“Kate, the town’s burning. Rose nearly killed you. We gotta leave before things get worse.”
“I already heard people saying it was you two who started the fight,” Will says. “If’n they give statements to the sheriff when he returns, the law’ll be on our tail ’longside the Rose Riders.”
“Precisely,” Jesse says. “We can catch up with him later. But right now we gotta get somewhere safe.”
Feet come pounding down the hall, and Evelyn bursts into the room, cutting off our argument.
“There’s men downstairs asking for a girl in a flowered dress and the guy who paid for her.”
Jesse swears, then moves the dresser in front of the door. “That’ll be the Rose Riders.”
I bolt to the window and throw it open. The scent of smoke hits me hard. Looking east, I can make out the flickering inferno that’s devouring the Tiger. But straight ahead, Evelyn’s window opens onto a lower section of roof—what covers the lounge wing of the parlor.
“Roof’s clear,” I announce.
“I’ll take Evelyn and get her someplace safe,” Will says. He’s got an arm slung round her shoulder like he’s a shield meant to protect her, and she leans into him like it’s true. “You two run, then circle back. I’ll have the horses ready.”
Jesse nods just as feet come clomping up the stairs. A door is kicked open farther down the hall. It bangs to a standstill, then another being forced open sounds. They’re coming. Working their way down the hall to us.
I grab my Stetson and Pa’s journal. Jesse watches me tuck it into the back of my pants, face serious, but he don’t ask how I got it back. Will and Evelyn are climbing out the window when a thunderous impact strikes Evelyn’s door. The dresser rattles. Deep voices curse and roar on the other side. I ain’t sure if one of ’em’s Rose, but I’m not waiting to find out.
Jesse clambers onto the roof and whistles for Mutt.When the dog leaps through the window, Jesse sends him after Will.
Another blow hits the door and this time the dresser gives a little.
“Kate!” Jesse whispers, reaching for me. I grab his wrist. Not a moment after he’s pulled me through the window, the dresser falls over with a crash.
We don’t turn to see if the Rose Riders have forced their way into the room.
We just run.
We run like hell.
Chapter Thirteen
Jesse leads, racing ’cross the roof and leaping the distance between the parlor and the neighboring house. I don’t let myself pause or think on what I’m doing. I trust my legs to do as his do, and my balance ends up being sharper than I knew. Also helps that these buildings are built close.
As we soar ’cross the gap, gunshots rip out below—Riders who’ve spotted us and are shooting up from the street. And I reckon a new batch of bullets will be aiming for our backs soon as Rose’s other men follow us onto the roof.
When I look over my shoulder, I can make out Will and Evelyn lowering themselves to the streets. A harsh order from Will telling Mutt to jump reaches my ears, but then I spot the dark frame of a man crawling out the parlor window and pointing our way.
I turn round and race after Jesse.
“Alley ahead!” he shouts, without slowing. He soars over it, landing on the opposite roof and skidding down the pitch a few feet before he catches himself.
I follow but land funny. One ankle rolls. Pain shoots from my heel to my hip. I go down on my rump hard and start sliding, jerked to a halt only when Jesse grabs me at the wrist. I push to my feet and a bullet tears through that section of roof, barely missing me.
I fire down where the shot came from. It’s dark, but I hear someone curse me.
Still, their bullets ain’t slowing.
“Faster,” Jesse urges. But I can’t go any quicker than this. The skin round my ankles—tender from the fire—screams with each step. My bad shoulder flares each time I check to see if there’s Riders behind us and my head’s aching like it’s struck a rock all over again. Making things even worse still, I can barely see where I’m going. It’s a cloudy night, the moon doing little to light our way.
Two more daring alley leaps later, and Jesse and me come to a building only one story tall. The drop to it ain’t terrible, but it feels like thunder in my knees. Then Jesse and I are skidding to the edge of the roof, grabbing at the lip so we can swing down into the back alley.
I hear a whoosh, and Jesse goes flying off his feet, hitting his head hard ’gainst the building and crumpling still. I twist round, pistol out, and find myself face to face with a Rose Rider.
He’s got gleaming, wild eyes and a shovel gripped in his hands. I don’t know why his gun ain’t drawn, why he didn’t shoot Jesse ’stead of swinging.
I cock my Colt.
“Don’t bother with that,” he says, smiling. “Just hand over the journal.”
My trigger finger is shaking from nerves. I wish I could see the Rider’s waist, make out if there’s another pistol on his hip. He’s prolly faster than me. I bet any man riding with Rose draws like lightning. ’Less of course he lost his weapon in the chase or is outta ammo.
“Give me the journal,” he says again.
I force down the fear, shove it deep inside where it can’t own me. Then I lower my barrel a bit and don’t think ’bout it. I just react, let my body catch up to what I already envisioned in my mind, exactly as Jesse taught me. Aim and pull. The Rose Rider goes down on his rump in the dirt, screaming at me and grabbing his now-ruined knee.
I aim for his chest this time, but when I pull the trigger my pistol just clicks. I’m empty.
The Rider reaches for his waist.
I don’t wait to see if there’s a pistol. I don’t bother trying to reload my Colt. I just snatch up the shovel he’s dropped and swing, bringing it ’gainst the back of his head with the fullest force I can muster. He hits the ground and stays still.
“Jesse?” I says, racing to him. “Jesse, you all right?” I shake his shoulder, praying he ain’t dead.
He mumbles something.
“Oh, thank God. On your feet. Let’s go.”
I slide one of his arms behind my neck and push him upright. If he’s trying to stand with me, he’s doing a sorry job. I might as well be moving a bull. My rolled ankle burns in protest.
I shoulder my way into the building through the back door—thankfully unlocked—and we stumble into a confectionary shop. It’s small and only feels more crowded on account of the endless rows of glass canisters. Ribbon candy, hard suckers, lollipops, and more glint by the firelight flicking through the glass windows.
I take a minute to reload my pistol, only then realizing that I ain’t sure if the Rider outside is dead or just knocked out. But there’s bullets screaming in the alley, more men on our tail. We gotta keep moving.
“Can you walk on yer own?” I ask Jesse.
He nods.
I peer out the front windows. I can’t see much, but the constant shouting and cracks of wood suggest the Tiger’s still everyone’s focus on the main street.