Midnight Riders

by Pete Clark

  How did Marion, Boone, and Morgan learn so much when records were so spotty? They were in luck, really. Once Roanoke disappeared, the paper trail in English disappeared; however, they had a very motivated Mahrak on their side. Certainly most of his motivation came from his desire to not be killed by Morgan, but it was motivation nonetheless. Also in their favor was the fact that the Indians, or Native Americans as one may say, kept outstanding records of births, deaths, and general history. Being busy with first killing the French and then about to be busy killing the English, the American colonists had not yet destroyed the Indians nor their records.

  Tracking the last entries on Steven Dare rejoining the English was surprisingly easy since they knew what they were looking for and Mahrak was quite a cunning linguist. He spoke well over thirty Indian languages. Pretty good for a guy who hung out in a cabin most of the time. Once Steven’s trail was found, they knew the key. Steven had stopped using the last name of Dare; he had become Steven Windstorm, as his ancestors had been named due to their unnatural abilities of speed and power. Therefore, any historians looking for a last name of a Roanoke colonist would come up empty. Knowing that he and his children were Windstorms made it easier. Another advantage was the fact that, even after Abigail married, she and her child kept her last name. Seeing as how strong she was, no man was about to win an argument about surnames. The final evidence was the death certificate of Hannah’s mother and the message affixed that said that her only surviving family, one Hannah Windstorm, would move to New York to try her luck there.

  “I am not going to New York,” Morgan said. “I have already neglected my duties enough. Besides, there is a war brewing and I know that I shall play a role. I must await orders while I begin to build my own militia.”

  “I too have many duties to attend to. This journey, though I don’t question its importance, has stolen away a lot of my time. I need to head home and get my affairs in order before I am also called upon to serve our young country.” So said the Swamp Fox.

  “Oh, well, that’s okay, because I have nothing going on. I just love wandering around poking into caves and walking up hills,” Boone said. “Yup, I’m not up to anything at all.”

  “Are you?” Morgan asked.

  “Not that much, no,” he sighed. “I guess I’ll go to New York and try to pick up her trail. I am a tracker after all.”

  “Great. Do us proud and keep us informed, sir. As we said, this is a task of utmost importance.” Morgan patted him on the back. “I don’t know what turns history will take, but I do hope that we will meet again someday, for I hold you in high esteem and wish you well.”

  “Same goes for me, Boone,” said Marion. “Our time together has shown me that you are a man of courage and conviction. You can do this job; I know it. The colonies are counting on you and I will miss you and wish you a good journey and a safe return.”

  “What is with you guys? Shit. You think I’m going to die! That’s why you’re being so nice to me.”

  “No, that isn’t it at all,” said Marion.

  “It was exactly it for me,” said Morgan.

  ****

  April 18th, 1775.

  The British had chosen tomorrow as the day that they would seize the military stores at Concord. They would use their vastly superior naval advantage to drop soldiers off around Concord and then march through the streets, destroying what they thought were the mostly unguarded supplies of the colonists. Of course, by now, most of the weapons and powder had been split up and moved to various locations, and many of the leaders had left Boston and Concord; Adams and Hancock, though, had foolishly only gone as far as nearby Lexington.

  Joseph Warren, another leader of the revolution, received wind of this from a friend of his. One Mrs. Gage. The wife of British General Gage. She, unknown to her husband, was a rather staunch supporter of the patriot cause. Revere and Dawes were on half alert when Dr. Warren encountered them on the streets of Boston. It was close to ten in the evening. Each man was walking his horse.

  “We’ve not time to lose,” cried Warren. “The British are going to seal off all travel out of Boston. Dawes, you need to go now. Head for the bridge and move or else you won’t get past the blockades. You need to let Lexington know of the attack. You also need to let Hancock and Adams know they aren’t safe where they are.”

  Dawes was on his horse and off before another word was spoken.

