The Glass Mountains: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 2

by J. V. Roberts

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Cutting you loose.” The faint sound of him sawing at her binds barely registered above the sea breeze.

  “Are you out of your mind? Silas will kill you.”

  “They’re going to execute you in the morning.”

  She felt like she’d been punched in the chest. She’d been expecting death, she’d welcomed it, but it’d been nothing more than an abstract concept. For it to suddenly become so definite threw her for a loop. “But…why? Why now?”

  “You’re useless to him now. The only reason they were keeping you around was in case they needed a bargaining chip. Now that they’re waging an all out attack on Genesis, you no longer serve a purpose to him.”

  “You’re putting yourself at risk, Hawthorne. You don’t have to do this.”

  “He will make it slow. He will make it painful. I can’t stand by and let him do that. I’ve already let him do too much.”

  The bonds snapped and her hands were free. She shook off the excess rope and came up into a wobbly crouch, rubbing at her wrists. She turned to face Hawthorne. “Come with me. We can both escape this place.”

  “What would I do? Where would I go?”

  “Somewhere. Anywhere. It’s got to be better than here.”

  “Here is home for me. Sometimes we can’t escape where we’re from; we can only make it better.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  He sighed and dropped his head, his sweaty hair glistening in the moonlight, concealing his slender face. “Maybe it is. But you need someone to hang back and stall them.”

  “No, I don’t. Listen to—”

  “Just go. If he comes out here and catches you, we’ll both be in for it. It’ll be for nothing. You really wanna do something for me? Then run. Don’t let this be for nothing.”

  She grabbed his arms and shook him until he met her eyes. “I’ll come back for you.”

  He helped her to her feet. “I left a backpack near the mouth of the pass. It’s got clothes, food, and water. It should be enough to get through the Glass Mountains and into Skarwood.”

  “Hawthorne…”

  “Goodbye Lerah, be safe.”

  He turned and started back towards the tents, leaving her to decide her fate. She wouldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain. She grabbed the chance he’d given her and she ran with it.

  I will come back for him.

  The empty promise kept finding its way onto her tongue. It came in whispers, between bouts of weeping. Something to stave off the guilt she felt as she drew further away from the camp. As she dressed (shirt and pants, but no shoes) and took up the backpack, tears still stinging her eyes, the words slowly ceased. Her attention was drawn to the mouth of the mountain pass in front of her; a pitch black curtain, without form, swallowing all who entered. She looked back at the camp. The cook fires and lanterns were flickering, their glow drawing the landscape. The memories of what had been done to her in that place came flooding back all at once, with that in mind, she turned and allowed the mountain pass to swallow her.

  26

  Dominic and Merrick drank the daylight away. Merrick had fetched him the items he needed and stored them away in a room he kept at the inn across the square. They were in the back room of the saloon, seated around Merrick’s private table, two-thirds of the surface covered in empty beer bottles. Laughter and shouting from the main bar area found them through the thin walls. Glass bottles shattered in regular intervals and the occasional gunshot rocked the building. It kept Dominic on edge. His hand was never far from his pistol. The room was bare bones. The only luxury it held was seclusion. The only light came from two candles, mounted on the walls. Anytime they needed another round Merrick had to manually fetch the bottles, a task that was growing more cumbersome the drunker he got.

  Dominic was lighting a fresh cigarette when Merrick asked, “So when you gonna tell me what went down between you and the Rebs?”

  Dominic didn’t say anything as he extinguished the match with two flicks of his wrist.

  “You’re not, are you?”

  “Believe I already answered that question, twice.”

  Merrick sat back, dejected. He slid low in his seat, a dark sweat stain cutting a narrow ring down the front of his blue denim shirt. “Sorry, man. It’s just the curiosity, you know?”

  “Used to tell our boys in the trenches that curiosity would get them killed. The shooting would stop, it’d get quiet, and a few of them just couldn’t resist sticking their heads up. Union snipers would blow their brains out. You gotta be careful with curiosity.” Dominic exhaled a cloud of smoke towards the dusty, cobweb-encrusted ceiling.

