Midnight Riders

by Pete Clark

  As the road reached its thinnest point, two brigades of Redcoats charged from either side of the bridge. Before the lines had even fully formed, Prescott was off. He charged the half formed lines and burst through. A pair of British cavalry officers took off after him. Revere and Dawes were surrounded. That was when they realized that Sybil had not joined them on this road. Hopefully, she was just smart enough to take another route and she wasn’t hurt. There was nothing that could be done now.

  “Drop your weapons and dismount,” called a British officer. Revere and Dawes each dropped his rifle, but, then in a fit of a daring that was bound to grow into legend, Dawes spurred his horse and leapt the stone wall amid gunfire. He landed at speed in the shallow water and tore off, bullets whizzing through the air around him. Two horsemen followed. Revere took a moment to marvel at the insane courage displayed by Dawes and Prescott. When he came to his senses, he was surrounded. Revere then uttered the classic words, “I’m innocent.” He was promptly arrested.

  Prescott had gotten quite the jump on them. He knew these roads and homes well and he was the far more daring and superior horseman. It took him less than ten minutes to utterly lose the two men following him. Once again alone, he bolted through the small back roads on toward Lexington. It was getting on toward eleven o’clock.

  Dawes was having a much more difficult time. The further he got from Boston proper, the worse command of the area he had. It was dark and the two men following him were very fast. They were within shooting range, but, apparently, they wanted to ask him some questions because they were not firing. Dawes thought of a plan. He skimmed his horse under a low branch and made for a large yard. The Brits were briefly slowed by the tree and, as they approached the yard, Dawes began to yell.

  “I got two of them. Come out; I got two to follow me.”

  Convinced that they had ridden into a trap and unsure of the territory, the two men retreated. As soon as they started off, Dawes launched his horse into a sprint. He had places to be as well and he’d be damned if Prescott was going to beat him there.

  Prescott had suddenly run into some trouble of his own. There was a veritable minefield of British patrols. They seemed to have so many men committed to patrols that it was a wonder that they had enough for their invasion. Prescott had to take a number of drastically longer routes before he finally was clear of the areas where British were generally on patrol.

  It was still a trek but he should have clear riding from here to Lexington, provided no monsters ate him.

  ****

  Prescott came shooting up the eastern end of Hancock’s road at around a quarter to midnight. He streaked up the road and saw a single rider coming in the other direction. It was too late to hide, as they were both in the center of it. A British sentry was unlikely around here and there was no way that advance scouts from the invasion army could have gotten here yet, so that left only one logical person.

  “Dawes,” he shout whispered. Dawes rode up to him.

  “Hey.” He looked to Hancock’s home. “Let’s call it a tie.”

  “Whatever. Let’s just let them know and get out of here.” They trotted up to the window and gave a quiet holler.

  A guard who recognized that they were not British yelled at them. “Shush. You are making too much noise. You will draw attention.”

  “Noise, eh?” said Dawes. “If you’re worried about noise, wait an hour because the regulars are coming; that should be plenty of noise.” The sentry understood and ran inside to warn Adams and Hancock.

  “We need to warn Concord. But we should split up again in case one of us gets caught. Speaking of which, did you see what happened to Revere?”

  “They were chasing me,” said Dawes. “But I’m pretty sure he was arrested.”

  “Could have been worse; let’s go.”

  Prescott was off again and Dawes moved along a different route. Shortly after they split up, Prescott became aware that something was seriously wrong with the rippers. A pair of crocodiles were running on their hind legs through someone’s yard. That is pretty solid evidence that things are as bad as they can get, Prescott thought. He reached Concord and began shouting a variety of warnings to get the soldiers up and moving.

  The minutemen reacted quickly; they were not outside in a minute, but it was still pretty quick. The British were not yet here, the people were warned, and Adams and Hancock were safe. All in all, it was a pretty successful evening. No doubt about it; people would remember Samuel Prescott for the fine service he performed on this night. Yup, since Prescott was here, Revere had gotten captured, and who knew where Dawes was, it was safe to say that Prescott’s name would be etched in the history books.

