New Beginning 1021

August 1822

“Go away!” Kincaid shouted at Joe. There wasn’t a need to turn in the saddle and look back. He was there. The sounds of creaking leather and the clip of hooves said so. He had been there for half a day since he come trotting up with the pack mule in tow. Like he was ready to go anywhere and stay out as long as need be, the mule was loaded so.

“I said ‘Go away’,” the young man shouted again.

“Thought you said I free,” Joe replied. “Thought you said I ain’t a slave no longer. That Lerocque don’t own me, and you don’t own me.”

“I did!” Kincaid snapped.

“Then I free to ride where I want. Free to ride south like I doing. Maybe go to Santa Fe and spend some time.”

“I don’t need no mammy!” Kincaid raised his voice more. Can’t that darky see I don’t want to be around no one. That being alone and feeling the hurt was what a man needed at a time like this.

Kincaid spurred up, planning to outpace the slave, when suddenly two suspicious individuals breached the wooded trail, their faces blighted, skin hanging half off the taller one's scalp. Kincaid realized the fortuitousness of his unwelcome shadow.

With a brutal yank on the bit, Kincaid reared his horse clear around and dashed past Joe and his pack mule. Yes, when encountering the unholy zombie werewolves known to inhabit the region it was best to be accompanied on the trail by a slow man on a slow animal.

Hearing Joe's anguished cries echo through the forest Kincaid was troubled. Until he realized: Joe died a Freeman.


Opening: Wes Redfield.....Continuation: Veronica Rundell