Django and Broomhilda then ride off into the night as the credits roll, free to spend the rest of their lives together in peace.
The Horrible Aftermath:
Wait. How the fuck is this guy going to make it out of the South alive? Being an African-American couple on the run for the murder of a rich white man -- and dozens of others -- in the antebellum South is literally the worst situation anyone could ever be in.
If Django's plan is to sneak away to the North, keep in mind that he's not exactly inconspicuous -- the movie already established that the sight of a black man on horseback stops traffic wherever he goes. And that was when he was traveling with a white companion who could have passed as his master and before he turned up on every wanted poster in the nation as the single greatest spree killer the South had ever known.
"But how will anybody know Django even did it? He left no one alive!" Not true -- he spares multiple slaves in the course of his murderous bloodsplosion party. But what does Django imagine is going to happen when, say, the two house slaves he spared get picked up by some Mississippi lawman who ties them to the massacre at Calvin Candie's famous million-dollar racist fantasy camp? One or two confessions are going to be coerced out of those gals.
The Weinstein Company
"I'll trade you this cool fire knife for some information!"
It isn't going to take too many red-hot bowie knives to get two women with no particular loyalty to Django to completely dime him out. They know exactly who he is (a bounty hunter formerly partnered with Schultz), so it isn't going to take a ton of legwork for law enforcement to track him down. If Django shows his face anywhere near a county he collected a bounty in, the game is over.