Tallboy was sweating bullets by then, but he still looked a bit crazy, and he had a mouth on him, too, as it turned out. “What? You really think you can take us all down?”
“Shut up, Chuck,” Stocky tried to warn him. “We’ve heard about this guy. He looks young, but he’s stone-cold killer. He kills everyone, and doesn’t give a shit about it, either.”
“That’s right, Chuck,” Mason said. “You’d better listen to your friend. I’ve faced down worse odds than this, and won. But I’m feeling sweet today. I don’t have to kill you; all of you don’t have be dead. And keep in mind, if anything does start up, you two are the very first ones to go–whatever happens. Now, do we do this my way, or the easy way–that doesn’t involve me blasting you two nimrods straight to the fires of perdition.”
“W-we can go easy,” Stocky told him.
Mason kept talking loud enough for everyone to hear. “Good. Now, give the orders. You goons kindly stop robbing these poor folks. They have it bad enough. Give back whatever you took from them. Let those pretty young ladies go, too. I see ’em over there. Then all of you clear out. It’s that simple. Everyone stays alive.”
“Do as he says!” Chuck stammered.
“Do it now!” Stocky added.
The bandits threw down what they had taken in frustrated disgust and pulled away, as quickly as they had swooped in to attack.
Chuck and Stocky looked around. Some of the refugees scattered for safety. Others held back to regain their lost goods, or the three young women–actually, it was four women by that time. The bandits were apparently a very lonely and greedy bunch.
“All right, we did as you said,” Chuck noted.
“Now let us go,” Stocky said, as if he were going to die, anyway.
Mason grinned. “Never let it be said that I don’t keep my word.”
He uncocked, twirled, and holstered both rigs, blindingly fast. Being a good showman was all part of building the mystique.
Chuck and Stocky relaxed a bit and started to breathe easier, but Mason stepped up to both of the men, really close, and gave them the eye. His voice went very soft and low.
“But know this. If I come across you robbers again, I’m just going to start shooting. No parlay, no questions asked. And if I ever hear tell of you or your kind terrorizing refugees or survivors like this, I will come after you and I will find you. I will make it my sole purpose in life to hunt you down and kill your rat-bastard asses. And I will not stop until I kill each and every one of you. I will kill you while you sleep, while you eat, while you take a leak or a dump. You have my word on that, as well. Comprende?”
Both thugs nodded. Then they turned and ran toward their gang.
Mason shouted after them. “And find someone to teach you morons how to take care of your goddam, sorry-ass-looking horses, before you fools kill them all!”
The gang cleared out fast, without looking back.
With the bandits gone, more of the refugees came forward to reclaim their stuff.
Several families and individuals walked up, and although they kept their distance, they all quietly thanked Mason and Blondie.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Thanks for saving us from those cutthroats, Mr. Pistolero.”
“Why, he’s just a young boy,” a woman said. “My son in the militia isn’t any older.”
“Thanks, guys. God bless you!”
A mother with her younger kids came to them with one of the pretty girls who had been taken, all of them crying, but now looking much relieved. The girl was about seventeen and couldn’t speak, and still looked a bit afraid of him and Blondie. But the mother came forward, and before Mason could stop her, she kissed his left hand and wept on it.
Mason pulled back, embarrassed and not a little ashamed.
Then she looked up at him. Mason had never seen anyone look so grateful. “Some say you’re a killer. But I don’t think that’s right. You don’t even know us. You could have just ridden away, but you and your friend risked your lives against those criminals. You saved my oldest girl, Shawna. Those bastards were going to rape and kill her and dump her in a ditch somewhere–I just know it. But you saved her from all that. Thank you. We can never thank you enough.”
Mason choked up and nodded. He thought of his own family in Cleveland. Were they still alive? Did they have anyone there to protect them?
He tipped his hat to the woman and the people watching. “I was happy to oblige, folks. Try to be more careful. Defend yourselves better, if you can. I can’t say there won’t be more bandits like them out there.”
The crowd continued to disperse and move on in several directions.
One of the released girls still wept on the far side, kneeling over the body of an old man who looked as if he had been beaten and stomped to death by the bandits. The girl was about Tori’s age, and had shoulder-length dark hair, almost black. She looked up at Mason and Blondie on their horses with pleading brown eyes that were still suffused with grief and shock. She rubbed her red face. “He was my grandpa. He tried to stop them when they grabbed me. They beat him so bad. They murdered him.”
Mason bowed his head. If this was Tori, what would he have done? Then he got angry and looked at the receding bandits. Maybe he should still go after them. “I’m sorry, miss. Sorry I couldn’t have run them off sooner than I did. I’m sorry for you and your grandpa.”
Mason looked around and called out. “How many are dead? How many people did the bandits kill?”
Blondie rose up in his stirrups and glanced around. “Looks like five that aren’t moving. Several more that are wounded.”
Mason clenched his fists. “I should have taken all of those bastards out.”
Blondie looked around.
