Muster

by Christoff Orr

  During those peak days of the Highwaymen's adventures, the severed heads of those who attempted to surrender were implied up on a pike. These pikes, adorned with heads, would line the roads as a very clear warning to those who dared to travel past them. Now in the twilight hours of the Highwaymen glory, such a sight was really seen anymore. The Highway men realized that it was best not to draw attention to themselves and that those pikes with the heads upon them, attracted the very opposite type attention that the wanted.

  “Okay,” Tucker said as he attempted to finalize the preparations for the night assault. “I want every to eat as much as you can tonight, who know’s when we will have such an opportunity to peacefully eat, without the fear of anyone sneaking up on us or tracking us down. Personally, I’m going to slowly eat this apple in my hand. I’m going to enjoy every bit of it.”

  He walked a few feet away from the fledging fire housed within the ring of rocks, till he found a vacant chair. Once he sat down, he polished the Washington Red Apple upon his flannel shirt, the proceeded to twist the stem till it finally relinquished its grasp upon the apple and detached. “Finally,” Tucker said, more to himself than anyone else. He then proceeded to lean back in his char, and tilt his head back. He paused for a moment to call out to get everyone's attention, “Everyone, You’re going to want to watch this.” He then pulled a long fixed blade knife, which he keeps in his boot. Holding the apple in the left hand, he placed the handle of the knife in his mouth and clinched his teeth tight around it, to hold it in place. Then in a muffled tone, he said, “Watch this.”

  The trick of tossing an apple up in the air and sticking it on the end of knife, which was secured by his teeth, was a gag he had been doing since he was a teen. Though, despite years and years of practice, his success rate was still only slightly better than fifty percent. However, when he does get it, the few spectators who were watching, would go a bit crazy with excitement. Using his free hand, he held up three fingers, then pulled them back one of them to show only two fingers, then once again, relieved another finger till only one stood alone. Once the final finger was retracted, he tossed the fresh and shiny red apple up into the air. It sailed upward more than six feet above the tip of the knife. All twenty plus Highwaymen had gathered around to watch, and all had their eyes fixed upon the red apple, much like how a cat fixates upon the red dot at the end of a laser pointer. They held their collective breath as they watched the juicy red fruit reach the apex of its travels, and continued to watch intently as he hurried back towards the sharpened target. However, instead of a delightful display of edged weapon dexterity, they disappointedly watched as the once clean apple fell harmlessly to the ground, bounce once, slightly split open and eventually come to a stop.

  “HA! You missed it!” Mason blurted out as he looked back at Tucker sitting in the seat. His overwhelming enjoyment of Tucker failing was quickly replaced by confusion.

  There sitting in the chair was still Tucker, but now his arms laid helplessly in his lap, while the knife that was once tightly held between his stained teeth, now rested on the ground next to him. Tuckers head was tilted back, and both of his eyes were still opened, but clearly, the lights were not on. There, in the center of Tucker's forehead was a small red whole, with only the smallest amount of blood trickling out of it. However, on the opposite side, there was a hole about the size of an apple. With his head tilted back, blood, brain matter and chunks of skull, had fallen onto the ground as they mixed together and intermingled with grass and dirt. Tuckers now lifeless eyes poetically stared skyward, looking up one last time at the big blue sky he had learned to love all those years ago.

  “What the …,” Mason quickly reached for his sidearm, he always kept strapped to his right thigh. He didn’t even have a chance before two rounds stuck him in his sternum. The pair of .223 rounds penetrated cleanly in and out of Mason's thin body. The kinetic energy stored up in the two rounds dismantled his internal organs and blew two grapefruits sized holes in his back as they exited. Nearly instantaneously upon impact, Mason collapsed to the ground, in a puddle of his own blood and died.

  All around, as the rest of the gathered Highwaymen realized something was wrong, a multitude of muffled snaps began to sound off. Out of the nearly two dozen Highwaymen, only three were able to return any fire, and those shots were sporadic and unaimed. These type of people survived on praying upon those who were unprepared or weak. They had neither the training nor discipline to present a real threat and virtually no experience in a traditional gun battle. Despite being outnumbered nearly 6:1, the advanced security detachment of Johnny’s team, discarded the Highwaymen with minimal effort.

  The four-man team slowly approached the downed hostels, weapons leveled and ready. They watched where they stepped, unsure if there were any more Highwaymen out on patrol or if the recently dispatched group was it. They stepped, heal to toe, allowing the sole of their boots to slowly encounter the Earth, keeping their eyes open and their heads on a swivel, they got closer and closer to the center of the group. The four-man strike team were from varied backgrounds prior to the blackout, but were all veterans of the Fox Wars and had since been a vital tool in helping secure the boarders of Free Montana.

  There was an occasional pop, as a team member fired their suppressed M4’s, extinguishing any of the Highwaymen who might still be moving. The team leader, Mac, let out a quick and sharp whistle to get the attention of the other three members. Holding on to the pistol grip of his M4 with his right hand, he used his left hand towards one of the Highwaymen who was curled up in a ball. He moved till he was standing nearly on top of the man, he then lowered the barrel of his rifle down towards the man, he kicked the curled up survivor softly in the back. “Hey, let me see your hands, now,” he nearly whispered as he attempted to coax the survivor into submission.

