Hunting Grounds

 

American man to Native American woman TG

Garrett hovered his hand in the air, then brought it straight across the face of the redskin. A little smirk appeared on his face.

“Oh look, he’s embarrassed.” The men laughed. He moved his face right up to the boy, and stayed just at an inch of distance. It was just long enough for his harsh stinking breath to fly up the boy’s nostrils. He started shaking.

“Better tell me where your filthy little den is boy…  y’know.. otherwise I might be in a foul mood when we do find it. Foul moods lead to blood on the sand.” By the age of twenty-two Garrett Bolam had scalped forty redskins. His twenty-sixth birthday was yesterday, and it should have been eighty. That… that aggrieved him so that they got a bit carried away with the rest of the camp. It still stunk of tar.

The next day the boy’s skin had cracked like a riverbed from the heat. Garrett gave him an annoyed expression.

“Still not saying a damn thing huh?” The boy’s face didn’t even twitch.

“It’s alright, it’s alright son. I respect your bravery. We gonna leave you to rot. If you do manage to crawl out of here it’ll be a miracle.”  He untied the boy and made a snort of derision. 

“Now little brave. Lie down and close your eyes. Don’t want you to see where we ride off to.”

The teenage boy nodded weakly and curled up into a ball on the floor. He sighed and closed his eyes. Garrett laughed and then stomped on the head of the boy over and over until there was no fight left in him. 

The others laughed. Garrett tightened his lips.

“Aw… don’t go off like that now. That fucker knew it was coming. There ain’t no fun in that.”

These Indians barely had a few blankets and some instruments between them. Not even fit for firewood. At this rate, they’d all have to take jobs as miners, hard miserable work.  Work he hadn’t done since he was fifteen. So they decided to go to the Southeast towards the Smokies, maybe they could catch some Cherokee unawares.

They burned the rest of the camp and set out. The occasional caravan rumbled by… and the occasional caravan would also be found abandoned. As they passed by a creek, they spotted a big man, a redskin perched like an old rook.

“Alright. We got ourselves a wise man here.” Robson sneered.

“He won’t be sittin pretty there for long. Let’s snatch him.” McAulay said. That man always had eyes like a rabid bear. Big yellow eyes. The wrinkled fucker was just sitting over the shelter of rocks. He was a grizzly looking fella. One scar ran right down his neck. He didn’t even seem bothered they had guns on him. Garrett stormed up and grabbed him by his hair, dragging him across the ground to the campfire ashes below.

Suddenly the man stood up. Garrett stepped back once but lost his balance. The old Cherokee grabbed him by the throat. The others immediately sank a barrage of bullets into him. A hundred holes appeared in his chest but they did nothing to stop him. Whatever he said, it was angry and sounded wholly unnatural. He had seized him with an intense grip, like he was possessed by all the strength of his ancestors. Maybe the rumours were true that sound of the Indian in pain could summon them about.

He fumbled at the grip and kicked the Injun in the stomach again and again. He tried to pry one finger, but only managed to lift it an inch. Tiny wisps of air came out of his throat as he could feel his windpipe crushing. He kept staring into Garrett’s eyes as if reading his soul. Then, as if this was the happiest day of his life, an enormous grin spread across his face. His body twisted as it dropped like a sack to the ground. Garrett stood staring in shock, his fingers still wrapped around the base of his neck.

“You alright?”

Garett bent down and spluttered, after a minute he was finally able to raise his voice. The others stood waiting for him to say something.

“Bastard nearly killed me. Did… did you see how much lead he took?” 

“He was a medicine man in league with demons no doubt. They call them spirits of nature, but they are tricksters who nestled themselves among these poor savages centuries ago. We be doing God’s work by exterminating these ones.” Fernand said.  Everyone mumbled and nodded.

The man owned nothing except this pile of rocks. Fuck, damn, those bullets would be hard to replace. Ten dollars loaded into that redskin bastard’s chest. If he had had his ghost in front of him now, he’d demand his money back, even if the Indian had a whole army of nasty beasties with’im.

The Indian had a smile stuck on his face that could turn away the devil himself. He stomped on it a couple of times trying to clean it off but it didn’t budge. In fact, it seemed to get smugger and wider.

 “Scalp em, make his body nice and crispy now.” Robson shouted. Robson carried about an old bracelet that belonged to some woman he hacked apart, it made quite the jingle when he walked by. 

“Take the old one’s face off too. I can’t stand to look at him no more.” Garrett shook his head.

Garrett had terrible nightmares that night. Of a great bird swooping across the sky bringing tornados of fire and merciless twisting patterns of lightning. He felt dread like he’d never before since he was a child. The world falling apart. The trees of the young forests and the forgotten forests splintered open by themselves and the rivers dried up. Shadowy female warriors wandered about the desolation. The moments he seemed awake, he wailed and pounded his chest. The sheets below him were pooling sweat and he rolled around trying to get comfortable.

