Rip grabbed me by the scruff. "Let's go!" We scrambled behind the motorcycle. Wallace followed.
"What about Kelly?" I said.
"She's scrappy," said Rip, blasting away over the top of the bike. Clyde and Snyde ducked behind their wagon as Kelly rolled on the ground with Earl, clocking him in the head with the guitar. Wallace popped off a few rounds, keeping their heads down, not giving Snyde a chance to unload with his Thompson. Rip reloaded. "What was it Clyde said they'd picked up at the market?"
Wallace's eyes got big. "Wrath!"
"Yeah, let's hope it really is the good stuff," said Rip, firing a few more shots.
"How we gonna get to it?" said Wal, "Those bottles are in the wagon."
Rip peered over the seat of the motorcycle. "There's a window pointed in our direction. Take it out!"
Wallace took aim at the small window on the side of the wagon. With a few shots, Wallace had knocked out most of the glass. Snyde seized the moment to slip his gun around the corner, and let loose with a barrage of purple streaks. Rip ducked, rummaging through one of the motorcycle's saddlebags and pulling out a stick of dynamite. He bounced it up and down, feeling the weight. I stole a peek over the top of the bike. A barrage from the machine gun fire peppered it nose to tail.
"Get down!" said Wallace, pulling my head in. He looked at Rip. "Can you make that throw?"
"I wasn't second string relief pitcher on the Ranger baseball team for nuthin'."
Wallace did not look reassured.
"Just get him to stop shooting!"
Wal reached into the sidecar and pulled out a wine bottle. It was filled with a pink glowing liquid and swirly sparkles. Wallace put a hand on the bottle, caressing it. "Man, I've been saving this." The label said, "Little-girl-birthday-party."
Without looking, Wallace chucked the bottle over his shoulder. The bottle flew over the Harley and sailed towards the wagon. Snyde flinched, blasting it with the Thompson. The bottle exploded into a shower of bright butterflies. Fluffy, smiley-face clouds cast rainbows in all directions. And little unicorns frolicked around the campsite.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Wallace popped off a few rounds. Snyde ducked. Rip lit the dynamite and lobbed it at the wagon. The stick tumbled end over end. The fuse flashed like a twirling sparkler. It hit the edge of the window, but spun around, flopped down, and fell inside the wagon.
"Kelly! Get out of there!" yelled Wallace. She jumped off Earl. Her grasshopper legs propelled her completely over a nearby hill. Earl took the hint too, high-tailing it.
It was like a bomb detonating in a razorblade factory. Purple flames blew the walls, the roof, and the floor off the wagon. A scream, a horrific sound of righteous indignation, rode the blast wave. We balled up behind the motorcycle. Any exposed parts were sure to get lopped off.
When I looked up, there was nothing left. "Where're Clyde and Snyde," I said, expecting to see reptile parts strewn around the desert.
"Banished," said Wallace.
"Looks like Clyde told the truth for once," said Rip. "That was high-quality wrath."
Kelly peeked out from behind the ridge. "You guys gonna blow up anything else? You know that was my favorite guitar."
We looked over the campsite. It was completely obliterated. Wallace's cast iron pot was cracked in two. The motorcycle was pretty banged up as well. And it seemed to be… whimpering. Rip gently stroked the headlight. "Don't worry, Ramona, we'll get you fixed up."
"Hey, look at all this," said Kelly, smiling, and holding up a bag of Clyde and Snyde's chips.
"Those ain't yours," said Rip.
"Awe, come on. They ain't anybody's now."
"Those chips are going in the vault," said Rip. "In fact, all these chips are going in the vault. They belong to the Otter."
"What about my chip?" I said.
Wallace reached down. "Here it is," picking it out of the dirt. He pressed it into my hand. "Don't gamble with this anymore. Someone can own you this way."
I nodded, slipping it back into my pocket.
In the dark we gathered up as many chips as we could. "What about Earl?" I said. "He's still out there."
"That two-bit thug?" said Rip. "He won't be back. But all the same, we'll keep a watch for the night."
Wallace unrolled a couple of old Army sleeping bags and pointed to one of them. "You can have one of these. Since we'll be posting watch, we can hot-bunk it."
I got into the sleeping bag, running over everything that'd happened in the past few hours. What was this place? What had I… what had Dad gotten us into? And how the heck was I going to find him? Wal acted like it'd be easy as pie, but I don't know about that. I shut my eyes, even though I doubted sleep was on the menu tonight.