  The Highwayman slowly rolled onto his back, as he moved his hands slightly upwards, fingers extended. “Look, man, I didn’t want to do any of this. I was just looking for a way to the coast. I don’t want any trouble.”

  Mac didn’t acknowledge the men pleads just asked, “Are there any scouts out? Is this everyone?”

  Still laying flat on his back, the Highwayman moved his head to his right then to his left, as he viewed the bodies that surrounded him. “I don’t know, I really don’t. I don’t think so. Look, if you let me go, I’ll head straight to the coast, I won't stop or look back at all. I…”

  “Think real hard, did they send out any scouts, does anyone else know we are here?” Mac asked again his words slow and precise. The other three team members had moved in and with their backs to Mac, as they created a loose barrier around him and the Highwayman.

  “Okay, wait, just wait. I can help, I know these parts, I know the other groups, I can tell them that this area is clear, no one will ever bother you. I promise I know people.” The Highwayman pleaded.

  “Yes, or no, did they send out any scouts?” Mac asked one last time, as he inched the suppressed barrel a bit closer to the downed mans head to emphasize his point.

  “NO! NO! I mean yes they did, but they already returned, this is everyone,” The Highwayman said quickly as he tried to inch inward into the Earth, in a failed attempt to create more space between him and the rifle.

  Mac looked down at the man, at his thin frame and absent teeth created an appalling display of life. “What’s your name?” Mac asked as he slowly lowered his rifle, pulling the barrel away from the man's head.

  “Campbell, it’s Campbell,” Campbell said with a sigh of relief as we eyed the rifle while. “What’s your’s?”

  Mac didn’t say anything, just pulled out a leather cased notepad from his left thigh pocket, which had a worn pencil attached via a rubber band. With his M4 hanging loosely from its strap, he methodically unbound the notepad, as he held the pencil with one hand and the notepad with the other. “Like the soup?” Mac asked as he looked back at the man.

  “Yeah, like the soups,” Campbell said, then asked, “What
are you writing?”

  Mac didn’t acknowledge the man, just wrote the name down in his notepad before securing it once again with the red rubber band. Once bound up again, and the pencil replaced, he tucked it back into his thigh pocket, before looking back towards the man down on the ground. “It’s just something I’ve always done, at least since the Fox Wars. I try to catalog my kills.” Then before the man could react to the concept of what Mac had just said, he shouldered his M4 and fired two quick rounds directly into the man's chest. The two rounds punched cleanly in, grouped within fractions of an inch of one another, and quickly ended the man's life.

  Mac lowered the rifle again as he looked up, “Charlie, call them up. Everyone else, gather what you can, as soon as they get up here, we’re moving on.”

  Ms. White, Dave and the rest had been waiting very impatiently with the rest of the Zion survivors and the team sent from Free Montana to help guide them. Ms. White did understand why she and her team couldn’t help with dispatching the Highwaymen, or at lest she understood why they didn’t want help, but still, she found it difficult to just sit and wait. Finally, one of the strike team members returned and indicated that it was clear for the rest of the group to get going once again. Ms. White walked up to join pace with Johnny, the leader of the escort detachment from Free Montana, “I want to thank you for your assistance, leading us into Free Montana.”

  Johnny looked over at Ms. White and just gently nodded his head, as he meagerly tipped his sweat ladened Stetson, “Just doing my job.”

  Ms. White smiled as she replied, “Well I appreciate it anyway. As well as my team and the rest of the people from Camp Zion.”

  The two walked next to one another, nearly in sync, for the next hour without saying more than a few words amongst themselves, not for the lack of trying on Ms. White’s behalf though. She had tried to explore Johnny’s background in regard to his life prior to the blackout, to his family, his skills as well as his account as to how he ended up in Montana. None of the questions though garnered more than a one or two-word response from the quiet man. But not one for giving up easily, she continued her perpetual inquiry.

  Ms. White looked skyward up towards the vast blue sky above which continued to darken, hasting another night to come. She then asked, “How much further till we are in Free Montana?”

  Johnny looked over at her, then back strait ahead as he answered, “We’ve been in it for the past two hours.” He removed his black hat, as he wiped some sweat from his brow before replacing the hat. He took a few more steps before speaking up again, “Boarders around here are more of suggestions then factual designations. We push a little, they push a little, and in the end, things basically stay the same. That being said there is a constant threat to our survival. Don’t let the name fool you, there is nothing Free about this territory. The only reason we are able to exist is that we refuse to stop fighting and they are not interested enough to make us. But if you were really questioning how much further till we reach the capital, we should be there by early tomorrow morning.” He looked skyward toward the setting sun, then back at Ms. White, “Now if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I have some people to talk to.” Then with that, he turned and walked towards the end of the long line of people.

  Ms. White stood there for a moment, as she stepped aside to allow the flow of traffic to pass her by. Finally Ms. White saw Butch approaching, then when he was within range, she spoke up, “I don’t think he likes me much,” she said as she gestured towards Johnny.

