by Nancy Osa
“But I’m left-handed,” Turner said.
“Doesn’t matter; your enemy might not be. Get used to it.”
“Now, let’s try the same pattern at a trot,” Rob said. “That’ll make it easier to nail. We want to end this drill on a good note. That’s how horses learn they did the right thing.”
And men, Rob thought, meaning himself. If his very first mounted drill went south, he could kiss his leadership good-bye.
*
Rob’s strategy worked, and the riders succeeded in performing several head-on loops at a trot. “We’ll get it at a canter next time,” he assured them, surprising himself with another familiar sentiment. Of course! That’s how I bring the young horses along back on the ranch—a step at a time. There were a lot of similarities between horses and humans—things that he had never seen before, because he hadn’t needed to. He reminded himself that less could be more, at least in the early stages of training.
So he let Frida hold off on a full survey of the area until the next day. That night, when Jools suggested running a trip wire around their camp instead of rotating a night watch, Rob agreed. They were all exhausted.
By the time everyone had rubbed down and fed their horses and secured the perimeter, about all they could manage to do was light a campfire and chew on some dry chicken jerky. Even Turner sat idle after supper, not sharpening his weapon blades or counting his stash of emeralds. Tired as he was, Rob couldn’t help but enjoy this lull before the coming storm.
It would have to be a solitary pleasure.
He wanted to sit next to Stormie by the stream and hear more about her career choice or join Kim in cooing baby talk to the horses. He wouldn’t even mind trading insults with Jools and Turner or asking Frida for advice about . . . everything. But fraternizing with the other players might lessen their perception of him as a leader. While Rob understood that it was important to maintain their respect, he was unsure how he’d fare in the thick of a real battle. He had weapons, he had soldiers, but he wasn’t sure he had their trust. Maybe he could cultivate it with an awesome plan . . . which he also didn’t have.
Something Kim had said earlier, though, made him realize he couldn’t just wait for something to happen. He’d have to jump in feetfirst. Like that first night, after the creeper had exploded his sand pillar, Rob had rebuilt the tower first and asked questions later. It had kept him alive. Yep, a guy could read about leading a cavalry all he wanted, but the only way to learn what worked was to do it.
“Jools, Stormie,” Rob called to his quartermaster and artillery commander. “We need to put our heads together first thing tomorrow. Come up with an initial target and strategy. Bring your map, Stormie,” he added as an afterthought.
“Kim, can you hook up with Aswan on chat and see if he scored any intel on that Colonel M?” If anyone could help them with strategy, Rob was sure it was the war veteran. “Frida, in the meantime, I’ll need you to scout out the immediate area for resources.”
Everyone agreed. It felt good to have friends Rob could count on.
“And Turner . . .” Rob said. “Turner?” he repeated when he got no reply.
He looked over both shoulders. “Has anyone seen Turner?”
No one had.
The horses were quiet. The mercenary wasn’t among them.
There were no moans of zombies, rattles of skeletons, or bellicose proclamations by griefer dictators to suggest that their sergeant at arms had been killed or captured.
They all got up and searched as far as the illumination from the campfire would allow them. Turner was nowhere to be found. And, upon inspection, it became clear . . . the trip wire hadn’t been tripped.
CHAPTER 9
FATIGUE WAS FORGOTTEN IN THE WAKE OF Turner’s disappearing act. Rob ordered Jools to dispense torches so they could form a search party. But Jools returned from the supply chest with troubling news.
“My potions have been messed with. And some of my night vision elixir is missing!” He quickly handed out torches. Everyone suited up with armor from their inventories.
“Let’s stick together!” Rob ordered. “Frida. Is there anywhere inside the trip wire that you haven’t scouted yet?”
She waved toward the eastern quadrant, at some squat outcrops.
Rob mentally kicked himself, filing away the knowledge that exhaustion was no excuse to delay a thorough examination of the terrain. “This way!” He led the group, torches bobbing in the darkness. “Turner!” he called, and the rest echoed him. If there were hostiles out there, silence would be no protection.
