Dust Chapter 11 (PG-13)

[librarian_7]

Something special for my 5000th post on the board!

As usual, I don't own Josef. Who does, really?

Dust

Chapter 11

The hilltop was baking in the late afternoon sun, and Sally shifted uncomfortably on the rocks. She supposed she ought to be grateful that she wasn’t looking into the setting sun. Still, she felt uncomfortably exposed, lying out at the edge of the escarpment.

It wasn’t that she begrudged Mr. Constantine—Josef—his rest. He had suffered mightily in getting them this far, and giving him a chance to husband his strength for the coming battle was only the right thing to do. And Mr. Weston, well, she didn’t hold out much hope for Mr. Weston, no matter what Josef said. Although she had to admit he was—beyond anything she’d experienced before. She looked down at the twin wounds on her wrist, marveling again at the disclosures of the afternoon. She blushed a little. Far from hurting her, the bite had been, well, pleasurable. The way some of her friends had giggled and whispered it ought to feel like with her Jim. Ought to, and frankly hadn’t, yet.

She squinted out at the horizon. Was that a dust cloud? She cupped her hands around her eyes, inside the brim of her bonnet, hoping it would sharpen her vision.

Maybe. Maybe not. But it was the right direction. And it could be dust from a small troop of horsemen. Through that final leg of their day’s journey, she’d been feeling a little faint, and without slowing, Josef shifted her around to sit across his lap, leaning into his chest with one strong arm to steady her. She’d not been held so since she was a small child, and it was so comforting to rest against him, listen to the rumble of his chest as he talked. And Josef had talked to her, a constant monologue as he held her before him, those last few miles to this poor excuse for shelter. She suspected it was to keep her from dwelling too much on what had passed between them. Or possibly what lay ahead. He was sure the Colonel would’ve sent only a small patrol after them. “After all,” he’d said, and she’d swear she could hear the grim smile in his voice, “how many of his soldiers could it take to subdue two men and a woman?” And he’d commented wryly, “Especially when one of the men is nothing more than a fancy pants gambler.”

Sally had tightened her arms around him at that. She hadn’t meant to, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

When they’d reached the rocky outcrop, Josef had scouted the area quickly, and then come back to cut Weston off his horse, handling his big body like a child’s. Without being asked, Sally led the horses around out of sight, tying them in a small stand of cottonwoods. They were beyond fortunate, she decided when she found a small spring in the rocks. The pool was tiny, and she didn’t want the horses fouling it with their feet. She filled the canteens first, and splashed a little water on her face. Her poke bonnet made enough of a makeshift bucket to get some of the precious liquid to each of the animals in turn. She was filling the sodden cloth of her bonnet one last time to take to Mr. Weston, when Josef appeared.

He nodded in approval. “I’ve got Weston settled in, but he’d appreciate a drink.”

“I’m sure he would. But he’ll have to make do with water.” Sally was truthfully surprised the man was still alive. He’d been looking so sallow and gray, when Josef had pulled him off the horse, and his groan was the only sign she could see that he was still alive. His eyes had never opened. “Speaking of, don’t you--?” She held out the water to him.

Josef’s mouth twitched. “Thank you, Sally, but no. I’m fine.”

Sally caught the motion, and suddenly knew they were both thinking of the same thing. The thing that had happened out on the plain. They stood for a few moments, still in the dappled shade of the few tall cottonwoods, caught in a connection neither had sought. But the connection, whatever it was, existed now. Sally thought she’d remember this instant, the look of the man in the shifting shade, the cool wetness of the dripping bonnet in her hands, the water falling drop by drop to soak through the dust on her skirt in dark splotches.

Perhaps it was the droplets of water wasting themselves in the dry air that shook her back into practicality. Perhaps it was the arid wind that tossed the branches above them, and sent a shaft of light blazing down onto Josef’s face. He threw a hand up to block the light, and the spell was broken.

