Sacagawea shook her head, and Meriwether understood. They were trying to force her to eat their version of food, so she would be trapped there like them.
Without remorse, Meriwether raised his rifle and shot the big warrior, who fell in a heap of bones and sloughing flesh. Charbonneau turned to gape at him, then let out a scream of warning to the rest of the enemy village. There was only one thing Meriwether could do if he meant to save her and get them both away from here. Reminding himself that the man was already dead, he shot Toussaint Charbonneau, who also fell in a pile of bones and scraps of putrid flesh.
Meriwether was running, heading straight for Sacagawea, but she had dropped to clutch at her husband’s bones, tying them in a ragged blanket. Meriwether couldn’t believe what she was doing. “You can’t bother with that,” he shouted, reaching for her arm. “We must go now.”
Outcries and the sounds of running feet surged through the village. Close by, two warriors had nearly reached them, howling with fury. Meriwether shot them, while Sacagawea screamed, grabbing the satchel of bones and debris. “I have to. Toussaint is who I came back to get.”
To his surprise, she shoved Charbonneau’s skull at him. “Take this. While it is separated from his body, my husband can’t come fully alive. He’s being controlled by the dragon sorcerer. Sometimes he can overcome it for a short time, but he can’t be trusted.” As she spoke, she grabbed a horse, untied the halter rope, and mounted it bareback. She shouted at Meriwether. “What are you waiting for? Mount!”
Meriwether stuffed Charbonneau’s skull in his bag, then shot three more of the approaching Hidatsa warriors and mounted a second horse, less gracefully than Sacagawea. She rode hard and jumped the fence that held the horses. Meriwether, slipping and sliding on the bare back, spurred the animal with his heels, so that he also jumped.
Sacagawea headed for the river. Meriwether feared they might fall in and swallow the water, but there was nothing for it. She got the horse into the current, and the animal swam hard, trying to reach the opposite shore. Meriwether followed, plunging into the river, which was cold as ice. In a second, he couldn’t feel his submerged legs, and he struggled to keep his mouth closed and well above the water as he held on to the horse’s neck.
Behind them, dozens of undead warriors chasing them on foot hesitated before plunging into the water, as if afraid of losing themselves as well. But by the time Sacagawea’s horse emerged onto the opposite bank, many of the Hidatsa warriors were in the water, swimming hard and closing in on Meriwether’s horse.
Sacagawea shouted something that Meriwether couldn’t understand, and he realized she had called to his horse. The animal understood and redoubled its efforts at swimming. Finally, they climbed onto the opposite muddy bank. Already riding away, Sacagawea looked over her shoulder to see that he was safe, then she set off at a gallop, expecting him to follow.
For a while the two horses rode down the clear path between tall pines. The howls of the village behind them subsided, then increased. Looking back, Meriwether saw mounted Hidatsa warriors chasing them on horseback. They were more used to riding bareback—Meriwether felt as though he were perpetually in danger of sliding sideways—and they were closing in.
Ahead, the trees thinned, and he saw that the path led to the same road he had followed, which should bring him back to his canoe.
The angry shouts from behind grew ever louder.
Just as they left the pine forest, three men burst out of the shadows. Meriwether was so sure they were enemies, he yelled and swung his rifle around—but then he heard a familiar voice say, “We’ll handle it, Captain. Let dead men handle the dead. We should be able to delay them.”
Willard, Hall, and Collins, the three Whiskey Revenants, went into battle, throwing another of their empty barrels at the pursuers.
He and Sacagawea galloped as fast as they could along the road. Meriwether took the lead because he knew where he was going.
The horses ran free along the road, and Meriwether began to feel hope, when they heard more sounds of pursuit behind them again, shouts of rage. He saw men on horseback pursuing them, but they weren’t Hidatsa, rather a motley of tribes. He spurred his horse on, but the animal began to stumble. Did dead horses lose their wind? He couldn’t even guess why.
While still galloping, he pumped his rifle and swung himself around, wishing he had a saddle to secure himself, and shot at the vanguard of the pursuers. Willard, Hall, and Collins would not likely show up to save him again. Dead men might battle the dead, but surely there was a limit to the numbers they could overcome.
A voice emanated from Meriwether’s bag, startling him. “Give me to the rest of my body. I can delay them.” He remembered he had stuffed Charbonneau’s head there. In the blanket satchel at the back of Sacagawea’s horse, he could see that the man’s body mostly assembled itself with flesh and clothes, and weapons.
“Leave me your knife,” the head added from the bag, “so I can fight.”
“No,” Sacagawea said, holding onto her husband’s writhing, headless body. “No, Toussaint. We can’t trust you—and I came to get you.”
“I am already dead, but you have to stop the dragon sorcerer.” Charbonneau’s hands reached towards Meriwether. “Let me have my head. I am myself, and I’ll make a stand and delay them.”
Meriwether thought it was a foolhardy suggestion, but how much worse could their situation be? Even if her husband turned against them, he would be only one more enemy. Meriwether fumbled to remove the head from the bag. It was mostly restored, the eyes alive.
“Throw my head at the rest of me!” Charbonneau’s skull commanded.
Before Sacagawea could object, Meriwether obeyed. The head sailed through the air, to be grabbed unerringly by the should-be-blind hands of Charbonneau, who slammed it on his neck.
Suddenly Toussaint Charbonneau was whole and alive, and as Sacagawea tried to grab the body about the waist, her husband laughed. “Farewell, mon ami.”
As the man dropped from the galloping horse, Meriwether saw that he had somehow managed to get hold of a knife—Sacagawea’s knife. Relief washed over him as Charbonneau ran at the enemy. He didn’t know how much effect one man could have, but Meriwether was willing to let him try.
Sacagawea attempted to wheel her horse around, but he blocked her path. “No, your husband has picked his own path. He is a hero. As for us, we will still be lucky to leave here. Come, ride!”
He didn’t expect her to follow him, but she did. As he galloped down the long road, he could see the dock and the canoe. But behind them, he could hear pounding hoofbeats and the snarls of an enraged enemy growing nearer.
From the clear hills by the road, a surprisingly familiar man appeared as though materializing out of thin air. He stepped forward, ready to take his position—a man Meriwether recognized. “Floyd!”
“Just so, Captain.” The undead man stepped up. “If I may have your rifle, I will delay them.”
Meriwether had no time to hesitate. He flung his rifle and sack of ammunition at the ghost of the first man who had died on the expedition. Floyd caught them perfectly in midair as though the movement were rehearsed. Floyd pumped the air rifle and swung toward the pursuing enemy. As he and Sacagawea thundered onward, Meriwether could hear gunshots and the screams of the would-be pursuers.