Johnny and his shadow threaded through the trees, keeping to cover as much as possible, following the faint scent of cigarette smoke that had alerted them both. Two hundred yards or so along the bank, they both stopped dead, crouching in the cover of a clump of lilac bushes, watching the two men squabbling on the river bank.
“I dunno, they said lay-up by the bridge ‘case they tried to cross, you see a bridge around here anywhere?” grumbled one, a tall African-American man in jungle camo fatigues with what looked like a standard, military-issue M4 carbine with a 3-D sight and a Glock 26 compact in a MOLLE tactical holster. The other man, sitting on a stump with what looked like a Ruger Hawkeye Compact hunting rifle with a sniper scope held carelessly across his lap and a cigarette between his lips, grinned at his companion, his mirror shades flashing blankly in the morning sun.
“GPS says this is the Atchafalaya River, Mac, but look here; the map shows it splitting down at some place called ‘Bayou Chene’ south of here; I think we’re on the Bayou Chene branch, not the main river channel, that’s where the bridge is. You wanna head north an’ lay-up on the main channel, near the bridge itself? Scuttlebutt says they’re heading that way anyway, we should wait for them this side of the bridge in case they try to do an end-run around the teams watching the pilot channel; gotta be worth a shot, that’s a million-dollar bonus on top of what we’re already gettin’ paid.”
Mac smiled nastily.
“Maybe we should; that girl they say headin’ this way supposed to be a real looker; might be able to have a little fun with her once the big bastard’s out of the way!”
His companion shook his head sadly.
“You lay a finger on that chick and Joao Ribeiro’s gonna cut our dicks off an’ hammer them up our asses; he’s a crazy, sick fuck, he wants her intact, not you all over her, and I’m gonna make sure that happens, you getting this? That ole geezer said there was prolly two gals travellin’ now with Bastine, there was a picture of them in his shack, they look like they’d be worth grabbin’, so if they’re along, you an’ me can have some fun with them, but the gal with Bastine is strictly outta bounds, got that? You touch her, I’ll shoot you myself, I ain’t about to tangle with the Ribeiro brothers; keep it in your pants, or take it out on them two other gals, whatever, long as you keep your hands off of the one Joao wants. Far as I’m concerned, we get what we came here for, get our money, an’ wait for the next job; there’s enough pussy in Baton Rouge to drain your balls properly, wait ’til then!”
Mac licked his lips.
“That blonde one looked real sweet an’ tasty; the old man was real reluctant to tell us who they were, but he squealed in the end, I made sure of that; damn, that was fun! If those two gals are along, we’re gonna have all kinds of fun with them, know what I mean? Yessir, they’re some pretty little gals, I hear tell these Cajun gals know tricks make porn-stars look like beginners, it’d be almost a shame to kill ’em after, seems like such a waste!”
Johnny saw the murderous rage at the big man’s words rising in his cousin’s eyes; those two had tortured and murdered that defenceless old man, and now they were laughing about it, and their deaths were in her eyes. He held her arm and caught her eye, staring levelly into her eyes until the rage died away, and sanity returned. She quickly squeezed his hand to show she was back together again, and nodded when Johnny pointed at Mac, calm and collected, once again the consummate huntress, and carefully lined up her shot on the big man in the camo gear; he was the most obvious target; with the automatic rifle, he was the most dangerous of the two, and he was gloating over what they’d done, and what he was going to do to her when he grabbed her.
As far as she was concerned, he was less than the vermin underfoot, the world didn’t need trash like him, and he was going to die like vermin he was, but her anger never translated to her hands, the lethal compound bow remained stock-still in her hands, the heavy, razor-sharp broad-head hunting arrow pointed unerringly at her target. His companion had a bolt-action single-shot carbine, it would take him time to bring it up, aim, and fire, so Johnny was going to take him out while Melette took out Mac.
Moving stealthily through the undergrowth, silent as though they were stalking deer, they moved up to maybe ten yards from the two men, easily close enough to take them both out. Johnny’s original plan was to launch himself at the man with the Ruger, but as he looked down to check his footing he saw on the ground a large round rock about the size of a softball, rounded and smoothed by years of grinding along the channel bed before flooding had tossed in onto the bank, polished into a smooth, hand-fitting shape, with enough heft to make it lethal in the right hands. He glanced at Melette, nodded at her to indicate what he was doing, seeing her sudden understanding of his intent, and slowly fitted his hand around the rock, turning and turning it in his hand until he was sure of his grip. They waited until both men were looking away, then, on his signal, Melette stood and released all in one fluid movement beautiful to behold, skilled and deadly as some pagan Goddess of the hunt, all her anger and thirst for revenge concentrated in her lethally accurate aim even as Johnny stood and threw the river-stone as hard as he could.
