He was certain it didn’t say nothing about that.
Sterling still had an ace up his sleeve, however. He knew that his skeletal steed was not too far off. Instinctively, Sterling had whistled for him right before he passed out for good. He knew his horse would follow behind him at a safe distance; Manchester was the smartest creature in all of the Southwest, at least according to Sterling.
He tried to whistle for him from his pinned position, but it came out as a wisp. Even if he were able to call Manchester, the two men guarding him carried large clubs that looked like they were once used for building supplies, their weapons wrapped in leather and crafted from a steel frame. Sure, Manchester would spook them, but in the subsequent fight they would alert the rest of the camp.
Just to give him something else to focus on aside from his anguish, Sterling brought his stats up, which appeared before him in the afternoon haze.
Name: Sterling Monedero
Race: Human
Mancer Class: Necromancer
Class Ranking: Blood Mage
Level: 59
Fortitude: 117
Strength: 35
Resolve: 152
Mana: 88/138
Current Armor Rating: 28
XP: 296,251
XP to Next Level:5,865
Stat Points Available: 0
Technique Points Available: 7
He still had plenty of Mana, but that would only help him if he could get his revolver or find himself some corpses. There was always the Buy Store, where he could still spend the Technique Points…
Might as well, Sterling thought as he mentally selected the Perception technique. Two sub-options appeared.
Persuasion: enhance your ability to persuade someone. Higher levels allow for greater manipulations.
Awareness: become the master of your surroundings.
“Can’t believe it took me this long,” Sterling grumbled as he saw that both would cost three points to level up. It was either Level One for both techniques, or dump all of the points into a single technique to bring it up to Level Two.
Spend three Technique Points to learn Persuasion?
Considering he was crucified outside of a Killbilly supply camp, Sterling chose to spend three points to unlock his Persuasion technique. He then spent four additional points to bring it up to Level Two. He smiled as he looked at the two men who stood with their backs to him, hoping to sweet talk them. Here goes nothing…
He cleared his throat. “Say, fellas, you wouldn’t mind giving me a cigarette, would you?”
“We already told you to shut the fuck up, man,” the bruiser on the right said.
“I know, I know, but you know what would shut me up? A cigarette. I don’t know about you boys, but a little nicotine goes a long way on a hot afternoon. So what do you say? How about a cigarette? We may be working together soon. I’ll roll you up one as soon as I get down from here.”
“Maybe the Commodore will give you one when he comes back around.”
“In that case, maybe one of you boys could fetch him,” Sterling suggested. “I’m ready to confess my sins, or whatever he wants,” he said in a playful way, hoping this angle would work. “Shee-it, you would be too after being strung up here in the desert.”
“He’ll come when he comes, now shut up,” said the other man.
Sterling shook his head. It appeared that his Persuasion technique wasn’t quite at the level he would need it to be to convince one of the two guards to leave their post, or to give him a cigarette for that matter.
It became a waiting game at that point. Sterling occasionally glared in the direction of the sun, wishing that the big orange beacon of oppression would hurry up and sink to the other side of the mountains. As he hung there broiling, Sterling recalled one of the desert haiku he had written about the relentless New Mexico heat.
One of them hot days
Not enough sweat in the world
Keep low to the ground
He repeated the haiku in his head again and again, trance-like, wishing he could keep it low to the ground.
Sterling had learned about the art of writing haiku from a book that was left behind at an abandoned bookstore in T or C. Haiku came from someplace called Japan, another country. He never thought much about Japan, but he did wonder from time to time when he started writing desert haiku what had happened to the country, and how it had survived the Reset.
A haiku consisted of three lines, the first and last line having five syllables, the middle line having seven. Simple enough, and writing them helped Sterling develop perspective, keep his memories to some degree. What if another Reset happened? Well, he would have this book of desert haiku he’d written, and hopefully his writings would trigger memories that would help him get his life back together. Whatever that meant. Still, it was better than being left empty-handed like he had been during the first Reset.
Any breadcrumbs were better than none.
The sun was finally starting to set, the sky layered in shades of yellowish red, when Commodore Bones headed in Sterling’s direction. The Commodore carried a metal bowl in his hand, the pudgy man still in his body armor with a gun at his thigh, Sterling’s black cowboy hat on his head.
“They made green chili stew,” Commodore Bones said instead of hello. He ate a spoonful of it. “I thought you may be hungry.”
“You thought right,” Sterling told him, trying to swallow the swell of anger he experienced at seeing the man in his hat. He could smell the food; even though he was parched, his mouth started to water. What he wouldn’t do for a bowl of green chili stew. “Need me a cigarette too.”
“Those are bad for you.”
“So is… crucifixion.”
Commodore Bones squinted at Sterling. “How you doing up there?”
“How the hell do you think I’m doing?” Sterling asked, before quickly changing his tone: “Look, I’ve… I’ve been thinking about what you said, your offer. I might have been too forthright earlier.”
“That right? Then you are ready to whip the great state of New Mexico back into shape, and the rest of this country too, for that matter? The Killbillies are all patriots; we believe in the power of organization, the rule of law, and freedom for anyone who accepts our rule.”
