Thank you for the Venom 01-02 (Unedited)

Chapter 1-2

         John Freeman was enjoying a deer’s lungs and liver dinner prepared by his beautiful daughter when a knock, no, a pound came at the door.
          At first, he thought maybe a bird had flown into the door, but the sound repeated moments later. John knew who was behind the attended entrance. There was a smell of ammonium nitrate that had been used to create the ice to keep the deer carcass from spoiling. That was the furthest thought from his mind though. A voice came out from the other side of the door. It was accented, heavy, and authoritative.
          “John Freeman! You open this door now if you know what’s good for ya,” said the voice from behind the wooden door.
          John looked to his daughter, “Quietly, go around back and hide in the compost bin.”
          “But Father,” protested the early twenty-something daughter.
          The look her father had on his face suggested it would be best if she didn’t argue and just followed his orders. She disappeared from the kitchen just as the door was open with a slam and a boot following it.
          The young daughter was already in her sleeping attire, button-up off-white dress that went down to her feet. There was a curl at the bottom of the dress suggesting it was hemmed so that it wouldn’t catch on the floor.
         She could overhear arguing about payment on her way out of the house. She crouched out of sight of a horse bound man. Holding her breath, she backed up to the edge of the wagon she had found herself behind. The rust brushed up against her black curly hair.
          “Hmm?”
          She swore that the man didn’t see her. She prayed he didn’t.
          “Got me out here in the doggone middle of dinner to get money from these shanty dwelling farmers,” the mounted outlaw said.

         Back inside:
          “I swear I’ll get you the money,” John protested from the ground, the leader of the bunch had a fist full of his work shirt.
          “Hear that Frankie. He swears it.”
          Frankie was in the middle of going through Freeman’s belongings, finding nothing of interest and turning to speak, “I was hoping he didn’t have the money now.”
          The leader turned towards John with a knowing smile. The kind of smile that only meant a good show was to come.
          “What d-does he mean by that?”
          “Frankie might not be the best shot around but when it comes to hurting people, such as yourself, he does wonders for giving people inspiration.”
          “Inspiration for what?”
          “Lucas!” shouted the leader.
          Outside the man dismounted his horse with a huff, hitched his horse and walked past the wheel barrel. The hiding young woman held her breath for longer than needed to keep quiet. She scurried to the other side of the wheel barrel before peering over, seeing the man enter. For a brief moment, she could see her father with a bruised eye. They were beating him. It sounded like meat being tenderized. Looking over at the hitched horse left by Lucas. Seeing the bag resting on the side of the horse. There was the barrel of a pistol sticking out of a hole in the bag that had gotten there from wear and tear over the course of its life.
          “You’re gonna wanna see this,” motioned the leader.
          “Keep his hand steady,” Frankie said pulling out an inch wide serrated bowie knife. Lucas wrapped his arms around John’s elbow to hold it still before forcing both hands on the middle-aged man left hand.
          “What, no! No, please!” protested John.
          “Where’s the money?” asked the Leader one last time.
          “What? I spent it. I swear I don’t have anything of value in the house.”
          “He wants to get out of his debt. Teach him a lesson Frankie.”
          “No! Please”
          Frankie moved closer to the man’s exposed and held taught hand. The edge of the knife scraped against the skin of the man’s pinkie finger. The finger turned bright red from the scratch before the knife went around a second time. Only this time Frankie’s knife peeled back skin like he was whittling on a plank of scrap wood.
          John’s eyes went wide with pain and in a heavy breath in he exhaled into a panic scream. Frankie continued along the inside of the man’s pinkie while John tried to catch his breath enough to speak. His daughter on the outside hearing his screams and what came next.
          “My daughter! She’s young, surely you could see her worth!”
          Frankie frowned in an instant, his eyebrows furrowed and he could crack steel between his teeth. Pulling back to grip the knife reverse so that when he pivoted back the blade of the steel pointed towards John. With a bop and sic against the man’s skull, the knife slid into John’s eye and punctured straight through to his brain. John’s mouth went ajar and his other eye twitched in tearful agony.
          “John, you shouldn’t have gone and said that,” the leader said turning away from the scene.
          Drool just escaped dying John’s mouth. Lucas let the man go from the shock of seeing Frankie murder him.
          The leader turned toward Frankie once John’s body hit the ground. “Goddamnit Franklin! He’s not much use to us dead. I never know where your line is, brother. You’ll skin a man’s pinkie but heaven forbid he says anything to get out of it.”
          “He was willing to sell his daughter,” Frankie said pulling out a cloth and wiping down the blade before sheathing it at his hip.
          “And I would have happily accepted. Lucas, go to the barn and see if she’s hiding out there.”
          “Right boss,”
Frankie held his head low avoiding eye contact. His eyes darting up for a moment to see Lucas leaving.
          “Vance isn’t going to be happy about losing his money,” the leader said turning and catching a glimpse of movement outside. It was the daughter, she was stealing Lucas’ horse. “Mary and Joseph! She’s getting away!”
          Even though the leader was the first out the door in the mad dash towards their remaining horses. Frankie was quicker on foot. With a whistle and a routine throw of his leg, Frankie had mounted his horse. He proceeded to spur the horse painfully to catch up to the escaping woman.
          “Please horse. Go faster,” she pleaded and kicked at Lucas’ horse without the aid of rowels. She could feel the gaze of the man behind her. There was a home up the road, Mr. Danforth’s wheat and cattle ranch. She leaned with the horse guiding it to the left and up the path to the white and robin’s blue ranch.
         Mr. Fred Danforth appeared from the doorway. The commotion and heavy rush towards his house must have drawn his attention.
         “Please Mr. Danforth. These men aim to cause me harm, they’ve already killed my father.”
         “While that does sound horrible Miss Johnson. I’m ‘fraid you’ll have to go find somewhere else.”
         “What?!” she said in protest. The uncomfortable and yet perpetual reality of racism always crept up on her in the worst possible moments.
         “Go on now...I don’t want any trouble coming my way,” he said but as he did the faster of the three men had arrived. A rifle now in his hand hand and pivoted against the hip of sinister Frankie. “I don’t want any trouble mister. Whatever you have dealings with this woman is your business not mine.”
         “Thanks ol’ timer.”
         The young woman thought about kicking her horse and making another escape attempt. The man would certainly shoot at her, probably hit the horse or worse. Either way, she would get injured. She dared a look at the man. There was this spark in his unblinking eyes. A smile in them that never showed on his lips.
         “What is wrong with him?” she thought.
         “W-what are you going to do to me?” she asked instead.
         “Me, oh I’ll do whatever I’m allowed to do with young women such as yourself.”
         Old man Mr. Danforth stepped into his home and the door closed behind him. This left Miss Johnson feeling even more uncomfortable.
         “What does that entail?”
         “Entail?”
         “It means-” she tried but was interrupted.
         “I don’t care what it means. You didn’t think you’d be able to steal Lucas’ horse and run away.”
         “That’s exactly what I thought Mister.”
         “Is that sass I hear?”
         “You might as well kill me here. I’m not about to be one of your stable women in the Barb gang.”
         “So you’ve heard of us.”
         “Yes, what of it?”
         “Then you’ll know it’d be best to bite your tongue. Especially with McFarlane almost here.”
         The leader, Cliff McFarlane, caught up to the two with a surprise that the escape had ended so quickly. He caught his breath and took off his hat before speaking. The sun had set by now and the sky had turned from the purple and orange to a dim blue.
         “She’s got spunk I’ll give her that. Listen young lady, your father’s last words were to bargain you off to us. You have a responsibility to honor your father’s debt.”
         “Does that work on other women?” she fired back.
         Frankie turned towards Cliff in a toothy grin. Wanting desperately to see the reaction to the disrespect that this young woman gave so freely.
         “Heh...I like this one Frankie. She’s like a wild horse that needs taming. While Lucas can’t stand anything but the palest of dames I believe Frankie and I will do fine keeping that mouth occupied.”
         Frankie was whispering to Cliff but not nearly close enough for him to hear. He appeared to be repeating the same phrase over and over. “Let me loose. Let me loose,” The crazy anticipation in the hunched over Frankie started to draw some real dread into the young woman.
         She reached over to the side of the horse, to where she had seen the bag earlier.
         “Have your fun Frankie. Don’t break any of her bones if you can help it.”
         Frankie’s grin grew wider as he turned his horse towards her, and dismounted in a hurry. Tossing the rifle to Cliff who caught it in an easy motion. His steps were like that of a triumphant gladiator, walking towards his prize.
         She pulled out the small caliber Philadelphia derringer, cocked the hammer, aimed and shot Frankie right in the chest. She was so thankful that the pistol was loaded but out of the corner of her eyes she could see Cliff was moving his horse closer to her. The woman stared at the man she murdered, something kept her gaze on him. She wanted to make sure this madman was put down right then. Frankie’s hand had clutched his chest near where the hole was starting to soak with his rich red blood. His hand coated with the substance as his knees gave and he fell to them. He didn’t fall forward but in a catty-corner slouch to her left. When her gaze finally broke she turned towards the leader who’s rifle was coming down at her face just then. The butt of the rifle hitting her square between the eyes.
         Everything went dark.

