Grantville Gazette, Volume 68

by Bjorn Hasseler

  He saw Harley struggling with a man on the floor and rushed over to the two figures to give a vicious kick to the side of the head of the outlaw on top. The force of the kick shot the man’s head to the side breaking his neck with an audible snap.

  The rest of the room was empty. Dieter was helping Harley to his feet when three shots rang out from the rear of the farmhouse. One shot had been a boom from a down-timer weapon.

  ****

  “Get your breath and keep watch,” Harley ordered. “I’ll check the rest of the house.”

  The room had two exits, one to the rear and one to the left to another room. Harley limped to the left doorway, paused, and slipped into the room. Dieter raised his shotgun to cover the door to the rear of the farmhouse just as another outlaw burst through the doorway with an ax in his hand. Dieter was ready and fired both barrels of the shotgun. The ax wielder staggered back and fell across the doorway.

  The sound of the shotgun had alerted Harley and he re-entered the room at a limping run to find Dieter ejecting the two spent shotgun shells and reloading. At that moment, Max Huffman entered the room from the rear doorway, jumping over the body and stood crouched along the wall next to the doorway. Max saw the three bodies. “Harley! Dieter!” he panted. “You OK?”

  “We’re okay,” Harley and Dieter said.

  With that information, Max leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. When Max reached the floor, Dieter could see that he was as pale as fresh snow.

  “How about you, Max?” Harley said and he knelt next to his friend.

  “Just…let me…get my breath…,” he said between pants. “Archie got another one coming out the back.…He practically ran over Archie.…Archie nailed him, but he got off a shot and hit Archie in the leg.…”

  “Dieter! Take care of Max, I’ll check Archie,” Harley said as he limped through the rear door. There was another room in the back, a kitchen with a large hearth and a fire still lit. No one was there. With a quick glance out an open window, he continued out the back of the farmhouse.

  A previous resident had laid down paths of flagstones connecting the back door to the barn and stable. Another flagstone path led to a covered well. Harley saw the fourth outlaw lying in a growing pool of blood a few feet away from the farmhouse. Archie was leaning against the side of the well attempting to tie a bandage around his left thigh.

  Harley, now barely able to walk, hobbled slowly over to Archie. “How bad is it, Arch?”

  “Could've been worse, I guess. Damned ball ricocheted off that flagstone walk and grazed me here along my pants. It must've hit my fingernail clipper. I pulled it out of my leg.” In Archie's hand were the bloody nail clipper, bent beyond usefulness by the lead bullet. Angrily, Archie threw the nail clipper away.

  “You don't look too good yourself, Harley,” Archie replied. The side of Harley's face and neck were covered with blood, soaking the collar of his uniform shirt and jacket. The left sleeve of his jacket had been cut and the sleeve edges were dark with blood.

  Archie had filled a bucket of water from the well. He had been using it to clean his wound. Harley wetted his handkerchief and began wiping his face and neck, extracting splinters as he found them.

  “I don’t trust this well water. I’ve a bottle of ‘shine in my saddlebags. We’ll wipe down with that when we get to the horses.”

  Harley finished and had refilled the bucket by the time Max and Dieter came out of the farmhouse. Harley wasn't sure if Max was leaning on Dieter or Dieter was leaning on Max.

  Archie whispered, “Max was back of the stables when the shooting started. I think he ran flat out the whole way from the stables to the house. Over a hundred yards at least. I've never seen him move so fast. I didn't think it would hit him this hard.”

  “I think he has some heart problems,” Harley replied softly. "He can't keep this up much longer. Vina said that she heard Doc Nichols tell him they couldn't refill some prescription. I know he's been worried about something.”

  A half-hour later, they had cleaned themselves as best they could with the water from the well. Dieter's wound wasn't as severe as it had first looked. In fact, all their wounds were superficial—bloody, but still superficial.

  “Dieter, I think you are in the best shape. Go get the horses. I have a first aid kit in my saddlebags, and Archie has some moonshine we can use for disinfectant. We'll bandage ourselves up and go home.” Harley looked at his watch, it was only a little after one in the afternoon. “We've had a hard day.”

