45. Stetson
FORTY-FIVE
STETSON
July 21st, 2024
The first thing I notice is the unforgiving end of a boot smashing into my ribs—not pinning me, but trying to pulverize me. My first thought is not how to escape the boot, but that I still have not told Gus I love him.
Why? Why have I not done that yet?
Sucking in a ravenous breath, my lungs feel like they’ve been plunged into cement, my throat dry and cracked. I peel open my eyes, the light causing me to squint and groan in pain. The world around me is too bright, too loud, too hot.
Everything hurts, everything feels like it’s on fire.
My eyes snap open at that thought, taking in my surroundings. Fire .
Everything is on fire.
I tilt my head, my face pressed into straw and dirt, heavy and throbbing, something running from my hairline. I strain my eyes, piecing together more of my surroundings—the horses are screaming, their whinnies slicing through my foggy brain. I see them, all still behind locked stall doors, flames licking up the exterior of the wooden structure. It’ll only be a matter of minutes before the entire barn is engulfed—me and my precious babies with it.
I try, and fail, to stand, my legs and arms like Jell-O beneath me, and that damn boot stomps into my back again, knocking the air from me once more. I don’t know how I got here. The horses— I have to get the horses out. The weight shifts on my back and I take that moment to push myself up, every muscle quivering. Before I have a chance, I’m violently yanked back by my hair, and I scream, both in terror and frustration.
I have to get the horses out.
“Did you fucking hear me, you whore? I know! I know you killed my brother, and I know you stole this land from me. Can’t say I’m not a little impressed. You do have some of the Walker guts, after all.”
The last thing I want in this life is to have “Walker guts”. I just wanted freedom. I wanted someone, anyone, to fight for me—even when I realized that someone had to be me. I deserve that.
I stumble backward, crashing into the voice behind me. He leans in closer, his liquor-coated breath burning my already boiling skin. “But you stole from me, and I’m more a Walker than you’ll ever be. This. Place. Is. Mine.” Each word is emphasized by a yank of my hair, the roots no doubt bleeding from the assault.
Everything comes crashing back with his words.
Craig. Craig is here and attacking me. He chased me into the barn, caught me, and when I tried to fight him off, he hit me repeatedly. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been—both body and mind—but I still wasn’t strong enough to fight off a surprise attack, and I’m even weaker now than I was when he had started. Everything hurts now.
How did the fire start? He had to have lit it, but how? Why?
“Please.” My voice breaks. I’m willing to beg, if only for the sake of the horses.
Craig only barks a laugh, pulling so roughly on my hair I feel chunks tearing free from my scalp. Tears plummet down my face, but I’m too lost in the frantic need to get the horses out, to get away, to wipe at them. They’re blinding. I can barely see anything through the fog of my tears, but what I can see is desperate horses—horses who trust me and need my help. “Just let me get the horses out. Then I’ll leave, and you can have this place.”
I mean every word. I would give up everything to save them.
I don’t want to lose the ranch, but losing the horses, losing my life is too high a price to pay. And Gus…
A sob tears from my throat. Why the fuck did I not tell him I love him? Stupid, stubborn, ill-placed pride. Fear—I’m a coward and now I will die and the only person who has ever truly loved me won’t even know I loved them back.
“Naw, it’s too fucking late for that. This barn will burn down; you and the horses with it. I’ll blame it on that crazy boyfriend of yours, and the state will practically be begging me to take this. The land will already be in demolition. I’ll get the insurance for the horses, and you and him will be gone.” I can hear the smile in his words, and I sob again, unable to control the pain from shattering my heart.
“I couldn’t have planned it better. Really, I tried.” He laughs again. “I can’t wait to see this place in ashes.” He roughly pushes me to the ground, but he’s too wrapped up in his mind to notice I don’t fall. I bolt—not out, but toward the stall doors.
I allow my momentum to carry me to the closest one—my newest little kill shelter baby inside—her pale coat covered in ash, some areas burned away, her skin raw and bubbling underneath. Her eyes are large and glassy, her body trembling. I throw open the stall door, stumbling out of the way just enough for her to crash through the small opening and bolt toward the barn doors. The other horses seem to scream louder as they watch their one friend get away, while they’re still trapped inside. I lean against the stall doors, using the tops to hold my weak body up, the metal bolts and latches burning against my skin—but I barely notice.
I get to Boots’ stall, more tears barreling over my cheeks as I shakily unlatch her gate. I think of Gus, of how much he loves her, of how much he will need her to be alive—and okay—when I am not. The images of all the memories we won’t share on the backs of our horses together make me scream as I wedge the scorching hot latch open.
