by Han Yang
“We raise the anchor and crash into the beach.” The way he pointed at the beach made the idea seem so positive.
“I was hoping you had a better plan when I gave you more time,” I said with a grimace.
“Erm, no. Afraid not. Especially if you want to not lose the steamboat. Normally a crew would row out to us to attach a tether. They would pull us out of the current while preparing to slow us. Without help, we’ll either overshoot the docks and end up farther from town, or we smash into the docks and potentially send the steamboat downriver,” Eric said.
“Who knows how to operate a steamboat?” I asked.
Eyes glazed over with shifting heads hoping someone would raise their hands. I had an inkling but that was it.
“Exploring it seems best once we have all the children secured,” Yilissa said.
She had a point, securing a base first made sense. The metal hull did look impervious to climbing though. If only it went on land with tank turrets and unlimited ammunition. That’d be epic.
Alas, if we all loaded into it, we’d trap ourselves on a river. It may very well be our second base or an escape tool, but for now I wanted to tinker with it when the wee ones weren’t at a great snacking height.
I bellowed, “Roma! Aim for the beach up shore or at the docks.”
“On it,” Roma said excitedly.
“Gregory, ready the sail. Mark, start raising the anchor. Everyone else -”
The anchor clanked as Mark spun the wheel, tightening the chain. A webo’narock rode the links out of the water. While confused, the dripping wet beast didn’t seem to mind getting closer to us.
I did mind though. I sighted my .45 to line up with the easy to track target. Right when I felt the shot was a guaranteed hit, it dove into the water.
“I’m starting to think you’ve gone soft,” Yilissa said with a playful elbow jab.
The ship lurched from breaking free of its anchor. Gregory dropped the sail, spun the mast, and the gust of wind smashed into the fabric. One second, we floated in the river, the next we zipped for the shore.
“I told you using the anchor was a bad idea,” Mark said with his trademark pessimism.
The man spun the wheel as quickly as he could. When the wheel stopped turning, Mark realized he never got the anchor up in time. I put together what happened. Mark dislodged the hook, we shifted into the shallows and the dragging anchor caught before it could reach its catch.
“Steer us for the docks! Let the anchor out!” I shouted. “Release the catch!”
I waited, grabbing hold of the wheelhouse wall.
“Not going to make it in time. Brace for impact!” Roma shouted.
The front of the ship slammed into shallow water, jerking us all forward. The v-hull cut through the muck and the current yanked us back towards the center of the river.
The ship groaned from the immense pressures tearing at the hull.
We drifted out of the shallows. The anchor pulled taut, causing us to stumble again. Mark realized my plan, finally following my orders, kicking off the lock for the chain. The second the catch was released I held my breath in anticipation.
The anchor wheel free-spooled, creating a grinding noise from its sudden release. We picked up speed, heading right for the docks on a collision course.
Snap!
The chain went rigid, and the entire ship trembled. For a fleeting second, we stopped just short of a slip. I had missed the timing by about twenty feet of churning water.
Pop!
The anchor pin burst apart, setting us free to slowly drift right into the dock slip.
“By the Goddess,” Yilissa said when we smoothly butted into the parking spot. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” I said with a smirk. “I expected the anchor to hold, and we would lower and drop it bit by bit. This works too.” I raised my voice. “Defend the boat.”
I raced onto the perch where four loaded rifles waited beside Hariet. When I reached the top spot, Hariet offered me Henry. The second the long rifle came up, I sighted a prog’narock that sunned between us and where Lornsto should be.
The water lapped against inclining river stones. The dock extended until it reached a cobbled wagon road that stretched up a hill. The steep climb prevented us from viewing Lornsto, but the rising terrain gave some excellent spots for the monsters to relax in.
Our sudden arrival stirred the local beasts and the target in my scope yawned while watching our ship rub against the docks. My breathing calmed, the stars aligned, and I tickled back the trigger with a grin until -
Boom!
The second the round belched from the barrel, Yilissa extended a fresh rifle. Hariet snatched Henry, starting the reloading chain, and I accepted the new weapon.
I sacrificed precision for speed.
The six remaining prog’narocks rose to their feet, trying to find the source of the attack which had sent their buddy’s brains splattering over the gritty terrain.
The nearest confused beast sniffed intently, as if he could determine the cause through his nose. Clearly this batch of beasts had yet to experience gunfire.
I lined up the front left shoulder, expecting the creature to continue forward.
Boom!
The round went low and to the left, blowing out the ankle. The ruined limb caused the prog’narock to shriek out in horrendous pain. At this point, the five others went on high alert, uneasily scanning their surroundings.
I received Henry back, not bothering to sight the wounded beast.
The nearest webo’narock that lounged on the dock, figured it out. With the speed of a lion chasing a gazelle, it bounded down the wooden planks.
The crack of gunfire unleashing a volley ripped through the air. Even the older boys and girls fired at the charging monster. The soft hide indented before being punctured, and rounds blew out chunks of gore out the other side of the beast.
I grinned, seeing most missed but I was proud that some still hit.
The body tumbled before plummeting into the murky water. The corpse was swiftly washed away with the monster never even making it halfway to us.