He found himself sitting on a log. The flames were gone, not even a stray ember. He moved to rest in his tent but the campfire exploded before him. Through the blinding light, he could see the shaded lines of the face of the Indian. He was pale and drawn, his eyes hollow, but he still had that sick smile. That unforgettable smile.

“What are you so happy about?” Garrett said. The man said nothing. Garett tried to wake himself, but they just sat there together, in silence.

The whole ride south-west Garrett felt woozy. He nearly fell off twice, and trickles of blood kept running out of his nose. He always managed to quickly wipe them off before anyone saw. He didn’t trust the lot of them, they might just leave him for dead if he was sick. Goddamn that Indian, he probably poisoned him.

The men started to holler at the thought of razing another encampment. Instead over the ridge was nothing but a few washerwomen and their young’uns. They dismounted and looked down. McAulay was practically licking his lips.

“We should restrain ourselves here. The young ones should be left pure and sent to a mission.” Fernand said.

“You can’t restrain what I got rev. It just don’t work that way.” McAulay thrust with his crotch.

“I should think not.” Fernand laid his hand on McAulay’s shoulder.

“Take your hand off me rev.”

“Not until you swear by the Lord to spare the children. ”

“Spare em?” MacAulay tapped his chin.

“They have no worth surely. Not even as… servants… they can’t feed nor look after themselves, never mind another.”

“Hm. The injuns are a bit hard to master they say. No good for cotton picking.” Robson said.

“They’re worth the scalps.” Townsend said.

“Little girls… women… no… no I cannot allow that.” Fernand said it like he meant business. He stood there with his arms in front, like he could actually fight or something. A stiff breeze could take his skinny ass... but respect where respect due… his green eyes didn’t give anything away.

McAulay cracked Fernand across the jaw. Fernand toppled like an oak. Low deep laughs rattled around the group. 

“You get in my face priest? You love them so much you can go live with them. Bet they cut your heart out and eat it after a day. ”

“He ain’t even a priest yet.” Robson sneered.

“Oh that’s right. Daddy didn’t have enough money for three boys I bet. So he sent you to out here to keep you busy.”Fernand turned away from the group.

MacAulay snarled “Grab his head Townsend.” He wrenched his head forwards to look over down onto the plain.

“You can stay up here with Robson. Watch what happen rev.”

They galloped down the slope like a group of dark knights all of the while laughing at the screaming whores. One of them tried to lick them with her knife, but Robson stomped on her with his horse and she was gone. A boy tried to run off into the river but he got caught in the current. He was gone too, near as they could tell. The rest started into tears and figured they’d be better off giving up.  They fell to their knees and stayed there.

Three women and a girl. They had some nice pottery and pieces of gold to sell. A bit of food and water wasn’t useless either. They wouldn’t need it… if they could just tap the land like these people though. That would be the wise thing.

The broken women shuffled along with them for four days. They stopped looking dignified after a couple. Big bruises all over… and by morning the next day the women had disappeared. 

“Go check on the girl Garrett.” McAulay shouted.

Garrett rubbed his tired eyes and nodded. The girl was chained to a log in the back tent. What intentions could such a man have for her? Maybe he could free her… one young’un going missing wouldn’ be the end of the world… what… no… free a fucking redskin? Might as well break bread with Satan himself.

“Wakey wakey, you little bitch.” He stared into her eyes, a cruel expression of enjoyment on his face. His fun was quickly spoiled though, as a sharp pang of guilt ran through him. She looked absolutely desperate as she pleaded in her strange language. 

“You think that’s going to work? You think I haven’t heard it all before?” Beat her to death. Yeah. Toss her on the road for them to find. It’s the law of nature, they live like animals so let the wolves chew her up, the eagles can scoop out her eyes.

The girl was stopping and starting her breathing now, hard eyes staring at the ground. A swell of pure aching love rose inside him.  He gently ran the back of his hand along her cheek. She deserves to live just as much as anyone else. She hasn’t even seen life yet. 

The foreign thoughts possessed him. His expression became softer as his cheeks raised and his sour downturned lips straightened into a smile. His voice took on a paternal tone.

“I won’t let these bad men do anything to you. Run along now, go find a new tribe young one.” 

His shaking hand cut a hole in the back of the tent with his hunting knife. A part of him screamed inside. Kill her. Kill her before she becomes some damn brave’s baby oven. His hand tensed around the knife. Just jab her, go on. Worthless little…

“No. Why would I hurt one of my own people!?” He said out loud. He frowned… what did that mean? They… she… “ Oh poor girl. He felt like dropping to his knees and begging her for forgiveness. 

