Bullets pierced the air.
Men and women shrieked cries of death.
Kirby's horse whined. She scanned the front half of the bridge, still hazy from the drifting smoke, looking for Deacon, Bartholomew, or Enoch's reinforcements, but she saw only a chaotic mess of moving shapes and burning, dropped torches. An islander ran screaming at Kirby through the smoke, swinging his blade. She fired several times as her horse jostled, finally landing a shot. The islander fell. Another man dashed toward her side, hoping to surprise her, but she managed to shoot him in the chest, sending him reeling back into the smoke. Several arrows skidded off the pavement near her, missing their marks, as Kirby realized shooting from a horse was harder than she'd anticipated. She kept low in the saddle, knowing a well-placed arrow could topple her.
She halted her horse as Halifax men shot their guns. Not all of their shots connected, but they managed to drive back the attacking islanders enough to hold them off. But that wouldn't last.
Looking in the distance, Kirby saw more islanders running up the moonlit, sloping road to join the battle.
More than she'd expected.
She saw no sign of Bray, Samron, or their men.
Where were they?
If something had happened, Kirby, Flora, and their fifteen might have ridden in to their deaths.
"Keep close!" she shouted at Flora.
The noise around her got louder as more Halifax men kept close, finding targets, firing rounds that echoed off the sides of the bridge. Kirby shot whatever enemies she could from the top of her horse, while Flora kept nearby. Dying men screamed last breaths in the moonlight. A particularly loud scream drew Kirby's attention to the ground, where a man lay on his back, shrieking as he held a wounded arm. Kirby was reminded of the worst wars, where men died in agony.
Screaming, an islander ran at Kirby from somewhere she didn't see, ripping her from a bad memory and jabbing his sword, probably hoping he'd get a lucky stab. Kirby fired, striking him in the head as he tumbled to the ground. She was getting better at firing from her saddle, and she was managing to keep the horse under control, but the ammunition wouldn't last long.
Where were Enoch and Bray?
Chapter 69: Bray
A boom in the distance echoed through the islands.
Then another.
War was here.
Bray's breath came in short bursts as he crossed over the hardened dirt, wind whipping against his wet clothes, eyes locked on the torches and the patrolmen they had been hoping to surprise, until the blasts gave them away.
The torches stopped moving as the soldiers prepared to react to something they hadn't fully processed. Before Bray knew it, he was upon a group of stunned soldiers, who had just enough time to get their swords out.
It was more warning than Bray had gotten, when they'd stabbed him into the river and left him for dead.
Anger overtook him as he swung at the first man he reached. The soldier stuck up his blade in time to block the first blow, but not in time to block the second. Bray sliced the man's stomach, and he groaned and fell. Nearby, Samron sparred with another soldier. Clusters of Halifax men entered the fray, clashing swords and outnumbering their enemies. Torches fell from soldier's hands and swords and bodies quickly hit the ground. A few gunshots pierced the air.
"Save the guns!" Bray said.
The surprise might be gone, but they still needed to preserve ammunition.
Samron relayed the message to the Halifax men.
A few lights appeared in opened doorways as more men with torches and swords appeared, looking in both directions. New shouts of alarm echoed through the streets as they saw Bray, Samron, and their group of one hundred and fifty men.
"Halifax savages!"
"Dirty pigs!"
More men ran to face the intruders, dropping their torches as they fought the closest Halifax men, failing against so many numbers. Samron and Bray's men cut them down with ease, swinging and attacking. Some of the islanders ran in the opposite direction, confused and fleeing. The Halifax men chased a few of them down, finishing them in quick, violent scuffles, but the commotion was spreading. More torches appeared up the road, near a thick cluster of houses pass the farmer's field, the tradesmen's houses. Many more men and women than Bray expected entered the road, hearing the noises in the street and the booms from the bridge. Most were fighting peasants, but he saw soldiers among them.
