Sitting in the Rain (Open)

[Ann]

Alex was enjoying a walk in the spring sunshine. Or at least he was trying to, the torrential rain was making it a little difficult to do so. He was never the type to let a little technicality like that get in they way though. So Alex trudged onwards, fat round droplets of water beating down on him consistently, completely soaking through his shirt and collecting in the brim of the hat he’d borrowed off one of the men at the hut to fend off more sunburn.

He shivered a little, squinting through the rain to try and spot any form of shelter under which he could wait out the rain. He was too far away to go back for now, if he spent any more time out in the open he’d need to develop gills to survive. A tree not far off was the only obvious choice. It wasn’t exactly a big tree and it was rather sparse foliage wise, but Alex was happy to take whatever he could get.

Scrambling over to it, he plonked himself down onto the muddy ground and leaned his back against the trunk. His notebook was rather damp, his messy pencil scrawl barely visible on the wet paper that would probably come apart in his hands at any moment. Alex peered down at it, trying to read the notes he’d made that morning and proceeded to dump all the water that had collected in the brim of his hat over his lap. He jumped to his feet with a yelp as the cold water splashed over him, patting at the soaked fabric of his jeans as though the action would help him dry out.

[Illu]

Well, this was hardly a pleasant arrival to his new home for the foreseeable future.

Alex wasn’t the only one having a horrendously bad day; Dave was more than willing to challenge him for that dubious title. The spring rain and snowmelt had loosened up a lot of the stones and rocks on Dead Horse Ridge and in such a dreary, wet day it had been an accident waiting to happen. The ground had slipped underfoot, his horse had gave a shrill neigh of fear, the dog started barking as though faced with the devil and before Dave knew it he’d been thrown, and was left staring up blearily at the sky with a very sore head wondering what the hell had just happened.

The journey down had been slow. Painfully slow. On an initial examination, Dave’s old gelding Marty seemed to have fractured his left front knee and slipped the cartilage out of place. To say it was not a great injury in a place with no high tech medical equipment was a serious understatement. He’d wrapped up the fracture as best as possible to prevent haemorrhaging but the geldings leg was swelling fast and gaining a lot of heat very quickly which made it very possible he’d also completely ripped or torn his suspensory ligament. This was bad, very bad.

The journey down the ridge had been excruciatingly slow. Marty was clearly in a lot of pain and had lost the ability to straighten his injured leg, making it downright impossible to navigate down on only three. Dave had been forced to leave everything up on the ridge, his food, blankets, oilskins, provisions, even the saddle and had brought with him only what he could carry, including a few vet supplies such as a change of dressing and syringe to drain extra blood out of the knee if it got worse. It was inhumane to ask the horse to carry anything in this state, so he’d hidden it as well as possible and would have to borrow a horse from someone to fetch it later. For now he just had to get the gelding to the Hut to decide the best choice of action. Even the usual boisterous mutt was being deathly silent.

Things got easier after the ground levelled up. The soil had thankfully avoided turning into mud courtesy of years of the dirt being hard packed by passing cattle, which helped speed up the journey but the gelding was clearly failing, the whites of his eyes showing in his agony and sweating profusely (hard to spot considering the rain) whilst becoming more and more reluctant to take a step. If it wasn’t for the fact there was no other way to move him Dave would have been quite happy to leave him there and find a better way. Curse the lack of proper road transport!

Some sign of possible relief arrived in the shape of a man attempting to shelter from the rain. He wasn’t easy to see but he was better than nothing. Even cattlemen knew enough about horses to be useful, why else would someone be there, right?

”Oi! You! We need help!” Dave shouted, and he would have cupped his hand around his mouth or waved or something if he had any hands to spare.

This had turned into a complete disaster and the gelding’s prospects were looking more and more slim. It was just the dim thought that maybe it would all work out that was keeping Dave going, even though the rational part of his brain was trying to butt in with the infuriating logic such an injury couldn’t be treated in the middle of nowhere, the horse would be healed as a cripple and euthanasia would be better. Easier said than done, he’d had the damn horse for 14 years and the frail optimism was the only thing preventing him from damn near bursting into tears.

