New Yellowstone

They took her. Those bastards took her. John cradled his wife’s body in his arms, his tears dripping into her hair. He couldn’t stay. He hadn’t been hunting for long, they couldn’t be far. He had to find Anna.

John carefully laid his wife on the floor, brushing the rubble away before resting her head on a tattered throw pillow. He shut his eyes. He took a breath. He had to be strong. For Anna. He undid the heart-shaped locket from around his wife’s neck and stuck it in his pocket. His hand lingered, clenched around the tiny gold heart as if hoping for a heartbeat. But the cold metal yielded no such comfort.

John snatched his rifle from the floor where he had dropped it and ducked back out into the cold, harsh wasteland of Yellowstone. Since it had erupted forty years ago—wiping out at least half the U.S in the process—survivors had migrated toward the massive volcano, seeking the heat from the steam vents in a desperate attempt to escape the blistering cold of the ice age. John and his family lived on the edge of a makeshift village that had sprung up around a string of hot springs.

He trudged through the snow, moving as fast as the wind would allow. He reached his neighbor’s house and pounded on the door.

Clara opened it. Her eyes were red and puffy. She had to have heard the gunshots. “John--?”

“They took Anna.” It took every ounce of willpower to keep his voice from breaking. He pinched the bridge of his nose and started again. “I need your help.”

Clara looked stricken. She started to shut the door.

John stopped it with his fist, forcing himself between the door and the doorframe. “Please, Clara. I was there—when you lost Brian, I was there. We both were. Please.”

Clara shifted on her feet, glancing behind him. “Where’s Nina?”

John couldn’t answer. “Please….”

Clara hesitated, then opened the door the rest of the way, nodding for him to come in.

John pushed past her, taking his hood off.

Clara noticed blood on the front of his fur coat. “Oh, John….”

“I think it was Niko, Nina shot one of them—he looked like one of Niko’s guys. He and his thugs have been looting the towns for the past few weeks.”

“John—”

“I don’t know why they would take Anna.” John could feel the panic rising in his chest. “There’s no reason to, she can’t do anything—”

“John—”

“She’s six! Clara she’s six years old I can’t—” His voice finally broke. He covered his mouth, shutting his eyes. He couldn’t think of it. He had to stay strong.

Clara pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes glassy.

John took a shaky breath, attempting to regain his composure. “I can’t lose her too. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”

Clara wiped her eyes and fixed her silver-streaked hair. “What do you need me to do?”

John took her rifle that was leaning by the front door and handed it to her. “We’re going hunting."

The sun was setting. Thin rays of light barely filtered out from under the cloud cover. Clara had insisted they get more help. Tom, Heather and Mortimer joined eagerly; they were just as motivated by their desire to rid the village of the violent thieves as they were by the need to rescue Anna. Tom had even offered his tamed elks as mounts, for which John was incredibly grateful. They had spent the last four hours roaming the area around the village in search of Niko and his crew, which would have taken longer on foot.

John leaned forward in his saddle, straining to see through his cracked binoculars. A cluster of ramshackle buildings made of mud and stone huddled on the edge of a frozen river, stark black against the pale white-blue snow. The only sign of life was a faint orange glow from a window.

“See anything?” Clara asked from behind him.

John urged his mount back behind the massive boulder that hid them from sight. “I think they’re in those buildings. Not much cover between us and them, though.”

“That’s where these boys come in handy.” Tom patted the neck of his Elk, whom he affectionately named Rudy. “We just gotta be fast.”

“Faster than bullets?” Heather hissed.

“He’s not wrong.” John glanced over his shoulder, trying to gauge the distance. “They’re not expecting an attack—I didn’t see anyone watching for us. Getting over there shouldn’t be a problem, but getting back…. Yeah, all we can do is be fast. Unless there’s no one left to shoot at us.”

“I don’t know how many of them there are, but I’m sure they outnumber us,” Mortimer said nervously. “Maybe this is a bad idea. We could always come back with more people—”

“My daughter is in there!” John snarled, grabbing the front of Mortimer’s shirt.

Mortimer’s elk snorted and backed away, forcing John to let go.

Mortimer straightened his shirt, scowling. “And that sucks, really. But I have kids too. And a wife. We don’t even have a plan.”

“Yeah we do: shoot anyone who isn’t one of us.”

“Makes sense to me.” Tom shrugged.

Heather shook her head. “And what happens if we get shot? Or if the elk get shot? It’s dark, we are miles from home. We’ll freeze to death out here, if we don’t get eaten by wild animals first. I think I’m with Moe on this one. We found them, now we can get more help.”

John couldn’t believe his ears. He wanted to be angry at them, but he couldn’t force them to risk their lives for his daughter, even if they had been willing to initially. This was his fault, he had failed to protect his family. It was his job to fix this.

Clara looked uncertainly at John. “They do outnumber us. Even with the element of surprise, do you really think it’s a good idea to go now?”