“Find Gus,” I whisper, and then crumble to the ground, another blow cracking through my head. Hot liquid pours down my neck, and I realize it’s blood from where Craig hit me. I look up at Boots’ quivering body, her eyes seeming to peer into my soul before she pushes the gate open. Craig and I are in her path—me lying on the ground, Craig leering over my body—and she blinks as if she understands. She jumps over me, her chest ramming into Craig, knocking him over with a loud thud, his body hitting a pole. The barn rattles, the fire making the entire structure weaker and weaker by the minute. Boots races from the barn, her black coat glowing with the flames dancing around her, her tail flickering with flames of its own.
I look back at Craig, slumped and a little dazed against the pole, but open-eyed and awake. I have one more shot, one more chance to get Winston. I crawl toward his stall, cursing myself for having put him two down instead of right next to Boots tonight because I’d been too lazy to clean the stall he normally sleeps in. Winston bangs his hooves against the stall door, his screams the only thing keeping me from closing my eyes and fading off. I’m just so tired, my lungs burning from the inside out, my skin sizzling from the heat of the flames.
I know this is the end; it has to be. But not before I get Winston out—I refuse. “I’m coming, big guy,” I cry hoarsely, my voice frail. He doesn’t deserve this fate—none of them do, but especially the horses. I hope they run, I hope they get away, get help. I hope they find someone; I hope they find Gus.
Tears race through the mud and soot covering my face, evaporating before they can drop to the barn floor. Gus—we had so little time together.
“I love him,” I say it out loud so that I can hear the words once before I’m snuffed from this world. “I love you, Gus.” I hope he will hear them on the wind even after I’m gone.
Why had I been so afraid to say it? Was it rejection, or the fear of him not feeling the same? I know both are lies—he’s been with me for a decade, loving all of me even when I didn’t love myself. He’s protected me and cared for me from afar, never asking for anything in return. He’s helped me rebuild this ranch, my life, myself , without asking for anything.
Except me and my heart. I don’t know much about love, but I know that is it, in its purest form.
My entire body shakes with the force of my sobs, but I don’t stop crawling toward Winston’s stall, only a few feet to go. Flames peel up the sides of the barn now, the heat suffocating and unbearable. My skin blisters, hands raw and scorched, my hair singing at the ends, but I keep crawling.
If my last act on this earth isn’t telling Gus I love him, and have since the first moment I met him, then it has to be saving the one thing he loves and I love almost as much—our horses.
Somehow, somewhere, he will know what it means.
I get to Winston’s stall, pulling my shaking body up, my hands too raw to feel the scorching metal of the latch as I tug on it. It’s nearly welded shut from the heat, but like he knows I’m helping him, Winston kicks and paws at the wood, loosening the latch just enough for me to lift it. I swing the gate open, falling onto my stomach as I try to clamber out of Winston’s way. He screams again, the sound shattering my heart into a million shards in my chest.
I wait to see him race out, my eyelids heavy now. I lift my eyes, fear gripping my throat in a vise, but Craig isn’t standing in his way. He stands at the entry of the stall, his body quivering, eyes wide as saucers, nose snorting at me. I watch as flames lick near him, searing the hair from his hide and he screams, stomping his foot, but he does not leave.
I sob, pushing at his nose. My voice is so weak now. “Go, big guy. Please save yourself.” But he doesn’t budge, even as his ears pin back, clearly terrified. I shove at his nose harder, kicking a leg toward him. “Go!” I scream. “Get out! Go!” He eyes me again, and then a board lets free from the ceiling, crashing down with a boom.
Winston jumps, running toward the entrance. But he stops, looking back at me, his eyes pleading. I’ve never felt such sorrow in my life—never known such sadness. Seeing my mother dead on this barn floor did not break me the way watching Winston fight his nature to remain with me does.
“Go!” I scream again, my voice all but giving out. Before I can see if he’s escaped, Craig steps into my line of sight, seeming to be oblivious to the burning building around us—too lost to his lust to kill. He smashes his fist into the side of my jaw, my head cracking to the side. I don’t fight back. Stars dance behind my aching eyes, or maybe it’s the burning straw raining down around us—either way I fade, my mind feeling farther and farther away from my burning body.
Everything is so hot, so sore, that I feel numb. A small mercy.
“I can’t wait to see this place, and you, in ashes. Your mother, you, even your stupid father, will be wiped from any memory. And I, I will have everything.” He sneers from above me, but I can barely hear him over the raging fire. From fuzzy eyes, I watch him fall to his knees, his legs on either side of my body straddling me. I can’t feel the fingers wrap around my charred throat, but I do hear my own breaths—wet and gasping, as he squeezes.
Quickly, those sounds fade, too, peaceful black rising up to meet me as I fall; the only sound filling the spiraling void is the weakening thud of my heart.
And the sound of Gus crying my name.