[Ann]

It wasn't long before somebody else came along, an indistinct blurry figure in the distance who was making slow progress across the open land. Alex hadn’t expected to see anybody else out in weather like this, but he guessed he couldn’t be the only person in the area to have the bad luck of being stuck outside when the weather turned bad. He had a horse with him, which Alex should probably stop being surprised about, everybody around here had a horse. Well, except for Alex, he was completely horseless.

He squinted through the driving rain, cupping his hand over his eyes to offer more protection from the raindrops than the brim of his hat was providing. It didn’t make much odds, water was still getting in his eyes making it impossible to see anything clearly. Alex scurried over as soon as he heard the man calling. Perhaps he wanted his picture taken for the article, he just hoped the water hadn’t ruined the film in his camera.

”Hi there!” Now that he was closer he could see a little more clearly and… holy crap was that a wolf?! Alex shot a nervous glance at the soggy animal then turned his attention back to the man. ”Isn’t the weather terrible.” He said amiably gesturing at the grey sky as though the man might possibly have missed the rain that was drenching them both. ”I couldn't help noticing your horse was limping. Is it okay?”

[Tiggs]

For the millionth time that day, Jason cursed Jack. The other cattlemen were one head short, so Jason had been lumbered the duty of checking the herd. In the rain. Those cattlemen has a hilarious sense of humour.

Seeing as he didn't have to stray far from home, he'd tacked up the giant cremello gelding to take out. Marie's legs were getting a little stiff these days, and she worked too hard. The only problem -- okay, one of many problems -- with bringing the Demon was that the wrangler had no tack that would fit him. He'd found and old draft-horse bridle, complete with blinkers, that fit the gelding but Jason had no saddles that would fit the width girth of the animal.

He could make do without, and he had fit the Demon with some packs so he could hang his rope, water canteen and gun somewhere. He'd ridden the cremello as often as possible, but he never could get used to the bouncing pace and long striding gait. He rode bare-back in front of the packs, keeping the horse in a walk so he didn't have to suffer his trot. Even wearing a waxy calf-length raincoat and stetson, the rain crept in to dampen his clothes and spirits. Only thoughts of visiting Delaney stopped him from turning the giant horse around and refusing to go out again.

Jason and the Demon were just riding around the farthest edge of the cattle herd when he noticed some other men slacking. Turning Demon toward them, he went over there to give them a piece of his mind. Grumbling and trying to stop his mount trying to stand under every tree they walked under, he noticed that he didn't recognise them before he started shouting expletives that them.

With a grim expression, he halted Demon (or made a good effort to) before he reached them. "What're you lamb-brained fools doing out here in the rain?" He asked, looking quite annoyed at the two strangers.

[Illu]

Marty was more than pleased to stop his ambling progress for a moment while his owner dealt with the others. Dave’s relief at finding another person had quickly faded the second the other fellow opened his mouth. Why yes, he couldn’t help but notice the sky was more or less vomiting onto the world and that his horse was indeed crunching shards of bone into his own knee with every step. How nice of him to point it out.

Great, the one person that happened to be around was a tourist.

It was difficult to resist the urge to respond with something extremely sarcastic. Didn’t stop him accidentally leaving his mouth open for a moment though, surely the fact the horses leg was tightly bound and he was trudging on foot showed that certainly, he was in fact aware of the geldings plight. ”Yes,” he replied, voice still fraught with worry. ”I’m trying to get him back to the hut to see if there’s anything I can do for him.”

He was saved from saying anything else by a second arrival which filled him with a little more hope. It was the horse he spotted first, his white coat much more easily noticeable through the rain and its sheer bulk didn’t hurt things. The damn thing looked like an ancient warhorse and could have easily weighed something like 700 kilograms. That was no stock breed, that was for sure. But the fact was if the man was riding that monster it was a fair bet he knew what he was doing, even if his attitude left something to be desired.

”Horse broke a leg,” he called back to the second stranger trying to make himself heard over the thick sound of pouring rain. ”Can ya lend a hand, mate?”

[Ann]

Alex couldn’t help the grin that formed on his lips, it was probably a little bad form to be smiling at a man who was in a bit of a jam right now, but he couldn’t help it. It was just so exciting, his first big event that he could work into the article. His first big adventure, one of many to come he hoped. Alex could see the opening lines of the segment forming in his head already.