“What do you think?” He spit. “The longer she’s stuck with them—” He didn’t want to finish the sentence. Niko and his gang were notorious for abducting women from villages around Yellowstone. He wasn’t sure if their reputation applied to children, but he didn’t want to find out. “I’m gonna kill them,” he said instead, letting every ounce of rage and grief weigh in his words.

Mortimer twisted the reigns around his hands, pressing his lips together. “I’m sorry, John. We’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”

Tomorrow could be too late.

Heather opened her mouth, but John didn’t wait for her to speak. He yanked the reigns of his elk and galloped across the flats toward the shacks. He barely registered Tom riding on his left, hunched over Rudy’s neck and giving him a thumbs-up.

They reached the buildings in just under thirty seconds. John dismounted before his elk had come a complete stop, raising his rifle to eye level and shooting the first person who stepped out of the nearest house.

The gunshot echoed across the valley. The voices of angry men sounded from inside the other structures. For a split second, John worried that they had attacked the wrong people.

A large man wielding a rusty axe kicked down a door to John’s left. John shot him and the man behind him, barging past the falling bodies to get inside. “Anna!” He yelled. She wasn’t there.

John went back outside, gun ready. Tom dove into the shack across from him. Gunshots crackled from inside. He heard Tom swear.

John jumped across the narrow gap between the buildings. He tripped over a body on the floor. Tom was wrestling with a bony, middle-aged man brandishing a knife. John shot the man, and Tom picked up his rifle.

“She’s not in here,” Tom said when John started towards the other room.

A bullet splintered the wall behind Tom’s head. He and John turned and fired at the intruder, who fired one more shot before collapsing. Tom yelped, grabbing his arm.

John pushed him to the wall, shielding him from the door. “Are you okay?”

“I think so—ow—I think it went through.” Tom was still hunched over.

“Go back.” John didn’t want his friends dying because of him. He charged out of the house before Tom could protest.

John wove his way through the cluster of shacks, shooting anyone who got in his way.

He could hear Anna screaming from the fifth building. John sprinted toward it. How many men were left?

Someone fired a shotgun just as John kicked down the door. Fortunately, most of the buckshot hit the door before it fell, but some of it still peppered John’s face and shoulders. John staggered back. Niko himself cocked another round and fired again. John dove out of the way, pressing his back against the wall outside the door.

Niko barged outside, turning his gun on John. John slapped the barrel and tackled the man. He hit Niko in the face, pressed the mouth of his rifle under his chin, and fired. Niko knocked the barrel aside, but the blast still shattered his jaw.

A bullet from another attacker whizzed past John’s ear. John rolled off Niko and into the shack. He clambered to his feet and raced toward the back corner, where Anna was tied up. She sobbed hysterically. John used his hunting knife to cut the ropes.

Anna threw her arms around him. John held her tight and carried her to the door, peeking outside. A man ran toward him. There was a loud BANG! and the man fell to the ground. Tom stood behind him, lowering his rifle. “Let’s go!”

Thank God he stayed, John thought.

Tom whistled for Rudy. The elk galloped to his side, snorting nervously. Tom leapt into the saddle.

John ran toward them. Another shot rang out and pain exploded across his lower back. He stumbled, but kept going.

Rudy panicked at the sound of the gunfire, straining to take off again. Tom forced him toward John.

John glanced over his shoulder. Niko was on his knees, struggling to reload his shotgun. His mangled face was distorted with rage.

“Come on!” Tom urged his mount closer, reaching out.

John looked back at Niko again. The man had managed to reload. He aimed at John.

With all his strength, John threw his daughter to Tom.

His friend cursed, catching her by the back of the coat and hauling her into the saddle. “What are you--?”

Niko fired. John’s knees buckled and he fell. Rudy squealed and ran, carrying Tom and Anna away from the buildings.

John could vaguely hear Anna screaming for him. He struggled to his hands and knees, blearily looking for his gun. He heard Niko cursing in pain. John found his rifle and rolled over to face him.

Niko saw him and lifted his shotgun. They fired at the same time. Niko missed. John didn’t.

Niko fell back and laid still.

John groaned, dragging himself to a building and propping himself against the wall. Everything hurt. He wasn’t sure where he’d been hit, but it hurt to breathe, and he could taste blood. Fresh blood drenched the front of his coat.

Regret nagged at the edges of his consciousness, but at least Anna was safe. Clara would take care of her, he was sure of it. With shaky hands, John fished his pen and journal from his pocket. He opened to the next empty page.

Anna,

My love, my life, my baby girl

I love you with all that I am.

Be good to Clara.

I’m sorry.

Love, Dad

He coughed, grimacing, before pulling his wife’s locket from his other pocket. He wiped his blood off the face of the heart, then tangled the chain in his journal’s coiled spine.

John shut his eyes. He let out a long, slow breath. Goodbye, Anna.