"What's going on?" Bray yelled to Samron. "Why are so many here? Most of these houses should be empty, according to Flora."
"I'm not sure. I did not expect more than patrols on this road," Samron shouted back.
Bray gritted his teeth as he ran to meet a flock of twenty determined soldiers, who had run to the head of the peasant fighters. Some were already readying their swords; others were nocking arrows and aiming at the coming line. A Halifax man to Bray's left cried out, clutching an arrow in his neck. He collapsed. A few more Halifax men fell, screaming, before they charged and overwhelmed the soldiers. Some of the fighting peasants, who had fallen back, seeing that the soldiers were dead, ran in the opposite direction. But more soldiers and peasants flocked the road ahead, grouping in larger numbers.
Bray hadn't expected so much opposition in the middle of the island, and certainly not before the bridge.
In the distance, he heard the cracks of gunfire and faraway cries.
They'd never make it to Kirby, Enoch, and Flora before a main battle happened.
They might be fighting two separate battles, each on their own.
Chapter 70: Bartholomew
Bartholomew ran from one house to the next, barking orders as he sent the men to the bridge, watching them hurry up the road and toward the distant booms that had already woken most of them. The doors of the soldier's houses spilled open as men ran from inside, brandishing swords and bows.
Deacon's fear was right.
War had come.
"To the bridge!" he cried at two slower soldiers, spurring them faster.
He directed several others as he kept striding up the road, heading past the last of the soldier's houses and towards some of the tradesmen's. Several cracks split the air. Unlike the others, these came from the center of the island. Something else was happening. Bartholomew ran faster as he reached the first tradesman's house, where some peasants emerged, confusion on their faces.
"To the bridge?" one of them asked.
Bartholomew thought for a split second. "No, the other way!"
"But—"
"Do as I say!" he barked.
He ran next to them as he reached the next house, instructing more people to do the same as he continued toward the center of the island to see what was going on.
Chapter 71: William
Lightning and thunder, William thought frantically.
He looked up at the sky, which was clear and empty except for the full moon.
It wasn't lightning and thunder.
It was something else.
William looked around, confused, as he rode the galloping horse down the road. He saw no sign of the shouting, chasing men he had escaped on the second island. What was happening? He clutched the reins of his stolen horse as he rode down the center of the road. Screams and blasts that sounded like gunfire echoed from somewhere he couldn't see. The commotion was coming from in front of him, not behind.
Something much larger than William's escape was happening.
He looked left and right in the moonlight, taking in patches of forest, trying to catch his bearings. The island looked foreign and strange in the night. Even if he remembered the landmarks in the day, he wasn't sure he'd recognize them now.
His heart pounded in his chest as he fought for wind. He was still recovering, and yet he had no choice to slow down. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he certainly couldn't return to the second island. The soldiers would alert others. They were probably chasing him already. And once everyone in The Arches was looking for him, he'd never hide with a horse.
/> He spurred his horse faster as commotion in the distance got louder.
He looked left and right again. The farmer's fields. A flash of memory hit him as he recalled riding past them with Bray and Kirby, when they'd gone to meet Deacon. Before he could make a decision on where to go, the horse rounded a curve, and suddenly the screams were everywhere.
Chaos.
Figures clashed swords. Men shouted.
Torches burned, dropped in the center of the road.
William stopped.
Frantic, he looked behind him, certain he'd find men running his way, but he saw nothing but empty road.
War.
That's what this was.
He watched for another second, long enough to catch sight of shouting, angry men that looked like the people from Halifax that he'd seen at Kirby's settlement, fighting islanders. Guns hung over their shoulders, visible in the torchlight. William had seen enough war in Brighton to know that he wanted no more. He knew what the guns could do. Continuing on this road was an easy way to get killed, if not by a gun, then by an arrow in the head, or a sword in the belly.
With no place left to go, William veered into the farmer's fields, heading southwest and towards the woods.
