B00M0CSLAM EBOK

by Mason Elliott

  Patton didn’t seem as clever and intelligent as Winger, but he was strong, calm, and obedient. Their pack horse, Ginger, was a smaller, tough, ten-year-old riding horse who looked docile, and also had a lot of mustang in her, from the way she was built. She faithfully carried their supplies and Mason’s shooting gear.

  Their old western saddles and other tack were sturdy and passable. Mason sighed and breathed in deep. Horses simply smelled good to his nose.

  In the morning, they would lightly feed and groom their horses before setting out, giving their mounts about at least an hour to wake and warm up. Then, once Mason and Blondie had eaten and were ready, they’d saddle up and set out for the day. Mason and Blondie routinely checked the horses’ legs, hooves, and shoes.

  Mason recalled that an old cowboy once told him that it was better to feed horses many smaller meals throughout the day; it was supposedly more natural for their digestion. Feedbags made that possible, even while they traveled along. If they made short stops, they used long leads they kept with them to let the horses graze a bit on the spring grass that was up. That helped conserve their feed, but they had to be careful their horses didn’t get tangled up.

  Luckily, all of the horses seemed to like one another.

  Once they rode through Mishawaka, they’d make their way into Osceola and on into Elkhart, which was spread out even worse than South Bend. But Mason knew exactly where they were going. Barring any trouble, they might make it there in as little as two days.

  Although the fighting hadn’t been as bad out this way, there had still been many intense raids and probes by the monsters to test the defenders. There were still burned houses here and there and many signs of fighting and violence.

  They periodically passed large groups of refugees in bunches, all ages, most of them heading away from South Bend. Naturally, they were trying to escape from the heaviest areas of fighting.

  People in the crowds pointed at the two riders and whispered. Mason did his best to ignore them.

  Blondie finally spoke up. “Mace, I don’t like this. We’re getting a lot of weird, angry looks from time to time.”

  “Yep. I think I’m going to have to somehow live with that.”

  Blondie sounded a little nervous. “For a second I thought some of them might actually rush us, or attack us with weapons. A few people have bows or crossbows. They could shoot us in the back, right out of our saddles.”

  Mason looked around and rested a hand on one of his pistols. “Some of them might try.”

  “Careful, there, Mace. If the Pistolero blows a bunch of them away–self-defense or not–you’ll just make more enemies, and more problems for us.”

  “Damn it, Blondie. I’m not going to shoot anybody if they don’t force the issue. Don’t worry, I’m not as dark as you yet. But I can’t change the past, either. I’m trying to be more careful, but I tell you what: I’m not letting anyone put a rope around my neck ever again.”

  “I don’t blame you there, Mace.”

  Mason sighed again. “I can rationalize it all, but part of me still feels guilty. It was never my intention to kill anyone on our side, not even indirectly or by accident.”

  “Well, don’t lose too much sleep over it. If people only knew how many of those monsters you took down… Tell me, how many people would those monsters have killed if you hadn’t wiped them all out? So what if a few eggs got cracked along the way?”

  “They weren’t eggs, Blondie. They were living, breathing people, and its hard for those who knew them to accept that. But I’m still not about to let anyone abuse or hang me.”

  Someone buzzed the other way on a bike, pointed the two of them out, and taunted and sneered at them. “Hey, that’s the Pistolero…and his darling boyfriend.”

  The crowd of refugees seemed to boil over and erupt. Some voices shouted in praise, while others shouted in rage and anger.

  Someone yelled. “The Pistolero saved the entire city of South Bend. If it hadn’t been for him, the city would have been overrun by the monsters. That’s a known fact!”

  Another person shouted, “And he cut down lots of militia and innocent people while doing it. He killed them all, and the authorities won’t bring him to justice for it. He’s a goddam murderer!”

  “Don’t curse him. He cut down thousands of monsters with his guns. Most of us would be dead if he hadn’t done so. We ought to be thanking him!”

