Destined to Fall (An Angel Falls Book 5) Read online

  An excited undercurrent zings through their quick and sharp movements. Sly nods pass between them. An occasional flash of teeth as they harass and insult one another in whispers. The horses are sensitive to their moods. Steven’s horse continues to paw at the ground and blow or snort every few minutes. The animal has to be separated from the others after a snap of teeth at Arrio’s mount. Steven’s competent and steady hands remain firm as he finishes saddling.

  Dominic’s height and wide shoulders make him easy to spot in the dark. He appears from around a cedar or pinon tree. The trees all look more or less the same to me. With that thought, I hear Juliana’s voice in my head. There are many different species growing in the high desert. I can teach you how to identify them. She would offer and I would accept, then find myself staring at her mouth and not paying much attention to the various species names.

  “Do you want my mare?” Dominic asks.

  “No,” Steven says. “We’ve reached an understanding and I don’t want to jinx it. Not tonight.”

  “You and this asshole gelding are on good terms already?” Dominic asks with suspicion.

  “Yep,” Steven says. “He takes me straight to his new girlfriend, and I’ll give him the peppermints inside my pocket.”

  “Bribery. Good thinking.”

  They mount and ride northeast. How am I going to watch this happen and not interfere? Is tonight going to be the end for Steven? It’s highly probable. No matter what traditions a person believes in, or what timeframe in history he or she lives in, horse thieving and raiding are seriously illegal business.

  Four young guys are out thrill seeking. They couldn’t go prove themselves by jumping out of an airplane with a parachute strapped to their backs or kayak the river. There are some of the largest mountain peaks in the country a short distance away. Couldn’t they climb a fourteener and leave their signature inside the can? Make their mark by hiking up the side of a mountain with virtually no oxygen and live to tell about it. No, not these four misguided souls. They want to take their power back. Literally steal their power and trade it away for fast illegal cash.

  How am I going to handle this? If I could turn my back and go stay the night with Juliana, I would be a much happier camper. This is what I get. I keep telling myself I wasn’t cut out for the position of Angel of Death, and tonight reaffirms it. I declare my assignment as utter bull crap. I stare at the millions of stars overhead while listening to the clink of metal, the creak of leather, the clopping of hooves. The song of the west. Staring up at the vast sea of the heavens, all I can think is, I hope someone’s getting a good laugh at seeing me reach the end of my rope. My wits end is frayed and I’m unsure how long I have before it snaps.

  An unmeasured number of miles later, the guys slow the pace as we near the crest of a small rise. A distant light brightens the corner of a house too far to make out much of the details. I leave Steven and his gang to check out the place. The house is typical of northern New Mexico. Stucco covered walls with a flat roof and plenty of vigas and corbels. A low wall surrounds a courtyard with an inner garden and a chiminea fireplace with its bulbous shaped body sits near the wall. The barn is a good forty yards from the house. The house and outbuilding are quiet. Trent was correct in his scouting of the place. If there are horses in the barn, it should be easy pickings.

  When I return to my client, I find them near the top of a hill out of sight of the house and outbuildings. Their excitement hums in the cool night air. Steven’s horse refuses to hold still. In the relative silence, his animal and saddle sound like a tornado moving through the brush and weeds.

  “Hobble your animal over there. He’s making the others nervous,” Arrio says.

  Arrio’s voice sounds more nervous than the horse, but I’m not an expert on horses.

  “You should stay here with the animals while we go in to grab the others,” Steven says.

  “No fucking way, puto. I didn’t come out tonight to be the camp bitch.”

  “Shut up,” Dominic says, and they instantly quit bickering.

  “Arrio is new and he’s going to prove himself tonight. We’re going inside.”

  “Steven and Trent, you’re going to keep a look out and signal if anything comes up.”

  “Whatever,” Steven says, and starts to walk his horse away from the others.

  “Everyone, tie your horses and meet back here,” Dominic says.