Mac died without a sound; the heavy arrow slammed into his head with incredible force, through one temple and bursting out through the other, while his companion didn’t even have time to gape before the heavy rock crashed into his forehead. Johnny and his cousins had been hunting small game with slingshots and cast stones since they were small boys, and his aim was as deadly as ever; the man with the mirror shades never even knew what hit him, and he dropped without a sound, dead before he hit the ground, his skull staved-in by the crushing impact.
Johnny was the first to move, taking a step towards the two dead men before he realized Melette hadn’t moved, she stood still as a statue, her bow still held outstretched, and her arm and hand still motionless after releasing the bow string. Johnny looked curiously at her, at her set features and almost deathly pallor, with only her deep breathing to show she was even alive.
“Baby-Girl, come help me, we got to strip these jackals an’ dump them in the bayou. Mellie! Whut’s wrong, Baby-Girl?”
Melette started at his words, stared blankly at him, and dropped her bow as she unsheathed her massive Bowie knife with a steely slither.
“Whut you-all doing, li’l gal?” murmured Johnny, and froze at the expression on her face, at the fury burning in her eyes.
“Leave me be, Li’l Jean, I got unfinished business here; you-all go on back to th’others, I mo gut me a brace o’ shit-hawgs! I said leave me be, now, jes’ git outta here!”
Johnny slowly shook his head, barring her way when she would have headed towards the two dead men. Melette tried to push past him, but his arm around her held her immobile.
“Lemme go, they gotta pay for what they done, you said there gon’ be a reckonin’, well here I am! They animals, an’ I gonna gut them like the animals they are, so git outta my way; NOW!”
Johnny wrapped his arms around her as she tried to escape him, the Bowie knife falling to the ground as she struggled.
“You ain’t gonna do that, Li’l gal, I won’t let you; how you gonna make them pay, Baby-Girl? They dead, they already paid the price for what they done; the book say ‘take an eye for an eye’, we took two lives for one, seems like justice been done; desecratin’ their bodies do nothin’ but make you no better than them. Don’ let the Devil have his way, Baby-Girl, you better’n that. Listen to me, baby! We done what was needful, let the bayou have them; I ain’t gonna waste no time givin’ them no Christian burial, they ain’t got the right; the darkness already got them, they in Hell now for what they done, let the water take them an’ that be an end to it.”
Melette stared at him for long seconds, before she sagged against him, and two large tears ran down her cheeks. Johnny hugged her as she sobbed, rocking her and making soothing little noises the way he used to when she was a little girl and the blues came on her. When he sensed the storm had passed, he took her face gently between his hands and looked into her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief that all sign of her killing fury had gone, and only remorse remained.
“You-all better now, li’l gal?” he murmured, thumbing dry her wet cheeks the way he used to when she was little, the memory making her smile for an instant, before her face darkened again.
“Li’l Jean, what have I done? Oh God, I killed a man, I stood there an’ I murdered a man in cold blood, what am I gonna do, help me, qu’est-ce que je fait? qu’est-ce que je fai’ maint’nant, je suis un tueur, Jean-Bastienne, j’ai tue un homme, oh mon dieu, mon dieu! (What have I done? What do I do now, I’m a killer, Jean-Bastienne, I killed a man, oh my God, my God!”)
Johnny held the girl tightly as she shook uncontrollably, calming her as the enormity of what she’d just done hit home; she’d taken a life, a human life, it was a mortal sin, she’d taken everything from a man, even any chance of atonement, and it terrified and horrified her. Johnny saw what was happening right away; her Catholic upbringing had come out, and along with the horror and self-loathing came an equal burden of guilt; this was real, it wasn’t an exciting jaunt upriver, outwitting the people hunting them, it was no game of bluff and deception anymore, people had died, likely more were going to, and she’d been a willing part of it, a killer, she’d killed a man out of anger and thirst for revenge, no matter that it was needful; now she was paying for her anger and vengeance.