A Thirst Not Easily Quenched

Joyce could barely feel the bullet buried in her calf. In fact, it's gone from the worst damn feeling she’s ever felt to an icy soreness. Almost as if she just had a fall, but instead of an ugly bruise on the back of her calf, there was lead taking up space in her flesh. She wrapped the thing with torn fabric from her chemise two days ago. 

Was it two days ago? She couldn’t quite remember. The desert sun was beating her mind away.

But it was two days ago, wasn’t it? She thought. Yes. Two days ago Baxter shot a bullet into her leg, rode out into the middle of the Arizona desert, and threw her out onto the hard ground, tumbling through sun-baked shrubs. She struggled the whole trip out on the back of his horse, screaming in pain – both physical and emotional. She hit her head as he threw her off. Her vision blurred in and out as she looked up past the chin of the horse to the silhouette of Baxter’s head, long hair flowing under a hat. 

His voice impaled her mind. “I’m sorry hon. I just outgrew you.”

His silhouette shifted and he pulled what looked like a flask. He looked at it and smiled, as if he just thought of a really funny joke. 

“I think you might want something to drink. It gets real hot out here.” 

He poured the contents of the flask onto Joyce’s face and chest. The whiskey burned her eyes and nose. Those were the last things she remembered that evening: Baxter’s smug voice and whiskey burning her nostrils. 

Now – two days later – she limped her way through the disaster-land in nothing but her undergarments: a chemise and stay. Baxter made a point of cutting her Italian silk dress off her body after shooting her in the leg. 

He argued, “Well I was the one who took the damn thing from that prissy lil’ woman for you wasn’t I? Now I’m the one who gets to keep it.”

Joyce fumed as she limped, cursing Baxter’s name and praying for water. 

Water, she thought. That's what I need. Clean, crisp water. She could still smell the sour whiskey soaked into her chemise. You might want to get something to drink, Baxter’s voice whispered smugly in her mind. The sun baked her to her bones. She stopped sweating yesterday. Now, her body was dry, cracked and peeling – like a lizard shedding its skin. Her entire body was coated with dry sweat which made her hair crunch when she touched it. Her face and scalp burned from sunburn. It gets real hot out here. 

Shut up, you bastard.

She was headed for a town in the distance. At least I think there’s a town in this direction. her sun-melted brain faltered. Yes. Yes, there was a town in this direction. Baxter and I shot up the stables and stole some horses about a month back. 

About a month back was when Baxter and her started to fight. Well, more than usual anyway. Fights about how he didn’t like the way she ran things. Because she was the one who ran things. Baxter could deny it all he wanted but it was her who got the jobs, it was her who made sure the jobs got done, and it was her who got her partner out when he inevitably got in trouble.

Now he had the audacity to discard me? She thought.

His voice throbbed in her head again. I just outgrew you.

She limped with more tenacity now, craving towards the town. She didn’t worry about being a wanted woman there. She was probably unrecognizable as the elegantly dressed and ruthless outlaw anyway. Her only thought was about how she needed to quench her thirst.

It felt like it took another lifetime until she finally got to the front of the little town. She was panting so hard that she wasn’t even sure how she was still breathing. Her body slumped as she dragged her leg. She was certain that the only thing remotely keeping her upper body up was the structure of her sweat and whiskey-stained stay. She moved through the town, hazily searching the buildings on either side of her. She thought she could feel the eyes of some townsfolk outside of homes and businesses. Probably in awe at the heat-sick, hobbling woman in her undergarments. 

Joyce made her way to the saloon. She would have gone to a doctor, but this was closer. She pushed the doors open with a lousy shoulder and tumbled through. Hazed faces turned in her direction from their respective seats, distracted from their previous activities – card games, conversations, flirting with the barmaids. She ignored them, and made way to the bar near the end of the little building. 

The bartender was already handing her a giant beer glass of water to her. She took it, struggling with the weight, and didn’t hesitate for a second to down the entire glass. Water poured over her face, down her chest and shoulders as she greedily drained the glass of its contents. 

I think you might want something to drink. 

The bartender gave her another glass full and she drained that one down too. It was almost too good. She couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed the taste of stale water with a metallic aftertaste. She motioned the bartender to make her another glass.

“I think you ought to get to the town doctor, miss,” He said. “You don’t look too hot. Uh, and by that I guess I mean you do look too hot.” 

He handed her the third glass and she began to drink that one more slowly. She acknowledged him with a lazy look. She didn’t think she had the energy to speak.

“Are you out here alone, miss?” The bartender asked. 

She nodded heavily in response and took another giant gulp of water. 

“Might I ask,” he continued, “What happened?”

I just outgrew you. Joyce fumed and clutched her glass as hard as she could muster.

She turned to the bartender, more soberly now. “Where could I buy a gun in this town?” she asked. 

He looked taken aback and said “Well … there’s a firearm shop near the middle of town. right next to the bank.”

She nodded, finishing her third glass of water. She would go there next. Joyce might have finally gotten a drink, but she was thirsty for something else now.