Thorn the Bounty Hunter in The Amber Bones

by Brom Kearne

27

  Court Raleigh’s macabre throne had been placed on top of the wagon that held the gang’s guns, and it was leashed to bikes driven by a few handpicked for the honor of pulling him. Melina Bann and David Scontz rode at the rear of the column. The rest of the gang followed behind Court Raleigh riding two-by-two. They had been riding for over half the day out of the wilderness from their camp. Their spirits were lightened when they came in sight of the farming community of Webster Grove. They were ready for a fight, and seeing the farmers scrambling to erect a pitiful barricade only bolstered their courage.

  The sun was setting and turning the sky melon as the column pulled within shouting distance of the feeble barricade. From this distance the farmers began to quake as they all realized the futility of their efforts. Some of them began to question if they should have attempted to put up a resistance in the first place, as all it seemed to do was incite their attackers. There were more than a few whispers of terror at the magnificent sight of Court Raleigh, arrogantly standing on his throne of human skulls and towering over the rest of the gang.

  The bikers fanned out alongside Court Raleigh in a semi-circle around the farmers. Melina Bann got off her bike and strode over to them. She was wearing all black, with a black bandana covering her nose and mouth. She had a pulse rifle slung over her shoulder. She walked with great purpose to the barricade and kicked it over.

  Owen Baker raised his axe handle and shouted at her. She responded by raising her pulse rifle and shooting him dead.

  Melina did not give them time for the sudden death of one of their own to sink in. “Move,” she commanded.

  The farmers looked at the smoking body as though none of this were really happening. It didn’t seem real, as though it were some collective dream they were all sharing. They dropped their weapons and moved in the indicated direction. Melina herded them towards the foot of the Foamingwake Bridge, making them walk with their hands on their heads in front of the row of bikes. The sudden and senseless death of Own Baker was enough to keep them from resisting any further.

  “Go into their houses,” she said to David Scontz once they had reached the main thoroughfare that would lead to the Foamingwake Bridge, “and bring out the rest of them. Bring out their families.”

  David led a group of the gang to carry out Melina’s orders. They smashed doors in with the front wheels of their bikes and dragged people into the road. The famers were powerless to stop the violence as Melina stood over them with her pulse rifle ready to fire at the slightest provocation. The rest of the gang took up position at the base of the bridge, placing Court Raleigh’s throne in a position of prominence at the back of them all.

  Thorn, disguised as a member of the gang, stayed behind with the gang members gathered at the foot of the bridge. He too had been shocked by the sudden and merciless death of Own Baker. He could only hope that David Scontz’ team did not run into any resistance as they rounded people up, or more would die. Thorn didn’t have a plan at all. He as making things up as he went, going along and keeping a low profile so as not to be discovered, while he waited for an opportunity to present itself. Given the ruthlessness of what he had observed so far, he knew that when he did make a move it would have to be definitive. Watching the farmers as their families were dragged out and thrown in the road was perhaps the most difficult part for Thorn. He could not do anything to help while Melina was gloating over them and watching for any reason to gun another of them down.

  The families were rounded up and brought to kneel with the rest of the farmers. They wanted to embrace their loved ones and reassure them that everything was going to be alright, but they couldn’t. Melina fired a warning shot when Adrian Tobin went to embrace his daughter, and the rest of them got the message. They knelt in silence and didn’t move.

  The gang circled in behind them, their bikes idling, and turned to look up at Court Raleigh glowing against the darkening sky. He had lit torches and planted them on either side of the throne to frame him in the gathering darkness.

  “Tonight we begin our revolution,” Court Raleigh said, his voice low and deep. “You are all privileged to be here at the beginning as we take back what is rightfully ours. In a very short time the Browning Trade Caravan will come up that road, and do you think that they will hesitate to trample these innocent farmers and their families under their treads and mortars? Do you think they’ll give pause when they see the innocent begging for mercy before them? Do you think that they will hesitate to kill any one of you in order to retain their power over us?”

  Court laughed.

  “Of course they won’t hesitate. They care nothing for you. But before you die, let me comfort you by saying that that your sacrifice will not be in vain. Each one of you, the hapless innocents, will help to fuel our revolution. Once people have seen the destructive cruelty of the trade caravans, they will flock to me, and together we will establish a new order. And I will have my revenge.”

  He said this last sentence darkly, and almost under his breath.

