Gun Mage 3: Surviving a Post Apocalyptic Magic Earth

by Logan Jacobs

  “But first,” Harry added. “We should probably burn these barrels. We can send a signal to the creatures that their time is up.”

  “Then let’s light that bonfire!” Roman called out.

  As the crowd started to mill around, Roman ordered Harry to find a cart to carry the barrels in. As soon as Harry was gone, Roman turned to the four of us and nodded his head.

  “Well, I’m sad to say that we don’t have any more Glocks in the town,” Roman sighed. “But you should talk to young Bester. He might have something you’d like to see.”

  “Young Bester?” I asked.

  “The young man with the Dali mustache,” Roman replied. “Well, it’s not that long, but he wishes it was. He’s also the only other person in the crowd that recognized the word Glock.”

  “Oh, him,” I noted.

  “Why don’t you two find Bester,” Sorcha suggested. “Freya and I will work the crowd and convince them to work with us.”

  “If you’re okay with that,” I replied as I glanced at the rabbit woman. I had zero doubts about Sorcha’s ability to sway the town, but I wasn’t so sure about Freya.

  “I can be very nice and very persuasive when I want to be,” Freya sniffed when she saw me look her way.

  “That she can,” Darwin agreed.

  “Ladies,” Roman declared with a smile as he held his arms out for Freya and Sorcha.

  The two women returned his smile, then each took an arm and helped him step carefully from the porch and back to the street. Harry had returned by then, along with two other men, with a small wagon that would just hold the two barrels. The crowd started to become more festive as the barrels were loaded onto the cart and then dragged toward the field Harry had mentioned, and most of the townspeople seemed happy to follow along.

  “That’s Bester,” I said to Darwin as I caught sight of the mustached man.

  “Haven’t seen a ‘stache like that in ages,” Darwin mused. “Hell, they were quaint back in my day.”

  Bester was already working his way toward us, with a few short stops to talk to some of the other townsfolk. I watched the mustached man encourage each person, and it was easy to see that this young man was a leader in the community. I suspected that many of the locals who would decide to help us would do so because of Bester’s efforts.

  “No good can come of this,” the cook muttered as she watched the crowd depart.

  “Why doesn’t anyone leave if it’s so terrible to stay?” Darwin asked, though he kept his tone pleasant rather than angry.

  “You think people haven’t tried?” the cook snapped.

  With one last angry glare, the cook stepped back inside the inn. I wondered if she planned to barricade herself inside and maybe lock out anyone who was crazy enough to help us. I tested the door, just to be sure we could still get to our gear, and let out a sigh of relief when it opened.

  “So,” Bester declared as he stopped in front of us. “A Glock.”

  “A Glock,” I agreed.

  Bester nodded, then glanced around the street one more time. A few people still lingered, but the place was quiet except for a few birds that called in the distance.

  “I have a family heirloom you might be interested in,” Bester announced. “Not as good as a Glock, but I think you’ll appreciate it.”

  Darwin and I exchanged glances while Bester, a heavy-set man who looked like he was about to bulge out of his shirt, and who swayed gently on his feet like he was simply waiting for the next carriage into the city.

  “Sure,” Darwin said. “We could take a look.”

  Bester nodded, then started down the street. Darwin and I walked alongside him as he exchanged nods and greetings with the few people still in town.

  “What can you tell us about these creatures?” I asked.

  “Not much,” Bester replied. “They arrived a few months ago. The first victims were the guards who were unlucky enough to be on duty that night. They left those bodies for us to find, emptied of all their blood and shriveled up like old leather. But they only came at night, so everyone started hiding at night. Sometimes, someone would try to attack, but that never ended well. We never found their bodies.”

  “And this not looking?” I pressed.

  “Something else we had to learn,” Bester added grimly. “To be honest, if I didn’t have family in the area, I would have left.”

  “The cook hinted that no one ever made it out,” I said.