They came across a sandy spot and, suddenly, Frida’s keen eyes spied a clue. “Footprints!” she said. “And here’s an entrance in the rock!”
She and Stormie went in first and then beckoned the rest of the group. They entered a windowless room with a dirt floor. Three arched doorways led deeper into the cliffside.
Frida knelt to examine the ground more closely. “More footprints here. He—or someone—went this-a-way!”
Rob gulped as they entered a dark corridor. Sure, he had done some spelunking in the caves on the outskirts of his ranch. But that had been in his known world . . . not one where explanations seemed to follow trouble—sometimes too late.
He tiptoed after Frida and Stormie. Jools and Kim crept behind him, their torches revealing curtains of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and chunks of old railway track at their feet. “A mine shaft,” Rob stated.
“Watch out for cave spiders,” Frida called. “They’re poisonous!”
Rob’s scalp tingled beneath his helmet, and he lashed out instinctively with his sword.
“Hey, watch it!” Jools said, jumping sideways.
“Sorry.”
They descended a staircase that ran along the patchy rail system, stepping over old mine carts and collapsed pillars. This would be no place to get trapped if the roof caved in, Rob thought, now worried for his cranky friend. “Turner!” he called out, his voice reverberating off the walls.
The passageway angled ninety degrees to the right. After Rob had made the turn, he heard a shout from Kim behind him.
“Our torches went out!”
He wheeled around and rushed back, just as Jools cried, “Aaugh!”
The blaze from Rob’s torch revealed that a cave spider had landed squarely on the quartermaster’s head.
“He’s got me!”
Before anyone else could react, Kim had drawn her pink sword. “Die! Die! Die!” she screamed and whacked the creature a deathblow. It thumped to the ground next to Jools, who lay motionless.
Rob stood helplessly as the small girl replaced the sword in her inventory and dusted off her hands. Frida and Stormie retraced their steps and appeared at the corner, supplying two extra torches from their stash. But there was nothing they could do to help Jools. No one had any milk.
“He’ll come out of it pretty soon,” Kim said nonchalantly, stooping to pick up the string the cave spider had dropped. “Hey! Dead spider eye!” she said. “Five points!”
A hand reached over her shoulder and snatched the eye. “I’ll take that,” Jools said, already back to normal. “Just what I need for my brewing inventory.”
Rob shuddered, suppressing the urge to run screaming back up the stairs and out into the night. He had never been afraid of spiders or the dark before . . . but that had been when he could predict what was around the next corner. He steeled himself and rounded the bend again with the others, calling out to Turner.
*
The staircase seemed to descend forever, and then, abruptly, it bottomed out. The downward dead end offered two routes: one to the left and one to the right. This caused as much of a stir among the players as the mine shaft’s discovery had.
“Shhh!” Stormie urged from her place in the lead. “There’s something going on up here.” From Rob’s place behind Frida, he could hear shuffling and snuffling. It sounded like a bear. But even cave bears—which he reminded himself were extinct—wouldn’t venture thi
s far below the earth’s surface in any world.
The foot soldiers pressed behind Stormie to look as she swept her torch around the corner.
“Who’s there!” she challenged.
To their surprise, the creature that swiveled to face them was built like a man—but turned huge, protruding eyes their way.
Rob recognized what he was seeing and pushed past Stormie, ripping at Turner’s face. “Safety goggles!” He held them up, feeling weak in the knees. “What do you think you’re doing down here?”
Turner reached back with a pickaxe and brandished it, stopping short of using it on his commander. At that moment, Jools pressed through and tossed a splash potion at him.
As though anesthetized with elephant tranquilizer, Turner’s eyes rolled back in his head. He swayed, dropped the pickaxe, and crumpled, lurching forward with outstretched hands, preparing to strangle whoever had surprised him.
“Na na, can’t catch me,” teased Jools, dancing just out of his reach.
Now by the light of several torches, Turner’s eyes reflected disbelief, then understanding, then rage.
