Then he thought he saw the witch turn around and, with the moment broken, quickly jumped to the far side of the well to hide again.
Breathing heavily, he leaned back into the shadow at the base and looked out over the vast plain. He thought about Billy once more, but he did not see him or anyone else out in the distance. When his breathing had calmed, he dropped the wooden bucket back into the well and pulled up some more muddy water. Charlie drank from the bucket and then soaked the canvas sack. He draped the wet canvas over his head and walked over to the dead mule. The original wagon tracks from their abduction were covered in the storm, but the marauders’ trail from the previous day could still be seen.
He followed the tracks, hoping that they might lead back for help or maybe even to Franklin. The sun was hot overhead and the canvas soon dried. After some time, he was thirsty, so he sat down at the bottom of a dune to look back at the well and wondered if he would find any other water out there, out there all alone. If this was the only water, it might be better if he just stayed at this dune. He had to be careful now that he was on his own, and from here, he could watch the well from a distance and sneak back for water when he deemed it was safe. And then, he thought, cheering up a bit, if Franklin was looking for him, maybe he would come this way too. That is—Charlie shuddered—if Franklin survived the attack.
Charlie climbed to the top of the dune and peered over the ridge. He scanned the horizon, and again there was nothing, so he pulled the canvas down to shield his eyes and slept.
He was soon there again, out on the open plain. The sun was lower than it had ever been in the dream before . . . and there was something else that was different. While the birds were there, whirling and swirling overhead, it was all in reverse. He was standing on the low dunes where Billy usually walked, whereas Billy and the smaller silhouette next to him stood at the edge of the shadows. Billy was shouting something, but Charlie could not hear him over the screeching birds, and then, just like that, Billy, the small figure, and the black cloud were gone, and Charlie was once again left all alone.
When Charlie woke up, the sun was high overhead. His mouth was dry and his lips cracked. Trying to shake the dream, he climbed to the top of the dune and scanned the horizon. It again seemed empty, but when Charlie looked back toward the Agrarian Plains, he was sure that he saw a flash of light in the distance. The light flashed again, and again, becoming more frequent. After a while, Charlie could make out two, maybe three, riders and a cart and thought he had a fifty–fifty chance that this could be good or bad. He was patient as he watched the riders slowly move closer, and he soon thought he recognized the approaching party. Charlie put on the werewolf mask just to be safe, then stood up on the dune and waved.
“Over here!” he shouted.
Franklin rode in front with Ringo running at the heels of his great horse. The Ranger was next, followed by Rohmetall and Dwight York, who rode in the cart trailing Goliath.
“Ch-Ch-Charlie!” Rohmetall called.
Charlie removed his mask as he ran down the dune, and Franklin rode up to meet him.
“Charlie!” Franklin said, swinging down to the sand and pulling him into a hug. Then he grabbed both shoulders as if he could assess any damage. “Are you well? You okay? I thought we lost you, boy . . .”
“I’m good,” Charlie said. His voice was dry and cracked.
“And the girl? Abigail Rose? ”
“She’s gone. That Lester Mortlock was with the marauders, and they took her and the queen’s daughter, Zalika, too. He said he was selling them to Tok for ransom!”
“Lester Mortlock,” Franklin spat. “I should have taken care of that miscreant when I had the chance.”
“They rode in from the desert and took all of us! They had me tied up in a sack, but I fell out of the wagon.”
Franklin handed Charlie a water flask, which he eagerly accepted.
“I know the way they went, though,” Charlie gasped as he drank. “We can follow their tracks.”
Franklin looked out, past the well.
“Yes, as long as this weather holds.”
“Oh, Franklin,” Charlie said, trying to catch his breath. “It was horrible.”
“There, there . . . you’re all right now.” Franklin threw his big arm back around Charlie’s shoulders. “I didn’t realize it was this bad out here.” He sighed. There was a genuine look of apprehension on his face as he studied the rough terrain ahead of them. “I wish I could tell you it was almost over, Charlie, but like I’ve been saying, this nightmare has really just begun.”