  On the way to the horses, Max waved him over and handed him a small card. "Ya did good…, Kid. Congratulations," he said between breaths.

  ****

  Dieter walked on to where the horses had been tied. From time to time, he looked at the card Max Huffman had given him. Max said he had passed the test. He'd been shot at and had shot back. He'd remembered his duties and hadn't failed. Dieter held the card closer to his face. He'd show Greta when he got home tonight, and he would be home tonight. It could have gone differently. It was a lesson he would not forget. He read the card again. It said, "Member. West Virginia Sheriff's Association." He was a deputy sheriff—finally. Greta would be proud.

  ****

  Dan Frost stood in the doorway of the Grantville police station watching his deputies ride towards him. They were quite a sight. All were mud-covered to one degree or another. Max Huffman rode slumped in the saddle, his face gray with weariness. Harley, Archie, and Dieter displayed bandages on various parts of their bodies. Harley wore a bandage on the side of his face and neck with another on his upper right arm. Archie had a bandage that looked like a Kotex pad tied around one thigh. Dieter wore a bandage around his ribs, showing through a rent in his jacket.

  They halted in front of Dan and dismounted slowly, all obviously in pain. “Well, well, look what the cat’s drug in,” Dan spoke. “Looks like you had a bit of a fight.”

  Harley looked at Dan for a moment and said, “We caught the thieves in a farmhouse. Told them to come out. They didn’t so we went in after them. We left their bodies where they fell. The villagers can take care of them.”

  “Who were they?” Dan asked.

  “Probably some out-of-work mercenaries. Appears they ran out of food and were beginning to starve. So they began stealing food to survive. I guess they figured they had a better chance taking us on than they would from the local folks,” Harley answered. "I told the Rudolstadt watchman that someone had to know they were there. It was too close to Debra to be overlooked and the path to Debra and Rudolstadt was too worn for just the four outlaws. They had help."

  “You're probably right. Well, you told him. We'll see what comes of it," Dan Frost replied. "For now, come in and get warm. There's coffee in the pot, and you all look like you can use some. Besides, I have some news for you.“ He turned and stepped into the office and held the door open. “Go on back to my office. I want to talk to you before you all go see Doc Nichols.”

  "Will this take long, Dan?” Harley asked. “Vina's waiting for me."

  "No, not long. I'm coming to the potluck, too."

  The four deputies slowly walked inside. Dan closed the door and followed them down the hallway that led to his office. As Harley, Max, Archie, and Dieter entered the police chief’s office, they saw Frank Jackson and Chuck Riddle, Grantville’s, and the NUS’s, chief judge seated to the side of Dan's desk.

  “We’ve been waiting for you boys,” Frank said. “We’ve got an offer for you.”

  Judge Riddle nodded in agreement.

  Harley had a sudden sinking feeling as he sat slowly on a couch along the wall on the side of the office. Max and Dieter joined him while Archie sat in a side chair next to the couch. They waited for Frank to continue. Harley noticed Max and Archie looking guarded. Dieter looked puzzled and obviously had no idea what was about to happen.

  “Did you clear up that problem for Rudolstadt?” Judge Riddle asked, speaking for the first time.

  “Yes, they did,” Dan Frost
said before Harley had a chance to make a reply. “All neat and tidy—no loose ends,” meaning there were no survivors left to prey on people.

  Frank noticed a small pool of blood collecting on the floor under Archie's chair. “Uhhh, Archie, you're bleeding on the chief's floor.”

  Archie looked back at Frank with an expression of extreme irritation on his face. “F…” He caught himself and said instead, “Up yours, Frank.”

  “Now, Archie, keep control of yourself,” Frank said with a smile. He turned towards Judge Riddle. “That should keep Rudolstadt happy.”

  Dan Frost had been pouring coffee while Frank Jackson and Judge Riddle were talking. He gave one to each deputy and said, “Jamaica Blue Mountain it ain’t, but this is the real thing. I make one pot a week, and this is the day for that one pot."

