An Axe in Hand
by AlexNikolas
Copyright© 2026 by AlexNikolas
Thriller Story: The roads of the Weird Wild West are not for everyone. Where death lurks around every bend, there is no room for the weak. Where the dead rise from their graves and the nights are flooded with the light of a blood-red moon, only those who learn fast can survive. Only those capable of taking responsibility and leading others. Cut off from anyone who could come to her rescue, Rose must learn these harsh lessons—or remain forever in one of the nameless graves that litter these harsh lands.
A shot rang out. Then another. Gunfire and screams merged into a deafening roar.
“Drive!” Joe shouted, thrusting the reins into Rose’s hands.
She yelled at the horses and whipped them hard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joe grab his rifle, half-rise, and fire back.
From deep inside the wagon came the terrified cries of Jess and Mae.
Bang! A bullet splintered the wooden post, and a sharp shard embedded itself in her cheek.
“Fuck!” Rose cursed, yanked out the splinter, and kept driving the horses.
The safe bridge was already close.
Joe’s rifle boomed deafeningly. A second later, his shout cut through: “Drive, girl, drive! There’s at least two hundred bastards! Our guys won’t hold them off!”
The sounds of gunfire blended into a continuous crackle, pierced by screams of pain and terror.
“Ha! Ha!” Rose screamed, shredding her throat.
Her heart felt ready to burst from her chest, her hands trembling.
The bridge deck was rushing closer. First the hooves, then the wheels rattled over the wooden planks. Just a little further, and they’d be on the other side of the canyon.
The bumpy stone trail made the wagon bounce and sway. To keep from falling out, Rose grabbed the bench with her left hand and braced her feet hard.
“Drive, drive! Around the turn!” Joe’s voice broke through the rattle of gunfire.
She lashed the horses, opened her mouth to shout at them, and suddenly flew into the air.
A blow to the back knocked the wind out of her, a roar crashed against her eardrums, and red circles flashed before her eyes.
She hit the stones and felt nothing.
The world spun, a heavy ringing filled her ears drowning out all sound, and her body felt like cotton and totally unresponsive. Nausea hit her.
Rose tried to get up, but her arms gave out, and she fell face-down. She tried to figure out what had happened, but her thoughts were scrambled.
Someone jerked her by the shoulder and helped her roll onto her back.
It was Mae, shouting something while wiping a bloody face with her hand.
“What?” Rose yelled, unable to hear her own voice.
Mae was pulling her up and pointing behind herself.
With Mae’s help, she managed to sit up. The world was still spinning, but she managed to look in the direction her friend was pointing.
One of the horses was thrashing in agony: its front leg was broken, the bone jutting sharply outward.
Leaning on her friend’s shoulder, Rose stood up and looked around.
The wagon was listing to one side, but looked intact. Skinny Jess was vomiting, clinging to the wheel. What happened?
“Joe!” Rose shouted, barely hearing her own voice. Then the whinny of the doomed animal reached her. The sounds were faint, but distinct now.
“Joe!” she repeated, and on wobbly legs, she walked down the road accompanied by Mae.
He lay not far off, just past the wagon. A sharp piece of wood, a foot and a half long, jutted from his stomach. A dark puddle of blood pooled beneath him. His face was pale as chalk, his eyes closed.
It felt as though her heart had been ripped right out.
Rose rushed toward him, but her legs gave out. She dropped into the dust, pushed herself up, and crawled to him on all fours.
“Joe!” she cried, grabbing his hand, and was horrified by how cold it was.
His eyes opened, and he said something.
She watched his lips, trying to guess the words. He repeated them, and this time she understood.
“The bastards blew the bridge. My time is up.”
“No!” she shook her head, and the world rocked again. “No! You aren’t leaving us alone.”
Rose felt his weak squeeze, and her heart clenched.
“Listen carefully, Rose, I don’t have much time. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded, and he went on: “Take my revolvers. They’re yours now.”
“No,” she whispered, already accepting the inevitable.
“The one on the left hip has silver bullets. For vampires and wendigos. The right one has regular ones. That’s for human bastards and zombies. Shoot straight for the head. Take the rifle and the shotgun.”
He paused for a second and closed his eyes. A grimace of pain twisted his pale face.
Tears blurred Rose’s eyes, streaming down her cheeks against her will. She held Joe’s hand, knowing these were his final moments.
He opened his eyes and continued: “In my waistcoat pocket, you’ll find the key to my chest. There’s holy water, ammo, a warding rope, and my book. Take it all.”
