The End Game by Charlotte Morganti

Author:Charlotte Morganti [Morganti, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 37

The explosions hit Gabe’s eardrums with a percussive whump. For a second, things were still. Then the air was full of horses shrieking, men shouting, and snow spraying up and around.

Something hard and sharp smacked him in the shoulder and cheek. Then he was on his back staring at an undulating sky. Things spun, moved in waves, made his stomach churn. Off to the side, he had a foggy view of Horace Minken holding Streak’s halter.

“You okay?” someone said through an echo chamber.

Gabe sat up. The world tilted, then jerked back into plumb.

Harris said, “Christ, what happened? We were halfway to the tunnel when we heard the blasts.” He leaned over and gulped in air.

“Explosions,” Minken said. “Downhill. My drill site, I bet. Damn.”

Junebug was off the path, caught up in the mounds of snow in the basin. She lay partly on her back, partly on her side, in a trough between mounds of snow. Her legs were elevated and rested on the upside of the trough. She squealed in fright, pawed her legs, and struggled to right herself.

Carl and Phil scrambled into the basin. Carl threw his jacket over Junebug’s head, covering her eyes. When she quieted, he said, “We can’t risk her standing. She’ll sink in the snow, and we’ll never get her out.”

Phil tossed his jacket at Carl. “Use this to hobble her.” He kneeled and held Junebug’s head in his lap, cooing, stroking her forehead. She rocked back and forth, struggling to move in the snow. Harris removed his jacket as well and helped Carl hobble Junebug.

Horace Minken and the gelding stood on the pasture near a patch of churned snow. Streak appeared jittery. Minken was pale and leaned into the horse. Gabe wasn’t sure who supported whom. “How’re you two doing, Horace?”

“Streak shied. Almost knocked me over, but I managed to hang on. I think he’s okay.”

Gabe rose to his knees, waited for the world to settle again, and then stood. His left shoulder and arm throbbed. Warmth trickled down his cheek. When he swiped at it, his hand came away red.

“She kicked you,” Minken said. “That explosion hit and Junebug reared up and smacked you, and you went down. Then she lost her footing and toppled off the edge into the snow and flipped over, her legs ending up in the air.”

Streak whinnied, and Junebug responded by kicking her hind legs, and trying to lift herself out of the snow. The jackets they had used as makeshift hobbles held firm. As Junebug struggled, she sank deeper into the snow. Her belly heaved. Her breath came in staccato puffs. Phil cooed and stroked her neck. She stopped moving at last and lay still, breath spurting from her nostrils.

“What the hell do we do now?” Minken said.

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