  The drone of a bike could be heard approaching over the idling engines. It came from the west, riding up the dirt road in a cloud of dust and stopped in front of the corralled farmers kneeling in the road. The rider looked up at Court Raleigh and said, “They’re coming. The trade caravan is just entering the outskirts of town. They’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Maybe less.”

  Court Raleigh’s lips peeled back in what might have been a smile, or it might have been a snarl; it was difficult to tell.

  “Our time is upon us. You may begin distributing the guns.”

  Thorn had maneuvered to be near the throne and the wagon on which it rode. Scott Tanning had been riding on the back of Melina’s bike, and had been left with the farmers, kneeling and awaiting their fate. He was white-faced, but Thorn could see a set determination in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Thorn admired him for that.

  The rest of the gang looked less determined now that the actuality of their revolution was upon them. In fact, with the trade caravan now just minutes away, and for many of them counting down the last moments of their lives, they looked downright scared. But that is as Court Raleigh had wanted it: they were in a position now where they had no choice but to fight for their lives once they were handed a gun.

  Melina walked near to Thorn as she was going around to the back of the wagon that contained those guns, and Thorn’s gaze fell on the pulse rifle slung across her back. An idea occurred to him. It was desperate, and it could very well end in his death, but it was the only workable plan that had presented itself to him thus far. If he waited much longer the trade caravan would be upon them, and he would be forced to fight for his life as well. Then it would be too late.

  The soft orange glow from the windows of the trade caravan came into view as it rounded a bend further down the road to the west. While the smaller rural paths twisted throughout the farming community, the main thoroughfare was a straight and wide road that cut through them all. They could see the trade caravan coming from some distance away, and they could be sure that the guards manning the front transport could see them as well.

  Thorn could wait no longer. He moved around to the back of the wagon, as though he were going to help distribute the guns, but once he rounded the corner he bounded up into the back, getting there mere seconds before Melina. He worked quickly, grabbing as many of the pulse rifles as he could. He considered himself lucky that pulse rifles were so plentiful in the Free Lands. All he had to do was reach down and grab them; he barely even had to look.

  Within seconds he had been grabbed. Melina and David tore him from the back of the wagon. They held him roughly on his knees before Court Raleigh and ripped the bandana from his face.

  Court’s grin widened, as did Scott Tanning’s eyes, as the boy was kneeling only a few feet away.

  “Thorn!” Court exclaimed. “I thought you had run away into the desert like a coward, and yet here you are, pretending to be one of my soldiers.”

  Melina s
pat on his cheek and rubbed away the charcoal drawing of a skull. “You are not worthy to wear that,” she hissed.

  “You’re insane, Paul. Everyone here will die if you assault that trade caravan. Do you think he cares about any of you?” he demanded of the gang members that had gathered around them.

  Melina struck him across the face with her closed fist. Court snarled at the mention of his real name.

  “And what was your plan, little man? To take one of my guns? Were you going to shoot me with it?”

  Thorn licked his lips and tasted a rivulet of his own blood. Melina had one hell of a punch.

  “Do you know why there are so many of those PM III model pulse rifles in the Free Lands?” Thorn asked.

  Court’s amber eyes narrowed.

  “Crimson City threw them out because of a fatal design flaw. The capacitor in those models is too close to the battery. If you leave them charging for a couple of minutes they overheat.” Thorn was talking slowly. He needed to stall for those couple of minutes so the pulse rifles he had set to overcharge would do exactly as he was describing. “When the trade caravans buy them up they put a dampener that allows for longer charging. But since these are contraband, they haven’t passed through the hands of the trade caravans since Len Dietrich had them refurbished. I’m willing to bet they don’t have that safety feature. And when the capacitors overheat the volatile battery pack . . . they explode.”

  Court had turned sharply towards the back of the wagon. A high-pitched whine could be heard over the idling dune bike engines as the capacitors reached maximum charge and began overheating.

  “Scott, get down,” Thorn yelled before flattening himself on the ground.

  “No,” Court Raleigh said as he took a step towards the back of the wagon.

  It exploded beneath him, erupting in a great fireball that burst green in the night sky before settling into an orange flame as the overheating pulse rifles ignited the battery packs and cartridges of the other weapons. Skulls flew from the throne as it was destroyed, and a shockwave rapidly expanded outward from the blast point and flattened the Amber Bones Gang. Thorn had only been able to get four of the pulse rifles before he was pulled out of the wagon, but it was enough to set off a chain reaction of explosions that echoed across the river.