He paused for a second, then looked straight into her eyes with a clear, steady gaze.
“Rose, you only have a day to reach the town. Tomorrow is the red moon. Hurry. And one more thing: when I die, please, cut off my head. And God keep you.”
She kept staring at him, understanding yet refusing to accept what was happening.
Joe was a friend, a good man. A reliable shield and a tender lover.
And now he was gone.
The shock wore off when Jess shouted: “Oh, shut the hell up, you cursed brute! We’ve got enough trouble without you.”
Rose called to Mae, and with her help, she unbuckled the gun belt from the dead man and strapped it around her waist. It felt surprisingly heavy, but that very weight brought her a sudden surge of resolve.
She spotted Joe’s rifle on the ground and picked it up. This was her weapon now. From now on, protecting the three of them was her responsibility.
She cast a glance back toward the gorge.
Scattered shots and shouts could still be heard, but the heavy bombardment had ceased. With the bridge gone, the bandits couldn’t reach them, but no help would come either. She turned and walked toward the wagon.
It was listing to one side, but far worse was the horse, trembling all over and whinneying in agony. Its eyes held such deep anguish and terror that Rose felt fresh tears sting her cheeks. Yet now it was her duty to end its meaningless suffering.
She walked over, drew a revolver, and pressed the barrel to the animal’s head. The creature seemed to understand what was coming; it went silent, looking at her with quiet gratitude.
Rose looked away and pulled the trigger. The recoil nearly dislocated her wrist, and she hissed in pain.
“Oh God, Rose, how could you?” Mae stared at her with wide, stunned eyes.
“We couldn’t save her. Why let her suffer?”
“I’m not arguing. But just to up and shoot it like that...”
“Yeah, we’re just used to Joe doing everything for us.”
“And how much did he help us today?” Jess’s shrill voice cut through. “Men are nothing but trouble.”
“Shut it!” Rose snapped, unable to hold back her boiling anger.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Jess yelled, stepping closer.
She opened her mouth to say more, but her gaze dropped, and she froze with her mouth half-open.
Rose looked down at her hand — she was still clutching the smoking revolver. She slid it back into the holster and pointed at the dead horse.
“If we want to get out of here, we need to strip the harness off it.”
“Let’s just cut all the straps,” Mae suggested. “I’ve already got my knife out. And girls, please, let’s not fight. We only have each other.”
They managed that part quickly enough, but a new problem arose: they lacked the strength to push the heavy carcass out of the way, and the wagon couldn’t drive around it on the narrow road. Nor could it roll over the body, even with all three of them pushing.
“Great! We’re stuck in these fucking mountains!” Jess spat, stamping her foot.
Rose tapped her firmly on the shoulder: “Enough. We’re unloading. Throw everything out.”
Mae threw her hands up and grimaced: “But the food, the water, the clothes, the harpsichord...”
“To hell with the music, dying to a tune isn’t any more fun,” grumbled Jess, climbing into the wagon.
Rose joined her. The only real obstacle was the water barrel, which was heavy and required their combined effort. The sack of food, the chest of clothes, and the harpsichord were simply tossed out. Rose carefully set Joe’s small chest on the ground.
She and Jess shoved the wagon with all their might while Mae pulled and coaxed the remaining horse forward.
The wheels refused to climb over the animal’s body, but when they finally managed to heave the wagon across the obstruction, everyone was utterly exhausted.
“We rest, or I drop dead,” wheezed Jess.
Rose just nodded, dreading what still had to be done before nightfall. Driving further tonight was completely out of the question. The clouds were already painted in sunset colors, and they still had to unharness, feed, and water the horse, reload the necessary supplies, set up camp for the night, and cut off his head.
“We’re camping right here,” she said. “Unharness the horse, I’m going to deal with Joe.”
Rose rummaged through their belongings for an axe and headed back to where her fallen companion lay. She walked with a leaden weight in her chest that grew heavier with every step. What she had to do filled her with horror and disgust.
He lay like a discarded doll, bearing no resemblance to the man he had been. The blank, pale face, the glassy stare fixed on the sky, the slack jaw. Nothing left of the jolly fellow who loved life, whiskey, women, and adventure.
She stopped an inch away and closed her eyes to gather her strength.
Forgive me, Joe. But it has to be. You’re the one who asked me to do this. Rose gripped the axe handle tighter, took a deep breath, and raised it. Then her legs buckled, she dropped the axe, and fell to her knees.
Tears burst from her eyes as violent sobs wracked her body.
“I can’t do it, Joe. I can’t.”
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