Chapter 72: Bray
The road turned to bedlam as more and more island soldiers appeared. The Halifax men were quickly becoming outnumbered.
"Use your guns!" Bray screamed, forgetting that no one would understand him, until Samron interpreted.
Unable to take his own advice, yet, Bray clashed blades with a portly islander, grunting and pushing the islander backward, before spearing him in the stomach. Several times, men skirted around Bray, uncertain with whom he was fighting. He didn't look like a Halifax man, and he was using the advantage to get the jump on them.
Another man ran at Bray, shouting as he got close enough to see his features.
"It's the stranger!" he shouted to others, perhaps thinking he might win some special privilege by besting him. Bray slashed the man's throat before he had a chance to swing.
Cracks of closer gunfire burst nearby as Halifax men fired their rifles, sending islanders pitching to the ground, shrieking, or dead before they had a chance to react. More torches bobbed as islanders joined the fray. Bray saw more people under the moonlight than he could count as he reached for the small gun called a pistol at his side. Balancing his sword and his gun, he aimed at the first man to approach him, a bearded islander with his blade high in the air, ready to take a vicious slice.
Aim, and watch for the…
What was the word?
It didn't matter.
Bray squeezed the metal.
A loud crack pierced the air, louder than anything else around him. A high-pitched whine rang in Bray's ears as a red splotch appeared in the center of the bearded islander's stomach, and the man collapsed to his knees. Bray opened and closed his mouth. If it had been another situation, he might've reveled at the weapon's power, but he had no time. More islanders ran toward him. He squeezed the metal several more times, missing a few shots, but striking enough to stop the men before they reached him. Kirby hadn't lied. The metal inside the gun—the bullets—were running out quickly. Soon he would be back to his sword. He fended off another islander with a shot to the stomach, requiring only one bullet to stop him. Firing a few more times, he took down some men that appeared to be soldiers.
A Halifax man shouted.
Several of the Halifax men turned.
More islanders ran from the woods around them, to the sides and behind. What had started as an advantageous fight was quickly turning sour. There were too many islanders, and more coming. Bray noticed several women in the torchlight, hurling insults at the Halifax men, swinging their swords as savagely as the island men.
"Filthy wild men!"
"Sons of pigs!"
A few of the Halifax women without guns returned angry words that Bray couldn't understand. They clashed swords. He had no time to watch. Three men ran up on Bray, almost quicker than he could raise his gun. He shot one of them in the stomach, stopping the man with a curt scream, and then his gun was making useless sounds. He stuffed it into his holster and dodged a slice from the second man's blade. But the third man was too close, swinging and cutting Bray's arm. Bray roared in anger as the sword reopened an old wound. Leaping back, Bray countered with a backward slice of his blade to the third man's face, tearing open his cheek. The man shrieked and held his face as the second man took his place. Bray recovered from his swing in time to clang blades with the second man, engaging him in a struggle as they pushed against each other's swords. The third man, seeing Bray occupied, ran at Bray from the side, intent on spearing him.
Bray roared in vain as he prepared for a stab he couldn't block.
"Dirt scratchers!"
Someone jabbed the third man in the back. The man gasped. Samron pulled his sword from the man's back, roaring with anger. "Cowards!" he shouted.
Inspired, Bray found a burst of strength, pushing away the second man with whom he had clashed blades. He swung several times, slicing the man's shirt, spilling his insides. The man tumbled to the ground.
"Are you all right?" Samron asked, noticing blood on Bray's arm.
"It is shallow," Bray said. "I'm fine."
Samron broke off, battling another incoming soldier. Bray looked around, noticing bodies sprawled everywhere under the light of fallen torches. Men and women fought fiercely all around him, but much of the gunfire had stopped. A few men still used guns, but most had resorted to swords.
With no one nearby, Bray stopped to reload next to a tree, keeping to the shadows.
Setting down his sword, he pulled out the extra metal Kirby had called a magazine, struggling to get the first one out. In the distance, he heard shouts he could understand.