— chapter 33 —
In Pursuit
THEY LET THE horses have their fill at the well and rode hard after the marauders, following their tracks through the sand. Charlie was glad to be back in the saddle atop Goliath and in the company of Franklin, Rohmetall, Dwight York, Ringo, and the Ranger. As they galloped through the desert, he told them more of his ordeal, and then Dwight shared the details of the marauders’ attack in exchange. The Agrarian Plains had been hit from all sides, he said. Crops were burned, stores looted, and Khensa Tuya had been seriously injured. When they left, her medical staff was fearing the worst.
“They attacked when they did because he was called away,” Franklin added, referring to the Prime Minister. “I am sure that was always their plan. I doubt they would have tried it otherwise.”
When they heard of the marauders’ attack, Dwight York and Ignacio had joined the defense with a company of Rangers in the southern fields. After a short battle, they managed to drive the marauders back into the desert.
“Not much of a fight, really. They’d snatched what they had come for and fled. We were fortunate to catch up with the big fellow here in time to join in the search,” Ignacio Santos said as they rode.
Late that afternoon, they came to a point where the marauders’ tracks split in the sand. Unsure which set to follow, they dismounted to consult Franklin’s maps.
“It looks from the horsemen’s tracks like the wagons went in that direction. Possibly toward this outpost here, at the base of this ridge,” Franklin said, tracing their route on the charts he had laid out on the back of the cart.
“But they may have transferred their captives from the wagons to horseback knowing we would be in pursuit,” Ignacio countered as he scanned the horizon.
“It is possible,” Franklin said. “We should split up. I will follow the wagons west, and you two follow the horsemen to the east.” Franklin pointed to a dot where the desert met the water. It was at the edge of the map; the area beyond was marked unknown.
“Rohmetall, you will take the cart and the boy and go to the north, here . . .”
“Ah, yes. There’s a port of sorts,” Ignacio said, examining the map.
“Taking Ch-Ch-Charlie Cooper,” Rohmetall repeated.
“No,” Charlie said, looking up at Franklin. “I want to go with you.”
“It is out of the question. The last thing we need is another rescue on our hands.” Franklin rolled up the maps and slid them back into the leather case.
“But, Franklin, you can’t go out there alone,” Charlie pleaded.
“Ha.”
“But you’ll need my help . . . you’ll need—”
“Enough.” Franklin started toward Faust but caught himself, and after a long sigh, he turned back. Dropping to a knee, he placed his heavy hand on Charlie’s shoulder and motioned out toward the desolation with the other. “Look. Look around you. You’re not supposed to be here. You understand that, right? Do you forget what’s waiting for me out there? Just think of all you’ve been through, the horrors you’ve already seen. I told you, I won’t be responsible . . . I can’t be.”
Franklin stood. The conversation was over. “Please, Rohmetall, take him.”
“Come, Ch-Ch-Charlie Cooper,” Rohmetall said. He was holding Goliath’s reins.
“It is for the best.” Dwight York offered Charlie a hand with the stirrup. “We’ll all see one another again soon, I bet.”
“But you don’t even have a horse,” Charlie added as he was hoisted up onto Goliath’s back.
“I have faster ways to travel.” Dwight York winked with a grin. “Let’s hope this ol’ Ranger can keep up.”
“We’ll see about that,” Ignacio shot back, already in the saddle.
Rohmetall climbed aboard the cart still holding Goliath’s reins.
“This way, Ch-Ch-Charlie Cooper,” Rohmetall stuttered, pulling Goliath with the reins in his hands. The cart lurched north, away from where the tracks had split. Ringo barked from the bench seat as they left.
“But, Franklin . . . ,” Charlie called back.
“Go, Charlie. Like Dwight said, we will see each other soon—I promise.”
Charlie watched as Franklin rode off to the west and Ignacio and Dwight York headed to the east.