Out in the harsh and wild lands of Australia it’s a case of one man and his horse against the world. Travelling across the treacherous landscape that can at any moment spell downfall for the stoic pair. Intrepid reporter Alex Conway was given a baptism of fire when called on to aid one such man and his poor injured horse…

Pity his notebook was soaked through, he’d have to hope he could still remember by they time they got back to the hut, he’d be winning awards for this article he was sure. ”The hut is…” Alex paused, glancing over his shoulder as he tried to remember exactly where the hut was. ”That way, I think.” He said, pointing in what was almost, but not quite, entirely the wrong direction.

Another man was approaching, this one riding a horse… or was it two horses? Alex squinted through the rain at the massive beast his eyes widening in a kind of awe. That thing was huge! In a sense it matched all his previous experience of what horses looked like. Horsey face, four legs, a mane and a tail. But it was a bit like comparing an armoured tank to a pistol. He took an unconscious step backwards as the man came to a stop nearby. There was no way he was letting his feet anywhere near where those hooves might land.

Well, that was just rude! Alex smarted at the newcomer's less than polite opening sentence. How did he know they didn’t mean to be out here in the rain? They might have been doing something important. In fact he was doing something important. Alex was gathering information for his to be award winning article. He gave a little nod, satisfied with his reasoning, but kept quiet. The man on the horse looked like the type who wouldn’t agree that an article was important, even if it was going to win awards.

[Tiggs]

That news mellowed the wrangler. He gave a nod, turned Demon around and tethered him up a fair distance away. The giant creamy gelding would doubtfully react quite so stubbornly to the noise he was about to make.

Dismounting the large horse jarred his legs, and he was grumbling as he retrieved the rifle from its holster on Demon's saddle packs. Rummaging around in one of the bags for some bullets, he began to load the gun as he trudged through the rain toward the man and his horse. The other man sat nearby, and Jason gave only a passing thought to what he might be doing.

There wasn't much you could do for a horse with a broken leg. There was usually only one solution, and he carried it in the crook of his arm. "Sorry, mate." Jason consoled the stranger. He had a look at the stock horse's knee and grimaced. "Get him tied. Want me to do it?" Jason would hate to have to shoot his own horse, or any horse for that matter, but he could see from th man's expression that the old horse meant something to him.

The other man sat nearby, and Jason gave only a passing thought to what he might be doing. He didn't look like a cattleman or wrangler, so Jason couldn't fathom what he was doing in the depths of the High Country in the middle of Spiring.

[Illu]

That wasn’t good.

He should probably have been expecting it thanks to the stupid little voice in his head nagging him throughout the whole trip that the horse was beyond help out here no matter what he tried to do for him. However the sight of the uppity cattleman striding casually towards his loyal mount loading bullets that to him big enough to blow the gelding’s sweet face into bloody shards three times over was distinctly horrifying. He felt his hand close tighter, almost protectively around the reins.

The man was right though. The not a very nice person was right. God f**k**g damnit. This was no way for a horse to go out after years of loyal service, in blinding agony in one leg, restrained tightly and a set of bullets through the brain. From a stranger no less while his owner hid his face in a corner.

Almost mumbling to himself Dave quickly ran through the list of injuries again in a dull hope if he said it again it wouldn’t sound so bad and he horse could, in fact, be saved. It likely could barely be heard over the rain anyway. ”Upper metacarpal knee fracture, displaced cartilage, torn suspensory ligament, bone shards, possible pulled lateral digital extensor due to lack of pastern movement and extensor carpi radialis due to limited shoulder action, internal knee haemorrhage and likely hairline fracture along the third metacarpal bone, likely proximal phalanx damage... Oh f**k it, that just sounds worse.”

When it came down to it though Dave knew there was no way he’d be the one able to hold the gun. He wasn’t a good shot to start with and the trauma of it would probably mean he’d be more likely to just blow the animal’s ear off or set the bullet into its nasal cavity breaking half the bones in his face and leaving the gelding even more distressed and very much alive. He’d heard the horse give one strangled scream of pain that day; he didn’t need to hear another one, but at the same time he couldn’t seem to let go of the reins or even give a nod. Instead he just gave Alex and Jason a sort of pleading look between them because it was the only thing he could do.