“Custom blend,” Jools explained. “Slowness plus weakness plus annoyance. That last one is an exclusive.”
While Turner reeled about, Frida assessed the scene. “He’s been mining! Look—ore strikes galore, and a mine cart with a chest half-full. Diamonds, lapis, emeralds, and more. . . . Someone abandoned this mine way too soon.”
Rob leaned over with his torch. “But how could he see what he was doing?”
Jools rubbed his chin. “My night vision potion, remember? Those goggles were for protection, not for seeing in the dark.”
Rob nodded grimly. “That means he planned this.”
Kim glared at Turner. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”
Frida shook her head at the renegade. “I am super, super disappointed in you, Meat.”
Turner’s voice returned, still affected by the slowness spell. “Dis-ap-pointed . . . ? You should—thank me!”
“You want us to believe you were going to share this loot?” Rob said, angry beyond belief.
“Would-n’t go . . . that . . . far,” Turner replied honestly. “But you’re . . . wel-come to mine the . . . other . . . shaft.”
“I ought to take a pickaxe to you!” Rob shouted, then forced himself to calm down. “Now. Here’s what we’re going to do. Frida, Stormie: You see Turner safely back to camp. Keep a blade on him. Kim, Jools: You help me piston this cart up to the surface.”
The additional work was not welcome, but the angry adrenaline rush enabled the group to complete the tasks. By and by, they regrouped around the campfire, Turner guarded by the two women.
Rob stood over the dishonored sergeant at arms. “What have you got to say for yourself?”
Turner cleared his throat. “It occurred to me that there might be some dead mines around these parts. There’s always a nugget or two left over once the miners have gone home.”
“So you just thought you’d go excavating by yourself? In the dark?”
Turner averted his gaze. “Early bird gets the worm,” he mumbled.
Kim and Jools pushed the half-loaded mine cart forward. “That’s great, guys,” Rob said. “Jools, why don’t you craft an extra supply chest. We’ll store it all in there. And, as of now, everyone shifts their inventory to the quartermaster, outside of what you’d need to get yourself to the village and back.”
Turner squealed like a stuck pig. “That loot’s mine! Finders keepers.” He struggled to rise, but Frida and Stormie held him back.
“All goods are communal until this war is over,” Rob declared. “We might need bribe money, and these gemstones will come in handy.” Still, he didn’t like seeing Turner restrained. “Listen, Sergeant. This will actually put you ahead. By giving up some of your stuff, you lay claim to all of the group’s stuff.”
That sentiment seemed to cheer Turner up. “I never thought of it like that,” he said.
“And if everything goes our way,” Stormie put in, “we’ll each head home with lots more than we started out with.”
Turner thought it over.
“Can we trust you?” Rob asked.
He frowned. “Awright . . . seeing as I have no choice.”
“Oh, you have a choice, Turner. It’s my way or the highway,” Rob said. “And I doubt Dr. Dirt will make you as fair an offer.”
Turner knew he was right. “Copy that,” he said, and the girls released him.
*
Reality set in the next day like cold rain as the members of Battalion Zero began to fully grasp the magnitude of the burden that they had taken upon themselves. Reconnaissance, strategy, defense—the many aspects of battle preparation kept them busy all morning.
“I’m astonished at how much work it is to start a war,” Jools said as he concentrated on setting up a database on his computer. The supply chests were full of so many things that he couldn’t keep track of them all. And he didn’t want anything else to go missing.
“I reckon that’s why armies are always . . . big,” Rob mused as he studied Stormie’s map, which he’d opened up on top of one of the chests.
He had sent Frida and Turner to scout out supply routes. He wanted someone reliable keeping an eye on Turner. Kim was off spreading hay bales for the horses and checking their feet. If they were going to be galloping over this mesa hardpan their hooves would need lots of attention.
“Stormie, can you start marking the biomes on the map that we know are under Dr. Dirt’s control?”
She left the stack of torches she was crafting and joined him. “Well, I know for sure he had a presence at the swampland, roofed forest, and stone beach—and the jungle boundary where we met. Plus, Aswan’s intel put his army at the forest, taiga, mountain, and ocean borders. I’m not sure which ocean.”