“I’d—I’d better take this to Mr. Weston,” she said, and laughed nervously. “Wouldn’t want it all to go to waste.”

Josef held out his hands for Sally’s bonnet. “I’ll take it.” He paused. “I need you to do something.”

Sally nodded, waiting.

“I have to stay out of the sun. If this is going to work—“

Sally bit back her question about what “this” was. His face was so serious.

“—you’re going to have to keep watch. The Colonel’s men…I’ve got to save my strength.”

As it happened, they’d both gone to Weston, Josef watching as she carefully dripped water into Slade’s mouth, easing his terrible thirst. Soon, though, she rose, shaking the remnants of the water from her bonnet, before she put it back over her hair. It would dry fast enough, and for now, it would keep her cooler in the sun. She eyed the rocks for a minute, then gathered up her skirts in both hands, and started to scramble upward.

Watching her, Josef shook his head. He’d known some strong humans before, but perhaps never one whose spirit shone as brightly as Sally’s. Then he’d turned away, seeking the darkness of the rocky cleft that he’d chosen to cover himself for the remainder of the day.

Sally pulled out of her distracted reverie. Maybe it was blood loss, but she’d been having a hard time concentrating. She squinted off at the horizon again.

That smudge to the east north east was definitely a dust cloud. Sally looked down, the stony slope. Her perch was perhaps twenty-five feet above the rolling floor of the prairie. Yet again, she thought how exposed she felt, how vulnerable up on the rocks, like a fly on one of her mother’s white china plates. She hunkered down, but kept her eyes on the horizon. She could see farther from here, surely, than from below, but how far away was that dust cloud. Five miles? Ten? More? Less?

She thought about something Josef had said, in his long monologue. “If you believe in God, Sally, pray for us that they don’t catch up before night falls.”

Over her shoulder she could see the sun kissing the western horizon. The light was already easing, would soon begin to fail. Sally smiled a tight little smile. Maybe prayers were answered after all.

Down below, Josef felt the moment the sun began to slip under the horizon. It had been a long time since he’d felt such a keen pleasure at the relief from the pressure of the light. He’d been forced to fold up, when what he needed was to stretch out, to let the kinks work out of the muscles of his long legs. At least he’d rested, some. He wasn’t sure, even after over two and a half centuries, if what his kind did really equated to what the humans called sleep. For one thing, they dreamed. He didn’t. He thought, sometimes, that he could remember what it felt like, to dream, but he wasn’t really sure. Dreams now were only metaphoric, only a short way to express ambitions, plans, hopes. As he stretched, silently, he wondered what ambitions, what dreams, Slade Weston had. Because they were about to change.

The deepening gloom presented no barrier to Josef’s eyes as he stood over the recumbent form of the injured man. Weston had scarcely moved, his head still pillowed on Sally’s folded cape. She’d regretted that they had no blanket to lay over him, or under him. Sally had known he was dying, but she had taken a thought for his comfort. Kind of her, Josef thought. He could still taste the sweet complexity of her blood in his mouth, and doubted that Weston had as pleasant a flavor.

The man’s heart was slowing, his body tiring of the fight against the pain of the wound he’d taken all those long miles and hours ago. Josef thought it would be a few minutes, though, until Weston reached that perfect point near death, and he had one errand to run first.

Sally jumped when she realized he was looming beside her.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Constantine. You startled me.”

“Are we back to formality so soon?” Josef smirked at her blush. He might be worried about what was to come, but there was a small part of him that welcomed the opportunity to fight at last.

“It seems wise.”

“Very well, Mrs. Watkins. Any sign of hunters on our trail?”

Sally nodded, pointing out into the twilight. “I saw dust. They are coming, Mr. Constantine. Just like you said they would.”

His face grew serious as he questioned her. Direction, what she’d seen, when. He stood and took deep gulps of the freshening wind, attempting to read from it whatever he could. Not much, as it happened. The evening breeze was out of the south, and no help. When he’d finished, he said, “I couldn’t ask for a better sentry. Sounds like they’ll be on us within the hour, if they don’t lose our trail in the dark.”