  “Well, we’ve never heard from anyone,” Bester mused as we stopped in front of one of the larger homes in town. It was a two-story clapboard with freshly painted shutters on every window and a porch that wrapped around both sides.

  “But Harry travels around,” Darwin pointed out.

  “As do the farmers around here and a lot of the other tradesmen,” Bester replied. “That’s why I think it’s more likely that they just decided to restart their lives somewhere else instead of coming back here.”

  Bester opened the door to the house and stepped inside. He was immediately assaulted by a bounding coon dog and a girl in a pink and green dress.

  “My niece, Cara,” Bester explained as he swept the girl up into his arms, then patted the dog on the head. “Her parents leave her with me whenever they need to head out to our family’s farm. I think it’s more than a fair trade that I get to stay here and play with Cara while they muck around in the fields and worry about which crops to plant.”

  “I don’t like mud,” Cara added.

  “Why don’t you and Dobey head upstairs and play,” Bester suggested. “I’ll be up after we’ve finished our business talks.”

  The girl scowled at the mention of business talks, but she gave her uncle a kiss on the cheek, then dropped to the ground and ran for the stairs. The hound followed after her, its tail wagging as Cara promised to find some dog biscuits for her best friend.

  Bester waited until the footsteps receded, then led us to a small room at the back of the house. It was set up as an office, with a large desk in the center of the room, a life-sized painting of someone who had to be Bester’s father on the wall behind the desk, several bookshelves, and a single, large window that looked out over a patch of grass and a tree with a swing.

  My palm had started to itch as we walked down the hallway, and as we stepped into the room, I knew that I was within a few feet of at least one gun. I tried not to show my excitement, but it was hard not to peer around the room and try to guess where it was hidden.

  “Now, I should explain that my family had a long, proud relationship with the Army before the meteorite,” Bester said as he closed the door behind us. “Apparently, there was quite a collection of guns going back a century or more that had been passed down from generation to generation, and each new generation would add their gun to the mix.”

  “Not uncommon,” Darwin replied.

  “Of course, when the mages outlawed guns, most of those were collected and destroyed,” Bester sighed. “The family tried to hide a few, but most of those were discovered over the years. Fortunately, my family still had enough influence to avoid anything more serious than a fine and confiscation of the gun.”

  “That was lucky,” I noted.

  “Beyond lucky,” Bester remarked. “Don’t think I don’t know that. One of the guns that was confiscated was a Glock.”

  “Which is how you knew what I was really talking about,” I surmised.

  “Exactly,” Bester agreed.

  “I’ll wager the family still has some part of the collection,” Darwin suggested as he looked around the room.

  Bester hesitated as he tried to decide whether he wanted to admit that or not. His family had been lucky in the past, but that wouldn’t necessarily protect him now, and he really had no way of knowing whether he could trust us or not. Aside from the fact that we had killed one of the creatures, which if the cook was to be believed meant certain doom for the town, all he knew about us was that we carried a Glock. We might be fellow gun owners, or we might be mages fr
om the Magesterium sent to sniff out anyone who still held onto one.

  “Several family members fought during World War Two,” Bester finally said. “One, the oldest son, kept two weapons from that time. The mages never found them because my grandfather had taken them out to the farm to try to restore them, and they ended up in the attic, locked in a trunk. We only found them again a few years ago, and I brought them back here, where they belong.”

  “Guns used in warfare,” I murmured as I glanced at Darwin, and I could see his interest had piqued as well.

  “I’d like to see them,” Darwin replied. “Maybe I could tell you something about them.”

  “Well, I was also hoping you might be able to help with ammunition,” Bester admitted. “I don’t know if you would have what I need, but if these things can be killed with a gun, then I think it’s time to bring them out again.”

  “Let’s see what you have, first,” Darwin said.

  Bester absorbed that for a moment, then stepped over to the portrait. The picture was actually on a hinge, and it swung away from the wall to reveal a formidable looking safe large enough to hold every gun I’d collected so far and still have room left over for the rest of my belongings. Bester gave us a raised eyebrow, and both Darwin and I wandered over to the window for a look at the swing.

