Thorn the Bounty Hunter in The Amber Bones

by Brom Kearne

18

  Thorn was sitting on the bench seat of a wagon pulled by two horses and slowly moving west into the wilderness. He was dressed as a farmer with a red and gold blanket draped over his back, which served the dual purpose of providing warmth against the night’s cold, and to conceal the compression rifle strapped to his back. Melina Bann had designed the strap from a piece of leather. It fit comfortably over Thorn’s back, and provided easy access to the grip with his right hand just by reaching to the rear of his hip. Once the gun was in place he practiced drawing it a few times to get a feel for the quick-draw capability that she had built into the strap and harness.

  Melina Bann had met him at the loading area at the end of the wharf not long after she had left him at the Lean and Pale. She seemed even colder than usual, and Thorn was left with the feeling that he had done something to anger her. When he attempted to talk, her answers were curt and dismissive. After a few tries he gave up and became irritated with her in return. She had been right about him at the inn: right about his drinking, and right about his drug use. It felt too good, and he had already been making plans to get his hands on some more once this high wore off. What had the doctor said? A few days? He was already feeling the high from the morning ebbing away. In a few days he’d definitely be back to normal, and all those aches and pains would come with it. Thorn didn’t want to feel the aches and pains anymore. He wanted to feel like he could fly. And Melina had seen those secret thoughts just as clearly as if they had been written on his forehead, and that irritated Thorn more than he could put into words.

  They loaded some old boxes of grain into the back of the wagon in silence. Once they were loaded Thorn cracked the lid of one at random to verify its contents, reaching in with his arm to feel deep into the grain.

  “No guns?” he asked.

  “You’re not smuggling guns. You’re collecting a bounty.”

  “You take all the fun out of it. Where is your boss? He’s not going to see me off?”

  “Mr. Dietrich is very busy overseeing the final preparations for his plan. He’s already spent too much time coddling you.”

  “Coddling me?”

  Melina shoved the compression rifle into Thorn’s arms. “Here are the frequency and amplitude modulators. I’ve already set them both to produce the desired effect so there’s no need for you to touch them. The safety button is here, and will remain depressed until you’re ready to fire. Press this button here on the side for five seconds to warm it up, then press and hold the trigger to fire. The compression waves will project in a forty-five degree cone, and you can hold the trigger for about thirty seconds before you’ll need to re-prime it with this button on the side again. That thirty seconds should be more than enough to incapacitate most people.”

  “How long will they be incapacitated?”

  “This weapon will produce vertigo, disorientation, nausea, and discomfort that can last for several minutes.”

  “And you’re positive it’s nonlethal?”

  “Yes of course it’s nonlethal as long as you don’t fiddle with the settings.”

  As they were talking Thorn had depressed the safety and held the indicated button which would prime the weapon. He did this while turning it over in his hands, pretending to admire the heft, the bulbous muzzle, and the textured grip. After counting to five he aimed the weapon at Melina and pulled the trigger. At first he didn’t think that anything had happened. He was expecting a noise, or a hum, or something, but there was nothing. The effect it had on Melina, however, was instant and very satisfying. She doubled over and began coughing and retching, seemingly unable to keep her balance and grasping at her stomach and her head. She fell to her knees and clawed at the ground.

  Thorn released the trigger and set the gun on the back of the wagon before attempting to help her to her feet. Melina refused his hand and instead took a swing at him. It was a wide swing, and caused her to fall flat on her face where she remained for a few seconds, groaning and holding her head in her hands. Gone were the crisp and efficient movements that Thorn had admired. She was, as promised, incapacitated and unable to fight. Heck, she was barely able to stand.

  “What in the hell was that?” she demanded from between her fingers.

  “Just verifying for myself that it works,” Thorn said, smirking again. “I’ve never used one of these before.”

  He couldn’t say that he hadn’t take a certain level of delight in seeing her taken down like that. It made Thorn feel better after she had pried into his secret thoughts and revealed things that he didn’t like having revealed. And, yes, Thorn knew he was taking too much petty delight in seeing her brought down, and yes there was a part of him that was scolding himself for acting like a petulant child, but there was another, currently louder, part of him that was enjoying this too immensely to listen.

