Crickets sing to the dusky half-light, the steady rhythm of hoof-steps providing the percussion to their songs. Gentle winds, persistent and whining through the trees, slip through the song like a section of strings. Every so often, a crash of crunches punctuates the droning music as Adelita munches on cooked fish.

Xoc watches her from across the road, trailing slightly behind his leader. He keeps glancing at her, checking her, his brow furrowed in concentration and consideration. He was so eager to prove himself trustworthy that he hadn’t considered if she was. The sudden outburst - the questions he himself had no answer to, which then led to that intense bout of violence - brought doubts to the fore of his mind.

Who was she? Why did she trust him? How long until she turned on him, surprised him with a shot to the head, the heart, or the soul? There was no room for fantasies in his head now, only room for anxious fears. So focused was he that he barely noticed the countryside turn to farms, then to a small town.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a familiar set of scars. He looks around and to his surprise, he finds himself surrounded with the image of La Fusilada. Posters hang from every street sign, a few even glued to the side of buildings, the glue still wet. There are two kinds of posters he saw there.

The first is a beautiful, artistic rendition of a healthy, nearly topless woman in a torn white blouse and a vibrantly colourful skirt. She carries a gun and stands atop a pile of federale uniforms. On her shoulders rests Adelita’s face, though it’s softer, kinder, and less twisted. Despite the differences, the determination and power in her eyes are unmistakable. It calls for all to do their part, to take up arms no matter how down they might be. The message is unmistakable - if she can do it, so can you.

The other is from the state. It proclaims in no uncertain terms a laundry list of crimes, some applicable, but many farcical and extreme… as well as an incredible bounty on her head. The art is simplistic, a clean pencil drawing from her shoulders up. It’s faithful, almost too close to real. Her eyes bore into Xoc, scrutinizing him, questioning him… blaming him.

“Which do you like better?”

Xoc startles, glancing back to find Adelita nearly backwards in her saddle. Those same intense, deep black eyes bore into him. At the moment, in the setting sun, softened by the half-light, her face resembles both posters in equal amounts. Rather than answer, Xoc lowers his head, then shakes it. Adelita grunts and turns forward again.

After a long silence, she announces to the approaching town, “They’re both awful.”

Silence prevails once more, punctuated by the clattering of hooves on cobble and the stares of the few townsfolk still out this late. They reach the center of town and Adelita dismounts, gesturing to a nearby cantina, then to a small set of stables down the road.

“I’ll get us a room… two rooms, and some food. Go stable the horses, I’m sure they need the rest.” She turns to the bar, adding through an intense cough, “Maybe a drink too.”

Xoc dismounts quickly, taking the reins from her carefully. He watches her limp to the bar - had she always walked like that? - with a sleeve to her mouth. She turns back and opens her mouth, eyes lost on the wave of posters washing along the town square walls. “I think… Maybe it - you…”

“Yeah?” Xoc pushed as she trailed off

“Nothing, maybe. I’ll think on it. Tell you in the morning.”

He watches her push through the swinging door before he turns to the empty street.

---

“I could go back. No.” He muses, “Why not? I don’t want to and the captain will ask questions. Okay. I can’t turn her in.”

He stops, asking the sky, “Why not?”

Crickets chirr loudly..

“I… don’t want to.” He admits. He continues walking, “I could leave. I haven’t done anything, really. I’m out of info… I could just… go.”

A heavyset man stands from a stool by the stable door, gesturing to the mounts. “Two pesos each per night, indigos.”

Xoc takes a long moment to consider. He sighs, pushing four pesos into the waiting sweaty palm. He waits for the man to take his time to inspect the money’s veracity. Eventually, a grumbled, “Stall 1.” burbles forth from the man and he trundles off towards the same bar.

He leads the horses through the unruly stables. The door to the stable is a simple bolt latch, but the hay and water inside are clean, the dry droppings at a reasonable minimum. The young man takes his time unsaddling the horses, one at a time, and emptying their bags. Was he making the right choice? Should he stay with someone so clearly unstable, so wrapped in her -

A loud, theatrical yawn at the stables’ barn door draws him out of his reveries before he can unsaddle Adelita’s horse. A familiar voice chides him, “Still a dreamer I see!”

Xoc carefully creeps out of the stall, the heavy wooden door between him, Juan, or maybe Pablo, and the exit. The twin begins to approach, his voice in a low, joyful purr, “We been following you, traitor. You and the puta. Waiting, see, ever since she put down El Guey like the family dog.”