“Go!” He screamed. “I think I’m going to hurt you…”

She said something that sounded like thanks.  He felt… proud… proud of himself. Not proud like when you take down a redskin or a black bear from twenty yards. No… he had done something… good… just… he’d taken the hard way. But… wasn't he a killer? That's all he knew. He shook his head and blinked, then walked out into the heat.

“She still kicking?” McAulay asked.

“Yeah.” Garett said in a low voice.

“Alright, let’s pile up these goods and make us a camp.” By morning, the one remaining woman had been worked thoroughly. She was old, respectably so. What a shame to reach that age and be treated like this. 

“Bad enough to keep us awake with your stink and busted face. Now she won’t tell us a thing.” Robson growled.

“Why the fuck we gotta do this every time? All you people need to do is tell us where whatever shitting field you live on is… but I know what’ll loosen those lips. I’m gonna get the girl.” MacAulay grinned.

“I’ll get her.” Garett said.

He wandered into the tent and glared at the hole in the back. What the… where did she go? Garett walked slowly back towards the group.

“Gone?” Fernand asked?

Garett turned his eyes upwards. 

“You look as if you just ducked your head in a frozen lake Garett. These people are skilled in many things, despite the darkness they wander in.” Fernand just didn’t quit. The lousy Louisianan was gonna get shot through the throat. 

McAulay laid back into the woman. Sometimes he looked like he was gonna reach for his gun, but then… he heard the chattering behind.

“Well? Where the hell is the little red whore?”

Garett blew hard. “She’s gone…”

“She was all chained up. How the fuck did that happen?” 

Garett tried to remember what happened yesterday. He was the last one to see her. He spoke with the girl… she was sweet. But he can’t be blamed for this… 

“There was a hole in the tent… did you fucking let her go you bible thumper?” Garett side-eyed Fernand, who stared confused for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. McAulay shifted his jaw and visibly shook, but then turned back to the men. 

“Robson, get on your horse and hunt her down.”

Garett twitched. “No you can’t…”

McAulay’s eyes narrowed. “And why’s that?”

“I mean… come on. She’s long gone. She could hide for days.”

McAulay laughed “Ass teeth. She’s probably not gone but half a day or so. 

Garett felt a headache coming on. “No…

He smirked. “You took a shine to her Garett, haven’t you? Did you have your way with her? That little girly… hm… pump her full of your white man’s seed? Did you? I bet your dreams were full of her sweet flesh and her little cunny. No wonder you look like a cat with the canary.”

“No I didn’t. Why… I mean… I have done that but haven’t we all?” He whimpered and looked around frantically.

McAulay raised a brow. “Done what? Yeah you’re probably right. Let’s beat the path” The others snorted and started on rolling up their gear. Garett trembled. What just happened? McAulay said something right? Was he losing his mind? And why was it so damn cold…

“And kill the old cow… we can make use of her parts.” MacAulay scoffed.

The woman screamed as she was dragged off into the Badlands. Garett felt his guts twist. His mind repeated that it was no loss, and who gave a shit about some wrinkly squaw? But each time the knot grew tighter. He tried to sleep, curled up in agony. Every time he nearly fell asleep he was jolted awake by her scream.

Garrett found himself facing the old Indian again… what was left of him anyway. No eyes, his face skinned off. Just like they left him, bloody and torn. He was being haunted that’s for certain. Maybe he really was feelin guilty. That’s why he let the girl go like that. Now this bastard would his only sight until he hung himself, hell he was surprised the little girl and the old woman weren’t there too. They can all come. It didn’t scare him. The Indian played with the flames.

“Fancy work for a man who can’t see. I’ll give you that.”

 “The soil will sup your blood. The wolves will gnaw on your bones and the streams will carry away your memories. Your flesh will turn to clay, and you will be moulded in our image.”

The man stood up, and blood sheared off him in waves. Garrett crawled backwards away from the growing pool of blood. He picked up a knife off the table and bent down. Then with a quick jab, he penetrated Garett. His own blood added to the mixture and the deep red trapped his gaze. 

In it,  he could see a young girl playing, the girl from earlier. Another girl ran up to her and gently grasped her hands. It was time to play and dance. The fire was so high. The moon so low.

I’m so happy she thought. Soon I’ll be fully a woman, and part of the tribe, just like my mother said.

As the frenzied dance continued, she began to slow, her limbs numbing, coldness spreading from the centre.

“What’s wrong?” The girl said.

“I don’t feel right.” She replied. She looked her hands, they were now covered in festering bite marks. The other girl begin to cry as she watched her friend cripple. Her bones broke one by one, then with a vicious turn her neck snapped. Finally the colour drained from her body and she went limp on the floor.

“No. No I’m sorry! I tried to save you.”

