#3: What happens in Mexico...

[jackalope]

Ultimate Jonah Hex #3
What happens in Mexico...

The burning sun boiling in the noon sky was like an anvil pushing down upon the slowly stumbling man. Though heavy breaths Jonah pushed his foot forward, followed by another. He looked up through one squint eye, the other bruised closed and covered in dried blood from the gash upon his forehead. His face red with sunburn, his hair hanging limply with sweat, through cracked lips he spoke.

“I hope yer taking good care of m' hat.”

The chains that held his hands together tightly hung down and rose back up and connected to the back of an old military truck, moving at a snail’s pace, the canvas that once covered the back now rotted away to nothing. A grinning man, sporting a large moustache and an even larger sombrero, sitting in the back of the truck, turned the cowboy hat about in his hands. He spat out on to the black wasteland ash sand. “Si, Amigo, I would not dare damage the great Hex's hat.” He looked at the exhausted Jonah, “I intend on burying you in it.” He let a heavy wheezy laugh out, and grabbed the chain and yanked.

Hex grappled to stay upright, falling on to one knee the pushing himself back up. Grimacing with his parched mouth, he managed to wobble a couple of steps before dropping onto his knee and being dragged along the rough dirt. The others sitting in the trunk joined in the laughter. Jonah spat out the bitter ash that found its way into his mouth and gasped. Using the last of his strength and pushed his legs down, turning himself onto his back. He winced as a sharp rock scraped against his back.

“I'd stop Hex and help you up...” El Papagayo called down at him, “but we have a schedule to keep.”

The laughter burst out again, and Jonah faded out of consciousness.

*
Years ago

“...you don't have the g...” BANG

A blast of red brains and blood sprayed across the concrete wall. A young Hex looked at the pistol in his hand, his hand was shaking. His other hand came up and held it still. His breathing was rapid. The body fell to the ground. He looked at it, lifeless, no twitching, nothing. The dead man's leather jacket was splayed out, his large black boots turned inwards unnaturally, his hand still grasping the Magnum revolver, gold ringed finger wrapped around the trigger. After a year, or possibly a couple of seconds, the door burst open and a woman stood, screaming at the top of her lungs. Hex held out his hands, trying to calm her, taking a few more seconds to realise that the gun he still held probably didn't help.

Shouts came from the stairs beyond the doorway. Jonah looked around the room, to the window covered in bars. He swore. No vents or cupboards. Trapped. One thing for it. He grabbed the woman, who continued screaming and pulled her aside, slamming the door. Ducking down to the side, the door was suddenly riddled with bullets. Jonah held his breath, silently listening for the sound of reloading. Outside, one of the three soldiers slammed a mag into his AK47 and leaned down to one of the bullet holes to look inside. His head slammed back, and the other two watched him staggered back, blood rolling from the hole the gunshot left where his eye once was. Reaching the stairway banister he fell back, dropping over and down onto the stairs below. The two remaining soldiers turned back to the closed door. Two more shots rang out and their dead bodies collapsed back over the edge.

The door broke open and Hex emerged. He looked down at the bodies, then at his gun, then turned to the woman behind him. “Sorry.” He ran. Down the stairway onto the first level and found a balcony. An alarm siren started whining across the area, and he could see the soldiers stationed around the area moving about, scrambling to decipher what they were supposed to be doing. Waiting for the court below to be empty, he climbed over and dropped down into the bushes. He moved out and spotted a soldier, straggling behind the others. The soldier eyes widened at the sight of him, his lips moving to form a shout. Quick flash Jonah's gun shot him dead. Hex looked at it, and shook his head. No time for questioning how easy it was.

He ducked down low, keeping below the window line of the buildings, and made for the other side of the court. The siren was picking up in loudness and Hex clenched his teeth. Reaching the archway he turned down a long path. He crouched low behind a potted bush, and waited as a rabble of boot steps moved across the pathway ahead of him. He quickly scanned the area ahead. Empty. He ran, skidding around into an alley way that lead to the town centre. Ahead of him he could see a market stall, with a couple of civilians standing ahead of it. Just needed to reach the crowds, blend in, disappear. His footfalls increased in power, pushing him as fast as possible. His mind flashed with an image from when he was very young, his mother telling him about 'the fastest man alive,' from an age past. He wished he could be him, just for the next few seconds, just have his gift.