Sterling knew this was bullshit. The Killbillies were a glorified group of bandits, a bunch of good-for-nothings who harassed local communities by collecting taxes, raping women, slaying locals they didn’t like, and causing general turmoil. There was nothing patriotic about what they were doing; the only rule they really believed in was the rule of terror.
“I’m ready,” Sterling said after a long pause. “Soon as you get me down from here, let me heal these wounds, we can get that army of the undead you were looking for.”
“Is that so?” Commodore Bones asked as he took another bite of the chili. “You would like the chili they make here. The chef that I hired uses the recipes from his grandmother’s cookbook, and I’m sure you’re aware that we get the best peppers from the region. Home-cooked meals for everyone, that’s what I say. Keep the troops fed and they’ll be happy.”
“Can’t… disagree there.”
“No you can’t. No you can’t,” said the Commodore as he smacked his lips. He took another bite of the chili. “Mmm, this really is some good chili. They really went all out for this one. Look, Mr. Monedero, I’m going to be brutally honest with you here: I’d love to give you some, and I’d love even more to get you down, but I’m not convinced you are ready to join up. Do you believe you are ready?”
“I told you… I was. What else do I need to do?”
Commodore Bones smacked his lips again. “How do I know you aren’t just trying to trick me?”
“How do I know you ain’t trying to trick me?” Sterling asked.
“Fair point. That’s all men seem to want to do to their fellow men these days, to trick then into something, be it a product or a belief system. But we have a vision, and we’re going to accomplish w
hat we set out to do.”
“I… believe in your vision.”
“Do you, now?”
“I told you I did.”
Commodore Bones took a step closer to Sterling, and he was just about to bring another spoonful of the chili to his mouth when he stopped. Instead, he tapped the spoon on the edge of the bowl. “How about we let you think about it overnight?”
“Overnight?”
Commodore Bones turned the bowl of chili upside down and emptied the contents at Sterling’s feet, where the man had pissed earlier. “Dinner is served, Mr. Monedero. See you in the morning.” He turned away, and as he did so, the Commodore removed Sterling’s cowboy hat, and tossed it to the ground. “Try to stay warm tonight.”
.Chapter Six.
Sterling didn’t know how long he’d been crucified outside of the Killbilly supply camp in Radium Springs. It was certainly past midnight by the time he was able to doze off, the relentless flies buzzing around his head never letting up. The bastards. It was by no means a peaceful sleep, Sterling exhausted from his day in the sun, from the strain of his muscles being stretched, his chest on fire, arms numb, the stakes still in his palms.
“Ain’t nobody going to string me up like this,” he mumbled a couple times that night, the desert temperature dropping, his teeth chattering as he fell into a troubled sleep.
Sterling awoke with the moon beaming down on him like a Klieg light. His Resolve allowed him to heal much faster than a normal person, but it didn’t have the effect that he had hoped it would have, and it certainly didn’t warm him, nor did it quench his thirst.
“Motherfuckers,” he whispered over a scratchy throat as he glanced up at the supply camp, generators running, a few watchfires adding the smell of burning mesquite to the air, embers spiraling toward the heavens. They were bold, the Killbillies. If a Godwalker saw the light they were putting off, it would certainly put an end to their little bandit operation.
Sterling focused on the pair of guards standing before him, wishing in that moment that he was a telemancer. He’d dealt with this mancer class before, one that was able to control people’s minds. He’d even encountered one a couple years back, which had turned out to be quite the experience.
Come on, you damn fools, Sterling thought as a new group came to replace the two men. The changing of the guard happened, and the new pair turned away, Sterling once again wondering if he should try out his newfound Persuasion technique. Let them get settled in, he thought as he watched the previous guards walk back toward the camp.
It was another ten or fifteen minutes or so, Sterling starting to drift off again, before one of the guards turned to the other. The first guard produced a dagger, and two stabs later, the second guard was suddenly bent over, his assailant quickly moving around him and slitting his throat. The attacker approached Sterling before he could respond, his dagger dripping with blood, his face obscured by darkness.
“You ready to get down from there, partner?”
The tone of the man’s voice hit him like a sack of bricks. “J-Judge?”
“The one and only. I heard they had captured the cowboy necromancer out of T or C, and I knew there was only one of them crazy assholes in the Southwest.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sterling asked as he peered down at the man.
“What am I doing? What are you doing here?” Judge went to Sterling’s left hand. He equipped a hammer from his inventory list and began the painful process of removing the stake pinning Sterling to the wooden board, immediately at a disadvantage considering Sterling was a foot off the ground.
“Judge,” Sterling said, wincing through the pain as the iron stake left his palm, “you got a wife and a kid in Hatch. You know that, right?”
“Wife? Ain’t nobody named Judge got a wife ‘round these parts,” he grunted. He went to work on Sterling’s other hand.
“You got a kid named after me… you… Argh! Damn, that hurts. Judge, you are a son of a bitch for leaving your family behind.”
“Leaving my family behind? What the hell do you think I’m doing here?” Judge asked as he finished pulling the second stake out of Sterling’s other hand. “There. Got them stakes out.”