  But she managed to deflate even that petty joy by dragging herself into a sitting position on the back of the wagon and saying, “Yes, I suppose I can understand not wanting to take an untested weapon into battle. You could have tried it on a dock worker, though.”

  “Do you really think we’ll need all this?” Thorn said, waving a hand at the wagon and the cargo, and at his own outfit as a farmer.

  “It has to look real. I think we’re ready here.”

  “What about the two guards I’m supposed to have?”

  “They’ll meet us at the edge of town.”

  Melina climbed onto the bench seat beside Thorn. She was still noticeably woozy and had to steady herself after the climb up. When she caught Thorn watching her she glared at him.

  “You know I’m not comfortable being flanked by two members of the gang,” Thorn said as they made their way over the Foamingwake Bridge.

  “It’s necessary. Every single time we’ve smuggled guns we’ve had two undercover guards provided by the gang itself. They won’t know your real mission, and they won’t speak to you. When you get near the ambush spot they’ll ride off and leave you to be attacked. Wait until Court Raleigh has revealed his presence, then pull out the compression rifle.”

  “This isn’t my first bounty. I think I can handle myself.”

  “We shall see.”

  The two gang members met them at the edge of town. Melina introduced them as Tom Marron and David Scontz. Thorn nodded to them but they didn’t return the greeting. They were dressed as farmers as well, wearing old denim and wide hats pulled low over their heads. Melina exchanged a few short words with them after she dismounted from the wagon.

  Without being too obvious Thorn searched their faces for the tattoos he’d come to associate with the gang: the skull and crossed skeletal hands. Neither of them bore the mark, although Thorn thought he could discern a patch of skin under their right eyes that didn’t quite match the rest of their faces. These might have been patches where make-up had been applied to cover the tattoo, and would have done a fine job for anyone not specifically looking for it. Thorn imagined that they had pistols tucked into their belts as well. They made him very uneasy, especially as they rode somewhat to his flank on either side, where he couldn’t see them, but at least they would provide advanced warning of the ambush when they rode off into the night. Thorn just had to keep a wary eye on them until then.

  The purple sky was twinkling with stars by the time they had ridden clear of the farmlands. Ahead they could see the amber dunes silhouetted against the sky. The sound of the horses’ hooves on the hard-packed road was somniferous over the deafening silence of the hills. The image of Brad Hadlik’s panicked reaction kept popping into Thorn’s mind. It had seemed so silly in the light of day: the spectacle of yellow dune bikes erupting over the dunes and the ghoulish figure of Court Raleigh stalking his victims from out of some folk story. But now, out here alone and vulnerable in the gathering darkness, it didn’t seem so silly.

  Thorn had to keep his imagination from running away from him. He knew what to expect, and couldn’t allow fear or anxiety to begin taking hold. For comfort he reached back and held
the firm grip of the compression rifle. The movement was concealed under the blanket, but Thorn cast glances right and left behind him anyway. The two gang members weren’t even looking at him. They were riding along on their horses with their heads down, not looking to the sides, and barely keeping an eye on the road in front of them. They were young and clean shaven, and they didn’t appear to be very experienced horsemen as they allowed the horses to direct their own courses, for the most part, and when they veered from the road only clumsily and with great effort did they bring them back onto course.

  Thorn wasn’t the best horseman either, although he never would have admitted as much to Melina Bann. But his, at least, were able to follow a straighter path simply by walking in step with each other. Thorn had to guide them around bends in the road, but the animals were well-trained and followed his directions obediently. But he was uncomfortable with them, and more than once found himself wishing that Len Dietrich could have used buggies like a normal person.

  The road, at least, was comfortable to Thorn, as it would in a few days’ time lead straight back to Herrickstead. He hadn’t been this far east in a while, but things had not changed much. This section of the Western Frontier had been set since the days when pioneering had been driving people further and further west. Nowadays there might be some new refreshment shops, or some new fuel cookers setting up along the road, but nothing drastic. And the road itself charted the most efficient means of traveling across the Western Frontier, as it had been designed and was maintained by the trade caravans in one of their complicated contracts. They used quite a lot of fuel in their endless trek, and so had it in their best interests to keep their roads as efficient and clean as possible.