“Do you think they might?”

Josef peered off into the distance. “This may sound strange, Mrs. Watkins, but I hope not. We’ll be safer, if they catch us here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Two things, Mrs. Watkins. A strategic retreat is an acceptable tactic, but I am no rabbit to think I can hide in a hole to escape my enemies. And—a wise general chooses his battleground. We have advantages here, that we don’t, on the open plain.”

“I—I guess I’ll have to trust you on that one, Mr. Constantine.”

Josef’s smile was gentle, almost sad, Sally thought. “This isn’t my first fight, Mrs. Watkins.” He seemed lost in memory, for a few moments, then shook his head briskly. “I had another object in coming up here. I need a promise from you.”

“A promise?”

“I have—a task to complete, down below. And I need you out of the way. Mrs. Watkins, I want you to swear you’ll stay here until I tell you it’s safe.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I—I swear, Mr. Constantine.”

“No matter what you hear. Wait for me.”

Sally nodded. “I will.”

“And if you have to, use that derringer in your pocket.”

Her hand flew to her skirt, and her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

His grin was devilish. “My nose is very keen,” he said, tapping it with a finger. “And gun oil has quite a distinctive aroma.” He paused. “Whatever else we might not know about the original owner, he did take good care of his weapons.”

“Not much gets by you, does it?” Sally replied, chuckling.

“I certainly hope not. Now, wait for me.” And between one blink and the next, he was gone.

Sally sat back down, resting her back against the rocks. The air was cooling rapidly, and she thought she was becoming grateful for the residual heat that had troubled her such a short time before. She touched the derringer in her pocket, and made sure it was handy. She felt in her other pocket as well, hoping there was something left of the hard biscuits she’d stowed there, but they were long gone. Bad as they had been, they were considerably better than nothing, and her stomach gave a growl to voice agreement with that sentiment.

Two long graceful jumps and a silent scramble, and Josef was back in the trees, a few strides away from Weston. The black-haired man had sunk into coma, the last small step from death. Even Josef could barely detect the subtle lift of his chest, the slow pulse of his dying heart. Already, the smell of death was settling over him.

It was time, then.

Josef stripped off his coat, dropped to his knees by the unconscious man, and pulled Weston’s head and shoulders into his lap. The man was past hurting with the movement, and Josef was glad of that. He smoothed the sweat-soaked hair away from Slade’s neck. Not the daintiest of meals, but he’d eaten far worse in his time.

Besides, he only needed to take a scant few mouthfuls.

Without finesse, without any attempt at artful technique, he sank his fangs into Weston’s throat, finding the faintly pulsing artery with a hard probe, and began to pull the blood from the vein. Not too much, though. Ah, it had been a long time since he’d had to be so careful, since he’d turned a mortal into—something more.

There. The heart was slowing, slowing, each beat more labored than the last. The blood tasted strong, bitter with pain, and some undercurrent of regret. Interesting. He’d have to ask Slade about that, sometime when they had leisure.

Josef leaned back, Slade’s body limply draped across his thighs, and took the time to swipe the back of a hand across his mouth. Then, something caught his attention, and he dropped a hand to the dust beneath his knees. He could feel a steady beat that had not been there a few minutes before. The hoofbeats of their pursuers. Too faint, yet, to tell how many horses. He wasted no time speculating; other tasks called.

He sighed as he rolled up one grimy sleeve. This was never his favorite part of the process, he thought as he brought the bare wrist up to his mouth and buried his fangs in the flesh, savaging the wound a little to make sure it didn’t close too quickly.

The blood that welled up was dark, black in the evening gloom. Josef cradled Slade’s head with one arm, and put his bleeding wrist above the slack mouth, carefully dripping the life-giving fluid into it.