It hurt like hell, but Sterling let the pain wash away, happy to finally have use of his arms again. They were still numb and his palms were sore, but he could already feel himself growing stronger, a sense of elation filling him. Judge helped him down after undoing the rope tied around his waist and his feet.
“Get my hat,” Sterling told Judge. “It’s right there. A future dead man threw it to the ground.”
“Yep, I see it right there.” Judge picked up his hat and dusted it off.
“Just going to need a moment,” Sterling said with a groan. “Maybe need to walk it off…” Sterling leaned with his back against the crucifix, quietly cursing in Spanish under his breath. Judge placed the cowboy hat on his head and offered the man support, Sterling’s numb arm going over his shoulder. His knees buckled, but Judge helped keep him from falling.
“You good? We need to move away from here.”
“Been better…” Sterling mumbled.
Judge led him away from the crucifix, continuing to support his weight. They walked for a couple minutes, Sterling silent as his body slowly repaired itself, as his arms regained their feeling.
“They strung you up real good,” Judge said once they were about six hundred feet away from the supply camp. “Seen them do this before, to another mancer a week or so ago. Shit wasn’t pretty. The fuckers left that woman up for three or four days. Three or four days, can you believe that? Unconscionable.”
“I’m going to burn that supply camp to the ground and kill every one of them sorry sons of bitches. Pinche puta pendejos…” Sterling let off a string of curses before circling back around to what Judge had just told him. “You said another mancer? Who? Did you get a name? I might or might not be in a recruiting mood.”
“You bet your ass I got a name. The damn lady was hotter than hell, too. Named Roxy. Let me get you some water.”
“Roxy? You mean… Rowayton?” Sterling asked as Judge equipped a plastic milk jug filled with water.
“Rowayton? They hammer some of those stakes into your ears too, boy? I said her name was Roxy, as in the word ‘rocks’ but with a ‘y’ at the end of it. Roxy.”
“Roxy is her nickname,” Sterling said, after a big sip of water. “And she ain’t no mancer.”
“No kidding, huh? Some of the fellows were saying that. That girl sure was strong, though. She was able to escape in the end. It was savage, like some shit an amalgamation would do. That woman tore through several of the men in the process. I saw one fella after, whew boy, she’d ripped his arms off, I shit you not. Tore another one’s leg off and beat him with it, real savagery.”
“You don’t know which way Roxy headed, do you?”
Judge shrugged. “My guess would be Las Cruces. Someone else suggested she went off the other direction, towards Arizona, but I think that fellow was drunk off some local moonshine they brew at the cantina on the other side of the camp.”
“Shee-it…” Sterling grumbled.
“Hey, if you’re friendly with this lady, tell her to stop by Hatch and look me up,” Judge said with a chuckle. “I like being tamed.”
Sterling glared up at his friend. “You’re lucky I haven’t whooped your ass already for abandoning your child.”
Judge glanced down at his feet. His beard was much thicker than it had been the last time Sterling had seen him. A dark cloud blocking the moon slipped away as Sterling eyed the man, the moonlight accenting Judge’s features. He was in his mid to late forties, scars crisscrossing the tops of his cheeks as if he’d used a string of barbed wire to shave, untamed eyebrows, and a nose that had been broken one too many times. Judge was a roughneck who looked like some kind of outlaw, even though he was just a simple pepper farmer.
“Why the hell did you do it?” Sterling asked. “I’ve got to kn
ow, Judge. Why did you leave your family?”
He could already feel the skin stitching across his palms, the numbness he had experienced completely gone now. Soon Sterling would be ready to get on with it, but before that, he needed to eat and drink. He summoned a jug of water, and Judge helped him drink it. Sterling then equipped a piece of green chili jerky and ate it while the man spoke.
“I did this for my kid,” Judge told him. “I signed a contract, and they’re going to give me plenty of turquoise and silver once we get the White Sands Militia out of Las Cruces. I was planning to go back to Hatch once we finished, come back a hero, impress Luna. Such a pretty young girl, that Luna. You met her, you saw her.”
“Yeah, I saw her.”
“I know it sounds like bullshit, but that ain’t exactly the case. Besides, Luna is entirely capable of taking care of that baby.”
“She’s just a girl, like you said, and she thinks you’re dead.”
“Dead?”
“She thinks an amalgamation killed you.”
“Luna is nineteen years old and she’s wild, let me tell you, even though she may not look it. Maybe a bit naïve, but she’s got a kind heart, and I know she’ll be a good mother. Hell, I was sick last winter and she nursed me back to health like a pro. I ain’t lying to you here, Sterling, it’s in her genes. Her parents are still alive, still together, believe it or not. I’ve seen it in them too.”
“Even after the Reset?”
“That’s right. They woke up next to one another and put one and two together after they saw the pictures in their home. They stuck it out.”
“And where are they at?”
“Closer to Albuquerque. I kept telling her to go up there, and I’m hoping she’ll listen to me. I’m hoping I’ll go back to Hatch, find out she went toward Albuquerque, and then like I said, show up as a hero.”
“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Sterling said. “Especially for trying to send a woman and a child to Albuquerque.”
Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk Page 9