  “Revere. Make your way down to the British garrison. See if they are going by land or sea. Signal from the church, then make your way down through to Concord and rouse the minutemen.”

  Revere was also off. He headed quickly through the early evening toward the British military base. The streets were mostly bare as Revere spurred his horse. Speed was of great importance; that was not under discussion. The British were coming as he rode; he had not only to see where they were coming from and light the signal, but he had to warn everyone individually as well. He had many miles to go and little time to do it. He and his horse jumped over a short stone wall to take a short cut through a number of houses. Small bits of sand and stone kicked up as he rode hard across the yards of his fellow patriots or perhaps loyalists. Who could be sure? He started closing in on the garrison. He needed to be quick but unseen. He took the dirt road that looped around and wound up with a decent look to the docks, by the British fleet. Sure enough, the soldiers were being loaded onto boats. Apparently, they were going to take the water right up to Concord.

  Now, he had to get to the Old North Church. Shit, Revere thought. Was it two if by land, one if by sea, or the other way? Oh well; he had to get moving regardless.

  He sped off again, dodging behind a barn to avoid a small patrol. Along a hill, he saw a pair of animated skeletons. It looked like the rippers were ready for business. Revere did not want to draw attention to himself, so he kicked his horse into overdrive and sped past the clumsy lunges of the skeletons. A few moments later, he was at the church. He jumped off his horse and ran bounding up the stairs to the tower where the lanterns waited. Now just how many was he supposed to light? He crashed through the wooden door to the window with unnecessary vigor. Two lanterns sat waiting for him on the sill. These guys had their stuff together. He pulled out a match. Hmmm, one if by boat, two if on goat? That wasn’t even close. What the hell was he doing? Wasting valuable time - that was what. One if by land, two if by sea. Of course; it was so simple. A boat was on the sea, so there. He struck the match, lit both lanterns, and placed them into the window of the church. People from miles around could see them. He just hoped that Dawes and Prescott did.

  ****

  Dawes was a much faster rider than Revere, which was good, as he had further to go and no time to do it. He needed to cross the bridge before the barricades were set. They could be set already as far as he knew. In which case, he would have to try to cross by the river, which was almost impossible, or try to find some way to trick the guards. He rode hard through the thickening evening and made good time as he cut through farmland and reached the bridge. Sure enough, the barricade was already in place. He slowed down. If he went charging toward the barricade, they would know for sure something was up. In fact, they might even shoot him. Dawes had a few things going for him. First off, he was not a recognized revolutionary like Revere. In fact, he was pretty stealthy in his acts for the cause. He maintained his business as a tanner and was a frequent traveler of this very road. A few of the guards were likely to recognize him. He had a chance if he could play it smooth.

  He trotted casually up to the line of soldiers, trying to look both curious and calm. He knew time was wasting, but he could not rush this. If anything, he had to overstay his welcome and make them want to send him on. That was the way to sell it.

  “Hey, fellas,” he said, as he pulled his horse to a stop in front of them. “You have something happening tonight?”

  “None of your concern,” said a bearded soldier. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Me? This is just my norma
l route. From time to time, I head into the city to buy, sell, trade. You know, that sort of thing. But I live out that way.” He pointed vaguely past the barricade.

  Dawes could tell that Beardy was about to start giving him shit when a soldier whom he knew approached. “Thomas,” Dawes nodded at him.

  “This guy is all right. He comes by here all the time,” Thomas said.

  “That still doesn’t change the fact that nobody can leave,” Beardy said, giving Dawes a menacing glare.

  “Listen, Will,” Thomas said. “I can’t go into details, but is there someone you can stay with tonight? We can’t let you pass.”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess so. I mean it’s late, but I can probably find someone.” Damn, he thought. He was going to have to find another way around.

  “Sorry about that,” said Thomas. “But we have some issues tonight.”

  “I understand,” Dawes said. He wanted to kill a bit of time. “Are you stuck here all night?”

