you are currently… indisposed, but will meet them just as soon as you are well.”
I laughed loud and long at that one, makin’ him frown.
“Is there something amusing about my offer?”
“Yeah,” I gasped, “yeah, sure is. You thinkin’ this person is so polite and civilized as to care if I’m indisposed or not. Tell him that and he’s just as likely to trail you home and murder us all as he is to spit in yer face at the news.”
The good, decent doctor blinked rapidly at this information. “Why ever would you want to meet such a person?”
My vicious amusement died down at last and I shook my head. “You act like I have a choice. I don’t.”
He was silent at that, as if tryin’ to determine what to make of it, or waitin’ for me to tell him more. But I’d already told him more than I’d meant to. More than I’d wanted to.
“Well,” he said at last. “I will fetch you some food. If you rest up and do as I tell you, you may be able to make it into town sooner.”
I said nothin’ in reply, starin’ out between the lace drapes at the stretch of dirt and nothin’ness outside, tryin’ to ignore the stranglin’ feeling those damned curtains brought to my throat.
He took up the knife on his way outta the room and shut the door softly behind him.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the down pillows, makin’ a plan. It didn’t matter what the doctor said; the fact was I had to get to Bravebank just as soon as I could. It’d already been six days since I’d met Nine-Fingered Nan in her oasis. Who knew if Nan’s man was still in Bravebank or not, or if he was still there, how long he’d stay.
But every day that passed lessened my chances of findin’ him, that much I was sure of.
And without that meetin’, there was no deal with Nine-Fingered Nan. And without that deal, there was no hope of gettin’ Ethelyn free.
Well, there was a few more things I knew now after talkin’ with the good doctor who had chopped off my leg, and I was fairly certain it was enough to get me to Bravebank.
I knew this family had a wagon. That meant they had horses or mules to pull it. I could borrow one of those animals to get me into town sure enough.
I also knew it was likely the doctor had set up shop in Bravebank. There weren’t no other towns within a radius of several miles, and this climate didn’t lend well to growin’ crops or raisin’ livestock. The only people livin’ out here were either into the mines, or into supplyin’ and transportin’ those who were into the mines.
Or doctorin’ those who were into the mines.
And if this doctor had a shop in Bravebank, he wouldn’ta put up his house too far out of the town limits. So he could drive there and back in a day without wastin’ too much daylight.
My heart quickened a bit at this realization, knowin’ I couldn’t be too far off with such speculations. And all of this meant I was closer to Bravebank than I’d thought when I’d first woke up here. All I had to do was wait for my opportunity to relieve the good doctor of one his fine animals.
And find out where the hell he’d hidden my guns and my clothes.
And figure out how this confounded metal leg worked.
Copyright 2019 J. R. Frontera
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?
PART V COMING SOON!
To get it first, become a Patron!
To get it second, join my mailing list!
To get it third, join my Facebook Readers’ Group!
Or… just be patient and stay tuned here!