  The plan is simple. Trent and Dominic will cut the fence, opening a pathway for easy escape. Trent moves ahead and disables the motion sensor lights by either, A: sneaking past the sensors and cutting the wires, or B: shooting them with his CO2 pellet pistol. Dominic and Arrio will enter the barn after Trent gives the all clear.

  Steven is to remain the lookout for the others. He’s also in charge of making sure the escape route isn’t compromised. Should anything unforeseen happen, Steven is the fallback guy. Watching out for everyone and being quick on his toes. Once the others return, he’s supposed to help manage the new horses and prepare them for the getaway.

  As soon as Dominic, Arrio, and Trent are out of sight, I make quick work of scattering two of the hobbled horses who are out of sight and hearing range of Steven.

  I materialize inside the barn and look for any way I can stall these jackasses. Fate is a tricky player in terms of what can and can’t be manipulated. I don’t have clearance to fool around with Steven’s accomplices’ futures, but I’m not going to stand by and do nothing. Steven’s fate, on the other hand, is why I’m here. There isn’t much time to stir things up and return to him before his buddies expect his help.

  There’s a stack of lumber and some tools in the corner of the barn. Thinking quickly, I jam the main barn door closed with a long board. The horses stir inside the stalls. The sound of heavy bodies shifting about accompanies the thump of a hoof bumping into a wall. I roll a wheelbarrow full of muck in front of the other barn door. Before leaving, I scatter a pile of rakes and shovels around the barn floor with the hope one of these idiots will trip or receive a nice hard whack in the face or shins. There’s little else for me to do without having more time and more light. Aware that my little booby-traps could injure the horses as well, I grab some loose twine lying near the haystack and quickly tie it together in a long rope. Outside the building, I string the twine from post to post slightly below shin level and tie it nice and taut. Hopefully, Dominic and Arrio will trip before ever opening a single door.

  By the time I’m finished, Trent is nearing the barn. Dominic and Arrio cut the final section of pasture fence closest to the paddock and barn.

  Steven pulls the fencing out of the way. He always seems aware of the small details. With his work as a roadie, he’s neat, organized, and precise. He doesn’t talk a lot, but he listens well, and when he has something to say, I notice his coworkers and the band members take his suggestions seriously. A boy this intelligent and talented should not be risking his life for deadly and illegal fun and games.

  After taking care of the fence, Steven adjusts his backpack and then retrieves his bow from the ground. As soon as I think the others are out of earshot, I snap a branch with my foot.

  Steven freezes in place and then slowly crouches. There’s a couple of cedar trees, could be junipers, but they’re all cedar trees to me, blocking his three-sixty view. I whistle a few notes from one of The Shy Lights’ songs. It’s a catchy melody and one they had been working on in the studio earlier.

  “Don’t fuck around, Trent,” Steven whispers.

  I don’t speak. Maybe tonight will have a higher entertainment factor than I previously thought. If I’m stuck doing a job I’m not cut out for, I should make the best of it. In all honesty, I don’t want Steven to take his life. But this kid doesn’t even act suicidal. He’s more reckless than anything. Since he doesn’t seem to be the emotional gooey type who is searching for answers and the meaning to life, I’m going with scaring him straight.

  Steven begins moving away from me toward his horse. His head m
oves back and forth as if continually scanning the barn, the house, and the uneven surface of the ground.

  I rattle the nearest tree and whisper in a very cheesy ghost-like voice, “Crime never pays.”

  Steven whips his knife out and spins around. When he doesn’t see me, he begins walking much faster.

  “Turn yourself in and right your wrongs,” I call, and try my hardest not to laugh as he starts to run.

  I hear a crashing sound from down the hill and my wicked grin spreads from ear to ear. Dominic or Arrio probably ran into my wheelbarrow or pile of leaning lumber. God, I hope the rancher wakes up from the noise.

  “Who’s out there?” Steven hisses in the dark. He must have heard the crash as well, because he slows and stares in the direction of the barn.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” I sing.

  “Santa?” Steven says, his confusion clear. He thrusts his knife into the empty air.

