B00M0CSLAM EBOK

by Mason Elliott

  He couldn’t even speak. Somehow that made it worse. He couldn’t yell or scream at them or call for help.

  Mason still didn’t even know how many of them there were around him. It could be an entire mob, for all he knew. He had only been able to parse out three, maybe four different people breathing around him and then hitting and kicking him during the struggle.

  Only the two men had spoken, and he didn’t recognize either of their voices.

  Was he really going to die this way, hanged like a criminal?

  Tori. Whenever he was close to death, he could only think of her and everything they’d miss out on together. Damn it.

  His captors made him step up and stand on something–something wooden that creaked–maybe a picnic table. Mason heard and felt the cold wind lashing through some kind of tree branches.

  Then they cinched the rope tight around his neck. Four pairs of hands worked on him. Mason started to panic in terror, grunting and mumbling through his gag.

  The angry guy whispered, taunting him further. “Getting a little excited, are you? You just suck on that and twist in the wind, scum. We’re all going to stick you with knives and cut you, also, while you jerk like a fish on a hook. This is for my brother and all the other innocent people you killed, you no good mother–”

  Scores of bows twanged.

  Arrows zipped through the air like angry hornets.

  People grunted, moaned, and dropped. Some fell very hard. Mason could hear their skulls smack into either brick or concrete.

  Something or someone heavy still managed to shove him off of that table.

  The rope tightened and burned around his neck like a band of sudden fire.

  Mason couldn’t breathe.

  His legs kicked wildly, but he still could not breathe or reach the table again with his toes.

  Feet pounded in toward him.

  Someone grabbed him by the legs and hips and hoisted him back up, taking the tension of his weight off the rope.

  A blade swept through the air with a whoosh at the same time.

  The rope was cut and his dead weight slammed both him and the person holding him to the ground hard.

  He was still trying to breathe.

  Blondie yanked the dark bag off Mason’s head and tore the tape from his mouth. His friend proceeded to cut his hands free with the same razor-sharp cavalry saber Blondie had severed the rope with.

  Five people lay bleeding and dying on the ground near Mason, riddled with arrows.

  Two of them were women, and all five did, in fact, have knives–either in their hands or on their belts.

  Captain Watkins checked the conspirators, but with all of those arrows in them… “They’re all done for,” Watkins noted. “As it was, we couldn’t take any chances. Search the house; they took some of Mace’s guns when they abducted him. I want every one of those weapons returned immediately.”

  Mason studied the faces of the dead people who had wanted to kill him so badly. He barely recognized one face from the militia among them, but he didn’t know any of the five conspirators by name.

  Why did that shock him so much?

  He didn’t know any of these folks, but they had certainly been hell-bent on killing and torturing him–revenge for Mason taking the lives of people they cared about during the chaotic fighting. Now, all five of his abductors lay dead as well, because of him.

  All because Mason’s special talent for destruction made him too valuable to let anyone kill him.

  Blondie sheathed his saber finally and grinned. “I was all set to ride for Elkhart this morning, Mace. Where the hell were you?”

  Mason groaned, slipping the burning rope from his raw neck. He hissed in pain and took in a sweet breath. “Oh, just hanging around, I guess.”

  Blondie grunted. “Stick to your guns, Pistolero. You sure aren’t any good at comedy.”

  Mason nodded. “They say it’s all timing. We’re still going to Elkhart, just as soon as I finish catching my breath.”

  “I know we are,” Blondie said. “We’re all packed up. Everything’s waiting on you.”

  Mason hugged his friend with both arms, truly thankful and grateful. “Thanks, my brother. Thanks for finding me, and for coming to my rescue. I sure owe you one.”

  Blondie pulled away, catching his own breath from being bear hugged so forcefully, but looking both proud and pleased with himself. “You got it, Mace. I’m going to hold you to that some day. So what happened? I thought you were a light sleeper? No one can sneak up on the Pistolero.”

  Mason stared at Blondie suddenly, his eyes wide and a little annoyed as they walked away from that scene of death. “Well, it just so happened that I was dog-damn-tired from being kept up for hours by you and that shrieking banshee you had in bed with you!”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, Mace. She was a bit loud, but real eager, let me tell you.” Blondie sighed.

  “A bit loud?” Mason said. “A bit loud? They must have heard her over four states!”

  Blondie chuckled. “Man, you’re still pissed about it. I can tell.”

  “You don’t wanna mess with a man who likes his sleep like a good steak, Blondie–I swear to Jehovah Himself, if that gal howled ‘yes!’ or ‘oh, God!’ once more, I was going to blast through that paper-thin wall and shoot you both right in the ass. Give you both something to goddam scream about with burning holes punched clean through the fleshy parts of your buttocks for the wind to whistle through!”

  His friend laughed so hard, he couldn’t speak for a moment. “Well, Mace, I’m sure glad you showed some restraint. Neither of us need any extra holes. By the Powers, maybe you do have a knack for comedy–we just have to get you good and mad.”

  They both laughed together, continuing to relieve some of the tension.