  “Curiosity has been good to me.” Merrick was resting a bottle on top of his belly, sloshing a mouthful of bitter brew from cheek-to-cheek. “I see an opening and I just have to stick my head through to see what’s on the other side.”

  “Good way to get it chopped off.”

  “Good way to make some coin.” Merrick tipped the bottle towards Dominic. “People need guys like me. They come through here, they don’t know which way is up. They got a pocket of coin on their hip and mischief on their mind. But they don’t know where to go, where not to go. They’re targets for every alley dweller in town. That’s where I come in, the man with a plan, the man with his ear to the ground. You want a loud whore and a quiet place to fuck her? Done. Hot bath and clean sheets? Done. Best stew in the Wastes? I’ve got a line on that too. Whatever your need, Merrick makes sure it’s met.” He thumbed his chest as he took a swig.

  “Gotta say,” Dominic dabbed a small head of ash onto the table, “that’s quite industrious of you. Ammo runner turned tour guide. Most soldiers never put the gun down, they just change uniforms.”

  “Yeah, well, fetching drinks and running whores beats dodging bullets any day of the week.”

  “A point I can’t argue.”

  “Where’d you go when the shooting stopped?”

  Dominic lit another cigarette, clamping it in the corner of his mouth. “I had to keep my head down for a bit. The Union boys were grabbing every Saboteur they could get their paws on and making examples of them.”

  “I remember that. Ugly times. Saw it with my own eyes. Had them on display outside of Genesis. Carved their tattoos right off their chests. Left ‘em there till the crows started going at ‘em.”

  “Yeah, heard it got ugly.” Dominic shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eager to change the subject. The chair squealed a warning at him. It was a small chair and he was a large man. The thing was probably constructed by the shaky hands of some drunkard. “I wandered. Things got scarce for awhile. I was pulling water from wells after dark and stealing potatoes. Felt damned guilty about it, never was one for taking something I hadn’t earned. I was having a drink one day. Caravan rider was sitting at the bar and told me I looked capable, asked if I’d escort him to the next settlement. He’d been having trouble with bandits on the road. I still had my Reb issued pistol, so I said yeah.”

  “You come across them bandits?”

  Dominic nodded behind a curtain of smoke. “Five of them. Killed three. Other two ran off. After that, work became steadier. I started seeking it out. Going from settlement to settlement, asking about any messes that needed cleaning up.”

  “Seeking it out. Giving yourself over to curiosity. Poking your head through the openings.” Merrick spoke like a wise sage, punctuating each sentence with a tip of the bottle. “And it appears your head is still well attached to your body.”

  Dominic smiled, submitting merrily to Merrick’s elastic logic. “I suppose I’ve gotta give you that one.”

  Merrick finished off his beer, reached under the table, and came back up with another. “You remember Curtsy?”

  “Who doesn’t?” Curtsy had been another ammo runner, a black kid with a white birthmark that ran the length of his left cheek. He got the name Curtsy because of a weird little thing he did every time he greeted someone. Whether he was entering a
room or dropping off a box of ammo, he’d bend his knees and bow at the waist, maintaining eye contact. It was the weirdest damn thing and it always got a laugh.

  “You know, I traveled with him for a bit after the war ended.”

  “No shit? Did he continue to live up to his namesake?”

  “Sure did. Most folks didn’t know what to do with him. We were used to it, you know. Easy to forget how odd it was the first time ya saw it.”

  Dominic nodded in agreement. “Yup. First time I saw him do it, I asked him to do it again, just to make sure my eyes hadn’t betrayed me.”

  “You remember what he used to say whenever you’d ask him about it?”

  “Beats shaking hands!” they said in unison, laughing and clinking their bottles together.

  “Ah, shit,” Dominic dabbed at his eyes, his laughter throttling down, “he was a character.”

  “He kept things interesting. I’m sure I don’t gotta tell you, but nights out here can get dreadfully boring when you’re between settlements and the only company you’ve got is the whispering of the wind in your ears. Did you know his momma was a dancer in one of them rolling side shows?”