There was always that moment, the one that stretched into eternity, when he had the sickening thought that this time the miracle wasn’t going to happen, that this time the tiny spark of life would refuse to fan into an immortal flame.

He closed his fist, willing more blood from the punctures. And then he saw it. An eyelid shivered, and a tongue ran out across parched lips.

“Come on, boyo,” Josef muttered half to himself, and put his wrist directly to Weston’s mouth. As his skin made contact he felt Weston, weakly at first, and then with increasing strength, latch onto this source of existence.

It was enough. Josef wondered briefly if any of Sally’s sweetness and spirit, filtered through his own strength, would surface in Weston, shape him in some way. For now, he clung to Josef’s wrist as Josef pulled it away. “That’s all you need for now, Slade,” Josef said.

Slade relaxed for a few seconds, then bucked into consciousness, arms locked across the burn of the healing wound in his gut. He screamed with the pain of it, a desolate sound. For what seemed like forever he convulsed, the pain bringing feral, inarticulate sounds from him. Then all at once he came to himself again, and a look of shock fell over his face. He scrambled away from Josef, looking around wildly.

“Where?” he demanded in a voice hoarse as though he hadn’t spoken in months. “What have you done to me?”

Josef held out a placating hand. “What I had to.”

Slade stood slowly, bracing his back against the rough bark of the trunk of cottonwood tree. He felt overwhelmed. The bark beneath the flat of his palms felt textured in a way he’d never felt before. It felt alive, as though he could feel the movement of the sap through the wood. And his eyes. In a thousand ways, he knew it was night, knew that the punishing sun had set. Yet he could see every detail of Josef Constantine’s face and clothing, more clearly than in bright daylight.

He felt strong, with a cold strength like iron in his veins, like he would live forever. He put his hand down to his stomach. The cloth of his shirt was still shredded where McCarty’s knife had pierced his side, and where Sally Watkins had torn it further to tie on her makeshift bandage. That pad of cloth, crusted with blood, itched and chafed against his belly, and without taking his eyes off Constantine, who almost seemed to glow with menace in the odd, unconcealing night, he dipped one long finger beneath the bandage. The skin below was smooth, unmarred. He swept his finger lower. He must be missing the wound; it had been deep. Mortal, he’d thought.

“It’s healed,” Josef said. “It healed when you turned.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. And I’ll explain everything later, when—“

“I’m thirsty. I need water,” Weston interrupted. He took a deep breath. “And I smell—something delicious. Up in the rocks.”

Josef was across the clearing and in his face before Slade could blink, let alone move toward the source of that appetizing smell. Josef’s forearm was like a steel bar across his chest, but Slade didn’t care. He started to run his tongue across his lips, and stopped in shock. He’d thought his mouth felt strange, but now his tongue encountered two great spears of bone, extending from the roof of his mouth. For the first time, he met Constantine’s eyes. He’d have bet good money they were brown, had been brown all the time he’d seen the man, but Constantine was looking at him now with a lambent, silver-blue gaze. Slade flicked his eyes down to Josef’s mouth, and Josef obligingly peeled his lips back from his own extended canines.

“Yes, you have fangs now, Weston,” he said. “And it’s a damn good thing you do, because your other choice was being dead.”

Slade struggled against Josef’s arm fruitlessly. “I’m going to ask you again, Constantine. What did you do to me?”

Josef sighed, and Slade recoiled from the stench of death that flowed over him. He was silent for a couple of seconds, and cocked his head to one side, as though listening to something in the night air. “We don’t have a lot of time,” he said at last. “So pay attention. What you smell up on the rocks is Mrs. Watkins. Or more specifically, her blood.”

“Her blood?” His disbelief was palpable.

“Yes.”

“But—“

“I told you to listen. In about ten minutes, fifteen at most, whoever the Colonel saw fit to send after us is going to be here. And we’re going to kill them all.”