  As the four held their mugs, the judge began to speak. “I have a problem. My jurisdiction includes all of Thuringia and probably Franconia. Corruption is rampant, the legal system is inconsistent, and its application is erratic at best. We have a petition from representatives from Franconia for assistance. They were referred to Dan Frost and me since the NUS has administrative authority in the region.”

  “Evidently, there are some readers of up-time literature in Franconia, and they’ve gotten some Louis L’Amour and Zane Grey westerns. They want us to establish a force along the lines of the Texas Rangers and the US Marshals. Some have seen some John Wayne films too—True Grit and Cahill, US Marshal.”

  “We have limited resources—a few administrators here and there—and we’re just starting to really understand the scope of the issues. Shoot! Just look at the mess that happened in Suhl. There is still a lot of potential trouble there that will keep our attention focused all across Franconia and Fulda, not to mention Bamberg is about to boil over.”

  “We need more of these folks firmly on our side. If we can provide some stability, Thuringia and Franconia will become our base, our bastion for survival.”

  Dan Frost broke in, “There are other changes coming here in Grantville as well. I’ll be leaving by the end of the year—maybe sooner. There’ll be a new police chief and sheriff. Probably either Fred Jordan or Press Richards. Don’t know which yet.”

  The judge continued, “We envision an organization, two organizations, really, that will be a combination of the Texas Rangers and the US Marshals’ Service to provide visible law and justice to the New United States. The original Texas Rangers spent more time as a quasi-military force fighting the Comanches. It was later, after the Civil War, that they spent more time in law enforcement than as a militia. But that is what we need: a force to provide law and order, a mounted field force to patrol the territory, and judicial bailiffs—marshals, to provide liaisons with the local governments, administrations, and ruling aristocracies. An organization to do all the little dirty jobs that will arise including criminal investigations.”

  “We know you boys are getting a little long in the tooth, and you still have National Guard commitments,” Frank Jackson interjected, “except, of course, for you, Dieter. We had planned to have you continue as instructors and trainers after you trained a few more DIs for the Army. But we realized there were younger men around in better shape that could do the job just as well. What we don’t have are folks who can react to situations that the rules haven’t covered. You three, and now you, Dieter, are more like those old-time marshals than anyone else around. We're not looking for a `one riot, one Ranger` hero. Just some folks who can take care of themselves when it gets down and dirty and train others to do the same.”

  “Just like you've done with Dieter, here,” Dan Frost added.

  "By the way," Harley said, "Dieter passed his test today. It's time he's a full deputy."

  Frost nodded, "Congratulations, Dieter."

  "Danke," Dieter replied.

  “So that’s the deal,” Judge Riddle continuing after Frost's interruption. “We’re asking for the creation of a Marshals Service and a Mounted Constabulary along the lines of the early Texas Rangers and Judge Isaac Parker's marshals. I have my son Martin working up charters. When he and I are satisfied with it, Martin will take them to the legislature for review, approval, and funding. We’ve been having some straw man meetings with some of the down-timer representatives, and we think we can get it approved—probably later this year or early next year.”

  “I would be the head of the Marshals’ Service until we can find someone to take on the job full time. We have some other folks in mind for the Mounted Constabulary. What we want for you is to be marshals. When the time comes, you would be discharged from the National Guard for the purpose of accepting a position in the Marshals’ Service. Your former army status will help with some of the local aristocracy. I want this organization to be one where anyone can call for justice. Finally, I want it to be a model that the other confederated principalities can use.”

  “What if we turned you down?” Archie asked.

  “Well,” Dan Frost grinned and replied slowly, “we hope you won’t. But if necessary, we can always draft you.”