A huge black car pulled up straight in front of the alleyway, and the momentum threw Jonah into it. He fell back, and the door started to open. As a leg emerged from the car, Jonah kicked the door, slamming it hard. As its owner screamed, Jonah scrambled back onto his feet and dodged around the back of the car. Behind him voices screamed in Spanish at him and gunfire started. Hex leapt into the nearest doorway, some sort of hotel. The owner looked at him fearfully and ran into the backroom. Hopefully not to get a gun, Hex thought. He dived over the service counter and crouched down. The sound of boots entering the entranceway, he tried to count, five, at least four. He breathed deeply, but jumped slightly as he heard the front door being slammed shut. He closed his eyes.

“I know you're here you fucking gringo.” The voice was bitter, full of fury and vengeance, “And I know it was by your fucking hand that my son is dead.” BANG BANG BANG. The volley of shots in the roof made Hex flinch. “Don't you know who I am eh? Is that it? You didn't know you were shooting the son of the most powerful un capo that you'll ever fucking SEE!?” He let out another shot. Hex looked at the gun in his hand. Before this day he had never shot at anything that wasn't a target, and even that was with a rifle. This gun seemed to call to him. The man's voice started again. “<El Papagayo, take Rico and check if he's upstairs, we'll check down here.>” Two sets of footsteps took off up the squeaking staircase. He waited a moment until they faded. “< Tear the place apart, find h...>”

Jonah stood; the gun flew in his hand firing two shots, directly into the heads of the two soldiers standing either side of the short greying Mexican man that was dressed in a green military uniform covered in medals. The gun flowed around, aiming directly at the General's head. Click.

Jonah fired again. Click Click. The dawning of the relevance of this took a moment for both of them. The old man started to grin, his still black moustache spreading out across his upper lip. “Forget to count your bullets eh? Don't worry; it happens to the best of us.” His face contorted into a rage filled mask of anger. “I'll make sure the firing squad checks their bullets before they shoot you.”

The older man reached for his side arm. Jonah acted on instinct, smashing the emergency fire case behind him and grabbing the axe. He threw it and jumped over the desk after it. The axe rotated through the air and connected with the General's wrist, severing it from the arm. It dropped, with the gun, to the floor. As Jonah passed through the doorway, out in to the crowd, he heard a howl of rage.

*
Now

A foul smelling liquid woke him. Jonah spat, the taste of urine penetrating his lips. The man that towered above his sitting form zipped up and chuckled. Hex tried to move, but his arms were chained to the stone floor on which he sat. He shifted and winced with the pain of the raw exposed cuts on his back, his shirt had been torn to shreds.

“Hey.”

Jonah turned his head to see a familiar face sitting on a wooden chair in front of him.

The figure leaned forward. “You've gotten old.”

“Funny,” croaked Jonah, “I was gonna' say the same thing.”

The balding General smiled bitterly. “You're right, Gringo, I'm old.” He held up a hand, looking at the age spots and wrinkles that covered it. “And you left me without a legacy.”

“I did you a favo...” The general smacked Jonah across the face before he could finish.

A cybernetic hand grabbed Jonah's jaw, holding it tight. The old man brought his own face close to him. “You don't get to speak of him, you shit.” Then he released him, leaning back in his chair and looked about the room. “This world has changed,” he held up his cybernetic hand, admiring it, “I've changed, thanks in no small way to you.” He pointed to the window and the guard nearby pushed open the slats, revealing the top edge of the blue sky cut off by a huge concrete wall. “See how this country has changed as well. In under 10 years we did what your country couldn't do in 50. A great wall to keep out the maggots like you, from your shithole wasteland of a country.” He lit a black cigarette, and dragged in the smoke.

“The irony of it. As soon as the shit hit the fan, where did all your little scared people come?” He looked at Hex, waiting to see if he'd answer. When he didn't the old man continued, “At first their money was good, but soon it became worthless, not worth wiping your arse with.” He stood, turning and walking around the chair. “They complained about the Cartels. As if crime was any better in your country, just because here they didn't wear a suit or a stupid costume. And as your country fell apart, built its little bottle cities, hid like cowards from your own shadow, ours became organised. Well trained, well funded, the Legion of Mexican States and its army could take America by force at any time, if it felt it could actually do anything with the irradiated wastelands you live on.”

“Then we get word. A delegation of American's want to come talk trade.” He faced Hex, blowing out a cloud of smoke through his nostrils. “Five men, with gold bullion bars, payment for just getting a meeting with us. A Statesman, a Farmer, a Banker, a Translator,” he walked over and spat on Jonah, “...and an Assassin.” He grabbed his side arm and stuck it against Jonah's forehead. “Any of this sound familiar, Gringo?”