Slade slapped a hand down to the holster at his side. Somewhere in the melee back at the camp, his Colt had been dropped. “How?” he demanded. “We’ve got no guns. No weapons.”

“We’ve got speed. And strength. And teeth.” Josef snapped to emphasize his point.

“This is crazy. We’ll just get shot.”

Josef shook his head. “Listen to your body. Bullets hurt, but they can’t kill you. Not unless they blow your head clean off, so if someone has a shotgun, I’d suggest you duck.” He paused. “The other thing that will kill you—go near Sally Watkins, and I’ll pull your head off myself.”

Slade quit struggling, and said in a low voice, “I’m hungry.”

Josef nodded. “I know. I remember how it was. Feast on our enemies.” He felt the thrum of hoofbeats through the soles of his feet, now. They were coming. Seven, no eight of them, riding unsuspecting into the teeth of battle.

Josef clapped Slade on the shoulder. “We’ll take them, Slade. Straight to hell.”

[Phoenix]

Oh, wow.

[cassysj]

What a wonderful 5,000 post. The fight is on!!!! I do love Slade and Sally.

[coco]

Lucky, firstly, congratulations on 5000 posts. And what a treat for us too.

What a chapter. WOW.

Love this description of Sally:

Watching her, Josef shook his head. He’d known some strong humans before, but perhaps never one whose spirit shone as brightly as Sally’s. Then he’d turned away, seeking the darkness of the rocky cleft that he’d chosen to cover himself for the remainder of the day.

Love this too:

“I—I guess I’ll have to trust you on that one, Mr. Constantine.”

Josef’s smile was gentle, almost sad, Sally thought. “This isn’t my first fight, Mrs. Watkins.” He seemed lost in memory, for a few moments, then shook his head briskly.

And the amazing visual you created of Josef turning Slade. Excellent.

Without finesse, without any attempt at artful technique, he sank his fangs into Weston’s throat, finding the faintly pulsing artery with a hard probe, and began to pull the blood from the vein. Not too much, though. Ah, it had been a long time since he’d had to be so careful, since he’d turned a mortal into—something more.

There. The heart was slowing, slowing, each beat more labored than the last. The blood tasted strong, bitter with pain, and some undercurrent of regret. Interesting. He’d have to ask Slade about that, sometime when they had leisure.

Josef leaned back, Slade’s body limply draped across his thighs, and took the time to swipe the back of a hand across his mouth. Then, something caught his attention, and he dropped a hand to the dust beneath his knees. He could feel a steady beat that had not been there a few minutes before. The hoofbeats of their pursuers. Too faint, yet, to tell how many horses. He wasted no time speculating; other tasks called.

He sighed as he rolled up one grimy sleeve. This was never his favorite part of the process, he thought as he brought the bare wrist up to his mouth and buried his fangs in the flesh, savaging the wound a little to make sure it didn’t close too quickly.

The blood that welled up was dark, black in the evening gloom. Josef cradled Slade’s head with one arm, and put his bleeding wrist above the slack mouth, carefully dripping the life-giving fluid into it.

There was always that moment, the one that stretched into eternity, when he had the sickening thought that this time the miracle wasn’t going to happen, that this time the tiny spark of life would refuse to fan into an immortal flame.

He closed his fist, willing more blood from the punctures. And then he saw it. An eyelid shivered, and a tongue ran out across parched lips.

“Come on, boyo,” Josef muttered half to himself, and put his wrist directly to Weston’s mouth. As his skin made contact he felt Weston, weakly at first, and then with increasing strength, latch onto this source of existence.

It was enough. Josef wondered briefly if any of Sally’s sweetness and spirit, filtered through his own strength, would surface in Weston, shape him in some way. For now, he clung to Josef’s wrist as Josef pulled it away. “That’s all you need for now, Slade,” Josef said.

Love this protection of Sally from Josef:

“I’m thirsty. I need water,” Weston interrupted. He took a deep breath. “And I smell—something delicious. Up in the rocks.”