  “He killed innocent people without even a thought.”

  “It couldn’t be helped.”

  “Killer. Killer. Killer!”

  “No, he defended us all!”

  “Hanging’s too good for him!”

  It looked like a fight was going to break out among the crowd of refugees. Some of them flung trash, garbage, and mud, clumps of dirt, and even rocks at Mason and Blondie.

  “Aaughh!” Mason cried out, feeling the burn of a stone that struck him on the back of his right arm.

  Both of them grunted and cursed, feeling the further sting of a few more missiles. Their horses jostled and neighed in fear, getting spooked. Blondie and Mason found themselves pelted with debris until others in the mob rushed forward to try to stop the throwers. It came to blows.

  Mason reached his limit. He drew and fired two shots–one in the air–another over everyone’s heads that vaporized a nearby tree and gouged out a big smoking portion of a muddy field.

  That got their attention.

  “Everyone calm down,” he shouted. “Unless you really wanna see what my pistols can do. What in the hell do you fools think you’re doing?”

  He kept shouting at them. “Keep the peace, you idiots. Damn it to hell. Isn’t it bad enough that everything’s so messed up and these damn monsters are trying to wipe us all out? We can’t turn on each other like this. We can’t afford to be fighting each other. We don’t know how many of us are left. Stop all this crap and pull together. Work together and help protect each other.”

  “Why should we listen to you…you bloody killer!”

  “And as for that, how many of you cowards were actually there, on the lines, defending the city? Tell me that? Speak up! You don’t know how it was–you were too busy running away. All you’ve heard is a pack of lies. I’m sorry about what happened to those people. I wish there had been another way, but there wasn’t. We didn’t have a choice; there wasn’t time. It was kill or be killed, and those monsters were coming at us from all directions. But I’m still sorry for it!”

  The mob just stared at him.

  “Come on, Mace,” Blondie said, clearing his throat and spitting. “Don’t waste your breath on them. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  They put their heels to their mounts, clucked their tongues, and cantered away from the refugee mob. Until they spotted another similar mob up ahead, converging on the next intersection of roads.

  Mason hissed. “We’re not going through all of that crap all over again.”

  They ducked out into the country until they found a partially burned-out farmhouse, hid their horses out of sight, and ducked down until the next swarm of refugees passed through.

  Blondie finally spoke up, still pouting. “I’m not anyone’s boyfriend,” he said. “Why in the hell do they even say crap like that?”

  Mason burst out laughing, and soon both of them were.

  “Seriously,” Blondie said. “I’ve come to recall that I’m a born and bred womanizer. I have never met any guy who looked as good to me as women do.”

  “Well, as comforting as that is to hear, maybe you just haven’t met one as pretty as yourself, with the right kind of lust in his heart and a twinkle in his eye…just for you.”

  Blondie laughed. “No thanks, Mace. I like women, hot and willing. Just send those gals my way.”

  Mason shook his head. “That part’s up to you, my friend. I don’t care either way what you or others do. I’ve already made my choice. I just want to get to Elkhart and find Tori.”

  For the first time, Blondie clapped him on
the shoulder, a serious look on his face. “I hope we find her, Mason. I hope your lady’s okay.”

  “Thanks, Blondie.”

  Then Mason yelped and jerked away, feeling a burning pain on his shoulder.

  His duster was on fire.

  Blondie’s hand glowed–his fingers like orange glow sticks, lit from within.

  Both of them looked just as startled as the other as the glow faded.

  Mason put out the small spurt of fire on his shoulder. Blondie stared at his hand and started shaking.

  “What in the hell did you do?” Mason demanded.

  Blondie’s mouth fell open. “I-I don’t know.”

  “What are you? How can you do that?”

  Blondie ground his teeth in frustration. “I don’t know.”

  “This proves it. You must be from the other side.”