  “Green Giant,” I finish the completely random jingle and wait to see how my client responds. The catchphrase used to get stuck in my head when I was a kid, and for some random reason, it’s back. “Are you eating your vegetables, Steven?”

  I pick up some pebbles and throw them at his back, then disappear again before he sees me.

  “How do you know my name?” He shoves the knife into its sheath and readies his bow.

  “I’m your conscience, Steven. That’s a long-distance weapon, isn’t it?”

  His head jerks away in reflex as another pebble bounces off it.

  “Get out of here before I kill you,” he says.

  “Get on your horse and ride away.”

  “Are you too afraid to show yourself?” His bow swings around, finding nothing to aim at.

  “Your friends are about to have their lives ruined,” I say to Steven’s back.

  I take a quick peek down the hill. The back door of the house slams opens and a shotgun blast deafens every living thing in the surrounding area. A high beam flashlight lights a path toward the barn. Two men rush out of the house and across the yard. At the same time, we hear the horses whinny and neigh. The unmistakable sound of stampeding hooves rumbles through the ground. The men run for the barn. The flashlight beam dances and splashes light off various surfaces.

  Steven lets the arrow fly after I tap him on the shoulder. To this point, I haven’t let him see me. “It’s not worth it,” I say.

  But Steven isn’t paying attention to me any longer. He runs toward the fence line. The horses gallop into the paddock. I can’t tell if Dominic or Arrio are with the horses. Steven stays low to the ground and scrambles to the opening they cut in the fence. One of the horses nears the fence, but changes direction and trots away, trailing a lead rope. One of the guys appears as a shadow as he runs in our general direction. The beam of light passes over him, sweeps across the paddock, and returns.

  A shotgun blast tears through the night. Dominic, Arrio, or Trent scream and collapse to the ground. Steven runs after the dangling lead rope of the horse and jerks the animal around, slaps its rump and sends the surprised horse through the open fence. The horse gallops across the hillside and disappears. In a crouching run, Steven hurries to his fallen comrade, but Trent is already back on his feet and running toward the opening. Another shot fires and hits Trent in the back of the leg. Steven catches his friend and they both take a tumble. Another shot skims Steven’s backpack.

  I have only a second to wonder if my client is now officially on his way to crossing over to the afterlife when the pounding of hooves is so close, I think Trent and Steven are going to be trampled.

  “Run! He won’t shoot his own horse,” Dominic says.

  Dominic’s lying low across the horse’s back, heels dug into its sides, and hands fisted around the reins. He circles the horse around his friends, giving them time to regain their feet. The horse prances, anxious and stressed. The white of its eye flashes in the light from the ranchers.

  Steven makes a run for the fence, but Trent cannot even stand. Dominic kicks the horse into high gear and gallops past Steven and into the desert night. The flashlight beam at his back, another shotgun blast fires and I see Dominic’s body jerk to the left, but he somehow manages to hang on. So much for not firing at the horse, I think. The last shot had a distinctly different blast than the shotgun. Steven makes it to the cover of the trees and high tails it away from the ranch.

  By the time he reaches his horse, Dominic is almost ready to mount his horse and has the stolen one leashed to his saddle.

  “It’s a fucking bitch doing this with one arm,” he says.

  “You’re shot?” Steven asks.

  “Yeah,” Dominic hisses.

  “I don’t hear anyone else coming,” Steven says.

  “They’re trying to figure out what the hell happened and get out of there,” Dominic growls through clenched teeth.

  Steven whips out his flashlight and shines it on Dominic’s arm. He removes his backpack and yanks out his extra shirt. “Man, you’ve got to stop bleeding.”

  “Help me out. I can hardly move my arm.”

  Steven uses his knife to slice a T-shirt down the middle. He rolls it into a long strip and ties the bandage around Dominic’s right bicep where blood oozes out of a nasty gash. He wipes Dominic’s blood off on his pants and then inspects his hands in the pale moonlight. His left hand is even darker than before he tried to wipe them clean. Steven stares at his leg. I can’t see anything wrong with his black pants, but he says, “Shit. Trent was bleeding bad. This is really bad.”