  ****

  The answer to where Dawes was happened to be a question that even he could not answer. His thoughts at this time could be summed up in the phrase: “Where the hell am I?” He was not very familiar with this area, it was dark, and he had to admit it; he was lost. He had no idea where he was or in which direction to go. After bumbling about aimlessly for about an hour, he realized he was too late anyway. He may as well try to backtrack. Even that would be a challenge. Still, he might be able to get over to Concord in order to help with the battle. He hoped Prescott had succeeded or else they were in serious trouble. Prescott was a tough man. It wouldn’t be so bad to be considered second to him on this historic night. At least he would get more respect than Paul “Quick Surrender” Revere.

  ****

  Revere was in handcuffs, but he was still on his horse. He was with a portion of the group of Brits who captured him. They had taken him over to Lexington Green. He could now see the army of several hundred Redcoats as they marched unchecked toward their destination. As they approached the green, a small band of colonists rushed out to halt their advance. There were only about 80 of them compared to the roughly 700 British. It was about four in the morning on April 19th.

  ****

  The colonists were led by a man named John Parker. His cousin Jonas Parker would become one of many unknown heroes of the revolution. Not for his accomplishments, but for displaying the truest example of what many would do to achieve independence. John Parker and his men were part of a group of trained militia. They had been in a tavern since they heard the alarm and they correctly guessed that any military force of size would choose to march across Lexington Green on their way from the harbor to Concord. So, they waited for their chance to meet them, even though they had to know they would be outnumbered ten to one.

  The two forces lined up across the misty field strewn with morning starlight. The British quickly massed into their multi-tiered battle lines and began a steady organized march toward the colonists. The colonists had a few haphazard lines formed, but a number of others were trying to get some cover behind a nearby fence.

  Revere did not have a great view but he could see the events. He was not sure who fired the first shot. It was to become known as “the shot heard round the world,” but nobody seemed to be sure who fired it. It didn’t matter, as the Redcoats began firing now in earnest. At first, it was only a few random shots, but when the colonists returned fire, although it was ineffective, the British finally organized a professional volley that shredded the colonists. They reloaded and fired again. By the time the Brits reloaded once more, most of the colonists were either dead, wounded, or running off the field. That was when the bayonet charge was ordered. The British lines advanced at a quick trot. A few more shots were fired by the colonists before they all fled. All except one. Jonas Parker fired his rifle. He did not appear to hit anything. Then, with an army of bayonets bearing down on him, he attempted to reload. He could have run away. He could have dropped his gun. But he chose to keep fighting. He was run through by the bayonet charge, facing front, in the middle of reloading.

  The skirmish was a total rout. The field belonged to the Brits. There were around a dozen dead colonists and the Redcoats only had one very minor injury. Despite this clear victory in the first true moment of the wa
r, the visitors from England did get to see true patriot spirit close up. It would be a precursor to the type of war they would be forced to fight.

  The British force continued to push inward toward the Concord munitions dump. Word of the one-sided battle was spreading. Spreading to the ears of the several hundred minutemen who had been roused by the midnight riders. The British were on American soil near American homes. Moving through land that was strange to them, but was literally the backyards of their enemy. They had no idea how their fortunes were about to change.

  ****

  While the British arrived at Concord and began searching for powder and weapons that had already been moved, they were being watched by a few hundred militias; the militia were trying to decide if they should engage the larger force in battle or wait for support. They did not have to wait long as support by the hundreds was coming in from all manner of towns. Among them was Prescott, who had made his way back and, much to his own surprise, even Dawes became unlost and arrived.

  The colonists decided to dig into a number of defensive positions around Concord. There was an exchange of fire on the north bridge that led to casualties on both sides, bringing the first British deaths of the war. The colonists were surprised and elated with what amounted to a small victory as the detachment of British soldiers at the bridge retreated.