“No, son, you did the right thing,” an older man in his fifties said, coming forward. “If you had started shooting, a lot more of us would have died in the crossfire. Thank you for not using violence as the first resort. You handled the situation as best as you could.”
The dark-haired girl panicked suddenly and began shuddering and freaking out. “With grandpa gone, I’m all alone now. What’s going to happen to me? What am I going to do? I don’t have anyone else. Where will I go?”
Mason paled.
What if this helpless young girl was his sister? His mother? His grandmother? Tori?
But he couldn’t help and save everyone. There was too much tragedy and misery out there as it was. He and Blondie still had to reach Elkhart and find Tori. They couldn’t get saddled by a string of orphans and strays all along the way. They’d never get anywhere.
And, just maybe, Tori was also lost and alone just like this girl, without anyone to help her. Maybe she was hurt somewhere, with no one to care for her. The worst possibilities always came to his troubled mind.
The third girl who had been set free came forward and rested a hand on the dark-haired girl’s shoulder. They were about the same age. “Get your stuff. You can come to Elkhart with me and my family; we have relatives there. My mom says it’s okay.”
“Thank you, but I can’t. I can’t leave grandpa like this. What do I do?”
Mason shouted out to the crowd again. “Can anyone stick around and help bury the dead and see to the wounded? Blondie and I will stay here to protect you, if you do.”
Thirty-nine people stayed back, including the family and friends of the dead, and the family who said they’d take in the one orphan girl. Three people had shovels. Another one of the older men stepped forward to Mason. “Son, I’m a retired church deacon. If no one has any objections, I can say some words over the dead.”
Mason nodded. “Thank you, sir–but you don’t have to bother asking me for any permission. Does that sound all right with everyone?” No one objected.
The five victims total were three men and two women of various ages, either beaten or shot down by arrows. It was a great deal of work digging five graves off the road where it wasn’t too muddy. They only made each grave about four fe
et deep, but all of the adults–including Mason–took turns digging and were exhausted by the effort. Blondie snorted and said he didn’t dig.
They covered the bodies up in sheets or blankets, and lowered them down with ropes. Once the ropes were pulled up, the retired deacon spoke his peace for the departed.
Then the graves were filled in. People put rocks on them and made crosses out of sticks tied together. That was about all that could be done. The day grew longer, and a new pod of refugees came down the road. The thirty-nine people left the dead behind and passed on with the living.
Just five more deaths during a war where thousands had already perished. Who knew what had happened nationwide, or even across the world, after the cataclysm of the Merge?
Some of the people came to Mason and asked him questions, as if he knew something. “Why is all of this happening? Where did the moon go? Why are all of these horrible creatures attacking us? What do they want? What does it all mean? Are we being punished?”
Mason frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know anything more than anyone else. I wish to hell I did. It appears that we’ve all been dealt a mighty rugged hand, folks. I guess we just have to play it out as best we can.”
One of the other cute gals finally got brave enough to give Blondie a quick look and smiled at him. He winked back and tipped his hat. He did have a way of making gals look. Who knows, maybe it cheered her up.
Their world needed some cheering up.
In a reality gone mad and turned upside down, there wasn’t yet time to comprehend and deal with everything that was going on in the wake of the chaos.
All Mason wanted was to find the woman he loved and make sure that she was safe. After that he’d be able to think straight. Then he could decide what was the right thing for him to do next.
19
David stared down at his body while the fighting raged nearby. The light of the glowing pool slowly faded.
He drifted down closer. If he was dead, why was his body still breathing there on the ground? What was going on?
He looked out into the darkness in confusion, struggling to see into it. His spirit swept forward suddenly, insubstantial. He passed swiftly through buildings and trees and then over them up into the lower part of the sky.
It was both exhilarating and terrifying.
On a high, southwestern hill with a vantage point overlooking much of South Bend, deep in the wild new forest nearby, David noted more glowing pools of light of various colors and hues dotting the land.
He swept toward the area with barely a thought. His force of will seemed to propel him wherever he wished to go.
He noticed something else as he closed in. Bonfires, torches, and lanterns–a large camp. People moved around tables in dark robes and masks. Monsters were there too. High ranking gozogs and mor-kahls, and other weird creatures he hadn’t even seen before stood at hand.
The strange, robed figures pointed at maps, directing troop movements.
Mirrors sat up behind them. Images of people and more odd creatures flashed in and out, passing information back and forth to the dark-robed people.
David recognized the area on those maps as he circled in closer from above. The enemy concentrated all of their remaining forces on the same key points that Dirk and the militia tried to defend.
He who appeared to be the leader stood tall–well over six feet–but human, at least from what David could see. He wore an expensive-looking cloak that seemed to be made of darkness itself, adorned with a mantle of black gems. So black were those jewels, of some kind of weird stone, that each glowed like a dark hole in reality itself.
A long, deadly looking black saber hung at the leader’s side. His cloak was pulled back over one shoulder. David spotted the sword and other weapons and pouches on the leader’s ornate leather belt and baldric.