  I heard Bester spin the dial four times, and then I heard the last tumbler fall into place. A moment later, there was an almost imperceptible clack, and then Bester cleared his throat.

  “This is very exciting,” I declared as we turned around.

  Two guns had been placed on the desk, a handgun and a rifle. I forced myself to walk calmly across the floor rather than sprinting toward the weapons like I wanted to do. The itch to hold both of the weapons was driving me crazy, and I could barely contain myself as Bester held up the rifle and passed it to Darwin first.

  The ex-trooper accepted the rifle with a nod, then ran through the safety check. Bester looked surprised for a moment, but the local and I both watched as Darwin cleared the gun with quick efficiency.

  The rifle barrel was a dark black, though I saw a couple of places where a sliver of silver shone through. The stock had been stained a dark brown, and a matching brown strap hung below the stock and clipped onto the bottom of the barrel. There was no scope, just a metal sight at the end of the barrel. There was nothing etched into the sides, nor on the back of the stock. It looked plain compared to some of the guns I’d seen, including the Mossberg pump action.

  “An M1 Garand,” Darwin announced when he was satisfied there were no bullets lurking in the chamber, “Standard issue for United States Army and Marines during World War Two. It was the first semi-automatic rifle, which meant the soldiers didn’t have to stop and clear the gun or load new ammunition after every shot. The power of the recoil was used to eject the casings and move the next shell into the chamber. Made it much faster and more efficient than other rifles. Huge advantage in the field. And it can be field stripped without using tools, so maintenance was easy.”

  “What type of bullet does it use?” I asked.

  “The Garand is a thirty caliber,” Darwin replied as he hefted the weapon and sighted along the barrel toward the window. “Uses a clip with eight shots. There’s not much recoil to deal with, so you can fire your next shot in as much time as it takes you to pull the trigger. No worry about having to reset your hands or your stance.”

  “So it’s easier to handle than the Winchester,” I suggested.

  “Yep,” Darwin agreed. “But the M1’s range is only about five hundred yards, though in the hands of a marksman, it can rival the Winchester.”

  “Good to know,” I remarked.

  “These beauties were damn near indestructible and saw service just about everywhere, from the jungles of southeast Asia to the frozen fronts of Europe,” Darwin added, “Patton even called them ‘the greatest battle implement ever devised.’”

  “Patton?” Bester asked, which saved me from having to reveal my own ignorance of the name.

  “Really?” Darwin sighed as he lowered the rifle. “George S. Patton? I thought you were supposed to be a big Army family.”

  Bester looked embarrassed as he shot me a questioning glance, but I shrugged, since I didn’t recognize the name, either.

  “George S. Patton,” Darwin continued a moment later, “was one of the greatest generals in United States Army history, and one of the most important military leaders during World War Two. He rebuilt the armored division in Africa, led the charge through Sicily, and pushed the Nazis back at Bastogne.”

  “I think my grandfather talked about him,” Bester mused. “They made a… ‘movie’ about him.”

  “That they did,” Darwin agreed as he finally handed the rifle to me.

  I accepted the gun eagerly, but at a glance from Darwin, I went through the same safety check he had performed.

  “Is it accurate?” I asked as I finally raised the rifle to my shoulder.

  “Very,” Darwin replied. “With a scope, it could be turned into a sniper rifle, though you had to be careful with that. The scope attachment could reduce accuracy since they weren’t part of the original design. The first scope they tried to add required holes to be drilled into the barrel which made it less effective. Still, in the hands of a top-notch sniper, the Garand was unbeatable.”

  “It weighs more than the Winchester,” I noted as I pulled it down and studied the weapon.

  “It does,” Darwin agreed, “but it’s an older model, designed for warfare. It had to survive in some pretty tough conditions without losing any of its accuracy or firing capabilities. This is a war rifle, not a hunting rifle.”

  “You have a rifle as well?” Bester interrupted.

