RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Sixty-Six
Rose sat near the banked remains of the fire,
resting her head on her knees. She had gone through with her plan, taking on all
three of the men who had wanted her favors. She shuddered inwardly.
She had been an actress for many years, but
the role of whore was never one she had expected to have to play. Acting was
something done on the stage or the screen, not something done to save her life
in the midst of a vast desert wasteland, but she had done it.
She felt sick inside, much as she had the
first time Cal had come to her bed. She hadn’t enjoyed the men’s attention in
the slightest, though she had pretended that she did in order to win them over.
She had never liked playing the whore, though this time it had been for
survival, rather than money. But it didn’t change what she was, what she had
become. I had no choice, she told herself, but it didn’t make her feel
any better. She had vowed never to be a whore again, but that was what she was.
At least, she reassured herself, it worked, and none of them
were as bad as Cal, none as brutal. She looked in the direction of the
guard standing in the shadows, just outside of the firelight. They had been
pleased with her, and had left her hands untied, much to the displeasure of
Guerrero. But the three men following him had decided to trust her, more fool
they. After having their way with her, they had gotten drunk, offering her some
of the liquor as well. Rose had pretended to drink, though she had actually
done nothing more than dribble some of the liquor done her front, which she had
then used to disinfect the cut on her head. But the men had been amused when
she had acted intoxicated, laughing at her antics and her attempts to speak
Spanish.
Two of them had drunk far more than was
intelligent, and were now snoring loudly, sprawled in their bedrolls near the
fire. She wondered if they would awaken before morning. The guard had drunk far
less, but he had still consumed some liquor. Only Guerrero had forgone the
drinking.
Rose glanced in Guerrero’s direction. He
appeared to be asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly. She wondered if she
could chance escape now, with two of them men passed out drunk and Guerrero
asleep—if indeed he was asleep. She didn’t trust him anymore than he trusted
her.
Moving quietly, Rose got to her feet and
crept toward the guard. As she walked, she scanned the ground for a rock that
she could use as a weapon.
Finding one, she concealed it in a fold of
her baggy pants and sauntered over to the guard. He whirled around in alarm,
but relaxed when Rose gave him a silly grin and leaned against him, still
acting a little drunk.
She murmured a few words in English, knowing
that he wouldn’t understand. Looking at him, she began to unbutton her shirt,
trying to distract him.
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. Rose
pretended to be disappointed, rebuttoning her shirt with feigned difficulty.
The guard laughed and sat down on the ground, encouraging her to sit beside
him.
Rose did as he wanted, leaning drunkenly
against him while she transferred the rock to her left hand. While his
attention was elsewhere, she quickly raised the rock and slammed it against the
back of his head.
The guard slumped to the ground. Rose
scrambled to her feet, wondering if she’d killed him. She couldn’t take the
time to find out, though. She had to move, and quickly.
Leaving the rock behind, she crept into the
darkness, heading for the area where the horses had been tied for the night.
Just as she reached it, she heard a quiet voice behind her.
"Puta," Guerrero hissed,
reaching out and grabbing her by the arm. He hadn’t been asleep at all, and
Rose realized from his expression that he had seen the whole thing.
"No! Let me go!" Rose begged, then
realized he had only understood her first word. But she couldn’t think of how
to say the words in Spanish.
In a lightning-quick move, he flung her to
the ground, pulling his knife. Rose scrambled to get out of the way, but he was
on her in a moment, the knife plunging in the direction of her throat.
She jerked her head to the side just in time.
The knife plunged into the sand beside her, leaving a thin line of red on her
exposed neck. Fighting for her life now, she made a grab for the knife, only to
have Guerrero get it first.
As he jerked her head back, Rose did the only
thing she could think of. Reaching out desperately, she grabbed the gun from
the holster on his leg. Before she fully comprehended what she was doing, she
pressed the gun against his chest and pulled the trigger.
Guerrero’s eyes went wide with shock. He had
never expected Rose to go for his gun, or to shoot him with it. His mouth
opened and closed a couple of times, and then he went limp, falling across her.
Rose pushed him off and struggled to her
feet, still clutching the gun. Looking back in the direction of the camp, she
suddenly realized that no one had heard the gunshot. The guard was still
unconscious, or perhaps dead, and the two drunken men had barely roused at the
sound of the shot before falling back into their inebriated sleep.
Backing away, Rose stared at Guerrero, the
full comprehension of what she had done hitting her like a freight train. She
had killed someone, again, and this time it hadn’t been an accident. She had
grabbed the gun and pulled the trigger before she thought about it, and now
another person was dead at her hands. Maybe more than one, she thought,
glancing at the guard.
Rose’s breath came in choked gasps of horror.
This time it really was self-defense, but it didn’t matter. She had killed
again, and another death would haunt her for the rest of her life. Overcome by
nausea, she bent double, retching violently into the brush.
Whore, murderer...the words went through her head as she stumbled in
the direction of the horses, still determined, in spite of everything, to
escape.