  Just as Thorn was musing that the trade caravans kept the roads clean, and as if to prove the exception to the rule, the wagon wheels rode over a sharp rock in the road, causing the cargo in back to shift and thump audibly. After he recovered from the shock Thorn pulled the horses to a stop and looked suspiciously over his shoulder at the tarp covering the crates. Grain shouldn’t thump like that. It sounded as though there was something inside one of the crates that had knocked against the inner wall, and whatever it was sounded heavy.

  If he knew that he was carrying guns Thorn would have thought nothing of it. A large gun like the one currently strapped to his back might produce a sound like that. Thorn wondered if Melina had secretly placed weapons in the crates after all. Perhaps he was being used as an unwitting gun mule. If that were the case, then it was her intention to have him taken by the gang. But then why give him the compression rifle? He had checked one box at random and had found it to be filled with just grain. But what of the rest?

  These thoughts occurred to Thorn in an instant, and he didn’t have long to mull them over. Suddenly Thorn felt vulnerable. It was too dark to see the road ahead of them, although Thorn knew where they were. It was a stretch of road through a particularly hilly and rocky patch of wilderness. It seemed to be the perfect place for an ambush.

  “What’s wrong?” asked one of the gang members as he struggled to pull his horse alongside of the wagon.

  It was David Scontz. He was the one riding on Thorn’s right hand.

  “Did you hear something?” Thorn asked. His hand was on the grip of the compression rifle.

  “No,” David answered. He turned his head to listen.

  With the horses stopped there wasn’t much sound over the silence of the hills. The night wind was steadily increasing and came as a low moan over the rocky landscape.

  “Come on, let’s get up over this next hill and we’ll light the lamps to have a look around,” David said.

  As he was talking there came another thump from the rear of the wagon. David looked sharply around at the noise, and then pretended he hadn’t heard it. This time Thorn couldn’t write the sound off as something shifting in the crate from the wagon’s movement because the wagon wasn’t moving. And yet, something inside the crate was moving.

  “I think I’ll stay right here,” Thorn said.

  David and Tom exchanged glances.

  “Ok,” David said. “If you’re spooked, that’s ok. We’ll just do a short ride around and check things out, ok?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Thorn said.

  They rode off into the darkness. “Going to inform the rest of your gang that I’m not going to meet their ambush,” Thorn said under his breath after he watched them disappear.

  He tightened his grip on the rifle. This was it. They’d bring the rest of the gang from where they were camped further ahead. Even though he knew the bikes would give them away before they grew close, Thorn was looking about in all directions.

  Thorn was on edge as he waited. He was taking long, slow breaths because his breathing sounded very loud to his ears. He wanted to be alert to the first indication of a dune bike engine. So far there was nothing but the night wind, steadily growing, steadily moaning and hissing.

  He was startled by a third thump in the crate. He wanted to go back there and see what it was, but he dare not move from his post. He was expecting the Amber Bones Gang and their leader at any moment. He couldn’t be caught checking through the cargo. And yet that thump was ominous. It set the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

  The horses were restless, as if they didn’t understand why they were stopped and wanted to either be on their way or to settle in for the night. Thorn attempted to steady them over the stomping of their hooves and the champing of their bits because he wanted to be able to hear the gang the moment they came within range. This waiting around was trying his nerves.

  After another thump from the crate Thorn decided that he couldn’t let it go any longer. He had to know what was in there, but just as he was stealing himself to jump down from the seat the night exploded.

  All at once, as if they were released from an angry hive of yellow jackets, a half dozen dune bikes came roaring over the hills. They swarmed around the wagon, making the already restless horses rear in terror. The riders were dressed in black, with amber bandanas covering their faces, black skeletal hands touching just over their mouths.

  Thorn gripped the reins and the compression rifle tight. The sudden fright had almost made him draw the rifle prematurely. It wasn’t time yet. Their leader had not yet appeared. Thorn had to fight his instinctive response to fight as he allowed them to circle the wagon.

  The angry buzzing of the dune bikes waned as they came to a stop at once and pointed their headlamps at Thorn in the center of their circle. They had surrounded him, so he wouldn’t be able to hit them all at once with the waves from the compression rifle. He’d have to do the best he could, and was already planning on which side to hit first. Depending, of course, from where their leader appeared.