“We are riding north, Ch-Ch-Charlie Cooper, north to the Vast Inland Sea . . . ,” Rohmetall announced, passing Charlie Goliath’s reins. “Please follow me.”
“Yeah, that’s what they told us to do. Ride north,” Charlie said. He was still looking back, trying his best to keep Franklin in his sights. “But,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m not so sure . . .”
When they neared a flat of loose sand, Charlie slowed his horse to a few paces behind the cart and tightened the straps holding his sword and other gear to the saddle. With his things situated, Charlie took a deep breath. He looked back over his shoulder once more; it was just in time to see Franklin disappear over the last dune on the horizon.
“You ready?” Charlie whispered to Goliath. Then he spun him around and shouted, “Sorry, Mr. Rohmetall, I gotta go! I think Franklin may need me!”
“No, Ch-Ch-Charlie!” the metal man cried.
The great horse bolted ahead quicker than Charlie had anticipated, but he held on and urged Goliath to go faster. Ringo leapt from the cart and followed close behind, and they ran as fast as they could and didn’t stop until Charlie was convinced that they were far enough away from Rohmetall and his instructions to go north.
“We’ll take this break, but we better keep moving,” Charlie said, slowing Goliath to a trot. They could still see Rohmetall in the distance. He was struggling to turn the cart in the sand. “I’d hate for Franklin’s tracks to get covered in another storm.”
Charlie and Ringo reached the spot where their party had split just as the wind started to pick up, and then went west, following Franklin’s trail. At sunset, Charlie could see Franklin cresting the rolling dunes before them, so he spurred Goliath faster, worried they would lose the Monster in the night. They continued, but as they moved forward, the tracks abruptly turned, heading into a trough between two dunes.
“Ringo,” Charlie whispered, calling him to his side. “Come on. Just a bit farther and we’ll show ourselves.”
They rode as the trough narrowed until Ringo let out a low, guttural growl. Charlie pulled back on Goliath’s reins, stopping to look up at the dunes above him.
“What is it? You hear—”
Charlie did not finish his sentence. All of a sudden a huge rotting hand appeared from the dark—it covered his mouth and then pulled him down from the horse. Charlie landed in the sand at the base of the dune, with Franklin hunched down at the horse’s feet over him.
“What did I say, Charlie?” Franklin whispered, barely able to control his anger.
“I know,” Charlie mumbled, wrestling himself free from behind Franklin’s hand with a quick turn of his head. “Stay with the cart, but how could you just leave me? I want to help. You’ll need my help, won’t you?”
“Quiet. You almost rode on top of them,” Franklin whispered more forcefully, his gaze shifting to a spot beyond the dunes.
“Who? The marauders?” Charlie whispered back.
“A small group of them, yes.” Franklin made a clicking sound through his decayed teeth, and Faust appeared from the darkness. “We will discuss your insubordination later. For now you will stay here with the horses. Do not come over the dune until you hear me call.”
Franklin grabbed Charlie roughly by the chin. “You listen to me this time, Charlie. For your own good, you understand? This is no game, boy.”
Charlie nodded.
“Not until I call you,” Franklin reminded him, handing him the horses’ reins and heading off into the dunes.
Charlie sat crouched at the horses’ feet with Ringo whimpering at his side. He saw the moon peeking over the dunes and thought that at the very least, they would be able to see better soon. Then he heard the first scream, which was followed by a roar and a shrieking yelp. Charlie tightened his hold on the reins and inched forward. He heard another scream and decided that despite his instructions, it couldn’t hurt to climb the dune so that he was closer when Franklin called.
From the very top of the hill, Charlie could see a little camp below with a wagon off in the shadows of a fire. And in the midst of the commotion, there was Franklin, wrestling a large black werewolf to the ground. There were already two ogres lying in the sand, moaning, and a hooded man running up the dune toward Charlie.
Charlie pulled his sword from its sheath on the saddle and ducked down below the ridge. When he heard the man approach, he leapt out, brandishing the blade.