  “It proves nothing. This from the guy who can shoot magic bolts out of empty pistols? How do we know you aren’t from the other side?”

  Mason snorted. “I know that much, at least.”

  “Well, maybe the Merge is affecting me just as it affected you–or perhaps in a different way.”

  “Can you control it…can you make it happen again?”

  Blondie tried to focus. He tried to concentrate.

  They both watched his hand.

  No change. Nothing.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Blondie said. “I had my hand on your shoulder. Maybe whatever it was, was reacting to the power or energy in you.”

  Mason nodded. “Try it again–just don’t make me burst into flame.”

  “No promises.” He rested the same hand on Mason’s shoulder.

  Nothing happened this time.

  Both of them breathed a sigh of relief. Blondie rubbed his fingers before his eyes.

  “Did your fingers get burned?” Mason asked.

  Blondie shook his head. “Not a bit. No pain, no damage to my skin. But while my hand was glowing, I felt a strange tingling sensation.”

  “I bet you did. I feel something like that whenever I fire my pistols.”

  “Hmm…well, it’s gone now. Unless it comes back, we won’t be able to experiment with it.”

  “Let me know if it does.”

  “Don’t worry. I think we’ll both know.” He looked out the window. “The refugees have moved on. I think we can head out now, Mace. There are very few people on the roads.”

  “We have a much bigger problem.”

  “Nighttime?” Blondie said.

  “You got it. In a matter of hours. We don’t know what’s out there or what’s going to happen. We can keep going while it’s light out, but I sure don’t want to be traveling at night. Not unless we have to.”

  “Then let’s keep going as long as we can, while we can, Mace. We’ll find a safe place to hide out during the night, but we’ll have to make sure we keep the horses quiet. Horses can be pretty noisy, and easily give us away at night.”

  “I know that, Blondie. How do you?”

  “I just do, I guess.”

  “You ride a horse pretty well, too. And you instinctively know how to care for them. I’ve been watching.”

  “So what? So do you. And what I don’t remember, I’ve just learned from watching what you do. What, still convinced I’m an alien, huh?”

  “Maybe not an alien, but possibly a person from the other side–from the other dimension. Nothing so far has convinced me otherwise.”

  “And what if I am? So what?”

  “I just wonder what those people might be like. Why haven’t we met more of them? Why are we coming up against all of these monsters, instead of people like you–like us?”

  “Who knows? Perhaps on the other side, this continent is the home of the monsters, and people like us come from somewhere else?”

  “Then why were you here posing as one of us?”

  Blondie shrugged and smirked with his hands up in the air. “Tell me and we’ll both know.”

  “You don’t remember anything, yet?”

  “Not really. The last thing I can recall, I just have a feeling that I was running from something. Or maybe I was chasing after someone. Perhaps both.”

  “Were you running from the monsters?”

  “I don’t know. But that doesn’t explain why I would be dressed in clothing from your people and your world.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Well, time to cover some more ground. Until something changes, we stick to our current plan–if we survive the night. Remember, no one else has made it to Elkhart and back yet.”

  “Then we’ll be the first. We’ll just be sneaky about it.”

  Mason grinned. “Blondie, you don’t exactly strike me as an optimist.”

  “I am when it comes to us staying alive. Right now, I figure the safest place I can be is behind you when you’re blazing away with your pistols.”

  They left the remains of the farmhouse and got back on the road with their horses.

  15

  David wielded his long fighting dagger in his left hand, his longsword in his right. The strange thing was, once they actually started fighting, he felt surprisingly confident in his own combat abilities.

  He had been training for something like this all of his life.

  In his brief experience battling these monsters, torgs and even ka-torgs proved vicious, but not especially clever or competent fighters. Their weapons were crude, and they were only capable of fighting as a pack–a horde to overwhelm.

  Other than raw ferocity, they possessed little skill or discipline.

  David had cut down a dozen more on his way back to the bridge. Then he lost count.