         She awoke with the mid-dialogue between Cliff and Lucas.
         “Tell Vance we lost Frankie and the person responsible has been lynched and left for dead.”
         She opened her eyes with the struggle of a hangover morning. Her head swirled with extreme dizziness. Vomit formed in her throat but she stomached it. When she swallowed she could feel something around her neck. It was coarse and would leave a rash if she kept moving. At that point, she noticed her elevation was higher than she should be if she on the floor. Looking down she could see the red hair of the horse she was mounted on. The saddle had been removed, she could see it hanging off McFarlane’s white and black horse.
         “D-don’t.”
         Cliff turned towards her and spoke in a calm and serious tone. She studied his face with what little energy she could. Behind the man was, in the distance, the ranch where she had been refused sanctuary by Mr. Danforth. She had her wrists bound behind her which caused a considerable lean forward in her posture. Her nightgown was torn and dirty. She had been dragged a quarter of a mile to the nearest tree.          She looked up for a hope that was quickly dismissed. The branch the rope wrapped around was sturdy and would hold her.
         “I’m doing you a favor.”
         She wanted to spit at him. He would have to settle for the hatred she could muster out in her eyes.
         “You’ve lost everything. I’m ending your pain. You’re a murderer and a without a father or mother. Let’s say you eluded us, you’d end up on the streets selling yourself for bread and water. I would have loved to keep you but you killed Frankie and it looks like we’re out the money either way. You’d be more trouble than you’re worth at this point. This is mercy.”
         Cliff pulled from his holster a pistol, pointed it to the sky, and cocked the hammer.
         “I’ll see you in hell,” she said before the outlaw squeezed the trigger. The loud burst startled the horse enough to abandon her seated position and hang her from the tree.