"Forget the bridge! Go the other way!"
Bray bent down as he managed to get the first magazine out.
A few people ran past Bray, not seeing the small gun he held in his hands, or perhaps more focused on the commotion in the distance, not recognizing him in the shadows. He straightened as they kept going. Gunshots boomed from the direction of the bridge. Several more men that were clearly soldiers run past him, and he bent down to avoid being noticed, so he could finish with his gun. The bridge was around another few curves, invisible from here, but he didn't need to see what was happening to know he needed to help Kirby.
They needed to win the battle here and get to the bridge.
He was just trying to put the new magazine in the gun when someone strode in his direction at a fast walk.
Bray stuffed his gun back in his holster, picked up his bloodied sword, and waited for the person to pass him by, like the others. The person stepped over a body in the street, bending down to pick up a knife and stuff it in his pants. The flames of a nearby torch revealed a familiar face.
Bartholomew.
Mistaking Bray for a soldier in the dim lighting, Bartholomew said, "You're going the wrong way, soldier! The enemy is close is behind you!"
"I'm not going anywhere," Bray said.
Chapter 73: Kirby
The surprise of the initial attack was long gone. Distant soldiers took control and barked orders, preparing a charge that would easily wipe out Kirby and her men, guns or not. Her grenades were gone.
The smoke had dissipated.
A few Halifax men had already stopped shooting, out of ammunition and struggling to reload. They'd expended most of the rifles' thirty shots. Those shots had gone even faster than Kirby expected. Arrows flew past her horse as some of the island bowmen started a long-range attack that would quickly become short range, once they decided no one else was coming and realized she was out of grenades. One of the arrows struck a Halifax man next to her in the shoulder, and he cried out, dropping his gun. With a cry through gritted teeth, he bent down and recovered his weapon.
We're doomed, thought Kirby.
New cries split the air.
From the
other side of the bridge, men fell, and loud bursts of gunfire echoed off the walls. The whoop of many new men and women punctuated the bridge as a new group of attackers entered the fray, and the silhouettes of the islanders turned around to face many more attackers than Kirby's men.
A realization became a hope.
Enoch.
"Enoch!" she yelled aloud.
Finding new strength, the Halifax men next to Kirby whooped into the air, bellowing similar cries of war. They quickly used the distraction to reload new magazines. Across from them, the islanders were in a new panic as many were gunned down. New confusion sent some fleeing back to where Kirby, Flora, and her men picked them off. Reinforcements or not, soon the islanders would realize that Kirby's side of the bridge were the easy targets. They needed to get into the battle.
"Let's go!" Kirby shouted, spurring her horse.
Flora rode next to her, while the Halifax men charged toward the other end of the bridge to enter the fray. Kirby's heart raced as her horse's hooves clomped the pavement. They stepped, or galloped around the dead bodies of the islanders as they made their way from the front half of the bridge to the middle. Several new clusters of islanders ran up the sloping road to charge into battle. Kirby knocked back some islanders with her horse, trampling them under its hooves. With her horse at a gallop, it took little time to outpace the Halifax men. Inadvertently, she got ahead. Flora kept to the northern wall of the bridge, riding a little behind Kirby and on the opposite side. Kirby lost track of Flora.
A Halifax man screamed behind her.
She turned her head in time to watch a man fall, writhing in pain, no one around him. He clutched what might be bullet wounds in his chest.
Someone else was shooting. She glanced down the descending road, enough time to get a brief glimpse of what was coming.
A voice she recognized shouted an order.
Deacon.
A cluster of soldiers came up the sloping road, flanking a lone man with a gun—the only one on the islands. Her gun. Bullets split the air as Deacon opened fire and the Halifax men behind her screamed and fell. She heard the whine of Flora's horse.
The Ruins Book 2: A Dystopian Society in a Post-Apocalyptic World (The Ruins Series) Page 23