  “Like the one that came through before the Battle of the Canyons?”

  “That’s the word I got. She wasn’t the naked type, according to him. She did some sort of fancy type, exotic stuff. Said it still drove guys wild.”

  “Odd thing for a fella to say about his momma.”

  “Curtsy was an odd fella, no doubt. Did you know his daddy wasn’t full black, only half?”

  “What was the other half?”

  “He never said. I never asked.”

  “What happened to old Curtsy?” Dominic coughed lightly as he blew two strings of gray smoke through his nostrils.

  “Died. Well, killed is probably a more accurate way of putting it.”

  “Damn shame to hear that. How’d he go?”

  “Happened over a roof. Curtsy and me, we helped patch this roof. It belonged to a mean, old drunk. We’d finished up and were about to head out, but the rains blew through. We took up in the inn till it passed. When we were getting ready to ride on, the drunk comes out, raving about how we’d sabotaged his roof. Apparently, some water got in and seeped down into his bedding. It was an easy fix, but he wasn’t having it, he wanted blood. He started waving this butcher's blade around, talking about how he was gonna take it out of our asses and all kinds of other shit. I just wanted to ride. But Curtsy being Curtsy, he wanted to try to talk it out.”

  “Even after everything he saw during the war, he still thought folks in this land could be reasoned with?”

  “That he did.”

  “Kid was born five-hundred years too late.”

  “That he was.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Drunk cut him down; slit him right across the belly.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I got out of there. The mob smelled blood. They’d have killed me too. Hated to leave him like that.”

  “You survived. Sometimes, that’s all you can do. Sounds like it was a shit sandwich no matter which way you sliced it.” Dominic had run from more than a few battles in the name of survival.

  “He’d have loved this thing I got goin’ now. Hell, I think he’d have doubled my business. Curtsy could talk to anyone about anything.”

  “That he could.” Dominic stubbed out his final cigarette of the night. “I think that about does it for me. Morning is fast approaching and I’ve gotta try to shut my eyes for a little bit.”

  “Say no more.” Merrick stood and swept his arms towards the door at the back of the room. “Your suite awaits, sir.”

  ***

  Dominic didn’t have time to dream. His sleep came in fits. Forty-five-minute spurts. The rest of the time was spent gasping awake, swinging at the moonlit semi-darkness. He kept seeing visions. Visions of Lerah, bloody and broken. He was sitting up in bed, breathing heavy, eyes half open, waiting for the images to disappear. After a few minutes, they did. He closed his eyes again and a restless sleep came upon him. This time, only thirty minutes passed before he shot up, swinging. Except it was different this time. Someone was there with him, standing in the darkness. Men. Armed. Two of them, by Dominic’s count.

  “You hold real still, Dominic.” His voice was a raspy whistle. He sounded like he was missing a couple teeth.

  Dominic peered harder and could see the outline of the rifles. He could smell them too. Months, maybe years, of sweat and grime, baked into their pores by the harsh sunlight. They had to be Rebels. Who else would be waking him from a not-so-restful sleep with rifles in hand? The Union would never dare to set foot in Skarwood. “Any chance you boys got the wrong room?” Dominic was sitting up on his elbows.

  “Not likely. Bastard your size, there ain’t no mistaking you,” the other one spoke.

  “My inability to blend into a crowd has always been a distinct disadvantage.” The two men seemed confused by his cool and collected demeanor. They were likely used to their targets trembling and begging once the guns came out.

  “Yeah…well…you just get up off that bed, real slow.”

  “What’s this about? It’s Silas, isn’t it?” Their silence served as the only answer he needed. “Where’s he at? Other side of the mountains?”

  “Less talking, more moving. Get up, keep your hands high.”

  Dominic was moving, but it wasn’t slow and he wasn’t keeping his hands high. These guys had answers. They’d come from the other side of the mountains. If Lerah was there, they’d seen her. “Did you see a girl?” Dominic stood off to the left side of the bed. His pistol was a little more than an arm’s length away, sitting beside his shirt on the dresser. He could make the grab. Whether he would get shot doing it was a different story. These guys were staying put and keeping their guard up; they knew what they were dealing with.