He awoke standing up. His eyes already adjusted to the darkness. Where was he? He looked around and saw some sparks flying up to the moon behind him.He staggered back to camp. The group was sitting around the bonfire.  Garett sat down, his eyes already twitching. Must not fall asleep again… you won’t have my soul you redskin demon.

Robson took out his banjo and started strumming. He started playing that song we’d all heard before.

“How much you pay that negro to teach you that Robson?” Townsend asked.

“A few apples a day. He was so hungry he’d eat his own shit.”

“I figured you just killed him for that.” He flicked his fingers towards the banjo.

“Nah, I got respect for men of the instrument. I wouldn’t kill no man who could play.” 

“Man wouldn’t be the word I would use.” Townsend laughed.

Robson rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Better a negro than an injun.” 

Garrett was sick of all this macho. Why did they love killing and talking about killing so much? Had they ever made something for the world in their life? He walked off to find McAulay. Perhaps he could convince him that it was time to find their living elsewhere.

As he walked to the treeline, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Fernand. He gave a knowing nod.

“A kind thing you did the other day.”

“Huh?”

“Townsend checked that girl three times over. No chance she could escape her bonds. No… you musta released her.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ about. Leave me alone.”

“These people must be re-educated and separated from their land, but there is no need for the cruelty these barbarians show to them.”

“Weren’t you just bad mouthing them and their ways the other day?”

“I am a teacher, merely stating a course of action.”

Garrett thrust his finger into his chest. “Yeah well you better not say I’d trick my brothers in arms again. God damn asshole.” He shoved him as he walked forward into the trees.

They figured in such a dangerous job it’d be good to have a man of god around. He talked that he came from them rich aristocrats in France and he dressed fancy enough, but no one believed him. Yet… Garett found himself agreeing more and more with him lately. These people didn’t own much, and it just getting too much. Hating them and them hating us until no one remembers why it began.

A deer was creeping around in the distance. McAulay pointed his rifle towards it. Garrett raised his voice from the brush. 

“Let her be. We all live under the same sky, breath the same air.” Garett pawed at his gun.

The moment it heard his voice the deer perked up and ran off.

McAulay laughed with a sick toothy grin. “It all alone Garrett. Since when do ya pass up a chance for some quick meat?”

“No sport in killing such a fair creature.” He shrugged and looked away towards the ground. 

McAulay’s eyes narrowed. “Fuckin hell.”

“McAulay... I think we should think about moving on from this life. We make less than a beggar some weeks.  Maybe we can grow something? Help out on the railways? Carry coal instead of body parts."

McAulay made a tutting noise. “Forget you. You know we’ve tried all that before.”

“I’m wasting my life doing this. We all are. Men don’t get a piece a' land or end up happy this way. They end up under a big heavy rock on a mountainside somewhere.”

McAulay started stuffing more ammo into his gun. “ I reckon that old bastard put a hex on you. You ain’t sounded right since then… sound like a damn washerwoman.”

Garrett laughed nervously. “Guess I’m going soft…”

“Right. Your face is looking a bit girly. Could swear you had a beard yesterday. Now you look like a baby’s ass.”

“You spend a lot of time looking at my pretty face McAulay?” 

“Oh yeah. I think about it a lot.” McAulay snorted and struck his gunbut into the ground. “You know this isn’t just about money. We gonna make America. You been in a war all your life, just like me.”

“Ye. We won a long time ago. Now it’s about as fair as you, me and that deer.” 

“Fair would be cutting off all their hands and sending them off on a boat into the ocean.”

“Jesus…” Garrett sighed. 

“The Injun has no ends. He killed our children so that’s why we kill theirs. You know they eat each other’s dead too. Nasty people, what kind of mindful men do that? We better crush em all. Dumb too, they don't invent or think of nothing but their horse and dancing. No loss to the world.”

“Smart enough they managed to ambush us a couple of times…”

McAulay shuffled off towards his tent. “Enough. We’ll dump your ass back in Knoxville if you carry on with this soft shit again...” Garrett gave him a look of disgust then walked off back into the scrub. 

Garett woke up in a hot flush. He rubbed his hands over his chest muscles. His nipples looked so hard. He imagined what it would be like for some soft hands to touch them. But the longer he went on, the rougher the hands got. A big pair of workman’s hands, their backs matted in hair.

“Damn, it can’t be that long since I been with a woman…” He played with his dick and balls for a moment. The weight of them felt odd. Felt like they shouldn’t be there at all. He imagined those soft hands again, along with the whore they were attached to. He rubbed the tip trying to get himself hard but it barely raised to half-mast.

“Forget it.” He groaned. 

He walked outside and saw a figure sitting on the bank. He called out with a holler and they turned around. Looks like Fernand he thought, with any luck he’d bore him to sleep.