Henry tucked into my shoulder, I sighted a close prog’narock, the scaly armored kind with the doglike ears. I could see the brain churning, trying to figure out why the noise equaled death.
Before its gears reached a conclusion, I planted the perfect spot of my scope on an eyeball, exhaled, and squeezed.
Boom!
“Fires low and to the left,” Yilissa shouted as she offered the spare rifle I shot earlier.
Turned out that four rifles proved too much. The duo worked just fine with my reloading team, and I felt confident I could dial in, and remember two different weapons.
Hariet grabbed Henry and the cycle continued.
“At the rudder!” Mark shouted and someone unloaded a six shooter in seconds.
The narocks figured it out now, but not all of them were hungry.
If anything, the prog’narocks were concerned at most and showed almost no signs of panic. I hefted the replacement rifle to my shoulder, sighted up and to the right, and squeezed on a prog’narock near the docks.
Boom!
The round crashed into the armored neck and now two of the big beasts staggered in agony. I accepted Henry while giving up the other rifle. Taking a pause, I hurried along the wooden roof to the back of the boat.
A webo’narock floated against the hull, dead as dead could be. The river’s current kept it where it was, smacking over and over into the boat.
A few sets of eyeballs watched but didn’t attack. Either they were waiting for reinforcements, they feared death, or they just weren’t that hungry.
The exact reason didn’t matter, getting off the boat just got easier. The wounded prog’narocks on the shore continued to shriek, causing the others to become more agitated.
These beasts fought for dominance amongst each other and when food became scarce turned on their brethren. There had to be a reason why only on
e dominated the river in France. I didn’t give them time to fight each other.
Instead, I sent a message. With Henry in my hands, the narocks should flee. Instead, they grouped to sniff their dead and wounded.
I raised the rifle, steadied my breathing, and caressed the trigger back.
Boom!
My eyebrows shot up when the round missed.
“I missed,” I grunted.
Well, more like my target dodged because a different prog’narock snipped at it. A part of me wanted to stomp the deck in frustration. Deep down, I knew some shots wouldn’t be winners.
I traded out weapons, adjusted for the scope setting, and fired.
This round slammed into the chest of the target I missed earlier. Unlike the wounded prog’narock missing an ankle, this one flopped onto its side.
The beast violently hacked blood. I almost felt bad for the pain it experienced. Well, I smirked, having zero sympathy, so ‘almost’ was a stretch.
The nearest monster lunged at its wounded ally, sinking long fangs into the dying creature.
Only two were left standing, both hovering in the same area. Henry fit in my hand smoothly. These final two teamed up on the coughing beast I’d shot through the lungs. Their eyes gleamed with hunger and happiness at their fortunate turn.
I brought Henry up to my shoulder, grinned at the sight of the two targets lined up nicely, and squeezed in all the right ways.
Boom!
The bullet zipped across the seventy yard or so.
Splat!
The aggressive one’s head burst and the prog’narock behind it staggered from a shoulder shot.
I handed off my rifle and asked, “They're either wounded or dead."
“Nice shooting, stud,” Yilissa said from her knees.
When she offered the next ready to rock rifle, I shook my head. “How’s the water looking?”
“There’s four sets of eyes watching. The dead body back here seems to have them worried,” Roma said.
“Eric, toss a single fish onto the docks,” I ordered and readied a .45. “I want to see if they can clear the water and reach the planks.”
Eric’s face scrunched in a sour expression as he plucked out a six-inch long green fish. “Who eats these things?”
“You will, if you get hungry enough,” Silva said. Silva was Gregory’s wife and we finally made introductions yesterday. “Trust me, there’s worse.”
“What’s the plan if they don’t take the bait?” Mark asked.
I didn’t answer, seeing the first fish smack against the dock. We waited, then waited some more. The webo’narocks stayed away from the boat. They weren’t scared, but they weren’t aggressive either.
For a beast so big, their caution was unsettling.
“The prog’narocks are the dumb ones,” Lenny, the ten-year-old said.
I still had names to learn, but I did start to feel an attachment to the group.
“Should I throw another?” Eric asked.
“Toss one to each set of eyes. While he does that, Gregory will set the first bag of supplies onto the dock. We trade nasty old fish for a clean getaway. Or so we can hope,” I said.
While no one decided to offer a better idea, Gregory hesitated. The man wasn’t exactly a soldier. I stole a final glance on the shore and saw the two wounded prog’narocks retreating. The third died from his wounds.
Instead of sighting them to finish the job one by one, I let them limp away.
The way of the narock was strength, the wounded tended to die. You wanted to kill the weak, so you could burn the dead, robbing the flesh of their allies, and unfortunately, I didn’t have time for either.
The docks held lurking monsters, making the hundred feet a dangerous stretch to cross and that was my primary focus.
“Ready,” Eric said.
“One moment,” I replied, climbing down the ladder. “I want to test something.”
I ran to the edge of the boat, vaulted the hip high wall, and hopped onto the docks. My boots landed with a thud, making a bunch of noise on purpose. I drew both dragons and thumbed back the hammers.