Please one of them just grab the horse and be done with it.

[Ann]

Alex knew a thing or two about guns. He wasn’t one of those obsessed experts, who could take a shotgun apart, clean it and reassemble it in under a minute. But working for the police had at least taught him how to aim at the target and pull the trigger, how to maintain a gun and how to look authoritative while holding one. That last part clearly came naturally to the newcomer. He also had a little experience trying to diffuse a situation where somebody was pointing at a gun at you. Yeah, that one hadn’t gone quite so well for him.

The newcomer had a rifle and he was leading his horse away to tether him to a tree. Alex wasn’t all that fond of rifles, as a twinge in his shoulder reminded him sharply. Getting shot in the shoulder by one at fairly close range can do that to a man. Especially when it breaks up a ten year marriage between childhood sweethearts too. Yup, it had definitely been the shoulder wound, it couldn’t possibly be anything to do with the two of them growing apart. The shoulder wound and Joe, the milkman; definitely all their fault.

Just after Beatrice had kicked him out of the house Alex had snuck back with the intention of spying on the new couple, hoping to see them sitting around in abject misery. Instead as he stood outside getting drenched in rain so heavy he was confronted with the feeling he was being pelted with hundreds of tiny stones, his nose pressed against the living room window, he spotted Joe sitting in Alex’s armchair, wearing Alex’s slippers and reading Alex’s newspaper with Alex’s wife fetching him a beer.

Beatrice has never fetched him a beer. Even when he asked real politely the typical response had been ‘Get your own damn beer.’ It had almost become a term of affection between them. Or at least Alex had thought so. Clearly Beatrice had other ideas. It was at that moment that Alex considered testing his theory that being shot in the shoulder at close range by a rifle broke up a relationship. On Joe. Alex wasn’t a violent man though, so instead he decided to get as far away from the pair as possible and take up a nice safe profession like journalism.

But the point was all his experience with the weapons didn’t help explain to him why the hell the newcomer was loading his rifle and walking back over to the injured horse. Perhaps he was going to use it as some kind of splint for the horse’s leg. Sure it was unconventional, but Alex didn’t pretend to understand how things worked out here. Still… He wasn’t sure it was such a good idea for the gun to be loaded if that was, indeed, it’s purpose. The only thing he could do was wait and see, his worried and slightly confused expression probably not all that comforting to the horse’s owner.

[Tiggs]

Poor bloke. Jason could emphasis with the man. A horse was a companion, and by the age of his injured steed, he was a friend of many years. The man looked almost lost. he rattled off something technical and Jason shook his head. He didn't understand it, but the man seemed to know his way around a horse. "If you say so, mate. Broke is broke. Can't fix it. This is kindest." He stepped up to the man with confident steps and gently prized his hand away from the reins. "Come on, mate, take a walk -- you don't want to watch."

Patting the man's shoulder, he propelled him toward the other bystander. "Look after him, will you?" He told the other man before turning to the horse with a grim expression. The leg looked gruesome and though it seemed mostly intact, the knee did not look healthy. The stress the animal was exuding and the way it refused to put weight on the leg was enough to convince the wrangler he was beyond hope.

With a warm hand, he patted the brute's cheek. "Sorry bloke, I hope you had a good life." With a sigh, he replaced the bridle with a rope-halter and tethered him to a tree close to the ground -- the owner didn't want to see his horse's head almost hanging once he fell. The rifle would give the old gelding a swift and merciful death -- he'd barely feel a thing. The entry wound on the forehead would be fairly succinct, but he wouldn't advice the owner to look under the thing's jaw at the exit wound. With one last pat on the bay's neck, he stepped back, raised the gun to his shoulder, cocked, sighted down the barrel and shot.

Bang.

Demon gave a startled lurch, the birds in the surrounding trees took to the rain-filled sky with a chorus of angry screams and the unfortunate bay slumped to the ground with a dull thud all but smothered by the calls of the avian protesters. Jason shook his head and looked away. He wouldn't wish that on any horse, and it only put in perspective the real harshness of this country he called home. As the gunshot echo faded, it cast the world into an eerie silence punctuated only by the sound of the heavy rain.