  I glanced at Darwin, who shrugged.

  “I’ve held a Winchester seventy,” I replied. “It’s a rifle like this one, but it’s lighter. It was designed for hunting large animals.”

  Bester nodded, then picked up the second gun. He held it toward Darwin, who took the gun in his own hands, and then quickly ran through the safety check.

  “A Luger P eight,” Darwin murmured. “Standard eight round magazine for the Parabellum cartridge. Lightweight, comfortable to handle, decent reliability, accurate for about a hundred and sixty feet. A nice little sidearm, though you had to watch out for dust. That crap would jam up the gun if you weren’t careful.”

  “So soldiers carried both rifles and handguns?” I asked as I placed the rifle on the desk.

  “They did,” Darwin agreed as he examined the gun, “though this handgun was carried by a German, not an American. A lot of American soldiers brought them home from the war as souvenirs.”

  Darwin handed the Luger to me and I performed the bullet check as well. Once I confirmed the gun was empty, I studied it more closely. It was a dull silver color, though flecks of black paint still clung to parts of it. There were odd little wheels along the back of the barrel, and unlike the Garand, the handgun had several numbers etched into various surfaces as well as the name ‘Gesichert’. The dimpled handle was dark brown, and I could see why Darwin had said it was comfortable. It nestled in my palm as if it had been there for years.

  “It’s nice to know that someone else remembers this,” Bester sighed. “Everyone else around here is so terrified of guns that they won’t even use the word gun. Well, except Roman. He tried to explain how they work one time, but it just left me more confused.”

  “Well, I might have some shot I could spare for the rifle,” Darwin mused. “But if you really want to keep these working, you’ll have to learn to make your own ammunition.”

  “That’s possible?” Bester asked in surprise.

  “Why does everyone find that so hard to believe?” Darwin harrumphed. “Of course it is. I’ll write down some instructions for you before we leave. It’ll be fine, as long as you have a well-ventilated place to do it. It stinks like hell, and of course, you don’t want to accidentally blow yourself up, but I’m sure you could handl
e it.”

  “Err,” Bester mumbled.

  “People used to do it all the time,” I quickly assured the local.

  “Oh, sure,” Bester replied doubtfully.

  “Well, as much as I would like to stay here and discuss guns with you, we should probably round up the rest of the town and figure out our defenses for tonight,” Darwin sighed as he ran a hand over the Garand again. “We need to tell them what they’re up against, then work out the best way to fight these things.”

  “Yes, of course,” Bester agreed. “I just thought since you mentioned the Glock….”

  “Oh, we can definitely use the Garand and the Luger tonight,” Darwin replied. “But have you ever fired a gun?”

  “No,” Bester admitted.

  “Then now’s not the time to learn,” Darwin stated.

  Bester nodded, though it was hard to miss the look of regret that passed across his face as he took in the two guns.

  “So, let’s get to work,” Darwin suggested.

  Bester scooped up the guns and started to hand them toward Darwin again.

  “Later,” Darwin told him. “For now, tuck them back into the safe, and then we’ll go meet with our army.”

  “Too bad we couldn’t just call on the United States Army,” I mused as I watched Bester place the weapons in the safe. “Or that General Patton.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Darwin laughed. “I don’t imagine old blood and guts would care all that much who the enemy was, as long as he had permission to kill him… or it.”

  “Damn, but we could use someone like that,” Bester sighed.

  “So let’s go make one,” Darwin suggested. “I’m betting you’d make a great leader if you’d give it a chance.”

  Bester looked flabbergasted, but I gave him a slap on the back and a reassuring grin. After a moment, Bester grinned as well, and I knew we’d found the town leader, if maybe not the next George S. Patton.

  Chapter 5

  We found the army in the field where the bonfire still burned. The festive air had turned more somber as a thick black smoke billowed from the pyre and turned the sky dark even as the sun rose in an otherwise clear sky. The stench was more noticeable as well, and small black flakes drifted to the ground and sizzled against the cold snow.