Chapter Text
“silent fury”
She wants to yell. To shout, scream, cry, anything, to make any kind of protest, but nothing comes out.
Doghead keeps talking, but she can barely hear him past the pounding in her ears, and she thinks he's saying something about Nipton deserving it's fate, but she's not in Nipton right now; she's somewhere distant and long ago and watching the smoke rising up from her village, her temple throbbing where the bullets went in, and it's all the same; the greasy black smoke stinking of burning flesh crawling into her nostrils, the moans of the men on crosses near-dead from the ropes and the sun, the brown bloodstains splashed everywhere, once crimson to match those filthy banners they put up everywhere because they're proud of this, they're proud of it, and she can't tell whether the man on that cross is a Powder Ganger or her father, and she thinks she hears in the crackling fire the screams of her mother and sisters as they- As they-
Her pulse is a goddamn war band in her ears as Doghead drones on and on, her teeth grinding as if she could tear out his throat from this distance; god, she would do it, too. Her rifle's a dead weight in her hands, fingers clenched tight around it; one shot, she thinks, one shot and she could get Doghead from here, cut him right off in the middle of his arrogant fucking monologue. Might not have time to get off a second before the others jumped her, but god, it'd be worth it-
No, cuts in some more rational part of her mind, from a long way away, over the dunes, it feels like. Fight smart, Janey. Survive. Survive, an' see 'em dead.
Doghead stops, looks at her expectantly, waiting for some kind of response, but she just stares at him mutely, stares into those cold fucking eyes. He takes in the look on her face, the raw, naked hatred there, and his mouth twists into a sneer.
"Lost for words?" The fucker sounds amused. "If you feel strongly about it, attack us, and soon you won't feel a thing." He doesn't even spare her another glance, just gestures to his men, and the troop heads out, leaving her standing there, stunned, staring at nothing.
She finds life returning to her limps, feels the weight of the rifle in her hands. She turns around, and they're leaving Nipton, backs turned to her, writing her off as no danger to them. She takes a deep breath, steadies the stock against her shoulder, and stares down the sight.
Ain't honourable to kill a man with his back turned, perhaps, but it's no more than they deserve.