Josef was across the clearing and in his face before Slade could blink, let alone move toward the source of that appetizing smell. Josef’s forearm was like a steel bar across his chest, but Slade didn’t care.

Josef shook his head. “Listen to your body. Bullets hurt, but they can’t kill you. Not unless they blow your head clean off, so if someone has a shotgun, I’d suggest you duck.” He paused. “The other thing that will kill you—go near Sally Watkins, and I’ll pull your head off myself.”

Excellent, excellent update, Lucky.

[one.zebra]

Oh dang! 'feast on our enemies...' /shiver/ LOVE that you've made Josef Slade's Sire.

..and Sally? I just want to know her better...

Oh hell, look at the time...

[redwinter101]

Well this story just grips and won't let go. The interaction between Josef and Sally continues to be absolutely marvellous and finally, it feels like something is starting to go right for our trio.

They find water and shelter. Sally proves to be an excellent sentry and they will not be found until dark. The fight is on....

And I loved this,

so if someone has a shotgun, I’d suggest you duck.

Marvellous.

And the conclusion is just divine:

Josef nodded. “I know. I remember how it was. Feast on our enemies.” He felt the thrum of hoofbeats through the soles of his feet, now. They were coming. Seven, no eight of them, riding unsuspecting into the teeth of battle.

Josef clapped Slade on the shoulder. “We’ll take them, Slade. Straight to hell.”

Red

[wollstonecraft61]

Yippee! I love the course this story is taking!!!!! Wow, Josef turned Slade Weston! I didn't see that one coming (I guess I am naïve). I can't wait to see that posse of miscreants meet the likes of Josef and a hungry fledgling!!!!!

[LadyAilith]

I was pretty certain that Slade from La Posada was the same Slade as here. I was just waiting to see when Josef turned him! You've done such an incredible job weaving this tale...I really like it. And I love Sally. That lady has some serious steel in her backbone!

Thanks so much for sharing - and congratulations on your 5000th post.

LadyAilith

[moonlight_vixen]

I can't wait to see this battle!

Josef clapped Slade on the shoulder. “We’ll take them, Slade. Straight to hell.”

Oooh, I love this line!

[librarian_7]

Thanks for the comments! I sorta thought this chapter might be a good one...what with the turning and everything.

And yes, we'll have to see how those two fight as a team. Could be interesting, I hope.

I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I got caught up in several other stories, and well, time flies!

Lucky

[greenleaf9]

AWESOME!! Josef turned Slade...so cool! The last lines of this chapter were killer. I loved it. This story is just fantastic, Lucky--Slade and Sally are such well-developed characters. I adored how quickly Josef rushed to defend Sally from his hungry fledgling, and I love the connection between Josef and Sally. It is really very touching.

Congratulations on 5000 posts! *claps and cheers*

[tucutecats]

I just knew Joseph was Slades sire. And that SAlly I hope all ends well for her. Awsome story Lucky. I've been waiting for an update. I just love your writing.

[mitzie]

Excellent chapter!! I loved the turning of Slade!!! Your writing is so wonderful, full of detail and imagery. When Josef felt the hoof beats through the ground I felt them too!!! I love this story and can't wait to see what happens next...

Congratulations on your 5000 posts!!!!


mitzie

[eris]

Woot!

That's one way to conscript a soldier into service.

Looking forward to the next chapter and Slade getting something to sink his teeth into.

[RangerCM]

This is such an amazing quote because so often we read Mick's conflicted thoughts concerning turning Beth.

There was always that moment, the one that stretched into eternity, when he had the sickening thought that this time the miracle wasn’t going to happen, that this time the tiny spark of life would refuse to fan into an immortal flame.

Josef's thoughts on turning are just so much more "purely" vampire. To him, it's a miracle. LOVE it!

Also love that, although Slade is confused, he doesn't seem to be all that upset over his fate. Good vampire material!

Wonderful chapter. Can't wait for the battle!