“Whatcha out at this time for?” Garett approached.

Fernand kept on scribbling what looked like a letter. 

“That for the mission?”

“Indeed it be.” Garett looked over and tried to read it but he could barely read. Fernand laughed at him. “You needn’t worry. It’ in French anyway.”

Garett dropped his head and plonked down onto the grass. “What do you do there anyway?”

“Can’t you imagine? So many young ones without their birth mother and fathers. I provide the needed male figure." 

“Feels like you don’t need to be carrying on with us out here. Heard you was sent to the Church by your papa.”

Fernand stopped writing the letter. “I admit, I didn’t go willing, but I enjoy my life there.”

“And yourself?”

“I guess my papa didn’t have much left to give me either. All outta choices.”

Fernand sighed. “I worry for my soul. I haven’t done enough.”

“Ah.. don’t say something like that. I’m going to Hell, not someone like you.”

“You can always sacrifice more, do more.  I will do more.”

Garett was about to shake his head in disbelief, but resigned himself to nodding.

Out again in the field, Garett rode behind the group at several feet distance. He heard a glass bottle crack. Damn them. They threw their liquor onto the land and tore it up like locusts. They needed this land too, what if they wanted to farm?  He quickly groaned inside. More thoughts about farming and the like. This was definitely going to be his last ride out.

His dreams seemed to be turning against him night by night. What were once simply memories became nightmares. Raucous times in alleyways and saloons seemed like traps. Once pleasurable memories of rape and defilement now became ghost stories where he was the big bad monster in the shadows. He wanted to stop himself, but the rage was too much. The man needed to fuck, and use his tool. The feelings of others didn’t matter. He should think how the woman felt. They weren’t sighing or giggling, just screaming.

Argh. His chest again. Why won’t these things go down. Something must be really fucked. Every part of him that was out to the air felt puffy. His lips, nipples and ass. His chest was lumpy too. He really musta been poisoned. He was just getting worse. He needed to tell the men he wanted to go back for a doctor, and soon.

Why not ask one of the Indians. Surely they can fix their own work?

“No god damn it. I don’t want to breath the same air as those animals.” Garett growled.

“Keep it down back there! The whole Cherokee nation will hear you.” McAulay shouted.

We should run away from that man, he is a bad man, an evil man. He will get what he deserves.

I’ve known him for years… he’s a good man. We’re friends.

Only evil men kill for no reason. He has no friends, he will kill you one day.

Garett shook his head. “Stop throwing those bottles down Townsend. Did your momma let you treat her floor like a brothel?”

“Or what?” Townsend turned his horse around.

He felt a bit jarred by Townsend’s answer. Did he just answer him back. Any other day he’d roast him on a spit but he felt… weaker...he knew he could take Townsend but it was if he was a foot smaller all of a sudden.

“Or… I..”

“C’mon Townend, someone might hear you. Garrett is looking out for your loud ass is all.”

“Fine.” Townsend groaned.

The Indian was here again, except this time they were standing in a tent. The smoke winded around like a rattlesnake as it seemed to follow his directions.

“Didanawisgi” Garett said in awe.

The Medicine Man was over in the corner, and then he was not. He presented him with something. His eyes strained to focus, but then he could taste the fouled blood as the smell flew up his nose. It was a scalp. He forced it onto Garett’s head.

He screamed in horror, except his voice was not his own. It was light and breathy. A woman’s voice. The scalp dug roots into his flesh and joined with his skull, tangling and merging with his own roots and hair.

Hushes and wind like whispers came in his direction from all around him. He began to scratch at the rest of his pasty dead looking skin. He needed to pull it off. As he dug deeper and deeper he could see the bronze underneath. The true colour he was missing. The hushing stopped. This was the colour of his people.

Garrett sighed. Why was everyone on the move all of a sudden? And why was it so cold? He swore it was the same heat as yesterday but he felt freezing. That same morning he noticed he had lost weight, he was getting skinnier. He also couldn’t eat as much as usual.  Days had been lean but this was definitely to do with this poison, it wasn't right.

Turns out, they had found more campfires. There was a lot of carry on and searching in the nearby valley, but they found nothing but rocks and roots. The others moved off but Garett wasn’t so convinced. He was… curious. Drawn to the light flowing over the treeline of the nearby hills.  He was carried in as he found himself looking for some berries. He confidently picked what he needed. Each one calling a name that inspired a feeling of hope inside him.

He hefted the berries up and down. He knew it was the right amount for something he had to do. He continued on his trail until he saw a group of Indian men gathered around a huge man. He imagined his lips brushing against brave’s. He noticed the man had a gash along his chest. The small group spread out into the woods, and the man was left alone. Garrett slowly approached.