  “I seen lots of girls in my time, big boy.”

  “She’s Union. She’s got blonde hair. You’d remember her.”

  Both men started to laugh.

  Loud.

  Diabolical.

  Villainous camaraderie.

  “Oh we remember her. Can still smell her.” The bastard with the empty gums sniffed his fingers.

  “She was real soft. Real sweet.” The other one thrust his hips as he spoke.

  Dominic lurched forward and the two Rebels jumped back, rifles ready.

  “Whoa! Not another step, big boy! We don’t have to bring you back alive. Silas wants you breathing, no doubt. But he’d be just as happy with your head.”

  Dominic growled, blood pumping in his ears.

  “Perhaps he’s sweet on her.” Gaptooth laughed

  “What’s her name?” Dominic barked. He took another determined step forward, ignoring the rifles focused on his chest.

  “Listen here, you big bastard, one more step and I swear it!” Gaptooth shook his rifle to drive the point home.

  “Her name! Say her name!”

  “Her name is…was,” he paused for another round of laughter, “Lerah.”

  “Let me tell you something, you just signed your fucking death warrant!” Dominic roared.

  “No, asshole, let me tell you something. We fucked her pussy raw, didn’t we?” Gaptooth nudged his partner. “All of us took our turn. Fucked her till she blacked out. When she woke up again, we was still fuckin her. Surprised the shit outta that Union cunt.”

  Dominic’s breathing grew shallow. Everything behind his eyes disappeared. All he saw were the two sonsofbitches standing before him. All he felt was the desire to peel their skin from their bones. To slit their bellies and watch them writhe and squeal and plead. To watch their faces grow pale as the last of their life rattled from their bodies and they died in a pile of shit and entrails. But there was no time for that. He’d save the theatrics for Silas and any Rebel unfortunate enough to be on the other side of the Glass Mountains. For the time being, quick and messy would have to do.

&nb
sp; “This don’t need to go bad.” Everything about Gaptooth had changed: his tone of voice, his demeanor. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere. Feel the flames rising as the demon reared its head.

  Dominic charged. The two Rebels fired. He felt something pinch his shoulder, like a bug bite, but he didn’t break pace. He shoved Gaptooth into his partner, sending them stumbling back towards the door as he reached for the pistol sitting on top of the dresser against the wall. He swung around, just as the two Rebels were recovering their balance, aiming their rifles from the hip. The room erupted into gunfire. Dominic slid down the wall, emptying the fifteen-round magazine in the direction of his enemies. Gunsmoke filled the air, obscuring his vision. When he came to rest on his butt, back against the wall, the pistol was dry; the slide was locked back, empty chamber hungry for another cartridge.

  The two Rebs were lying dead by the door. Dominic could hear the faint sound of their blood leaking from the holes in their bodies. He stood, slowly, pushing himself up the wall. Pain chewed through his shoulder. He’d definitely taken a bullet. He’d have to tend to it later. The only thing he had time to focus on was getting out of town. It was the second time he’d been attacked while sleeping at an inn in less than a month. He was sleeping under the stars from this point forward. He much preferred sand up his ass to shootouts and bullet wounds. Who’d given him over to the Rebels this time? No one knew where he was laying his head.

  Wait.

  One person did.

  Merrick.

  He reloaded the pistol, keeping it out and ready. He didn’t bother putting on the shirt. He’d just bleed through it. He pushed the corpses aside with his leg as he slowly pulled back the bullet-riddled door. He slid into the hallway, pistol first, turning circles. There were no signs of life, but he could hear a commotion downstairs near the check-in counter: hushed voices, folks rustling around.

  Dominic descended the stairs. He was turned sideways so that he’d be facing the lobby. There were two men waiting for him. The inn-keep stood behind the check-in counter, aiming a double-barrel shotgun. Another man, sporting buggy eyes and a hair-lip, stood in front of the counter aiming a rifle; Dominic placed him as a Rebel.