Caught by surprise, the man screamed and fell back down the hill, rolling in Franklin’s direction. Ringo took off after the man, catching the tattered ends of his coat in his jaws just as Franklin secured the werewolf in a headlock.
“You will transform now or this will be your last breath!” Franklin growled. “Do you hear me?”
The werewolf fought and clawed but could not break free, so he gave in, slowly changing back to his human form. Franklin stood and threw the half-beast over near the fallen ogres.
“Charlie, come bring the rope,” Franklin called, turning his attention to the hooded marauder at his feet. As Charlie pulled the horses over the ridge, Franklin reached down and took hold of the man by the collar of his coat.
“I should have known I hadn’t seen the last of you!” the man cried as his hood fell back, revealing the sinister but familiar mark on his cheek. It was Lester Mortlock. “How in all this great desert!” he exclaimed.
“Your misdeeds leave a trail that is far too easy to track,” Franklin said, tightening his grip. “Where’s the girl? Where is the queen’s daughter?”
“They’re gone,” Lester shrieked. “I don’t have them. They were sold and taken farther west.”
“Sold?” The Monster shook with anger.
“Ransomed, really, to Tok. He wants them as leverage, for the negotiations . . . Their tracks should be easy enough to follow, though.” Lester cowered. “They have a day’s ride on you. That’s all I know, please, please!”
“There was a time when I would have ripped you to pieces and ended your miserable life right here. You are fortunate it is no longer that time,” Franklin said, dropping Lester Mortlock in disgust. “Charlie, hand me the rope and put out that fire.”
Franklin tied Lester and his cohorts back-to-back in an odd assortment of knots and set them in the wagon. Then he freed their horses and tied the one-eyed ogre to the front.
“You,” Franklin said, grabbing hold of the ogre’s jowls. “You keep that one eye of yours pointed that way, you hear me? I don’t care what this fellow tells you. You understand?”
The ogre nodded.
“Now go.”
The ogre stepped forward, pulling the wagon.
“Hold on, you can’t send us back there!” Lester cried. “Not after what just happened—”
“I can’t?” Franklin called back.
“You and your fire!” Lester screamed at the one-eyed ogre. “I’d bet he spotted us a mile away. I fall aslee
p for five minutes and all hell breaks loose!”
Charlie stood next to Franklin, and they watched the wagon as it inched away in the moonlight.
“Do you know? Do you know what they’ll do to us?” Lester shouted. “Please, I beg you!”
Ignoring Lester’s fading pleas, Franklin turned and suddenly grabbed Charlie by the shoulders.
“What did I tell you?”
He shook the boy and then lifted him off his feet so that they were eye-to-eye.
“I said to go with the cart, stay with Rohmetall. And what did you do?”
Charlie could feel Franklin’s grip tighten as the Monster’s glare deepened.
“You’ve put me in a bad spot. If I turn back with you, we lose more ground and maybe our only chance to save Abigail, let alone the mummified royalty. What do you have to say for yourself?” He shook the boy again, his anger building. “Out with it!”
“You’re hurting me,” Charlie gasped, barely able to breathe. He thought his arms might be crushed at any moment.
“What? Speak up!” the Monster roared.
“My arms, you’re hurting me!” Charlie cried.
Franklin’s eyes widened in horror. He immediately loosened his grip and lowered the boy gently to the ground.
“Charlie, I’m sorry,” Franklin said, his voice barely a whisper. He reached out, but Charlie stepped back, clutching his sides. “I . . . I was trying to protect you . . .”
Franklin knelt down with a pained expression on his face.
“Did I . . . did I really hurt you?”
Charlie took a long moment before he answered. “No. I’m all right. But you scared me.”
Franklin fell back to sit against the dune.
“I must control myself or I am no better than this scum we sent packing,” he sighed.
Charlie rubbed his arms and looked down at his feet. “That’s okay. I know I made you mad.”
“It is no excuse,” Franklin said softly. “I am truly sorry, Charlie. I will find it difficult to forgive myself.”
Monsterland Page 20