  The British did not seem to be in any hurry. As the clock wound toward noon, they continued searching the town. They found a few cannons and some shot and did what they could to destroy those. They then decided to eat a leisurely lunch. This proved very foolish, as these additional hours provided ample time for massive numbers of the colonial militia to arrive. It also provided the energy of hatred and blood that the rippers so enjoyed.

  In the distance, Prescott could see a large black swarm in the sky. He did not know what to make of it at first. Everyone else was busy preparing for war. It took a few minutes but Prescott eventually identified the huge black swarm as a fleet of gargoyles. That is going to be a problem, he thought.

  The British continued their march; along the route, there was bloodshed aplenty. There were frequent exchanges between the Redcoats and the colonists. There had to be a least a dozen separate skirmishes, as over one thousand colonial militia lined the various roads. The British were taking the worst of it. Prescott stayed mostly out of the fighting with Dawes, but they tracked the progress of both the British and the gargoyles.

  It was at an exceptionally narrow pass between the woods, when fire from both sides was thick, that the gargoyles finally descended. A gray blur swept through the air and grabbed a British soldier, making off with him.

  “Was that a freaking gargoyle?” Dawes asked.

  “What?” Prescott asked. “You haven’t seen them following for the past two hours?”

  “No. No, I did not. Didn’t you think it worth mentioning?”

  “I thought everybody knew.” Prescott took aim and his rifle shattered the neck and upper torso of a gargoyle in mid-dive. It was dead, but that didn’t stop it from crash landing on a British officer and crushing him. Gargoyles, you see, tended to be very heavy.

  “Shoot those flying things,” shouted Pitcairn, the man in charge of the British troops.

  “Shoot them? How? They’re too fast.”

  “Lead them, gents. You need to lead them.” Good advice, but tough to execute if you weren’t used to it. British soldiers, although some quite fine marksmen, were generally trained to fire into areas or at slow or stationary targets. They were ill prepared to fight gargoyles. Also, many of them were newly come from overseas and either did not believe all of these monster rumors or had not heard them. Generally, it was kept quiet in order to keep volunteers from avoiding the army in order to avoid America and, thusly, avoid, you know, monsters.

  The colonists were mostly men of the country. Many of them were hunters, some practically professionals. They shot birds daily. Birds moved faster and were smaller than gargoyles. Granted birds did not shatter your spine when they fell on you, but the colonists were ready. In fact, they picked off so many of the gargoyles in flight that it began to virtually rain gargoyle corpses upon the retreating British. The Redcoats were taking so many casualties from gargoyle squishings that they were on the verge of surrender.

  Surrender would have been the outcome as well if British Colonel Percy did not arrive with a thousand troops for reinforcement. The fleeing men of Pitcairn’s group merged into Percy’s powerful column. Percy fired a cannon at the colonists, which temporarily dissuaded their pursuit. Fearing the cannon, but more importantly using the ground to their advantage, the colonists used quick and scattered hit and run tactics to attack the British forces. Percy’s column was a little better at killing gargoyles as they were better organized and fired in larger volleys. The gargoyle swarm was noticeably less, but still large. Percy’s force was intent on making its way back to the bay and retreating into Boston where the English garrison was. The trip was proving rather bloody.

  A British scout on horseback was coming back to the main force. He seemed rather alarmed. He was pointing back from whence he came with exaggerated flailing gestures. Then a tree came flying at him and punched through his chest. The tree continued on its path, knocking several men to the ground. The Wendigo came around the bend.

  “Man! There is nothing worse than when a Wendigo throws a tree into your chest,” Dawes opined.

  “We need to find something bigger than this.” Prescott pointed to his rifle. He scoured the British lines and the answer was obvious. Percy had brought three large cannons with him, but the key was the wagon that undoubtedly carried extra gunpowder. By now, the Wendigo was not a fan of gunpowder.