“Turner and Frida said they’d met trouble at the cold taiga, plains, and mesa.”
“Which mesa?” Stormie asked, worried.
“Not sure.” Rob shrugged. “Guess it wasn’t this one.”
“So, in other words, it’s take your pick,” Jools said as he stepped over the pile of torches and came closer. “Eenie meenie miney, biome!” He closed his eyes and stabbed a finger at the map.
“Without knowing how many troops are in any given zone, I guess your guess is as good as mine,” Rob told him. “Do we want to start with the boundary that offers the best defense, or the one that will do the most good?”
“You mean the most good for other people?” Stormie clarified. “We’ll get around to that. We need to knock off the areas that are the most likely to leave us alive and all together.”
“Thank you so much for that insight,” Jools murmured.
“So . . .” Rob scratched his head. “Ambush with great cover, or advance where our ranks will be able to overwhelm skeleton mobs easily?”
Jools considered the pros and cons. “We could ambush them just after dusk if we find a place where they have to travel single file. Or we could ride at them in a larger, but confined space, allowing them no choice but to retreat.” He paused. “Or . . . we could wait until near sunrise and lure them out into the desert far enough that they wouldn’t be able to escape before burning to a crisp.”
Rob and Stormie eyed him with admiration.
“Let’s mull it over awhile,” Rob said. “At least those are three options.” And I have no idea which one might succeed, he said to himself. “Meanwhile, Stormie, keep track of the battle lines that we know about and help Frida scope them out over the next few days.”
As he spoke the vanguard’s name, she approached from the north with Turner beside her. He held something large and flat over his head. “Leather!” he called happily.
“They must have found some cows,” Jools said.
Stormie marveled, “How that man enjoys getting something for free . . .”
But Rob was pleased, too. He had been dreaming of a good, rare steak.
*
I
nstead, stew headlined the dinner menu. Kim cooked the beef from the cow Turner had killed along with some carrots and potatoes she’d added to the group’s inventory.
“This is so good, Kim,” Rob said, attacking his plate.
Stormie sighed after swallowing a mouthful. “Just like Mama used to make.”
“Thanks, guys. What all did you find, Frida?” Kim asked.
Frida ticked off the potential resources they had spotted in the vicinity of the northern savanna and the adjoining sand desert. There was sugarcane to plant near camp and plenty of acacia trees to bust up for sticks and planks. Frida grinned. “I brought back a mess of wool. Didn’t have my shears, so I had to off the sheep to get it. But I know it’ll be useful defensively.”
Turner nodded. “I see where you’re coming from, sister. Stuff burns like lightning.”
“Speaking of which,” Rob broke in. “Sergeant at Arms, give us a weapons report.”
“Well, we can sure use that wool to build a fire line if we need to. We’ve got a few dozen swords—wood, stone, and iron. Might craft a diamond one with some of what I mined last . . .” he trailed off, not wishing to revisit the painful subject. “Then there’s three or four bows apiece and Stormie’s TNT cannon. And our axes and pickaxes will do double duty as weapons, once the good stuff wears out.”
They all listened solemnly.
“Then there’s the fun stuff,” Turner said, rubbing his hands together. “Sand. We’ll need more—lots of it. We’ll stack some up for suffocation traps—always entertaining when zombies are in the mix. And then we’ll build some super-nasty pit traps. These’ll have a trip wire around the outside, and we’ll fill ’em up with cactuses.”
Jools grimaced. Rob was glad to have Turner on their side . . . for the time being, anyway.
“Besides the traps, we might tame us up a couple of wolves. They can eat the heck out of a mob of skeletons. And then there’s the potions. . . .” He nodded at Jools.
“I’ve been steadily accumulating brewing ingredients,” the quartermaster reported. “So far, right now we’ve got a couple dozen doses for whatever ails us in battle.” He cast a sidelong glance at Turner. “Or in camp, as the case may be.”