  The rope burn that still scorched and scarred Mason’s neck was bloody where the nylon noose had bit and burned into his flesh under the agony of his own weight. Those wounds needed to be tended to and dressed so that they didn’t get infected.

  They would also serve as a constant reminder of his hanging.

  No one was going to do that to him ever again.

  No one.

  It still hurt and bothered Mason greatly, deep inside and personal, that those five dead strangers had wanted to murder him so badly.

  He didn’t want to become too paranoid, but he would have to watch his back now, and be a great deal more careful.

  Yet none of any of that was going to prevent him from going to Elkhart and search for Tori.

  First, see to his injuries. Next, after he ate and rested enough to recover from his ordeal, he and Blondie would hit the trail.

  13

  At least it didn’t rain. The sky stayed partly cloudy, with patches of sun here and there around Portage and Angela on the northwest side. The wind in the bare trees swept in cool and breezy, about ten to fifteen miles an hour out of the southwest.

  During those last two hours before sunset, another hasty division organized at the Century Center rushed up to reinforce the lines in the last few minutes.

  That made it six thousand militia set to defend South Bend from whatever came against them that night.

  Word came from General Blackwood. Because of his knowledge and skills, David quickly went from first lieutenant to become the captain of 2nd Company, 1st Division, a hundred troops anchoring the left flank on Portage Road around Angela Street just before the roundabout and the crucial bridge there and the old train trestle that was blocked off. Their position was a strategic choke point that protected the river and that entire area, not to mention the new emergency centers set up among the churches and nearby schools.

  Attacks had been heavy in that area the night before. David knew that firsthand.

  He wished he knew for certain that Jerriel was safe.

  While it still remained light out, David instructed his people to post sentries, stay warm, and maintain their formations and positions. They moved derelict vehicles to form a d
efensive barrier on the far side of the road.

  Troops also had boxes and crates of rocks and bricks to hurl in the face of the enemy when the monsters charged.

  It seemed to grow dark around them very quickly, especially from the east.

  Tension and fear tainted the air, along with a faint stench on the wind.

  David knew exactly what that stink was from. Monsters.

  One of his runners biked back to him from downtown; David couldn’t remember the kid’s name. “Where’s Jerriel?” he asked. “Did she ever report back to HQ?”

  Thus far, only a few people knew just how valuable and important the wizard girl was to them all.

  “We haven’t heard anything,” the messenger told him. “Perhaps she–”

  Whistles and horns sounded up and down the line, all along the near northwest side.

  Major Hammond’s runner came to them from up the line to the east, a terrified blond kid from one of the high school cross country teams. There were a bunch of new officers that David hadn’t even met. Hardly anyone knew each other.

  “Captain Pritchard. The enemy has been spotted. They’re sweeping this way, pouring into town between us and the west side units. There’s a big wild area of forest there that stretches all the way out to where the airport once was.”

  David put his hands on his weapons. “How many strong?”

  The messenger shook his head. “Reports say it’s difficult to estimate accurate numbers in the dark. But they’re rampaging this way, across Olive Street and down Ellwood–at least several thousand strong.”

  The enemy obviously intended to cross the river again and go on another rampage–this time with far greater numbers.

  “Good work letting us know. Return to Major Hammond and tell him we need to hold the line here at all costs. Any available units should reinforce this location.”

  The runner remembered to salute this time. “Thank you, sir.” David returned it and the boy ran off.

  David didn’t feel like much of a leader, but he couldn’t let that show.

  He walked up and down Portage Road, spear and sword swinging easily in his hands. He tried to settle his troops down, trying to ignore the chaos of the attacking hordes growing ever closer.

  The sound of breaking windows, screams, and fires erupted.

  They couldn’t protect every house. That was just the way it was.

  He only had a few minutes before they’d engage the monsters. The first stroke of the enemy hammer was going to hit their position first.

  “All right, people. Get up to the line and maintain the shield wall. Hold your ground. Prepare to fight. We back each other up. Take out the enemies around you, and then the next.”

  They had finished rolling up a defensive line of vehicles bumper to bumper all on one side of Portage Road.

  “We’re defending our homes. Our family and friends are counting on us. We can’t let the enemy break through. We can’t let them reach the river, or the bridge.”

  The militia stood poised and ready to fight.

  Yet even at a glance, their lines were obviously too thin. What was going on?

  David shouted. “Platoon and team leaders, get everyone up here, now. Everyone on the line!” Voices erupted all at once.

  “This is it, sir,” someone said.

  “Sir, a bunch of people behind us just turned around and ran off.”

  “What do we do, sir?”

  David held his breath, checking left and right.

  Half his troops–were already gone.

  And the monsters were mere minutes from falling upon them.

  “Everyone to my right and left, within the sound of my voice, close ranks. Keep the shield wall in front. Set spears to receive a charge. Spread the word down the line on both sides. All units, close in and get ready to fight!”

  David loaded his crossbow. His hands shook.

  Horrific roaring filled the air. Trees and houses rattled. The cold ground rumbled at the pounding of charging monster feet. Monsters attacked throughout the northwest, smashing and burning everything in their path.

  “Hurry!” David commanded. “Pass the word. Close up the line toward Angela on both sides. We’ll form up and defend that intersection leading back to the bridge!”