I heard Wallace rummaging around, building the fire back up. Its smooth crackles and pops worked their way into my thoughts. I relaxed a little. And Wallace started humming an old trail song, Goodbye Ol' Paint. It was one the cowboys used to sing to lull their cattle off to sleep. And it worked on me too.
***
The sun peeked in through the folds of my sleeping bag. I pulled it back, looking around. Wallace was stirring a pot of beans by the fire. Rip and Kelly were walking around the outskirts of camp, picking up stray chips and undamaged bottles of that shimmering liquid stuff.
I got up, stretching my legs. In the dirt in front of me was a chip. It was dark gray, almost black. I could see a man's face on it, old and sneering. I picked it up.
"Usually you can't do that," said Kelly, coming up next to me.
"Do what?"
"Pick up someone else's chip. They'll blast you. Throw you back a good twenty feet."
"Why's that?" I said, rolling it in my fingers. It seemed harmless enough to me.
"'Cuz it doesn't belong to you," she said. "You have to win a chip, either in a game or in a fight."
"So, since we blew them up, we get to keep their chips?"
"Exactly."
"No," said Rip. "Nobody's keeping any chips. These chips are going back to the Otter, like I said."
"Awe, come on," said Kelly, her pockets bulging with chips. "She's not gonna know."
"I'm gonna know." Rip pulled a satchel out of the sidecar, then held it open. "Cough 'em up." Kelly huffed, pulling chips from her pockets by the fistful.
"Who's this Otter person?" I said, rolling up Wallace's sleeping bag.
He walked up, handing me a heaping plate of beans. "She's the boss. Me and Rip have been working for her ever since we got canned by the Rangers. She's good people."
"And what about Dad?"
Wallace thought about it. "Well, since you're a live-one, we're guessing your dad's alive, too. That means he's a lot more valuable than your regular old Haint. He could be hard to find. And maybe people are after him."
"Yeah, he signed a contract with some skeleton guy." I said, not sure if I should have let that little tidbit out.
Wallace and Rip shot each other looks. "That's bad," said Wal. "Real bad."
"What'a you mean?"
"Look, kid," said Wal. "We'll go see the Otter. She's got connections. She'll know how to play this."
Things were going from bad to worse. I'd gone down the rabbit hole, pushed by someone I'd thought was my friend, gotten separated from Dad, almost been eaten by a stingray, just about lost my soul, and now I gotta rely on these guys, who I don't even trust, in a place where the laws of reality just took a two-week vacation to the South Padre! I clenched my fists, trying to let it all drain out the bottom of my boots. But my boots were all backed up. I could always blow it out the top of my head. Full-tilt.
Then I heard a loud neighing and stamping. What the heck was wrong now? Over where Clyde and Snyde's wagon had been, was a horse. A black horse. It was in a stand of mesquite trees and had gotten its reins tangled up in the branches. "Hey, what's with this horse?"
Wal looked up. "That's Clyde's. I'm surprised she didn't get blasted with the rest of 'em."
I furrowed my brows. "Nobody thought to get her free?"
"I'd stay away from that horse," said Rip, picking up a stray bottle. "She's a Nightmare."
"I don't care how ornery she is. You can't just leave—."
"No," said Rip. "I mean a real Nightmare, like the kind that brings you bad dreams at night. You know… Night… Mare?"
What? I thought.
"They're wild," said Wallace. " You can't tame 'em. Clyde must have bound her somehow."
Bound? I got closer. Then I could see a band of barbed wire wrapped around the top of her foreleg. It'd bitten deep into the skin. Dry, crusty blood rimmed the edges. "Who'd do something like that?" She thrashed her head, trying to get free. Nightmare or not, tame or not, I had to do something. I walked up, slow. "Easy girl, easy." I reached out for her. She reared back, flashing her hooves. I ducked. The hooves kicked out, glowing with an eerie blue light.
"You don't listen too good, do ya?" said Rip.
I ignored him. "That's gotta hurt, girl," I said, looking at the barbed wire. "Hey Wallace, you got any wire cutters?"
Wallace felt around in a bag and came up with a pair of red-handled dykes. He tossed them my way. I picked up the cutters and slowly moved toward the horse. She seemed oddly still now, tense, just staring at me. I looked into her eyes, something you shouldn't do when coming up on an anxious horse. But I couldn't help it. They started glowing, that same eerie glow. Blue flames flashed from the corners. I couldn't look away. I was locked in.
Then, her skin burst open like an overcooked turkey. Skeletons, dozens of them, crawled out from the husk. They were painted, like the ones that took Dad. I fell back, yelling out. They scurried towards me, like spiders. One rose up, taller than the others, redder than the others. Its hand shot out at me. "You promised, but you lost him!" it said in a monstrous voice. I scrambled backward. Hands gripped my shoulders.