  “Yeah!” Frank Jackson laughed. “Greetings! You have been selected by your friends and neighbors…”

  ****

  The Lost Monster by Eric S. Brown and A. G. Carpenter

  The glass of the diner’s window shattered, crashing in shards to the floor. The tempting smell of cooking hamburgers on the grill was replaced by the overwhelming stench of raw sewage. Outside, in the street, their yellow eyes burning in the night, the monsters roared. Then, the screen went black, and the credits began to roll.

  Ray leaped from his seat on the couch. “Now that was a movie!”

  Reclining comfortably, with his arm around Scully as she snuggled against his shoulder, John smiled.

  Red sat staring at the screen with a frown pulling the corners of her lips downward. “I don’t get it,” she said.

  Ray whirled on her. “What don’t you get? That was amazing.”

  Red looked up at him. “That toxic…” She glanced at Scully in her struggle to find the correct word.

  “Waste,” Scully filled in the blank for her.

  “That toxic waste,” Red continued. “It changed those poor people into monsters right?”

  Ray nodded. “Yeah, so?”

  “It’s just that if they’re monsters now and not human, they’re not really people anymore. That means you can’t really call them cannibals because they’re not eating their own kind.”

  John smirked as he watched Ray. Ray looked like he wanted to explode in frustration and anger.

  “Easy now, mate,” John laughed, “She has a point, you know.”

  “But…” Ray started.

  John cut him off, shifting on the couch to look at Red. “Don’t overthink things too much. Sometimes it’s best to just take them as they are and enjoy them.”

  Red didn’t appear convinced but she dropped the issue of the movie’s title and changed the subject. “Thanks for having us over, Scully. This was a great idea.”

  John squeezed Scully tight. “I agree, love. We can’t be out there fighting monsters all the time. Besides, being here is a lot safer than the stuff we normally do. It’s a nice change.”

  “You just don’t want to meet another Yeti.” Scully smiled and poked John in his ribs.

  “You got that right!” he said. “My ankle’s almost healed up so I figure we’ll back to it soon enough.”

  Ray had moved closer to the TV and was kneeling next to it. “What do you call this box that plays the movies again?”

  “A VCR,” Scully answered. “My dad gave it to me the year before the Ring of Fire brought the town of Grantville here.”

  Red wandered over to the small stack of VHS tapes and started digging through them. “What should we watch next?”

  Ray piped up so fast, it made Red flinch and almost drop the tape she was holding.

  “Who ya gonna call?” Ray belted out but never got to finish as John stopped him.

 
; “Not tonight.” He glanced at Scully. “Right?”

  She shook her head in agreement. “We’re not watching that again. I know it’s a classic, but you’ve seen it before, Ray. We need to watch stuff you guys haven’t seen so we can come up with a new adventure.”

  “He just loves the secretary.” John grinned and winked.

  Ray flushed but made no move to deny John’s remark.

  Red held up a tape. “How about this one?”

  The tape’s box had a woman dressed in a strange red and blue outfit on it. She was beautiful and wore what looked to be a lasso fastened at her hip to the belt she wore.

  Scully shook her head. “Naw, that’s not scary. We need to watch something else with monsters.”

  Shrugging John’s arm to one side, Scully slid onto the floor and reached for the pile of tapes. “I think this one would be perfect.”

  The cover of the box she held up had a giant creature that resembled a tree with a long pointed tongue stabbing outwards from its mouth towards a screaming woman.

  “Is that really a killer plant?” John asked, leaning forward.

  “It’s a Triffid,” Scully giggled. “You guys will love it.”

  Ray came over to the table, grabbing up a tape himself. “This looks pretty good,” he said, holding up a box with a cover that had a person covered in pinkish goo who appeared to melting on it.

  “Guys,” John said, “Maybe we should call it a day with the movies, huh?”

  “We’ve only watched three so far,” Ray protested. It wasn’t every day that the Monster Society had access to such a treasure trove of up-time horror.

  “I know, but it’s getting late,” John pointed out. “Natalie’s parents will be home soon, and we need to clear out before they get here.”

  Both Red and Ray stared at John. He’d used Scully’s real name. There was an unspoken rule in the Monster Society. When they got together, they always used the names of their chosen characters.