  Beardy looked irritated, but Thomas kept chatting. “Looks like it.” A branch snapped in the distance and Dawes was having trouble coming up with small talk. Fortunately, that was when the zombies attacked.

  “Zombies,” somebody yelled out. This shout was not uncommon. In fact, a few stray zombies could be seen almost daily. By now, people knew to stay alert. A zombie or two was common and not really dangerous unless you were stupid. That was why Dawes was confused to hear such alarm in the man’s voice. When he saw the thirty plus zombies trudging up the bridge, though, he got the idea.

  The British formed a quick line and fired. They took down half a dozen and started to reload, but the line of staggering fleshy rot was getting awful close. Trying to appear panicked, Dawes shouted to Thomas.

  “Jesus, Thomas what is going on? I’ve never seen anything like this. I have to get home to my family.” Dawes did not have a family and he hoped that either he had not told Thomas this or that he did not remember.

  Thomas was reloading and near panic. “Okay, okay,” he said “Get across, but if you see any help, send them down here.”

  “Will do,” said Dawes and he was off with a gust of wind. The zombies also provided him another reason to ride fast. This was key, since he had already lost time and he had a long way to go to the Hancocks’ in Lexington. Stopping to alert minutemen was also going to slow him down. As was the Minotaur that came lunging out of the woods after him.

  ****

  Prescott saw the two lanterns and knew his task. Two if by sea, he thought as he shot along the banks toward Concord. He could already sense that there was a change in the air. Rippers - he could practically smell them. What could he do? He had to cross through several towns and wake the minutemen and then rendezvous with Revere and Dawes before figuring the next step. As he powered on toward the small lights in the distance, his first town, he heard a loud thrashing in the neighboring woods. He decided to try to pick up the pace. The violent rustling continued; then there was a great snapping of trees. Prescott veered closer to the bank, giving him as much space from the forest as he could. It didn’t really matter; a dozen werewolves charged out of the woods and were upon him in seconds. Like a fool, he did not have any silver bullets loaded. So, he drew his sword. It was probably hopeless as they were already engulfing him in their charge. He raised his sword to swipe at the closest one; however, it wasn’t paying any attention to him. None of them were. They were racing past him in some kind of panic. That’s good, thought Prescott. They are so scared that they don’t want to kill me. Wait a second; werewolves are so scared they can’t eat?

  He turned and saw a giant white hairy monster emerge from the woods. It ripped a full-grown tree from the ground and threw it over the werewolves’ heads. “Wendigo,” it shouted. That must be the Wendigo, thought Prescott. He turned up a small road toward the town. He quickly realized that rousing the militia and leading them into a murdering Wendigo would be better for the British than the Americans. He had to distract the Wendigo and the werewolves first. But how?

  He spun away from the town and looked behind him to see both the Wendigo and werewolves following. What kind of situation was this? Why don’t they split up? Luckily, Prescott and his horse were a fine pair and, now that they knew the situation, they were able to stay ahead of the pack of monsters. It couldn’t go on forever, though, and he had a job to do. Ahead and to his right, beside a barn that lay about half a mile from the town, he saw movement. A small figure was dragging some kind of object; it looked like a mini cannon. As Prescott got closer, he recognized the figure as Sybil Ludington, the young daughter of Colonel Ludington. When he was about 50 yards away, she fired the cannon. The ball sizzled past him with a bludgeoning gust of wind. He watched as it smashed directly into the Wendigo’s chest and sent it flying to the ground. The confused werewolves scattered for the moment.

  “What are you doing here?” Prescott shouted as he rode up beside her. “And where did you get a cannon?”

  “It’s only a mini-cannon,” she said, as she mounted her horse, which had been nearby and somehow had not run off at the report of the cannon. “We need to distract them and warn the people about the British, right?”

  “Right, but what is this? You aren’t even from here. Doesn’t your ride take place about a week later than now?”

  “You just saw me shoot a Wendigo with a cannon, there is a pack of werewolves chasing you, you are a professional monster hunter, and this is the historical inaccuracy you wish to question?”