  Butch stopped and looked back towards the departing Johnny, then he let out a slight smile. “Johnny? Don’t take it personally. I’ve met him a few times, and well, he’s not a people person you might say. He’s a great guy and a stone-cold killer, but don’t expect much confabulation from him. At lest not until you spill some blood with him.” Butch said then picked up his pace to check with some of his fellow Zion members.

  Ms. White was left to walk alone, as her mind began to fill with thoughts and questions. She watched as the sun melted into the distant horizon once again. An odd thought came to her at that moment, as she thought about her old office chair, and how she would love to be sitting in it at this moment. Her shoes off and a fresh cup of tea in her hand. As so many others had mentioned, it’s the little things that are the hardest to forget.

  20 Knowledge Is Power

  Kings Residents

  Edwin Magnass sat peacefully in the quaint room, as he took another sip of his hot tea. A healthy fire crackled in the fireplace as the flames continued to reside upon the logs offered up for their warmth. He watched the playful dance of the flames as they ran up and down the logs, rapidly changing colors and shapes as they devoured the lumber. Occasionally some internal sap would reach its boiling point and pop out of its wooden encasement, sending small embers flying free.

  Some of the newly freed embers would escaped the brick and mortar confines of the fireplace, only to land upon the slate hearth. Some however would leap from the fiery containment with enough force to land upon the wooden floorboards within the sitting room. Edwin watched a young boy who sat there, as he read his book. Despite being seemingly distracted, he was always ready for any intrusion upon his space by an escaping ember from the fireplace. He used the brass fireplace shovel to either scoop up the smoldering flakes and deposit them back within the fire or quickly smash them, and extinguish them instantly.

  There were times, however, when the chapter he read was far too intriguing and thus distracted him from his critical position, allowing the fervent embers to etched small marks into the wooden planks before giving up their light and died a natural death. These burn marks stood as reminders to his laps in concentration and would glare at him mockingly as he sat there. More than once the young boy had tried to rub the burn marks, in hopes of removing them from their memory, only to realize that some mistakes are eternal.

  Edwin took another sip of his tea as he gazed down towards the young boy. A powerful urge pulled at him, tugged at his soul, and begged him to join the young boy down on the floor, and assist with his sentinel duties. Despite the longing, he knew that he couldn’t, that now and forever he would only be an observer of such activities, a witness, to these events.

  “Eddie,” A motherly voice called from behind where Edwin was sitting.

  As he held his tea cup with both hands, Edwin turned slowly, as the woman entered the quaint sitting room. His heart leapt for the stars and crashed into the pit of his belly at the same time. There, standing just inches away was his beautiful mother.

  “How is the reading coming along my dear?” She asked, her ever present English accent gently surrounded each word. She walked up and stood next to the young boy, sitting on the floor and gingerly looked down towards her son.

  “Good mother, this is my favorite part, this is when they find the gold.” The young boy said excitedly.

  Edwin sat there, frozen in his chair, as he looked at the young boy, then towards his mother. With her back towards him and the shadows cast by the firelight, it was difficult for him to see her face. She was wore her favorite blue dress, with a cream apron tied around her waist. Her long dark hair hung in ringlets past her shoulders as they draped along her back. He wanted to get up, to run to her, he wanted to call out to her, to get her to turn around, so he could see her loving eyes just once again. He so desired to have her look at him, just one more time, to give him that kind smile that always made him feel safe. The kindness in her eyes was always a safe harbor for his mind, a place that he could find comfort from the fiendish world. But she didn’t, she just stood there, looking down towards the young boy with the book.

  “Well don’t stay up late, your father will be very disappointed if you are not up in time for school tomorrow,” She said as she bent down to run her hand across the young boy's hair.

  “Yes mother, just one more chapter, I promise,” The young boy said, as he turned another page.

  This was it, Edwin thought, she will have to turn and retu
rn to the kitchen, then he’ll be able to see her loving eyes. Just one more time, he pleaded. Please God, one more time.

  As Edwin’s mother began to turn, he could hear a distant ringing. At first, it was light, but quickly it gained momentum, like an avalanche rushing towards him, the bell got louder and louder, faster and faster. The room shook, as the form of his mother deteriorated mid-turn as so did the young boy. The ringing pierced every portion of his body, like a thousand needles. Finally, unable to withstand it any longer he lurched up from his chair as bright light washed over him.

  Edwin laid there, back in his room, the all to familiar sounds of medical machinery beeping and humming in the background. He blinked his eyes a few times, his eyesight now nearly fully restored. He was back, back in his crippled body, back to reality. Once again, yanked out of the reclusive hideaways within his mind.

  “Sir, sir, Mr. Edict is here. Would you like me to send him in?” Ms. Quidworth asked as she stood there, silver bell in hand.

  Edwin looked at his ever-present assistant, then at the dastardly bell in her hand. At times he truly hated the reach of it, and the power it had upon his subconsciousness. He slowly reached over to grab the remote for the bed, so that he could move the bed into a more comfortable upright position. He then looked over at Ms. Quidworth and nodded.