  Fighting erupted in several places along Portage, even as they continued to try to close ranks.

  If the enemy caught them thin and off-balance–they were screwed.

  “Archers and rock throwers, hold your fire. Remember, the enemy will drive human refugees in front of them, just as they did last night. Don’t get confused and hit our own people. Let them through the lines! Tell them to get to one of the safe zones.”

  More screams where unlucky people hadn’t left their homes for the evacuation, hoping the trouble would pass them by again.

  And it didn’t.

  Within a few minutes, scared and wounded survivors biked and ran down the street. Even little kids, half naked in the cold. Some troops wrapped them in blankets and tried to get them to safety.

  “Let them through, troops. Keep them moving–but stay on the line. You cannot go with them. Hand them off to others!”

  “They’re coming,” people screamed. “The monsters are coming!”

  “They’re killing people, eating people, taking prisoners. There’s hundreds of them!”

  “They’re everywhere!”

  In the night, terror took hold easily. David sensed the uneasiness of his remaining troops.

  Those troops without bows still had the boxes of rocks, stones, and pieces of concrete debris to toss at the enemy at the outset. The idea was to inflict whatever damage they could from a distance.

  The last terrified stragglers ran toward the line, some of them injured.

  The militia still shifted toward Angela. David spotted the main dark mass of foes, swelling and growing as it swept forward.

  “Prepare to fire. On my–”

  He didn’t even get his whistle in his hand.

  A few terrified refugees still crossed Portage. A hail of sporadic arrows and rocks tore into the advancing mass, taking down friend and foe alike.

  The last refugees dispersed or crawled under cars or houses.

  David started shooting, still leading his people to protect the intersection. He aimed at enemy torsos, scoring hits. The missile barrage checked the enemy advance for a few precious moments.

  He dropped a torg with a bolt in the chest, less than ten feet away.

  Then he slung his crossbow over his shoulder, secured the clip, and tightened the strap down behind his back. He hefted his broad bladed spear. The enemy bunched and charged across Portage. Missiles still struck among them.

  He dropped a torg with a bolt in the chest, less than ten feet away.

  Then he slung his crossbow over his shoulder, secured the clip, and tightened the strap down behind his back. He hefted his broad-bladed spear. The enemy bunched and charged across Portage. Missiles still struck among them.

  The barrier of vehicles barely slowed them down.

  Monster drums boomed in the distance. There had been no drums the night before.

  Drums and weird horns blared, strange cries and screams. More fires erupted.

  “Shield wall. Set for charge!” David yelled. He snapped his head left and right.

  Holy shit. He had maybe fifteen people on either side of him. Everyone else broke and ran down Angela back toward the bridge.

  There was no way they could hold now.

  “Everyone retreat. Fall back to the bridge and the river. Keep fighting all the way!”

  The Portage line quickly collapsed inwards and dissolved.

  Now those who hadn’t bolted would need to fight like hell just to try to save themselves.

  “Fighting retreat. Stay together and fight, or we’re all dead!”

  David stabbed three more charging torgs with quick jabs of his spear, giving ground every second.

  A ka-torg, taller and stockier, jumped on David’s
spear haft and cracked it. David ducked under the sweep of its broad-bladed scimitar. He whirled to the side and ran the monster through with his broken spear.

  He drew his longsword and swept up, clipping another creature in the arm. Then he thrust forward suddenly and stabbed it in the throat. It gurgled and fell back.

  More foes rushed in. David backpedaled around the nearest house.

  The enemy didn’t know the area and quickly bogged down among the confusing obstacles of houses, cars, yards, and fences.

  But so did some of the militia in their attempt to retreat. Several got cut off and dragged down. David heard their screams end abruptly. He wished he could have helped them.

  They were nearly overrun at Angela and Woodward, only a few hundred yards from the bridge.

  Damn it. They had lost good people to cowardice and stupidity. The shame he felt at his own failure to lead them better sank in pretty deep, but there wasn’t much time for any of that.

  It was all he could to help support the troops near him. What remained of his company–two dozen out of a hundred–fought a feeble retreat back down Angela and across the roundabout past Brownfield Park. They retreated toward the natural barrier of the river, where Dirk Blackwood and several other companies still held the bridge.

  This was now the crucial choke point for the battle.

  From the screams and cries for help, many militia got cut off and surrounded along the steep riverbank. Many jumped into the cold water to get away from the monsters. The collapse and its losses made David sick, even as he and his people fought their way back toward the bridge.

  But the monsters wouldn’t go into the water. Apparently, they couldn’t swim. That gave the humans one advantage.

  14

  The day was cool and partly cloudy with some gusts of wind. Mason and Blondie rode through what remained of South Bend and into Mishawaka. The raiding and fighting hadn’t been as bad there. Not yet, at least.

  He liked their three mounts, and had forgotten just how much he enjoyed the company of horses. His mount, Winger, was an eight-year-old bay quarter horse mare–smart, strong, and good-natured. Blondie’s mount Patton was a tall brown gelding who looked to be part mustang, seven years old, fast and agile.