The Gunner Chronicles

by Bard Constantine

  She reached up, pulling his head down and placing his brow against hers. It will be as you say. You will always find home with the Mahinarah, Agni Chaya. We remember you.

  "And I remember you," he said, hefting the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Turning, he headed down the tunnel, ruffling Enya's hair as he passed. She grabbed hold of his hand, mewling. He hesitated, dropping to one knee.

  “This is goodbye, Enya. You keep taking care of your people, okay?”

  She nodded, tears gleaming in her eyes as she pressed something into his hand. He looked at the glimmering red blood shard, nodding before stuffing it into his pocket. Her mournful cries followed him as he descended into the deep gloom of the tunnels, hand on one of the warrior's shoulders, using their eyes to see the way in the dark.

  A killer waited for Myrtle Jenkins in her bedroom.

  She had only left for a minute, when Mama got to complaining about her arthritis again. Myrtle gave her the meds and returned to her bedroom, hoping to read a few passages from Immortal Musings before trying to type out a few poems on her own. Thunder rumbled, rattling the windows, and rain dripped from leaks in the roof. She adjusted a few buckets but gave up after a few seconds. When she opened the bedroom door, Gunner stood in the corner like the shadows gave him birth, eyes hooded by a wide-brimmed hat, water dripping from his oilskin duster onto the floor. A red bandanna wrapped around his throat. His voice rasped like a metal file.

  "Get your people out of here."

  Her hand drifted to the door handle. "What…?"

  His arm raised, pistol in hand. "Don't."

  Trembling, she clasped her hands tightly in front of her.

  "It's not you that I wanna kill. Just everyone else. You got a few minutes before the shooting starts. That's enough time to round your folks up. Family, neighbors, whoever doesn't wanna die. Take 'em to the mines and wait it out. Should be safe enough there. After it's over, you can head out to the farm."

  "In the middle of the storm? No one is gonna want to—"

  "You know your Bible, girl?"

  She nodded.

  "Then you know what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah. Same thing's gonna happen to this Town in a few minutes. This ain't the time for what you want. It's time for you to get your people to safety and not look back. Remember Lot's wife."

  He opened the window, letting in the howling wind and pouring rain. Slipping out, he vanished like a shadow in the absence of light.

  Myrtle stood there, blinking as the rain spattered on her face, dampening her gown. Her chest heaved, and she wavered on unsteady legs. Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer. Then, sucking a deep breath, she ran out of the bedroom and woke up everyone in the house.

  Jim McArthur shook his head. "This is gonna be impossible, Johnson. Now the Baron has a brand-new generator? One that uses blood shards for fusion? And she wants it up and running when—by the end of the week? How are we supposed to do that, huh? After all the work we've done to overhaul the power station, she thinks we can just put it back together the way it was without shutting the entire Town down for weeks. How, I ask? Do you know, Johnson? Do you?"

  Johnson winced. "No, sir."

  "Of course you don't. I'm the one that has to think of everything around here. I should have chosen a more appreciated occupation, Johnson. Like an undertaker. Look at all the business they're getting right about now."

  "Yes, sir."

  McArthur tossed a handful of antacids in his mouth and chewed furiously. "Go get some sleep, Johnson. I need you for another double shift bright and early tomorrow. We gotta train the crew all over again for this new project."

  "Yes, sir." Johnson heaved a sigh of relief and dashed out of the office. McArthur paid it no mind, already distracted by the readouts on the screen. He shook his head. "Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. If we get through this storm without a blackout, it'll be a bona fide miracle."

  The door opened, stirring the papers scattered on the desktop. "You leave something, Johnson?"

  A gun muzzle jabbed into the back of his head. His eyes widened, seeing the murky reflection in the window of a tall, dark shadow in a long coat and wide-brimmed hat standing behind him. Sweat slid down McArthur's face. The man in the hat spoke in a coarse rasp.

  "You told me that one blood shard could blow this place sky-high."

  "You're the one they tried to hang. The desperado that won't die."

  The gun jabbed harder. "Not important. Think back to the other day. You told me a single blood shard in the wrong place could cause a chain reaction."