The Indian flinched and weakly shifted his body but Garett grabbed his hand and held it softly. He was completely lost in the Indians eyes. His hand moved to his hair and brushed it back, then he placed a hand on his bronzed chest. He began to massage his sore areas. The confused brave looked at him with revulsion as he rubbed the berry mix over his chest. Then as he breathed the vapours, his eyes widened. 

“How do you know about that…?” The Indian cocked his head.

He found himself unable to reply with the right words back. A bundle of sounds were on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t move it quite right. As Garett stared at his chest and at the berries, he noticed the boldness of the colours. They were more amazing then he’d ever noticed before. But he nodded in understanding and then gave him a shy smile.

The other men had gathered behind, but the man held up his hand. One of the Indians stamped his foot. “Capture him. We’ll toss his head into the white man’s camp. Perhaps that will drive them from this place.”

“I am not like them. I will not hurt those who do not mean harm. And.. there is something about this one.” Garett finished the process and smiled. He felt secure and guiltless happiness. One of the group approached and handed him a drink. Another laid a trinket at his feet. Gems… valuable. They stayed nearby in a circle, singing and dancing. The wounded man beckoned to invite him but Garrett just waved him off with a nervous laugh. The group moved off into the distance, looking back at Garett several times.

Garett sat back with his head against the tree in bliss. A moment seemed to pass. Blinking in the milky haze, he looked around him for the Indians. Gone… good. He stood up and trod over the gems as he walked from the woods.

 “Where the fuck did you go? I thought a bear had snatched you up. MacAulay pointed at Garrett who was just now stumbling into camp.

“Nah, ain’t no bears in these parts.” Robson said.

“ Who gives a fuck? Now, we lost another fucking day. “

“I went for a walk.” Garett said.

MacAulay’s hands twitched and curled like claws. His eyes burned holes through Garett. He was sure he would rip his face off in a moment. Instead, he just settled to leave him there.

“Luckily we found some Injuns on their way out of the woods… or you mighta just put me in a bad mood.” MacAulay snorted.

It was one of them from earlier. The man’s eyes widened as he saw Garrett, he seemed ready to point at him but fell down when Robson pushed him from behind.

He looked directly at Garett  “Help me. Help me please.” Garett felt his stomach jump. Maybe he could push through the group and run off with the Injun in tow. But.. he shouldn’t betray his friends for an Injun right? But he was clearly suffering. The spirits wouldn’t forgive him.

The man grimaced as he realised he was getting no help. “No! You shall not have my skin as well paleface!” He swung for MacAulay. Garett backed off and he heard the sound of Robson pulling out his shooter.

Fernand ran in the way of the gun. The bullet knocked him straight into the ditch behind. Robson simply groaned, and then shot the Indian straight through the gut.

Garett’s hands immediately went to his mouth.

The others shook their heads. “Moron.”

“They are looking for me… they’re looking for those you took from us.” The Indian laughed as he wheezed his way into the next life. The men chuckled and went about tearing the corpse apart. Kicking and smashing in his skull for fun. Garett wildly shook his head and felt some tears fall down his cheeks. 

Fernand was screaming in pain nearby. Garett ran to him. He had nothing to tend his wounds with right now but…

MacAulay stormed over and threw Garrett out of the way.

“You priests. I give you food, company and you don’t even have to do anything but smack your lips and bitch about our souls. Instead, you nearly get one of us killed. Well, I know just what to do with ya.”

“Garett.” He picked up their Indian’s weapon off the ground.

“No…” Garett threw the weapon down. MacAulay immediately picked it up and shoved it through Fernand’s throat. Robson tried to muffle his gasp, but Garett couldn’t. MacAulay sighed and then kicked him in the stomach. Garrett wanted to fight back, but just like before he felt like his strength was gone. 

“He… was one of us. He was a man of god. What have you done?” Garett fretted, his voice breaking halfway.

“And you ain’t worth shit anymore… once we get to Knoxville, we’re through. If I ever see you again…” Garett looked into his eyes and knew he meant it this time.

He tried everything not to sleep, but it was hopeless. The others had tossed both corpses into a ditch at the edge of the woods. Idiots, they’ll bring every hungry beast in a mile around us. That’s all we need. His thoughts returned to some hours ago.  He had understood... the Indian asking for help. How? He felt an itch at the back of his head. Something was hiding from him, a truth.

His tried to trap it, get a hold of the memory. His eyes widened then he threw up all over the ground. I’m turning into a damn bitch! He had helped an Indian, healed him. He was getting him off while he rubbed in that ointment! He had so much muscle.  He’d been having trouble for a while but…

 He tried to think of tits, cunt, a nice beautiful face. But no matter how much he tried, any thoughts of women didn’t spring him. It was only men that did it now.  Everything felt nice when he had those thoughts, his dick and nipples tingled, but nothing got hard of course. Fuck, shit. That Indian had taken his manhood. Made him all pathetic, made him think like a woman. That was his curse. Garett collapsed onto his bedroll and began to weep.