---

The bar goes quiet when Adelita steps in, a lull first to look who it is, then to get a better look at the Fusilada herself. Murmurs skitter between tables like so many rats. The room is nice, almost too nice for this small town, with an elaborate chandelier hanging over a bartop at the center of the room. On either side, tall columns frame a staircase leading up to the top floor. Piano music tinkles heedlessly over the murmurs, jauntily jamming out songs of war and songs of drunken revelry.

Adelita steps up to the bar, gesturing to the bartender for a drink. She leans against the counter and folds her hands in front of her. She considers the wrinkles, calluses, and scars she’s accrued in her meager 20 years. As the saloon doors open behind her, she realizes it was over 20 years, her birthday having come and gone since her execution. Did her parents celebrate? Did they know she was conscripted, maybe even heard of her execution? Or did they think she was still in classes in Merida?

So lost is she in her musings that she doesn’t notice her drink arrive. She doesn’t notice the doors groaning on their hinges, let alone the twin slowly enter the bar. She barely registers someone approaching her from behind, his steps light, his knife drawn..

---

“You know what happened, right?” the twin says, leaning against the stable door, his arms crossed, “When she killed the big man I mean. Did she tell you the story? You like stories, I bet you’d love this one.”

“No.” Xoc replied flatly. He slowly set the bags down, his eyes never leaving the bloodthirsty teen. “Does it matter?”

“No,” comes the amiable response, the twin pushing off of the wall and stepping slowly closer, “But I think it’s awfully interesting. Caught him by surprise! Shot him dead while he was at the bar! A dirty trick, really, but an easy one to copy.”

He creeps closer, his arms unfolding to reveal a long, wicked knife. “Me, I fight fair, right? You know that. My brother…”

---

Adelita ducks down, grabbing her drink and tossing it over her shoulder. A knife flashes just over her head, both the bartender and the twin shouting in surprise and pain. The latter from the glass shattering in his face and the alcohol soaking in, the former from the misplaced knife.

Adelita twists in place and forms a fist, standing quickly in order to drive it into his gut.

---

“She’s nuts, Xoc! A snake! Haven’t you noticed!? She gets the jump every time! She’s not like the two of us!” Juan crows, “No chivalry with her, is there, Xoc?”

Xoc kicks the door between them and the heavy gate slams into the twin, sending him flying back, though his taunting laughter continues, unabated. Xoc takes the opportunity to draw his guns and narrowly sidesteps the gate swinging back towards him. To his surprise, he finds the barrel of a gun pointing right at his face.

“Low blow, friend!”

---

“Dammit! Stop! Stop!”

Adelita stumbles and scrambles across the floor, a hand at the back of her head. Pablo grins, rubbing his elbow, then swapping his knife to his other hand. He runs forward to drive a boot into La Fusilada’s side, sending her vision swimming, to drive a boot into her side. She slides across the floor, followed by cruel, uproarious laughter. Patrons of the bar begin to clear out, eyes pointed in any direction but her. A gunshot rings out somewhere outside, but Adelita can barely hear it over her own heart in her ears.

---

Xoc jumps deftly over Juan, barely avoiding the flash of a blade from the off-hand at his ankles, and continues down the row of stables. He turns back for only a moment, firing a shot from a gun, the other smoking. The shot slices through his flannel, leaving a deep cut on his arm. Xoc keeps running, cycling the barrels of his revolver. Behind him, he can hear the same as Juan gets to his feet.

---

Adelita rolls back on her shoulders, kicking hard with both feet at Pablo. A burst of blood seeps through her teeth with the effort, but she manages to drive him back. She rolls to her feet in the same move. Pablo stumbles back against the bar, his knife falling between them. Adelita jumps forward only to find a bottle flying towards her face.

---

Xoc reaches the door and turns, bringing both barrels to bear on his aggressor. They stand, breathing heavily, three guns loaded, cocked, aimed, and a hair’s breadth from firing. “WHY?”

“Why what?” Juan asks, a grin gritted across his face.

“Why tell me any of that if you were going to kill me anyway?”

“Oh, I was sent to bring you back.”

A gunshot rings out from the bar. Xoc glances back by reflex, only to realize his mistake. He dives out of the door, followed by sneering, derisive words.

“Dead!” Juan shouts, “OR ALIVE!”