This was someone important. All eyes and ears fixed on him.
And even more bizarre: in his spirit-form, David clearly understood everything these people said, somehow.
“You fools should have crushed these pitiful weaklings by now!” the leader told. “They are soft, weak, and confused. Divided. Leaderless. We’ve taken their magic from them. How is it that we cannot destroy them?”
“We will,” the gozog leader insisted. “But Master, there are many more of them than we thought. Even so, it’s only a matter of time.”
“They are not leaderless,” a hissing, evil voice from one of the mirrors said. That inhuman voice made David’s skin crawl–even though he could not feel or sense anything physical. He couldn’t even feel the wind.
“My lord, these Urthers have proven much more troublesome than we originally expected,” another of the robed men admitted.
The master flipped the heavy map table over with a wave of one gloved hand. “Idiots. Incompetents! We have wasted enough precious time here. Raze this insignificant hamlet. My masters and I sent you more than enough forces to do so. You will be punished severely if you fail. More importantly, I shall be punished severely! Urgent matters on other more important fronts call myself and the mages away. We must depart now, with all speed.”
He shook the same fist at them. They backed away as that fist glowed with dark power. “Throw everything you have at these insects. Destroy them! Search the dead and the captives for the missing traitor and any other Tharanorians helping them. They should still be powerless.”
One of the robed men suddenly started, and pointed up into the darkness near David.
“Ware. Ware! I sense an astral form nearby, my lord!”
“A spy?” someone exclaimed, in disbelief.
“Impossible!” the leader said, whirling about. “The Urthers have no such abilities. Nevertheless, I will negate this entire area!”
He motioned with his hands. Weird, glowing symbols expanded into waves of shadow that lashed and rippled out from him.
When those waves of darkness struck David’s spirit, they flung him back in pain. He shot back through the air in agony, speeding through the night.
Light. He saw light and halted abruptly.
Little flowers like violets, but glowing white, came in and out of focus. His blurred vision tried to fix on them. David heard harsh voices, sounds of battle once more. He looked up from the long grass beneath the trees, aching in several places.
Cold and soaking wet.
He could feel again.
He actually felt the grass around him. His spirit had made it back into his body somehow. Now, back to the battle.
More foes. Dozens of them wheeled and scattered through the nearby yards. Some of the monsters headed his way.
David couldn’t get up. He tried shouting a warning. He was still too weak and gasping. His longsword was still far away, stuck in the dead gozog leader. His tomahawks were both gone.
A few arrows zipped into the advancing foes. At least someone on the militia side had spotted them.
David drew his katana and wakizashi to make his stand. He finally managed to get to his feet and put his back against a nearby red maple.
Alone, he had no chance. If he could run, he might make it back toward the intersection. But he could barely stand.
He caught his breath before the foremost foes tore into him, and struggled to lift his weapons and set his stance.
The first three torgs and two ka-torgs clearly spotted him in the shadows and rushed in for the kill.
No, he wasn’t going to go down that easy.
He took one torg out with a short sword thrust to the belly, another with a side cut of his katana.
David staggered around the bole of the tree. He spin-blocked and cut the torg coming around from the left in the throat. The ka-torg raced around the right and sprang at his right arm to wrestle the katana from him.
David staggered and fell back, allowing the ka-torg to impale himself on the sword. It thrashed and convulsed and bit at him.
David rolled to his hands and knees and lifted both blades, fully expecting more foes to overrun
him.
20
Both Mason and Blondie thought it very odd that they had not heard of or seen any sign of the monsters in their area for more than two days. And by all reports, even the monster raids and probes on South Bend remained scattered and lackluster. They were barely a threat now.
What had happened to all of those thousands of monsters? Where had they gone in such numbers? Did they simply hide out in a certain place, or did they actually leave, and go somewhere else? Where did that many of them conceal themselves during the day?
It was perhaps impossible to understand the motivations or behaviors of such brutes.
Heavy thunderstorms rolled in after dark. That night, Mason and Blondie slept in a trailer park in Osceola, with their horses locked up in an old garage next door to them.
They briefly used candlelight and lamplight. They took turns sleeping again just as they had before.
Mason risked a little more light under the cover of the storm and the drenching spring rains. He used a good part of his time awake to go over his shooting gear. He cleaned and reloaded as needed, all except for the two pistols he kept empty for general shooting. His Spillers were pistols that routinely fired accurate blasts of the strange energy at will, even though he almost never loaded them–outside of war.
As long as they continued to function that way, he wasn’t going to risk doing anything that might make them stop. When the magic worked, it was wise not to tamper with it.
Yet Mason also continued to experiment with reforming and melting both round balls and bullets with his lead dipper and various bullet molds over candles. He laced each round with additional components or reagents that seemed to react with the magical energies at work. Then, each following day when possible, he would check how the test rounds performed, and kept careful track of what the differences were. He maintained very careful notes in his logbooks.
He could make six to a dozen new rounds each night, depending on how much sleep he wanted to lose.
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