Cole - Ride On

Also by Gwen Cole

Cold Summer

Copyright 2018 by Gwen Cole

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used fictitiously.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Kate Gartner

Cover illustration by Darren Hopes

Print ISBN: 978-1-51072-993-3

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-51072-995-7

Printed in the United States of America

To Mom, because you gave me the love of horses.

Seph

I havent broken any laws. But I havent followed any either. Never have. My father always said the only laws we need to follow are the ones our hearts say are right.

Some call me an outlaw, but others call me a cowboy. I dont rightly know what a cowboy is, but I like the sound of it better. Because every time I think of an outlaw, I think of the man who killed my father, and that is not who I am.

Cowboy.

Cade nudges my back with his warm nose, bored with me standing here like an idiot. I go back to thinking about states and repeating their names in my head. About the names people call me. It keeps me focused.

We cross over the invisible Texas state line, and Im surprised about the lack of trouble Im having. It makes me nervous, it being this easy. The feel of the breeze and the silence raises the hair along my arms.

Asphalt and wind. Bound and free. Life and death.

Two sides of the road for everything.

And this is one of them.

Like most of the roads, the highway is cleared of old metal. The vehicles now sit in the ditches, hollowed bones rusted into the ground like artificial trees. My father told me trees used to have green leaves that grew from their branches.

My father

I used to call him Dad back before he died years ago. When I think of him I just think, my father. My father did that, my father told me this

Dad.

Dad used to tell me everything.

I like calling him that. Even if it is only in my head. It makes me feel like hes still with me.

The wind picks up, blowing dust from the west. I pull the bandana from my neck up over my nose and mouth. I do the same with Cade, tucking the cloth into his bridle to protect his lungs from prolonged exposure. My goggles still hang around my neck, so I pull them up and over my eyes, blinking the dust from my lashes.

In the north, the ground is frozen, but here its dust.

We continue south. Cade keeps his head low and presses into my back to keep the dust from his eyes. Theres an old sign up ahead with the list of cities thats been spray painted over with the names we use now. The next city is five miles south. And then the big city, Kev, is twenty. That city has its own stories and rumors, ones I hope arent true.

I have no choice but to stop. We both need food.

Theres a bridge up ahead, crossing over the highway. This is the first sign of cover that Ive come across since the border, someplace where a gang of outlaws would love to hide behind. Cade lifts his head and I keep my eyes sharp.

I stop before the shadow of the bridge covers me. The flaps of my coat tug in the wind, sending dust spiraling around my feet. With the slightest movement, I brush my hand across my right thigh, feeling my holster up to the handle of my revolver, worn and familiar. I let the fear pump adrenaline through my veins, making my hands steady and sure.

They finally show themselves, and there are only four of thema small crew for the rumors around here to be true. I wait for more to appear, but they never do. Maybe this isnt the same gang. Two men on the bridge, and two men under it.

Good day, cowboy. The two men under the bridge step out of the shadows.

I smile to myself at the name.

None of them have bandanas over their mouthssome people dont care about their health when the world has already gone to hell.

What brings you to Texas? The younger man talking has tanned skin and wild hair, his words slow and drawn out, probably from somewhere east of here. He points a rifle to the ground that looks more cared for than himself.

I pull my goggles and bandana down around my neck. Business of my own.

How long you been on the road for? He spits on the dirt between us while his eyes stare at me, uncaring.

Nine years.

He laughs, a low chuckle that comes out slow. Nobody can survive on the road for nine years, but you being a liar is the least of my worries.

The other men smile in response, like they picked up on an inside joke and cant wait to tell me.

I ignore them and answer, Then were in agreement to let me pass.

Sorry, cowboy. You know thats not the way things work. He flicks a finger toward me. Hand over your stuff and well let you pass. Best to keep that horse here, too. Havent seen one that good in ages.

Maybe you should take better care of your animals. I move my coat aside, revealing my gun. They all stand a little straighter. And itll be better for everyone if you let me by. I have the right to my things, and I wont give them away to people who kill and steal from the less fortunate.

There, he says, smiling, youre wrong. We dont steal from the less fortunate. We steal from everyone. I catch sight of something behind him when he tilts his head to the side. Two bodies lie under the bridgean adult and a small child. Both motionless with pools of blood around their heads.

My heart pounds for me to do something about it. But I cant. I didnt come soon enough. And if Im not careful, Ill be next.

His fingers twitch in the slightest, but Im faster than those on the bridge. With a flick of my wrist and two bullets, the men on the bridge disappear with painful cries. By the time the remaining two have the chance to even start, my gun is already on them. Steady and straight. The moans of the wounded men drift down to meet us in the wind. I dont like shooting men, but sometimes I dont have a choice.

Theyll survive if you tend to them fast enough, I tell him, hoping they will.

The younger man has his rifle half-raised, and his partners hand is paused over the pistol at his hipits rusted but probably shoots straight.

Texas. Texas with its rusted weapons.

What are you going to do? the leader asks, a little smirk on his lips. Shoot us, too? Youll only get one of us by the time you get a shot off.

Trust me, I want nothing more than to kill you both. I keep my voice calm and my anger in check. People like you are the ones destroying our world. Not the skies or the floods. Just you .

My gun is heavy and familiar in my hand. The thing that has kept me alive. It keeps me focused in my time of need.

I can tell he isnt all there in his head. I can tell because he isnt afraid of me and he should be. He glances over his shoulder at the bodies behind him. Then he shrugs. At least I know how to stay alive, he says. Only the strong survive in a world of death.