  McArthur worked some moisture in his mouth. "Well, technically speaking, it could. It hasn't been proven, of course, because that would be a damn fool thing to—"

  Gunner tossed something onto the desk. The blood shard rolled across the surface, glinting in the light.

  "Do it."

  McArthur braced himself, feeling an incredible urge to pee in his pants. "Why? I have people here. Why would I start an explosion that could kill them all?"

  "Because if you do what I say, I let you take them into the safety shelter. If you don't, I blow your brains out and find your pal Johnson. Maybe he'll be more accommodating."

  "No! No, I'll do it. If you promise to let us live, I'll do it."

  He heaved a sigh of relief when the gun lowered from his head. Gunner seized him by the collar, pulling him to the door.

  "Make it fast. I'm not here to kill time."

  "I got something!"

  Tucker Gibson adjusted his nightvision goggles, zooming in on a distant figure walking directly toward the Town entrance, nearly obscured by the heavy rain. His long duster fluttered in the blustery wind, his hat slung over his eyes, walking with purposeful gate, almost a march. Tucker snatch up his radio, yelling into the receiver.

  "We got company up front. Copy that? I got movement coming right at me!"

  The radio crackled. "Don't piss your pants, Tucker. We're right behind you."

  He leaned out the guardhouse, getting immediately soaked. A line of gunmen stood at the gate entrance in raincoats, plastic ponchos, and oilskin dusters, behind the sizzling laser bars and atop the wall, rifles in hand."

  "That you, Gus? Where the hell is the Marshal?"

  That's Constable to you, Tucker," Gus said. "Far as the Marshal goes, that's none of your business. I'm in charge here."

  "Hell, I had to ask, Constable. Just doin' my job. Can't fault a man fer doing his job."

  "You just keep your fat ass in that guardhouse, Tucker. We'll take care of your little one-man invasion. Take the shot, Gary."

  One of the men lay behind a mounted sniper rifle, peering down the scope. He pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the intruder before the sound of the retort. The man fell to the mud, flat on his back. The men laughed and hi-fived one another.

  The amusement died when the intruder got to his feet and lurched forward, moving purposely toward the gate. The deputies murmured in disbelief.

  "The hell…"

  "He ain't human!"

  Gus peered through his goggles. "He's human, all right. Gotta be wearing some kind of body armor. Fire again."

  The command was obeyed. The intruder sprawled backward from another booming shot. The men held a collective breath, falling completely silent, heavy rain and thunder the only sounds.

  The intruder rose again like a corpse from the grave, moving even faster toward the gate.

  "That ain't no man. It's a ghost I'm telling ya!"

  "Ain't no such thing as ghosts. Open fire and I'll prove it."

  The sound of gunfire exploded in the air as they fired single-shot and automatic rifles, muzzles flashing and steaming in the rain, cartridges glinting as they fell to the wet ground. The figure jerked and staggered, struck by multiple rounds. Limbs flailing, he fell face-first into the red mud a hundred yards from the gate. Gus smirked in satisfaction.

  "You see? Ain't no armor made that can shake off that kind of shooting."

  The figure pushed hi
mself up and stood, standing in the sheets of glittering rain like an apparition. The men exclaimed in shock, edging backward. Gus swallowed, snatching up his radio.

  "Baron? We got a problem at the gate. A major one."

  Carson Putnam was the first do die.

  He watched the storm approach with increasing worry, seeing the massive thunderhead grow larger, bubbling like a pot full of boiling water, becoming dark and fearsome, rumbling within with flickers of forked lightning and rumbling thunder as though gods warred behind the clouds. The wind and rain blustered in, howling and shoving, swaying his watchtower so forcefully that he desperately wished to abandon his post. But the Baron wanted eyes on top, so he had to stay, not wanting to risk her wrath. But with rain lashing in his face and lightning flashing all around, he cursed her and everyone else safe and warm below.

  He never saw when Gunner slowly clambered over the railing behind him. He didn't know anything was suspect until Gunner slammed a hand over his mouth and slit his throat, a terrible rush of white-hot agony and paralyzing terror. He gurgled, flailing helplessly as Gunner seized him and with one strong hoist, threw him over the railing to the ground below, blood mingling with the rain. A rush of wind and water, the ground hurtling toward him, and then the crushing impact ended it all.