Garett sat with his legs crossed in front of the Shaman. The Medicine Man brought out his knife again, but this time he pressed it against his cock and balls. He knew he should be terrified, but he simply nodded. She was ready.

He woke up to the sound of gunshots. Shit, shit, shit. Outlaws? No. He recognised that screaming… Cherokee! They had come to save him… no… was he thinking? They are probably after his hide.

He went to pick up his gun, but stared as he caught sight of his arms. What had happened to his skin? It was copper colour. Not tan like a farmhand, but a raw and deep sienna colour. No… this can’t be... 

He heard another gunshot. He craned his head out of the tent. The men were taking cover behind some crates while they picked shots at the Indians at the treeline. The clouds were thick and dark above them, just about ready to burst. 

Hate welled up inside of him. He lifted up his rifle and took aim at the Indians. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He lowered the rifle and took a deep breath. Why couldn’t he pull the trigger? His aim then slowly adjusted to the white men. His grip felt a little tighter. All he had to do was squeeze and that would be the end of this madness. He swung his rifle back to the Indians but then he felt a crushing pain in his sides. Garrett placed a hand on his ribs. “Ah..” he tried stepping forward a few paces but then it felt like someone had fired a musket ball into his stomach. 

“Christ almighty.” He begin to cough violent as he felt a tightness in his chest. A wave of chilling nausea overwhelmed him. He forced himself to the other side of the tent and then planted his hands onto a tree. 

“It fucking huuurts.”

 His eyes popped as his back arched slowly, then snapped. He howled like a snared beast. He looked down at his shaking feet and then tumbled to the floor. He crawled forward onto the leaf-covered floor of the forest. The bones were breaking so loudly and quickly that they mixed in with the orchestra of gunshots perfectly. First, his arms, then his legs, until he was just a lame fool flailing on his back.

He felt like someone was pulling a clump of his hair at the roots. Strands of hair crept down his neck. Things seemed to be getting smaller and bigger, the world span like after he’d taken a few too many shots of whiskey. White man’s drink was too much for him. He tried to get a look at his small wrists and slender legs, but the pain started up again.

He grabbed clumps of his now raven hair running down to his shoulders. He screamed for his life, but his ribs caved in and forced him silent. He sat in a birthing position as he felt like someone was squeezing his balls. It began to pull into his body as new folds opened up and exposed themselves to the air. These new lips quivered and pulsated as a steaming flow of semen ran out and pooled below. He moaned before regaining some sense.

 “It… ain’t… possible.” He poked at the hole between his legs. His face twisted and scrunched in horror. His…his cock was gone. The same cock he had used to fuck countless whores with. It felt so empty inside. 

He picked himself up and ran in a panic. He covered his face with his hands as he ran, tripping over and over as he struggled to control his foreign limbs. He felt little knicks and cracks at first, then pure agony as he felt like his skull was going to shatter. His face became narrower and his cheekbones heightened. He let out few harsh screeches and sank to his front knees. His sense of control left him as a feeling of doom swallowed him up. 

His lips blew up pillowy and wet. He felt like fingers had dug under his eyes as his skin stretched over his new skull and his eyes began to take on an almond shape followed by his eyebrows arching into a groomed and pruned shape. He felt a huge pressure in his chest and felt some brushing against the fabric. He let out a frustrated groan. His already rough nipples grew thicker and longer. Then with an almighty push the two little bumps grew into breasts. Two heavy sacks that hung like a saloon girl’s.

He walked crossways to a nearby stream and looked in the water. He could see what he had become now. For a moment, his eyes remained the same… then his blue eyes filled in brown like a mudflow. The eyes were always the last thing to go.

He heard the Indian laughing in his head.

“I’m one of them. I’m a redskin whore “ He cackled in jittery terror. He looked at his face. His face was contorted in terror just like those he’d killed. His eyes were slanted, his hair darker than a moonless night. Her body stood a beautiful willowy figure.

“Tsula. Jooo-lah.”

She had taken so many Cherokee away. Their names forgotten. Now she would do her best to replace them. New words and meanings began to imprint themselves onto his mind. 

“Chr…jesu…great spiri.. protect me.” He stammered in frustration. It was as if someone else was thinking for him, for her. The more he spoke the less he could speak English, until the words coming out of his mouth finally became meaningful. Words that once held important became foreign ideas she had heard in passing. Christ would not protect him anymore, if he ever had. 

No.. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to be a redskin. I’d rather die. What kind of life is this? I should be on a horse… killing….

A good life. A worthy one.