  The bikers in front of him pulled back, creating a hole in the circle. So, it’s to be the direct approach, Thorn thought to himself. It was an approach he could appreciate.

  This was it. A figure was walking towards him. No, three figures were walking towards him. The front figure would probably be Court Raleigh. Thorn cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was sneaking up on him while he was distracted. The bikers in the rear of the circle were sitting idly and hadn’t moved. He knew that he’d have to be fast on the draw with the compression rifle. Already his thumb had found the priming button and was holding it down. The safety had long-since been depressed.

  But something was wrong.

  The central figure walking towards him was dressed in a solid black outfit with a black helmet over its head. The two figures on either side wore black bandanas with amber skeletal hands, just as the biker that Thorn had taken to be the leader of the raid on the Pith farm had been. He figured that the black bandanas marked them as officers or something of the like. As they drew closer and Thorn got a good look at their eyes he recognized them as David Scontz and Tom Marron.

  But the central figure didn’t look or act like what he had been led to believe was Court Raleigh. He was expecting
something extravagant, or eccentric, rather, as Len Dietrich had described him. He had said that Thorn wouldn’t be able to mistake him for anyone else, but this figure was just dressed in all black and wearing a helmet. Was he in disguise? Was he the herald for Court Raleigh?

  As the figured stopped in front of the wagon Thorn fingered the trigger of the compression rifle with anticipation because he didn’t know what to do. If this wasn’t Court Raleigh and he drew too early, he risked scaring the real thing into hiding in the wilderness. But if he didn’t draw he risked being captured by these three and their minions surrounding the wagon.

  “Are you Court Raleigh?” Thorn asked.

  The central figure shook its head. Then it pointed. David Scontz and Tom Marron moved forward, unsheathing their sparker pistols as they closed on Thorn.

  Thorn snapped his head around quickly. Court Raleigh wasn’t here. For whatever reason, and a dozen or so ideas sprung to Thorn’s mind at once, he had not been part of this raid. And now, with these two armed bikers closing in on him Thorn didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t be able to take Court Raleigh as he had hoped, but maybe if he could incapacitate them and take a prisoner he might be able to interrogate him and find the base in the wilderness. At the moment it was the only option available to him.

  As David Scontz and Tom Marron closed around him Thorn whipped out the compression rifle and pulled the trigger.

  It did nothing. Nobody doubled over. Nobody coughed or retched or demonstrated any of the symptoms of vertigo.

  Thorn smacked the side of the casing. He pressed and depressed the safety to make sure it was off and began priming it again. Maybe he hadn’t primed it enough. Or maybe he had primed it too much. Maybe the battery had gone dead during the trip.

  He pulled the trigger again, and again nothing happened.

  David and Tom had come alongside him, having climbed up onto the side of the wagon. David held a sparker pistol to Thorn’s head while Tom ripped the compression rifle from his hands. Thorn was motioned to step down. He was pushed to his knees in front of the biker in the helmet while Tom went around to the back of the wagon. He pulled out two of the crates; they cracked open on the road and spilled their cargo of grain. Then he pulled a third crate out and pried it open.

  Len Dietrich’s semi-conscious body fell out. He was gagged and bound at the hands and feet.

  Thorn closed his eyes. His stomach sank with the realization of how badly he had screwed up. When he opened his eyes he looked up at the mirrored face shield of the biker standing over him. He could see his reflection clearly in it, and he didn’t like the dumb look he saw on his face one little bit.

  “Melina Bann, I presume?”

  She pulled the helmet off and shook her short blonde hair.

  “You rode ahead of me to lead the ambush. Were you a member of the gang all along?”

  “I’m not a full member yet. After this triumph, I will be. Court Raleigh will reward me well.”

  “You sabotaged my gun?”

  “The gun works fine. The battery, however, is quite dead. When you pulled it on me back in Webster Grove, well, that was just a little bit of play acting on my part. Secure him.”

  Thorn gritted his teeth as Tom Marron bound his wrists tightly behind him.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Thorn asked.

  “You’ve been so anxious to meet Court Raleigh, that I think it’s just about time you did.”

  Thorn was hit on the back of the neck, and everything went black.