  “Don’t think about it right now,” Dominic orders. “We gotta ride.”

  “Where are the other damn horses?” Steven asks.

  “I don’t know. Something is way off tonight. You feel it?”

  “Yeah. I feel it. Where’s Arrio?” Steven asks as he moves to the left side of his horse.

  “Lost sight of him. He knows what to do if we separate. Let’s get the hell out of here, brother.”

  They throw themselves into the saddles and urge the horses into a full gallop. Ravines are avoided, but the horses barely slow down as they barrel through brush and gullies. We’re most of the way back to their base camp when we hear a coyote call over the unceasing rhythm of hoof beats. Steven calls back with two quick yaps and slows his horse to a trot. He pivots around in the saddle and we stare into the rolling landscape.

  Arrio appears out of the black distance. His horse’s breath is labored from the exertion, as is Arrio’s.

  “Did Trent make it? Did you see anything?” Steven asks.

  “They loaded him into an ambulance. I don’t know if he was breathing,” he says between heavy pants.

  “Did you hang around for the after party or what?” Dominic asks.

  “Shit, man. I was hiding in the bushes forever and then my horse walked right in front of me. No one’s coming after us. I was careful to make sure.”

  “What about the other two?” Steven says, eyeing the other two horses trailing behind Arrio.

  “I found them on the way. They were standing there side by side. After another fucking disaster, there’s no way I was leaving them.”

  “Trent’s horse?” Steven asks.

  “Never saw it,” Arrio says.

  “Damn,” Dominic says. “I thought the damned filly was gone for good.” He thumps his chest with his good hand and howls a battle cry into the night.

  Arrio adds his own victory whoop. Steven and his friends manage to grin at one another. Their painted faces look like eerie smiling nightmares in the dead of night.

  “You’re coming on every raid from now on. We need someone with your luck,” Dominic says.

  “Steaks and beers on me as soon as we’re back to your house,” Arrio says.

  “Steaks and beers should wait until this herd is loaded into the trailers and out of state,” Steven says.

  “Whiskey and ribs on delivery day,” Dominic says and clicks his tongue, urging his horse back into a lope.

  Chapter Eight: Arrows and Osmosis<
br />
  Nathaniel

  Steven smokes a cigarette as he hides saddles and tack beneath the tarps. The horses drink from an old stock tank in the makeshift corral behind the log shack. A spring had been tapped, allowing free-range cattle to drink, but now serves to water the stolen horses.

  “You got anything for pain in that suitcase of yours?” Dominic nudges Steven’s pack with the toe of his boot.

  “Nothing,” Steven says.

  “What good are you, loser?” Dominic chides.

  “Good for nothing,” Steven says.

  “That reminds me. I didn’t hear your warning signal earlier tonight.”

  “There wasn’t time.” Steven shifts wary eyes toward the black horizon. “The rancher was out the door and shooting with no warning.”

  “I guess I’ll have to believe your story.”

  “Believe it or not, shit for brains. That’s how it went down,” Steven says testily. “It was all the noise you two were making that woke the guy.”

  Steven steps back and eyes the tarps. The tip of his cigarette flares bright as he inhales. He starts replacing the brush and tumbleweeds over the hidden tack.

  “It was all messed up inside the barn. A pile of lumber and tools fell on us. We tripped like ten times.”

  “Hmmph,” Steven snorts. The cigarette drops to the ground and he steps on it. “We should split up. Hike back to the cars alone.”

  “You’re getting a weird feeling about something.”

  “Yeah. I don’t want to say anything else. Let’s get out of here,” Steven says and picks up his pack and bow.

  “Bro, you’re starting to sound like Pip. You’re not going all witch doctor on me, are you?”

  “That was Pip’s job, not mine,” Steven says. “Where’s Arrio?”

  “He wanted to stare at the filly some more. Make sure she’s not injured or some crap.”

  “She’s fine. I checked her myself,” Steven says.