She crawled back towards the camp shivering. A part of her wanted to return to help the people there, but another part told her that they were vicious beasts. They were on their own. He couldn’t be anywhere near here. She had to go live amongst others of the tribe.

They rolled the bodies into the middle of their camp and wiped the blood and sweat off their brows. McAulay looked around. 

“Any of y’all seen Garrett?”

Upon hearing his voice, she started to breath shallowly. This one was dangerous. She knew him from her past life. The tents were so far and there was nothing in came to hide her. From the corner of her eye, she saw more of the tribe running in from the trees. The forest would save her too. The white men could not follow. She ran into the stream.

MacAulay heard her splashes.

 “What’s that redskin slut doing here? Run her down!” McAulay turned around and saw the boys were already out of distance. He turned back and saw her running, his eyes widened in anger.

“You better not make me run after you girl, or I’ll cut your damn head off.” He shouted.

Her heart pounded in terror. It was no lie. She had seen plenty of him doing that. She had seen her tribal brothers and sisters heads stuck on sticks. Why? Wasn’t the money enough? Why do those things?

He kicked her in the back and she fell forwards, her face scraping against the underbrush. She turned around only to see the stinking foul white man press his overbearing frame down on her. She could feel his horrid invading tool pushing between her legs. He was unbuckling his belt, all the while with one hand pressing her down.

She hissed at McAulay and sunk her teeth straight into his hand. He screamed out bloody murder and lunged at her again. She shoved a nearby chunk of wood into his face, then scraped and scrambled in the direction behind her. 

She blazed a trail through the forest as if it was warning her where to go. As if it was home.  She noticed some scratches down a tree. A mother bear? She thought. That gives me an idea.

She blurred through the forest until she caught sight of the cubs of the bear. She ran behind the biggest tree she could find and started to scream.

“Come white man. Come here and die.”

She could hear his thundering footsteps coming up close. His breath thinned as he tried to disguise his presence. He froze upon seeing the bear and he cubs. The mother bear began to snort. She raised up on her hind legs and proudly showed a scar where a hunter had tested her patience before. She roared and then charged. McAulay screamed as he discharged his weapon, but the angry face of the Great Spirit had already snapped his neck with a frontal body slam.

She waited until the cubs and their mother were gone and crawled along flat-footed to the gun. She said a small prayer for the spirit of the white man. Hopefully he would serve the earth well. She looked with curiosity on the weapon. It should be broken for the good of her tribe but…

She twisted her body quickly as she heard another voice. She recognised it a little bit. The tone of it. His tongue was foreign to her, like the babbling of an infant, but he sounded annoyed. His eyes shot to the ripped corpse, and then he screamed at her.

She pulled the trigger and the gun recoiled, hurting her hand a little. A trickle of blood poured down the white man’s forehead and he fell to the floor. She stared fixated at his body. She had only ever seen her brother use one of these. He might be proud of her… another white invader dead. Good. 

No… she was white too! An American born and bred. Her grandparents died to make America… she… no… they had taken America. Garrett’s hateful personality tried to hold on, but the new memories clung to his doubts, coiling around and piercing them. No! She had been cursed, this body was a curse, she must oppose it He circled and twisted his head, rooted to the spot. He thrashed and span his hair around. He needed to let go, to become a good Cherokee woman. To get rid of this curse that had trapped her as a horrible vicious white man for so long. Yes, that was it. Feel your body. It is the body of a woman, the body of a Cherokee. Feel the weight of your breasts. Hear the lightness of your voice. How your small body glides in motion. Now her life would be purer and wiser. Memories of singing and dancing with the other girls, weaving and having good fun were now his to own and revel in. Garett gave in as he was finally transformed in mind, as in body, into Tsula. A proud woman of her tribe.

He was looking for someone… but who? Wohali immediately spun around to the sound of cracking brush.

“Sister!” He shouted. She ran up and hugged him. He could feel her heartbeat against his own chest.

“The white men are all dead sister. It seems they even turned on themselves, we found some bodies in the camp.”

“I needed to kill two of them Wohali. I introduced the white man to a honey-eater. The other… I turned his own weapon against him.”

“Clever girl. If only all white men were as dumb as those ones.”

She smirked wirily and leaned on a hip. “Let’s leave them to their new spot in the earth.”

Tsula wiped her hands together and rubbed some of the dirt off her face. More white men would come, but for now, the land was open again. Aman sat playing the flute in the distance. She fixated on his body, so tall and well trained by hunting and wrestling. He was well-groomed and his hair was well braided, his spirit must be strong.

He noticed her and winked. Then placed a childish tune that her mother used to play her. She let out a glorious laugh, heard throughout the entire camp. She sat down next to him by the fire, so they could enjoy the rest of the night together.