“S'not how I remember it...” The old man's gun smacked him across the face. Hex spat out some blood on the ground.

The General looked at him with eyes full of fury. “El Papagayo, cut him until he admits his guilt, then take him outside and put him down.” The old man and three guards walked from the room, leaving El Papagayo behind.

The bandit pulled out a huge sharp knife and ran it against his thumb, grinning. “Just you and me Hex...”

*
Before

The travellers stopped, the leader holding his hand out to signal that people were approaching. A young Jonah looked at his uncle Thomas, a farmer with fair hair and ruddy burnt skin, who was holding tight to the reins of his horses, making sure they didn't bolt with the noise of the cars that drove across the dunes towards them. Thomas spoke to Daniel, a portly grey man and the group's de facto leader.

“This is a bad idea. Do you know who we're dealing with?”

“That's Senator Daniel Tom, and this is the only idea we have.” He waved out to the three black cars, whispering under his breath, “...we need this.”

The large cars pulled up. The caravan hesitated, waiting to see what would happen next. Matt, a bald and muscled black man, officially brought as the translator, reached behind his back for the handgun he wore on his belt. He had been a soldier years ago, but even after years of service to his country he hadn't made the cut when the lottery went up for the dome cities. Still his training had some uses. Thomas caught his eye and shook his head. Matt let his hand drop.

Finally the doors to the cars opened and half a dozen guys stepped out holding automatic weapons. Another man wearing sunglasses and a black leather jacket got out of the back the middle car and walked straight towards the caravan. The young man smiled broadly, “¡Hola Amigos.”

“Uh, Hola, hello to you too,” the Statesman replied. “We were told we would be, be meeting...” Daniel trailed off, unnerved by the way that the young man was staring at him so closely.

“You brought the gold right?” The leather jacketed man's gaze flicked over each of them, until it lingered on Lucas, a shorter man in glasses, holding a briefcase that was chained to his arm. “Come, my father the General waits for your meeting. He is just in the village near here, leave your horses, one of my men will stay and protect them. We will drive you, si?” Daniel looked to Thomas and nodded. As they started towards the cars the General's son turned to them the portly leader. “Remind me, where are you from again?”

“New Mexico.”

“HAHAHAHA,” the young man whooped with laughter, and was joined by the rest of the gunmen. He then drew his gun and fired into the air, silencing them. “No, you see, this is New Mexico.” Daniel nodded and the Mexican man was smiling again. Warily the Americans got into the cars.

The car ride was bumpy and uncomfortable, not just because of the terrain. The Mexican guards seemed to be staring at them with some amusement. Jonah leaned towards his uncle and whispered, “Why are we doing this?”

“The Mexicans have food and water; even with some of their farm land irradiated they've got a direct connection to South America, so they're getting supplies from there.”

Jonah narrowed his eyes and harshly whispered, “But these are the drug cartels...”

“Shh...” His uncle shook his head. “Do not say that again,” he looked to see if the guard's reactions had changed, “these people are who are in charge here now. Whatever they may have been before, they're who we're dealing with.”

In the front passenger seat, the General's son turned around. “Good answer! I like you.” He turned back to the small city that they drove into, “Look, we're here!” Thomas now looked very worried. The cars pulled up outside the most expensive and well kept building in the city. They all got out of the cars and started to walk to the doors. The smiling son caught up to the Statesman and took his shoulder, “My father is up there, but there's been a change in plans.”

“But we agreed tha...” BANG. Daniel's body fell to the ground. The General's son turned back to the rest of them, smiling and waving his gun. “He is going to talk to you.” He pointed at Jonah's uncle.

Tom turned to Matt, waving him down from going for his gun. He looked at all of the Mexican men, with their automatic weapons, fingers hovering over the triggers. He breathed in deeply and turned back to the grinning man, “Ok.”

They were led up the steps to the interior where an older Mexican man stood in a General's uniform. Thomas shook the man's hand and they both smiled, both unconvincingly. “It is good to meet you señor. Before we start, is there somewhere safe young Jonah here can wait?”

“No Unc...” Matt grabbed his arm to stop him running to his Uncle.

The General nodded, “There are rooms upstairs.” Two guards grabbed Jonah and pulled him upstairs. He looked back as his uncle, and the two others were led into the meeting room. They moved slowly with the dread of the inevitable.

