The world was spinning. Rocks and debris sprayed through the open carriage window as the wood and metal structure crashed on its side, the sound of a horse screaming piercing through the night as a gunshot reverberated off the nearby cliff side.
The sharp pain in Lola’s side made her think she was not long for this world. When she looked down Lola was certain she’d see her lifeblood gushing forth and that would be the end of her. Her small hands touched her side gingerly but aside from layers of ripped lace she found nothing to indicate that she was grievously injured.
Not readily able to find the cause of the pain, Lola turned to look for her father. She found a pair of scrawny legs in previously well pressed pants scrambling in the air. Her father was struggling to pull himself through the open carriage door, which was now inconveniently the new ceiling.
“Papa!” she called out as his feet disappeared. The open door gave way to the night sky, a deep shade of blue speckled with twinkling stars and a plump round moon peeking from behind a scant streak of clouds. Another gunshot cracked violently and Lola yelped, clapping her hands over her head. She lowered her hands cautiously and heard yelling and a scuffle outside.
Something hit the side of the carriage causing it to rock where it lay and she scrambled to the opposite side. The movement shifted a hat case and it fell from its perch, bouncing off her head painfully before hitting the floor where it spilled its contents at her feet.
The hat case had held one of her mother’s old ornate festival hats, the elaborate orange plumage now crushed. A glint of steel caught her attention and Lola inched closer as the shouting from the open door continued to buffet her ears. One of the horses screamed in terror and she flinched as her fingers grazed the white ivory pommel.
She started to withdraw, shaking her head vehemently. She didn’t know how to use a gun. She had read about it plenty of times, studied the drawings in her mother’s workshop, but never handled one of the contraptions. Why did her mother have a pistol stashed in a party hat anyway?
“Stay away from there!” Her father’s words wrenched her away from puzzling over the question.
Lola heard laughter and a lewd curse that she could only decipher by the tone. The wood creaked as someone began scaling the upended carriage. Without thinking, she grabbed the pistol, the tiny weapon fitting snugly in her equally small hands. Eyes wide, she pointed the weapon at the opening to the night sky, her entire body trembling as she pulled back the hammer just how she’d read about. When a shadow blocked out the stars she squeezed the trigger as hard as possible.
The pistol was surprisingly light even for her small hands, but when the shot went off the recoil caused her to drop the gun and it clattered to the floor. Lola scrambled for the weapon, deafened by the sound and terrified that her assailant would be on her in moments. Shaking hands finally connected with the pistol and she whirled around, waving it wildly towards the doorway.
The figure was gone but her ears were still ringing. Lola had no idea what was going on outside. Had she scared him off? Was he hiding and waiting to grab her? Swallowing hard, she clutched the pistol and fumbled to climb out of the carriage, hampered by her dress with the too many skirts as she used the overturned bench and shelves as a makeshift ladder. Her dress caught on the hinge of the broken door as she pulled herself through the opening and her feet flailed as she lost her footing and started to slide back into the carriage.
Strong arms grabbed her roughly and pulled her up and Lola was relieved at being rescued. She was briefly suspended above the coach and the full moon illuminated the scene before her in muted colors. Relief quickly melted back into terror at the scene before her.
Her father was being held by two men. A dark liquid was running down his face from a gash on his forehead, made less sinister by the moonlight. He struggled against his captors as Lola was lifted unceremoniously and flung over a broad shoulder.
From this angle she was able to see the carriage driver sprawled on the ground. His face was turned away but there was a stain, inky black, spreading around his torso. Lola’s brain refused to identify the liquid, or the fact that the man’s chest wasn’t moving rhythmically. Her brain seemed to have stopped sending rational signals to the rest of her body. She bounced like a sack of potatoes as her captor turned and walked to the edge of the coach.
As he started to climb down, Lola saw another man hanging across the side of the carriage dressed in all blacks and dark browns. She couldn’t see his face but he wasn’t moving either. His arm had been flung out and dangled over the side of the carriage, something dripping from his outstretched hand in a steady, thin stream. Had he fallen and been injured?
“Little wench has some teeth eh?” A voice floated up from the ground and she was handed off to another man, the smell of alcohol and sweat wrapping around her and jolting her brain out of its stupor. The man now holding her had both arms around her middle and was lowering her down for a better grasp.
“Unhand her!” she heard her father yell. She looked in time to see him get a fat lip for his trouble, a second punch sending the frail man backwards and he crumpled to the ground limply. Lola whimpered, squeezed her eyes shut and kicked forward as hard as she could. She felt her foot connect with something fleshy and had the unpleasant sensation she equated with stepping on a fat snail shell. She heard someone cry out in pain, the yell quickly followed by a string of profanities, but she continued to kick with both feet, her legs working like pistons in constant motion.
“Bitch!” The man holding her wrapped a meaty arm around her trying to keep her from wriggling out of his grasp with her erratic kicking. Lola opened one eye and saw the man still on the coach covering his nose, blood gushing from beneath his cupped hands. This time her brain properly attributed the substance with a name.
Still kicking, she bit down on the bare arm as the man fought to keep his hold on her. Lola had the unpleasant sensation of salty tangy grime pressing against her tongue and the hair on the man’s arm almost made her gag as she bit down harder. The bandit howled in pain, whirling her around and trying to both drop and fling her away by shaking his arm.
Lola tumbled to the ground in a heap and scrambled backwards trying to both scrape her tongue on her teeth and wiped the unpleasant taste from her mouth with her arm as she did so. There was a hair stuck to her tongue and she tried to keep from retching as she finally collected enough saliva to spit and rid herself of the offending culprit. This was not her most ladylike moment but desperate times called for desperate measures.
“You idiots can’t handle a little girl?” a man’s voice growled as Lola heard a click and looked behind her to see one of the men standing near her father and pointing a gleaming barrel at her. With a gasp she scrunched her eyes shut again, trying to make herself as small as possible.
A shot rang through the night, the speed of the bullet sounding like an angry hornet ripping through the air.
The silence that followed was so complete, Lola thought she had died. When she heard a low mutter of voices she risked opening an eye. The men were all staring up at the cliff side, and she hazarded a look in the same direction.
In the moonlight, a figure dressed in white stood in glaring contrast to the black and grey landscape. The tightly fitting clothing left no question that the person holding a long rifle with scopes, gears and whirling bits, was decidedly female. The mysterious gun woman was sitting atop a white horse who pawed the ground once as its rider sighted down the scope.
Lola heard gears spinning and a distinct click accompanied by a small puff of steam. The bang and angry hornet noise repeated and the gun in the remaining bandit’s hand went flying into the bushes nearby.
“Shit,” The word was growled so softly Lola almost missed it. The figure was meticulously reloading the rifle, seemingly in no hurry. There was a creaking of wood as the man still clutching his nose climbed hurriedly down from the ruined coach. Lola straightened in disbelief as the men backed away cautiously, then moved hurriedly to a group of restless horses she hadn’t previously noticed.
“Lola!” The girl tore her gaze away from the retreating bandits at the sound of her dad croaking her name. She rushed to his side, throwing herself against his thin chest and letting him press her into his shirt tightly. He smelled of parchment and orange bergamot soap and it made her feel instantly safe to be in his arms “My dear sweet girl, I’m so glad you’re safe,” he smoothed her hair against her head and she sobbed into his shirt, the events of the last few minutes finally overwhelming her.
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