  Gunner turned, squinting into the stinging droplets at the main entrance of the Town, where crowds of men ran to the gate, joining the others firing at the figure in the distance. A grim smile touched his face. Then, unhooking the rope attached to his belt, he pulled, yanking up the bag with the launcher and rockets.

  The number of men at the gate had doubled, the second group joining the first in continuous gunfire as the figure advanced toward them. The man's duster was shot to shreds, exposing a metallic glint underneath. When the hat was final shot off his head, the men gasped.

  "Lookee there—it ain't no man at all."

  "It's a goldarn robot!"

  The automaton continued walking toward them like a living scarecrow, staggering on damaged limbs. They shot it at close range, finally bringing it down a few yards from the humming laser bars. It hissed in the rain, smoke wafting from the bullet-riddled body. The men cheered, raising their weapons.

  The Baron's voice crackled over the radio. "What's happening over there, Gus? I hear a lot of gunfire."

  "Had a disturbance at the gate, Baron. Thought we was under attack, but it was just some kinda robot. Didn't have a gun or nothing."

  "A robot?" The radio crackled as if the Baron paused to think. "Get your men away from there right now."

  "We got it covered, Baron. Ain't nothing else out here but the rain. Whoever sent the robot wasn't thinking straight. Should've known it wouldn't have gotten inside without being shot down."

  "That's the point. If you're all at the gate, it's because he wants you there. Get out."

  He glanced around in confusion. "Who wants us here?"

  Standing where he was, he might have been the only one to see the flash of light from the watchtower, watching something streak through the rain toward them. But it wasn't until the rocket struck that he realized what had happened. The missile exploded against the ground right in the thick of the group of deputies, ripping some of them apart in a grisly shower of body parts and pink mist. Dozens of other men were flung backward by the shockwave, taking substantial damage from flying debris.

  Gus found himself ten yards away, ears ringing, the screams of the injured men muted. He tried to get up, but his legs refused to cooperate. He looked down—his pants were shredded and smoking, darkened by blood in several places, his boots blown off, three of his toes missing. He didn't feel anything. Dragging himself through the watery street, he felt only the inherent need to escape, get away from the carnage. Several men staggered past him, as dazed as he was. They rounded the corner, then stopped, backing away with hands upraised and protests sputtering from their lips.

  Gus looked up at the cause of their trepidation. Janey walked out of the alleyway with a fuel pack strapped on, a flamethrower in her hands, and a crooked smile on her face.

  "Hello, boys. Welcome to hell."

  She fired the torch. Liquescent flames streamed from the nozzle, the last thing that Gus and his men saw before sizzling agony overwhelmed them.

  The Baron slammed a fist against the wall, buckling the sheetrock. "Dammit! I warned him." On the screen, fire blazed, engulfing the buildings around the main gate. Several men ran in the rain, tripping over themselves, flailing as they were eaten alive by the flames. She picked up the radio, resisting the urge to scream over the mike.

  "Everyone be on your toes. There are two attackers so far: last seen at the front gate and the watchtower above the mines. Stick to your groups and find them. Watch your backs out there."

  She turned to her squad of ten; all experienced and hardened veterans of bloody campaigns across the Territories. They were armed to the teeth: automatic shotguns, machine guns with equipped grenade launchers, semi-automatic handguns, revolvers, flak jackets, infrared/nightvision goggles.

  "We're going to group up with the others, flush Gunner and Janey out and cut them down. Look sharp—they might not be the only ones out there."

  The soldiers nodded, picking up their gear. The Baron led them out the door of the former Judge's manor into the downpour, scanning the immediate area with her rifle. Her squad fanned out around her, positioning behind appropriate cover as they surveyed the vicinity. Lightning flashed repeatedly, and thunder boomed hard enough to rattle the ground, creating ripples in the standing pools of water.

  The sounds of gunfire echoed through the streets, followed by screams and cries of rage and pain. Gouts of flame lit up the night, setting buildings on fire. A lizard horse ran past, bridle on fire, eyes wide with terror. Even the clamor of the power plant sounded different, louder than it should have. Alarms blared on the loudspeakers; emergency lights flashed on the lampposts. Confused voices called out over the radio.