  Thorn’s ears were ringing and everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Those closest to the blast had been launched away, while the rest, including the hostages, had been flattened to the ground. Thorn couldn’t tell how many, if any, were dead, versus how many were merely unconscious. It was difficult to focus over the loud ringing in his ears, and the concussive force that had blasted over him had flattened his already injured chest and crushed the air from his lungs. He was finding it very difficult to breathe.

  The trade caravan stopped their forward progress when the fireball lit up the night sky. They deployed a battalion of heavily-armed soldiers from the mouth of the foremost transport that began setting up a defensive perimeter to protect against the unknown threat they faced. As Thorn watched them, he saw heavy mortars being deployed among the soldiers.

  He struggled to get to his feet and began waving his arms over his head. He wanted to get the attention of the trade caravan guards to let them know that there was no longer any threat. The trade caravans, however, were not known for their cautious response to potential dangers, and as Thorn was trying to wave and let them know that everything was ok, they were loading their mortars. A chill ran down Thorn’s spine as he realized that the trade caravan guards were actually going to begin firing on them. He turned to the hostages who were just beginning to stir. Court Raleigh was right about one thing: the trade caravan didn’t care, and these people were about to get slaughtered.

  “Get back to your homes,” Thorn screamed. He couldn’t hear himself over the ringing in his ears, and he doubted anyone else could either. But he screamed nonetheless, and waved his arms and pointed at the impending danger.

  The farmers were slow, though. Maddeningly slow.

  Then Thorn did hear something over the ringing in his ears: it was a high-pitched whine coming from overhead. They had fired the first mortar shot. It blasted behind them, closer to where the throne and the wagon of weapons had exploded near the bridge. Thorn found Josh Varick and shook him to get his attention. Josh’s eyes were unfocused and dazed as he looked up. Thorn pointed at the trade caravan. For a few seconds Josh didn’t seem to understand. Then another explosion shook them as a second mortar blast impacted closer than the first. Josh’s eyes widened in recognition. Thorn moved his arms in sweeping motions away from his chest, indicating for Josh to get everyone out of there, and to do it right now. Josh nodded and began rousing people and helping them to their feet.

  The Amber Bones Gang was getting to their feet as well, and beginning to realize the danger of their situation. Those that were able righted their bikes and rode away into the farmland, fleeing from the battery.

  Thorn did his best to help Josh rouse the farmers. He all but shoved them away from the danger zone and was quickly losing his patience with their seeming reluctance to look after their own well-being.

  He was trying to motivate one of the farmer’s wives to get to her feet when a black shape in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to find Melina Bann had gotten to her feet, and was standing with a pulse rifle drawn and pointed directly at him. The woman that Thorn was trying to help was too dazed to move so he left her and turned to face his adversary. Melina was watching him with murderous intent written in her ice-blue eyes, and there was nothing Thorn could do about it. He was fully exposed.

  A second later she was gone. A mortar blast impacted right in front of her and blasted her from her feet, throwing her like a rag doll. Thorn breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and while he acknowledged that perhaps the mortars weren’t entirely a bad thing, watching Melina get blasted and thrown like that reminded him of his own vulnerability. He, too, could be obliterated at any moment.

  He turned back to the woman he had been trying to help, pulled her to her feet, and shoved her off the main road.

  Most of the people had gotten to safety by this point. A few were still unconscious. Thorn bent to grab one of these, intending to carry her off the main road and take shelter himself until the battery ended. Surely the trade caravan would figure out soon that they weren’t under attack, he thought to himself. Surely they recognized that no one was shooting back?

  As he bent to pick the woman up he was knocked flat with a piercing pain in his right shoulder. He didn’t know what had hit him. He only knew that his entire right arm was in searing pain. He turned towards the bridge behind him and saw Court Raleigh, like the skeletal figure for which he had taken his name, rising out of the ruins of his throne. He had come out of his stilts and stepped on the broken skulls, cracking them under his boots as he advanced, holding a sparker pistol on Thorn.

  Sparker pistols weren’t terribly accurate as this range; it was clear from the malevolence on Court’s glowing face that he had intended to kill. It was clear that the next shot would do exactly that.

  “Why . . . do you serve . . . the weak?” Court demanded through clenched teeth.