  Her point was just. Besides, the Wendigo was rising from the ground. “Uh. I’ll get it to follow me,” said Prescott. “You wake up the minutemen. Tell them the attack is coming by sea. Concord and Lexington are their targets.”

  “Be careful,” she said. “I’ll find you when I’m done.”

  “You should go home when you’re done.”

  Of course, by then, she had already ridden off and he couldn’t tell if she heard him or not. He fired his pistol at the Wendigo to get its attention. That was a raging success. Now he just needed to stay alive.

  ****

  Revere had managed to sneak out of Boston while a herd of zombies was distracting the British barricade. He had already shouted the warning to one town and was heading onto the main street of another. “The British are coming. The British are coming.” Sort of vague, he knew, but when you need to warn hundreds of people, you just don’t have time to be specific. “They are coming by sea to attack Concord and Lexington. Get your arms. Get your arms.”

  He was pleased to see that his shouting was not in vain as soldiers were quickly coming from their homes. Someone who seemed to be in charge was gathering them together in some kind of loose unit. He sped on; he was supposed to meet Dawes in a few more minutes provided he wasn’t held up.

  Meanwhile, Dawes was certainly being held up. He had already managed to shoot the Minotaur twice. That had slowed it down, but it was pretty damn far from dead. He needed to get some space, but it was actually gaining ground again. He didn’t want to meet Revere with a Minotaur running right up behind him, but he had no choice; he still needed to warn Adams and Hancock. Things were not going well. He charged toward the crossroads where they were supposed to meet. He had been lucky and had not seen any British troops yet. What he did see was Revere by a large tree trying to blend into his surroundings. Revere, sadly, did not see the Minotaur chasing Dawes. This was clear to Dawes as Revere was waving with excitement, apparently pleased to see him.

  When Dawes was within 100 feet, Revere began waving to someone coming up the other crossroad. He did not smile long when he looked in that direction. Dawes could see a cloud of dust blowing up the road, but who was causing it was obscured by trees.

  Dawes began yelling to Revere. “Don’t wait, you fool! Ride!”

  Revere listened and headed down the road opposite from where Dawes was headed. As Dawes hit the crossroads and started to follow Revere, he was joined by Prescott and that girl from the tavern. Dawes looked to see what was followi
ng them and was displeased that it was a bunch of werewolves and the biggest monster he had ever seen. They tore off in a group; behind them, there was a great roar of chaos as the Minotaur, werewolves, and Wendigo all collided and decided that a crossroads was a great place for a fight. This suited the four human riders well as it gave them a few moments to break away. When they were in the clear, they stopped to palaver.

  Their strategic conversation began with Dawes. “What the fuck was that white thing?”

  “That was the Wendigo,” Prescott said.

  “We’re pretty sure it’s the sort of spiritual leader of the rippers. Or at least that is what a number of ‘scientists’ have said,” Revere said.

  “Awesome. We need to get moving before they catch up to us or the British find us. We still need to warn Adams in Lexington and we need to get to Concord.” Dawes looked over at Sybil. “What is she doing here?”

  “I’m helping. I saved Prescott,” she said.

  “I don’t know about ‘saved,’” Prescott said. “Helped, I would say.”

  “Listen,” Revere jumped in. “The quickest way is up Old Hill Road. We should all go that way. After, I think we need to split up and take different routes. That way, if one of us gets caught, someone else can still make it.”

  “Good plan,” said Dawes. “Also, that way the Wendigo won’t be able to eat all of us.”

  They took off together down Old Hill Road. There was a lot more than one hill on that road, I can tell you, but they were making solid time. They had to enter a section of the road that crossed over a small stream. There were stone walls on either side of the road and the street itself was very narrow where they approached. It was almost like a small topless tunnel that ran for around 150 yards. The riders looked at each other as they realized that this was a great place for an ambush. They approached at a trot; Prescott drew a pistol.