  "Where the hell are these guys?"

  "Jesse's dead. So is Queenie. I think they got Chris too."

  "This is crazy. Where is he?"

  "I…I been shot. Oh God, I'm dying…"

  "I can 't see anything in this soup…"

  "Something over there. By the scrap yard."

  "I don't see anything."

  "I'm telling you; I saw someone."

  "Think they're using the sewer system…"

  "I knew it. Right over there. A woman. She's carrying—"

  More gunshots, followed by screams and then radio silence. Baron motioned with her hand. "This way."

  She took the lead, crouched low, striding through ankle-deep water, rifle fanning back and forth, checking corners, trying desperately to see through the heavy rain. The alarms continued to blare, the warning lights flashing red.

  A gunshot exploded right behind her. She turned around to see one of her people fall, clutching his back, screaming as fire spread from the wound, engulfing him as if he'd been doused in gasoline.

  Hellfire rounds.

  A dark figure darted through the shadows, running fast. The Baron yelled, opening fire with her machine gun. The rest of her team joined in, muzzles flashing, the combined retorts deafening, louder than the booming thunder of the storm. Someone fired a grenade, blowing up the interior of one of the houses. Windows shattered, glittering in the light. The bullets tore through buildings, chips of brick and wood flying through the air. The Baron raised a fist to halt the gunfire. They broke off, cautiously probing the damage with mounted lights and laser sights.

  "Where the hell is he? This guy's a ghost."

  "Keep a sharp eye out."

  A gout of fire streamed from the window of the Town Bank, so brilliant and searing that the Baron had to shield her face. Three of her soldiers were caught in the blaze, practically melting before her eyes. The flames poured over them like liquid, killing them before they could even scream. The Baron blinked in the afterglow, seeing the hazy outline of Janey in the windo
w, fanning the flamethrower back and forth. The Baron raised her rifle and fired, but her vision was distorted, and the shots were off the mark. She ducked behind a stack of wooden crates and reloaded. By the time she stood and aimed again, Janey was nowhere to be seen. The Baron and the remaining squad members slowly emerged, faces grim and uneasy. They scanned the buildings, trying to find a target.

  She nearly missed the silhouette rising from the opposite rooftop, rocket launcher mounted on his shoulder.

  "Scatter!" She fired a few errant shots while running. The missile fired, exploding against the building behind her, blowing the entire front portion to smithereens. She was bowled over from the impact, curling into a protective ball to protect herself from the flying shrapnel. Losing her rifle, she dove for cover behind a covered wagon as gunfire erupted, punishing her eardrums. Peeking around, she saw Gunner still standing on the rooftop. Having abandoned the rocket launcher, he fired both revolvers down at her squad, muzzles blazing as they expelled incendiary rounds that engulfed the targets in flames on contact. Four of her team were already on fire, rolling on the ground, screaming. The others fired from behind cover, trying to get a clean shot at Gunner, who stood there in the open as if unafraid of death.

  The Baron pulled one of her revolvers, aimed, and fired. Gunner clapped a hand to his shoulder and fell backward, sliding down the backside of the roof. The Baron stood and ran that direction, but stopped in midstride, listening. The siren alarm that shrieked over the loudspeakers wasn't a storm alarm. Her eyes widened.

  It's the power plant alarm.

  She stared in the direction of the power plant, where even in the heavy rain she saw the towers tremble, vibrating so violently that chips of rust fell from the railing and spouting.

  "Shit." She waved at her team, motioning them back. "Get out of here! The place is about to—"

  The explosion ripped the words from her mouth. The buildings in front of the plant disintegrated as the plant imploded into a ball of blinding reddish-white energy that pulsed for a few seconds before exploding outward, rings of plasma cutting buildings in two, reducing structures to cinders and ashes, splintering debris that floated in the air after the initial blast. The remaining buildings leaned drunkenly against one another, slowly collapsing into heaps as aftershocks and smaller explosions did further damage. Fires raged despite the flames, licking up wood, brick, steel, and dust.