“I figure there’s two ways to do this. We’re the kings of these docks,” I said, kicking the baitfish into the water. “Or we try to distract them and run like hell.”
A single set of eyes dove down to chase the food I kicked in.
Eric tossed three baitfish in. All the eyes vanished.
“Excellent, get the -”
An eruption of water revealed a breaching webo’narock. The wide body and lionlike head soared onto the docks, leaping the four-foot gap with ease. I backpedaled away from the attack, not caring if it wanted another snack or was attacking me.
Crack! Crack!
I fired before it could establish a position to turn on me. The first shot blew off an ear and the second dove into the ear hole before blowing out the beast’s brains. The body flopped onto the dock, twitching in confusion.
I did the logical thing and hopped back into the boat.
“Come get me,” I shouted.
Splash!
Splash!
Splash!
The three webo’narocks burst onto the dock, shrieking their mightiest roars. I swung the barrels to line up the closest threat and squeezed in anger.
A cacophony of gunfire erupted and all three of the bodies staggered. One of them managed to fall back into the water, while the other two died on the side walkway.
“Don’t panic. Reload. Reload. Reload,” I said, holstering my right dragon. It still had six rounds in it.
“But I only shot two of my bullets?” Mark said.
“Reload,” Yilissa and I said at the same time.
Yilissa added, “At the ready.”
Hariet said, “At the ready.”
“I haven’t fired yet, so I guess I’m ready,” Gregory said sheepishly.
I quickly fingered out two rounds from my bandolier. Once they were ready, I horizontally opened the cylinder that opened to the right side. The cylinder released this direction for horseback riding, or so I read.
I didn’t get to ride a horse for very long yet to experience this, but maybe one day.
I pushed out the two indent casings and reloaded. Into the holster the dragon went, and I repeated the process on my other sidearm.
“At the ready,” I said.
“Reloading,” Yilissa said in unison with Hariet.
“While you guys reloading like a militia is great,” Mark said. “I don't see any eyes.”
I holstered my dragon and trotted into the hold.
We had prepared for this moment. It was a do or die. Technically, Gregory was supposed to haul the goods while I did the shooting, but I had a feeling the shooting was done, and Gregory was about to piss himself.
I arrived in the hold, seeing the cart stacked to the mother-loving brim. The net secured everything down and I’d have to use the ramp just right to get the laden hand wagon out of the hold.
“Get the back ramp ready. It's time to go. Gregory, you're on the ramp, ensure it connects to the dock. I’ll run the load,” I shouted.
In a smooth move, I picked up the cart and wheeled it in a turn. With a mighty heave, I drove the overly stacked vehicle onto the sleeping spot.
Gregory hurried to the back of the deck and extended the ramp from the boat. He popped open the back hatch and I rolled the cart across the ramp.
I didn’t slow, navigating around the dead narocks for the shore. Using speed as an ally, I focused on the task while stealing glances down.
The repeating thud of the wooden planks stopped sooner than I expected, and our supplies reached the shore. Nothing attacked me and I failed to see any webo’narocks lurching on the trip.
The three-legged narock groaned in complaint from only thirty feet away.
I didn’t risk it. I pulled out a .45, sighted the big bastard and plugged him with three rounds. Each bullet cracked scales, pierced hide, and rattled around his insides.
When
he flopped over dead I turned to run for the boat and never took a step. Apparently, me coming was enough for everyone else to charge down the docks. Lillo arrived at my side first. I plucked her off the grit and put her butt on the cart.
Instead of mothering them or shouting encouraging words to hurry up, I took the shitty job of wheeling the cart up the wagon path toward Lornsto. The incline was steep, forcing me to try to get as much speed as I could before I started the ascent.
“This is so bumpy and I’m going to fall,” Lillo complained.
“Clutch the netting and you’re on narock watch,” I told her.
“You shot them all. Even grumpy Mark was positive. He did point out you missed once,” Lillo sassed.
I grunted, feeling the burn in my thighs as I shoved the supplies, ammo, bedding, weapons and more up the incline. Gravity fought, but I fought harder, determined to make a future and to get these fine folks off the docks.
“Uh… Theo dad.”
“Theo works,” I said with a grunt.
“I can see the town and you should stop,” Lillo said.
I reached the pinnacle of the hill, glancing back at the others struggling to keep up. Nothing attacked them and I saw they were going to make it with their light loads. Someone even tied up the boat.
Feeling ready, I pulled out a dragon and peered around the cart.
“I did not see this coming,” I muttered.
22
Snagglewood Day 19
Lornsto
“What’s the holdup?” Gregory asked as he crested the hill.
“Well, that’s the holdup,” I gestured toward Lornsto. Thirty or so oxen loitered in the city, as if they owned the place. One pair even had a wagon attached to them and were trying to get to the well. “There’s a yoke of oxen in Lornsto. Didn’t see this happening.”
“What’s a yoke of oxen?” Lillo asked.
“Humans are odd, they give random names to groupings of animals. It's like a ritual of who can make up the zaniest thing instead of calling everything a herd or whatever,” I said with a shrug. “In this case. A group of oxen is a yoke, herd, drove, or team.”