  “Come on.” Prescott broke from the protection of the trees and Dawes followed. They rode along a street perpendicular to the one upon which Percy and his men were traveling. Sadly, it was also the road upon which the werewolves decided to re-enter the fray.

  One of the lycanthropes leapt from between a nearby clump of shrubbery and knocked Prescott from his horse. His rifle flew from his hand as the breath flew from his body when he landed hard on his back. His vision quivered, but he was still able to get a good look at the huge drooling jaws of the werewolf. He also got a great look at its brains as they were ejected from its skull by a powerful blast of some kind. Prescott looked to the source. Arnold had come from nowhere and was reloading his rifle.

  “Always load silver,” Arnold smiled.

  “Deus ex machina,” said Dawes.

  “How did you find us?” Prescott asked.

  “Some girl came and got me. Quick rider. Not sure where she is now.” Arnold retrieved Prescott’s gun and returned it to him. “Looks like we have some work to attend to.”

  They mounted their horses and proceeded down the road. The rest of the werewolves were more interested in a smorgasbord and so had moved onto the main street, attempting to snack on the British troops who appeared to have no silver among them. The three riders swung out in front of Percy’s main force. This would have been very stupid had the Redcoats not been distracted by werewolves, gargoyles, and a giant angry Wendigo.

  “Jesus, that thing is huge,” said Arnold. He took a moment to scan the situation. “The wagon?”

  “Exactly,” said Prescott. “We need to draw that hairy white bastard in good and close.”

  “You think that will kill him?” Dawes asked.

  “I don’t think it gets killed,” Prescott surmised. “But I do think we can make it take a few years to get itself together.”

  “Good enough for me.” Dawes took off galloping right into the heart of the British lines.

  “At least if he dies we’ll have a great story to tell.”

  “Not if we die too,” said Prescott. “Let’s find a good line of sight that doesn’t have us sitting in musket and gargoyle snacking range.” They shuffled off toward some brush along the main road. Arnold and Prescott both trained their rifles on the wagon.

  “This is stupid,�
�� said Arnold. “We won’t be able to detonate it by shooting it. We need to get close and light it.”

  “Christ,” Prescott bitched. “Why is nothing ever easy?”

  He pulled an unlit torch from his pack. And, yes, he actually did always carry these; he was a prepared guy. Then he and Arnold followed Dawes into the belly of the beast.

  ****

  While the war was getting started, Boone was trying his damnedest to find out the location of Hannah Dare. Or rather, Hannah Windstorm, as she was now known. Unless she had changed her name again, which she quite possibly may have. Tracker or not, Boone could not find anyone who had heard of her.

  He had been spending the last several months checking over historical records and conducting interviews, but nobody seemed to know much. Recently he had uncovered a possible lead. There was a woman who lived on her own and was very secretive. Boone was on the way to her house now.

  It was located, of all places, near a swamp. Boone was not a fan of swamps. Weird things happened in swamps. In fact, weird things often hung around in swamps. Boone normally did not mind traveling alone, but he didn’t expect a swamp. I mean this was New York; why was there a swamp here? Boone also didn’t like being by himself, because he had no one to complain to. He figured he would just talk to himself.

  “So, Daniel? Yes, Boone? It seems that somehow we have been tricked into coming way the hell out here to look for a girl that may or may not exist. Indeed, we have and do you know why? Because we are dumb shits? Exactly right.”

  He slogged through some ankle deep glop in the hopes that the band of sandy matter he could see leading toward the house was solid ground.

  “Let’s say we find this person. What then? Fine question. We should have gotten clarification on that. Indeed, we should have, but as we mentioned before- We are dumb shits. Correct again.”

  “Who are you talking to?” The voice came from behind him. It was a female voice and for a foolish second he thought he might be lucky and it would be Hannah. But no, it was a fucking witch.