Jonah waited in the room, but could not tell for how long. Through the gap under the doorway he could see the shoes of some sort of a maid walking by. He tried to call for her but she could not understand him, or would not listen. He wished he'd brought a gun. His uncle had been so vehemently opposed to it. Something about bullets being a curse in his family. He punched the wall, then held his hand as it ached. Why? Why had they come? He shook his head, wiping the tears from his eyes. The vision of the people in his village lingered, skin and bones, starving. Once the fattest people in the world, now like any other third world nation. He sunk to the floor, against the back wall.

The door suddenly opened and in walked the General's son, still wearing his leather jacket and smug smile. Jonah stood up, he wanted to ask but the words couldn't seem to form in his mouth. The son held out a can of coke to him, then when he didn't take it, he opened it for himself and shut the door behind him. “Gringo, I'm afraid I have some bad news.” Jonah bit his tongue, trying to suppress everything that was rising inside him. The leather jacketed man lifted his hands, “There were a few difficulties ironing out the details, and we were unable to come to mutually beneficial arrangement.” He shrugged, “These things happen.” He leaned against the wall beside him, “On the plus side, we did come to a decision about you- you're free to go.” He sipped his coke. “Go back and tell America that the Legion of Mexican States is open for trade negotiations, they just need to bring more gold.” He smiled reassuringly at Jonah.

Before he knew how it happened, Jonah's hand was holding one of the smiling psychopath's guns. The man looked at Jonah, raising an eyebrow. He carefully placed down the can and slowly pulled out his other gun, a magnum, much more powerful than the revolver Jonah now held. “Look, Gringo, I get it, you're mad, but don't try anything loco.” He smirked and cocked the magnum. “Have you ever even fired a gun before?” He stared into Jonah's eyes. “Some people just don't have it in them, and let me tell you, I can tell just by looking at you...”

“...you don't have the g...” BANG

*
Now

El Papagayo wiped the blood from his hands. “You know the funny thing?” he asked Hex, “I didn't even like the kid.” He walked over, crouching down beside the panting Jonah. “You did me a big favour really.” He held up the knife. “That's why I'll make the rest of this quick.” He held up the blade.

“Wait!” Jonah shouted, “Wait, please.” El Papagayo flared his nostrils. Hex struggled about, “There's something digging into my backside, please just give me a moment.” The Mexican smiled. Jonah finally shifted and something rolled out from under him. “That's better.” El Papagayo stared at it, a long screw, like something someone used to keep something secured to a wall... or floor. Jonah smiled, whipping around the chain that connected his wrists, which was once connected to the concrete floor. He wrapped the chain around his captor's neck, and pulled it tight. He leapt forward, smashing him against the wall, the blow forcing the knife from his hand. El Papagayo smacked him with the back of his elbow but Hex held tight. They threw one anther around the room, punching and strangling. The Mexican ran backwards into the wall, Hex yelled out with the pain of his shredded back against the bricks. Hex pulled harder, fighting off the flailing arms that grabbed at him, until El Papagayo finally collapsed to the ground. Hex grabbed his gun and ran.

The pain caused him to work on autopilot. He could remember the bullets flying, the guards around the General collapsing. He could see his hand like a blur in front of him. More guards fell down from the wall. He was charging. Then suddenly he was beside the old man, his gun placed under his chin.

“I counted this time. Wanna' try me?” The General glared at him with rage, then looked to the remaining soldiers and shook his head.


Hours later

Eight horsemen and a hover vehicle stopped as a car approached. The black car slowed to a stop. The horsemen readied their guns, pointing them at the cars. The car's doors flung open and from the driver's side an old Mexican man was flung to the ground. He pushed himself, only to see the mounted gunmen surrounding him. Behind him Jonah Hex slowly stepped out.

“Jonah!” Turnbull shouted as he emerged from the hovercraft. “We were just coming to get you.”

The bounty hunter smiled stiffly. “No need. Is Tallulah ok?”

“She's fine.” Turnbull walked over to him, kicking sand in the General's face as he did. “How are you though? We were worried.” He gave him a bottle of water.

Jonah sculled the water down. “I just need some sleep.” He stumbled towards Turnbull's vehicle.

“What should we do about him?” Turnbull pointed his cane at the old man.

Jonah sucked in a breath then let it go. “Put him on trial.” He entered the hovercraft and sat down, gently. “I may have just started a war with Mexico.”