  He heard Dirk’s powerful voice shouting. “Shield wall! Shield wall! Three lines deep. Put the longest spears and pikes behind them. Make the enemy pay. Stand fast. Don’t give an inch!

  “More shields line the sides of the bridge and protect our flanks and overhead from enemy arrows. Be ready to cover up! Our archers, fire overhead into the enemy’s packed ranks. They’re going to do the same to us. Set up the same defenses on the opposite side of the bridge!”

  Arrows already fell among the militia on the bridge. Cries of agony marked where some missiles hit. Shields went up pretty quickly after that.

  All the spotters had to cry was “Arrows!” or “Incoming!”

  Both sides took turns firing volleys back and forth.

  Any wounded were pulled back off the bridge to be attended to by medics.

  Finally, the militia had halted the enemy advance, but mostly due to the natural barrier of the river. Thank goodness it was there.

  “Dirk!” David shouted. “You’re packed too tightly on the bridge. Spread them out. Let me and my people pass through!”

  “Suck it up and form a path down the middle,” Dirk yelled. An escape path opened up. “Let our people through to the other side!”

  The monsters chased more militia troops down the steep riverbanks and right into the cold waters of the river itself.

  “If they can’t get their armor off, they might drown,” David shouted.

  Dirk was already on it. “Send in the boat details. Rescue as many in the water as you can!”

  Rowboats, canoes, and kayaks, armored with sheets of plywood, already sped out along the banks and out from under the cover of the bridge to help the troops struggling in the icy water. Several of the boaters carried lengths of nylon rope with floats that people floundering in the water could grab and then get pulled across to the other side.

  Archers and crossbows from some of the boats and along the bridge fired at enemy archers and forces bunching up on the shore.

  Once more, it was very clear that the monsters didn’t like to swim or didn’t know how. The militia continued to exploit that weakness. All the more reason why their foes needed to take that key bridge, in order to attack all of the areas beyond it.

  On the bridge itself, David wiped his weapons off with a rag, sheathed them, and went back to using his crossbow. He methodically picked target
s along the lost shoreline.

  More and more arrows fell among the bridge defenders as enemy archers came on line in greater numbers. Militia troops lifted their shields turtle-style to block some of them, and dropped their guard only long enough for archers to shoot back.

  Enemy troops massed in front of the bridge by the hundreds. But beyond what could be seen, it was hard to determine their exact numbers in the dark with nothing but a few torches and lanterns to fight by. The militia archers poured missiles at the massed horde with great effect. The defending shield wall and spears held against the first probing enemy charges.

  Then a team of big mor-kahls charged up, flinging glowing things from afar with their great, shaggy arms. The shadow of something even larger, perhaps a gozog, loomed huge in the darkness behind them, booming out commands in a deep, harsh voice.

  A barrage of enemy firebombs suddenly blasted the shield wall. They even struck some of the boats in the river. Militia troops screamed.

  Some whose legs were on fire jumped over the side into the water.

  The front line defenses crumbled in flames and fell back.

  The firebombs came as a complete surprise. The enemy had never attacked in this manner before.

  But now the flames of the enemy’s own devices blocked their way. They had to wait until the flames died down, and that gave Dirk and the militia a chance to regroup.

  The enemy charged onto the bridge in force, and crashed among the spears and shields of the second shield wall. Yet the remaining flames continue to work against the monsters. Many of them were taking damage, with all them packed onto the bridge.

  But the monsters hurled a few more firebombs.

  This time, Dirk was prepared. He had called up fire extinguishers used to help rescue people from burning buildings. Now he use them to put out only the flames that Dirk wanted put out.

  He kept a line of fire burning in front of the bridge where some of the bombs had fallen short.

  Militia archers fired point blank into enemy faces, especially anything taller than man-size. Monsters up front were speared and pitched over the sides. Dirk helped maintain the center, and the spears held fast. They even advanced to the edge of the fire line, three rows deep once more.