(2) Sasha and the Collar Girl Part 2

The second part of the story

Sasha and the Collar Girl

Part Two

A light rain began to fall as we made our way back to the wagon.  The collared girl kept up easily, but the old man gave her rope a yank, now and then; purely for the pleasure of brutalizing her, it seemed.  He kept his shotgun handy, but since Sasha was by his side, I wasn’t worried.  The trail had been well traveled before the Fog, and there were still odds and ends people had discarded along its way.  Occasionally the old man stopped to examine a piece of debris.

As we proceeded, he continued to berate and belittle the girl, and occasionally he sent a mean barb Sasha’s way.  I could have added a comment, or two, in order to stay in his mind set, but I had already set the hook in this despicable carp, and so there was no reason to exacerbate Sasha’s anger.  As each moment passed I became more amazed at her ability to control that anger, for she had certainly never used that control when I irritated her.  So, I let his cruelty slide away.  Of course, had he attempted to touch her, I would have killed him, if Sasha had given me the chance.

When he spied the wagon and realized its fine condition, his greed almost caused him to drool, and he wiped his grinning mouth.  He was so taken with his good luck, he neglected to give another yank on the rope when the girl stumbled from fatigue.  His cunning eyes narrowed, and with a quick glance, he surveyed our surroundings, noting how the wagon could be moved by just one person, and fixing in his mind where I stood.

So positive was he of his triumph, he could not help breaking into that cackling laugh as he slipped the end of the rope under his arm and swung his shotgun toward me, but even if he had been more circumspect, Sasha was waiting.  She pulled her pistol from her pocket and smashed him aside his head.

“Auggk,” he screamed, turning away and grabbing his face.

In a smooth motion she returned the pistol to her pocket and grabbed the shotgun, but she had misjudged his strength.  He kept his desperate grip and began to move the barrel toward her mid-section.

“Kim!”

I was already there, grabbing the barrel and thrusting it upward.  He screamed and kicked at us, and with our faces close I saw her wince when his heavy boot connected with her shin.  Anger surged through me, and I slammed the barrel backwards against his face.  He finally let go, cursing at us, holding his temple from where blood streamed.

“Thieves!” he yelled.

Together we tied the man’s hands behind his back with a piece of thin sturdy wire, and then Sasha bent down, lifted her dress, and removed her knife from the sheath fastened to her pants.  She turned to the girl whose expression had not changed, unless from a slight widening of the eyes.  The girl saw the knife, and a resigned expression crossed her face.  That expression faded into blankness, and she closed her eyes as Sasha neared.  I wondered what she thought when Sasha cut the rope and then slipped the knife under the collar and severed it.  Sasha threw the collar to the side, and as she turned back to where I held the man, the girl’s eyes opened, and the blankness gave way to puzzlement.

We hauled the man onto the wagon bed before we moved it, leaving a small space to lead the horse from the gully.  When the horse had been retrieved and yoked to the wagon, Sasha took the girl’s hand and gently pushed her up and onto the seat.  It took a few minutes travel to find the right spot.  It was muddy beneath the tree, but we didn’t mind the grime.

When he saw what we intended, the man began to whimper, and when Sasha threw the end of the rope over the branch, he broke into louds sobs.  He said he was sorry, and he begged us to let him go.  Ignoring him, Sasha tied the girl’s rope around his neck, and we forced him to stand in the middle of the wagon.  In retrospect, I wish we had faced him the other way, for as we drove away, his heels dug into the wood and scraped along, making a dull screech, and the girl turned and watched him swinging.  I glanced down at her, and then I faced forward again, not wanting to see that face, suddenly alive and filled with a fierce, hate filled joy.