"Hey, are you all right?" I jerked around. It was Wallace. I looked back. The skeletons were gone. It was just a normal black horse, hitched to a tree.
"What was that?" I gasped.
"You idiot," said Rip. "We told you she's a Nightmare."
Wal helped me up. "It shows you your fears."
It sure did. I shook my head. "But we still can't just leave her there."
Wallace shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, she can't hurt you, not really. Unless she kicks you. That'll hurt."
I brushed off my shirt. "I'm gonna try."
A horse is like a good poker player. They can smell your fear. Some players try to hide it, especially when they got a bad hand. But the trick is not to care. Forget what cards you have. They ain't good. They ain't bad. They're just cards. They can't hurt you. I walked up to the horse, trying to forget my fears.
"Easy, easy." She neighed, tossing her head. I got closer, reaching out to put a hand on her neck. It started again. The split ran down her spine, the skin peeled back, skeleton hands reached out. I closed my eyes, trying to get it under control. I could hear the sounds of scraping and groaning. I relaxed. "You promised!" said the raspy voice. I thought about my boots, imagined them like a sieve, and all my fear was running through them. The voice faded into the background. I opened my eyes. Everything was back to normal.
"That'a girl," I said, inching forward. She gave a snort. I put my hand on her muzzle, giving her a pat. "It's all right. I'm gonna help." I stroked her neck for a minute.
"Hey look at that," said Wallace. "The kid's got some skills."
"Humph," said Rip.
When I was sure she'd let me, I reached down and snipped off the barbed wire. It disappeared in a puff of smoke. The skin was raw and crusty, but it started to heal, instantly. In a few seconds, it'd turned to midnight black. I started unhitching her bridle. Engraved on it was the word Bitter. "Is that your name? Bitter?" She tossed her head. "Girl, you're free now," I said, tossing the bridle into the bushes. But instead of running off, she gave me a push on the shoulder with her nose.
"I think she likes you," said Kelly. "I've heard stories of Nightmares paying people back. I've never seen it before, but I think she's yours. At least for now."
I rubbed her muzzle, "I don't know who you belong to, girl, but I doubt it's me."
Then, a shout came from the top of the hill. "There you are!" I turned. It was Tibia.
"That's her," I said, pointing. "The one who kidnapped me."
Wallace pointed. "Who? Tibia?"
"You know her?"
She started coming down the embankment, her bony heels kicking up dust. "Oh, thank Illium. I thought you'd been eaten."
Rip glared at her. "You were supposed to be here last night. And, what's with the kid? You were supposed to get the dad."
She pointed a bony finger at Rip. "If that porthole had been where you said it was, then none of this—."
"Wait?" I said, "You guys know each other? You're all in on this?"
Wallace rolled his eyes at Rip. "You really don't know when to shut up."
"You kidnapped my dad?"
"No," said Tibia. "Remember… the red skeleton? You were there. He kidnapped your dad."
"That would be Red Wave," Kelly interjected.
"But you wanted to kidnap him," I said. "And you totally kidnapped me."
"It was for your own good," said Tibia. "The porthole was closing. You would have never gotten your dad back."
"He said you were supposed to come back with my dad," I said, pointing at Rip. "I don't know what good you're talking about."
Rip put up his hands. "Hey kid. There's a lot here you don't understand. All you need to know is that we're the good guys."
"If you're doing the kidnapping, then you're not the good guys."
"He's got a point," said Wallace.
"Whose side are you on?" snapped Rip. He turned back to me. "Look, kid, I know this looks bad, and we're probably the last spirits in the world you wanna trust. But, believe me when I tell ya, we want to help you find your dad, and we want what's best. You can't say the same for those skeleton guys."
"She's a skeleton," I said, pointing to Tibia.
"But the good kind of skeleton," said Kelly, with a fat grin. "Trust me. I know. We go to the salon together, twice a month."
"You two don't even have hair!"
Kelly gave an embarrassed frown.
Wallace put a paw on my shoulder. "Look, kid, give us a shot. We won't let you down. And what else are you gonna do, wander out into the desert alone? Besides, I don't think that Nightmare is gonna let anyone lay a hand on you."
I looked over at Bitter. A blue flame licked out of the corner of one of her eyes. I frowned. "Ok, but I get one whiff of a double cross, and I jet."
"Perfect," said Rip. "Now let's get the heck on the road already."