  Thorn pulled his legs under him into a crouching position, ready to jump, ready to charge, when Court was blindsided by Scott Tanning, who leapt and bit at his arm. Court screamed and lashed out, throwing Scott from him. The gun went flying over the side of the bridge and into the river. Scott teetered against the stone guard, and would have gone over if Thorn hadn’t sprinted to close the distance between them and pulled him back.

  The mortar blasts continued to impact around them. A blast knocked loose one of Mallory’s Mermaids at the foot of the bridge and sprayed chunks of marble over them before the statue collapsed.

  “Run,” Thorn ordered, but Scott didn’t move. “Go on, run, get out of here!”

  Scott still didn’t move. Thorn saw a determination in the kid’s eyes, something that he had not seen before. Sco
tt wanted to stay, and he wanted to fight, even if it cost him his life.

  “You saved my life and I’m grateful, now get the HELL OUT OF HERE.”

  Thorn shoved him and finally the message got through. Scott began running over the Foamingwake Bridge, but he stopped halfway up and turned back.

  “Behind you!” Scott yelled, but he was too late.

  Court had righted a dune bike and was brandishing like a whip one of the chains that had secured his throne. He slung it around Thorn’s neck as he roared by.

  Thorn was quick to get a hand between the chain and his neck before it cinched down and pulled him from his feet. It was the only thing that prevented his neck from breaking as the chain snapped taught. He was pulled behind Court Raleigh up the bridge, scraping, bruising, and bloodying his body over the uneven stones.

  Court planted a foot and spun around, leaving a half-moon of rubber before accelerating back down the bridge. Thorn rolled along the ground, unable to find his footing before he was snapped in the opposite direction. Another turn would break his neck for sure.

  No pain. Thorn felt as though he were watching his body from above, separating himself from it. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as he bounced and gagged over the uneven stones. This was the moment: survive or die.

  When he reached the base of the bridge Court slowed the throttle and leaned into the turn. He planted his right foot. The rear tire squealed and smoke erupted from between the rubber and the stones as it spun in place before biting down and accelerating. Court was turning, looking back at Thorn, leading with his amber eyes. Thorn rolled twice from the momentum. The chain was slack for the moment. Thorn stepped with one foot, pressing down into the bridge and pushing with all his might. His leg burned. It didn’t feel like it was his leg at all. He felt like a marionette; all he had to do was pull the strings, and it would stand. His body obeyed as Thorn operated it through sheer willpower.

  Court accelerated through the turn and was leaning on the throttle, leaving behind a trail of smoke and rubber. Thorn took up two feet of slack from the chain before it began to pull taught again. He swung it as Court accelerated past and smashed him squarely in the face. The chain whipped around his nose and cheekbones with a crack, and Court was floating for a brief moment as he was lifted off the seat of his bike. The bike continued in the direction of its momentum, now without a rider and rearing up before it lost control and swerved into the stone guard rail of the bridge.

  Court Raleigh fell on his back with a thud.

  Time returned to normal for Thorn as he stepped over Court. The mortar blasts had let up as the trade caravan finally realized that they were not being attacked. Out of the corner of his vision Thorn could see the heavily-armored guards swarming over the destruction they had caused.

  Thorn grabbed Court by the front of his raggedy costume and lifted him. Court’s smashed nose was leaking blood and as his lips pulled back to take a rattling breath they revealed that his front two teeth had been knocked out.

  “Why do I serve the weak?” Thorn asked through gritted teeth. He could feel the effects of his exertion taking over him. Everything was turning black around the edges. Days of exhaustion, sleeplessness, keeping himself aware and heightened at all times in a constant fight for his life, fighting the pain and keeping himself going, it was all catching up to him now. He could pass out at any moment and he no longer wanted to fight it. Everything was beginning to hurt in a way that he didn’t want to experience.

  “You are weak,” Thorn said. He had raised his fist. He wanted to bury his knuckles into Court’s face until they were coated with blood and that amber glowing make-up. But Court’s eyes had already rolled over. He was already gone. Thorn threw him back to the ground.

  Thorn fell back, anticipating that he would black out as well. He was surprised to find that he had been prevented from collapsing by something. He glanced under his arm to find Scott Tanning was doing his best to support him. Thorn chuckled.

  “It’s a losing battle, kid.”

  Then he passed out.