---

Adelita fires a second time, managing to cock her gun again before the shards of the bottle had even touched the floor. The glint of something in Pablo’s other hand tells her to dive to the side, a bullet slipping just under her skin and back out of her side of her thigh.

---

“Oh, that must hurt.” Juan said, pushing Xoc with his boot.

The young man rolled on the ground, gripping his neck, though he dare not scream lest it drive the shards deeper. The shot had missed him, but at the cost of hitting the wooden stable doors. The old wood had shattered, exploding in all directions, peppering him across his face, throat, chest, and legs. He lays on the dirty road, his blood giving the cobblestones a thorough wash.

“I hope you had fun, Xoc. I always hated you.”

Juan takes a wide stance, straddling Xoc. He leans forward on his front leg, flicking his arm out to train the gun on his temple. Xoc wimpers, curling his knees into his chest. Two shots ring out from the bar, drawing his eyes up.

“That’d be Pablo finishing up.” He murmured over Xoc’s gurgles. He stows the gun and kneels, tossing his knife to his dominant hand. “I might as well enjoy myself.”

“HEY!”

A shout from up the street draws Juan’s eyes up.

“NO!” He shouts, jumping to his feet. Before he can draw, Adelita calls out once more.

“Touch it and I finish him right here, right now!”

Adelita stands at the end of the street, an arm wrapped around Pablo’s neck, a gun to his temple. Blood seeps into his flannel shirt, his face growing pale. She pushes him forward, stepping closer. Juan’s lip curls and he flips his knife to a reverse grip.

“I could kill you both right now and make my life nice and easy.” Adelita shouts.”

“Do it! Do it and I’ll take the little rat with me!” Juan screams. Xoc curls tighter, his eyes screwed shut. This was it. The end of his quest, here, in the streets, defeated by a splintery barn door.

A sudden quiet hangs, heavy, watchfully waiting as she mulled over her options. What did she value more? A friend… or revenge?

With a twitch of her arm, she flicks her arm out, training her gun on Juan. He tenses, ducking slightly in anticipation. Slowly, she raises her arm, letting Pablo go. He sways in the wind like a river reed, barely able to stay upright. Juan stands, his hand poised carefully over his gun.

Adelita and Juan circle each other, their eyes locked and jaws set. Pablo pitches forward and Juan dives for him. The tension breaks, letting Adelita move over to Xoc’s side. She kneels to place a hand on his shoulder, though her gun remains raised. He's shaking and lets out a soft gasp of surprise, though he can barely do more than that.

Juan doesn’t even look back. He grabs Pablo by the waist and drags him to a nearby cart. He draws his guns, screaming at the owner and kicking his groceries to the cobbles to make space for Pablo to lay down. He jumps onto the hitched horse and with a snap of a whip, they vanish down the street.

Meanwhile, Adelita drops her gun and begins to rip pieces of her blouse off of her sleeves, even pulling great strips off of her stomach. She hisses under her breath “Do you remember the posters? I couldn’t get them out of my head. I…”

She rolls Xoc on his back and pulls a canteen from her hip, pouring the water across his wounds as much as she pours into his mouth. “When I turned back earlier, I was going to say you should leave. I’d just go home in the morning, face my parents, lay low a bit... If I did…”

Xoc sips greedily, head bobbing and he groans at the rough treatment.

“Oh, don’t be a baby.” She chides teasingly. With a deft hand, she applies bindings to his wounds, pulling the most shallow shards, but leaving the deeper vitals where they were and binding around them. A particularly large shard in his neck bobs with each swallow, though it appears to barely miss anything vital. “Guess I’ll be getting my wish.”

Xoc grips her wrist, his eyes bulging with fear and dripping with tears. She sighs, pushing her hand through his thick curls of hair to hold up his head. She locks her eyes on his and slowly, he grows still, lost in the glitter constellations deep in her eyes. She rubs a thumb from her free hand along his cheek and presses her twisted lips to his forehead.

“You’ll be okay. I’m going to bring you to the best doctor I know.”

He nods and she startles as he presses a weak hand to her stomach. It traces her bullet wounds slowly, fingers lightly brushing the white knotted tissue. She lets out a soft snort of laughter.

“Yeah, yeah. If I can make it, you can too, okay?”

She slips a hand under his knees, bringing her other to his back, and carefully lifts him. She carries him back inside and in moments, they burst back onto the street, Xoc tucked in front of her so that he wouldn’t fall, and head out of town and into the night.