Gun Mage: Surviving a Post Apocalyptic Magic Earth

by Logan Jacobs

  Needless to say, neither of us slept much, and we probably should have just fucked each other to burn off the anxiety, but it’s always easy to say that in hindsight.

  “We should get breakfast,” Sorcha suggested in the morning as we both dug through the pile of clothes we’d heaped on the floor the night before.

  We managed to get cleaned up using the small lavatory across the hall, but our clothing still carried several layers of dirt and dust. Sorcha found her pants and tried to knock some of the debris off, only to scatter it around the room where it landed on everything else. Then the blonde sighed and gave up as she slid the pants back on beneath the robe.

  “I don’t suppose there’s a dining room here at Fat Frenchie’s,” I replied as I handed her the blue shirt and pulled mine over my shoulders.

  “I didn’t see one,” she said. “Though I wasn’t really looking for one last night.”

  “I would guess that most of their guests don’t,” I laughed.

  With the clothes properly sorted, we made a last check of the room for any personal items, as the sign nailed to the door instructed, then walked down the hallway toward the stairs. Unlike the night before, everything was quiet at the inn. Even the gas lamps on the stairs had been turned down, and we stumbled down them in near darkness.

  A pasty-faced man with a pencil thin mustache was at the desk when we spilled into the front hall. Most of the flowers were still there, but they were looking less perky than they had the night before. The desk clerk watched our approach with an air of disinterest, and he managed only a hint of a smile when we stopped in front of him.

  “We were hoping to get some breakfast,” I said as I dropped our room key on the desk. “Is there someplace close by you would recommend?”

  The clerk blinked, and his mustache twitched. Apparently, most guests didn’t ask about places to dine.

  “I’m afraid most of the local establishments are closed right now,” the clerk finally replied. “However, there’s a man just two blocks further south on Canal Street who sells hot pies from a cart. They’re quite tasty.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I said as I placed my hat on my head.

  Sorcha and I stepped out into the morning version of the Green, which was considerably less charming and adventurous. The air reeked of waste and vomit, and the brightly colored signs and buildings all looked dingy in the sunlight. The only other people who were around outside were boys with rakes and brooms trying to clean up some of the detritus from the night before.

  Sorcha wrinkled her nose as we tried to avoid stepping in any puddles we couldn’t readily identify, which was every puddle. We followed Canal Street southwards, and near the edge of the Green district, we spotted a small crowd gathered around an old-fashioned, pre-magic cart.

  A portly gentleman with a white apron and a black hat with small fluffy balls hanging from the brim was smiling as he yelled “next” after each sale. So, we joined the line, and we soon had our hands wrapped around a pair of breakfast pies with scrambled eggs and bacon.

  I didn’t appreciate how hungry I was after the previous day’s activities until I took my first bite. After that, I devoured the pastry while Sorcha still savored her own breakfast. When I was done, I cast a hungry glance at her pastry, but she pulled it possessively to her chest and shook her head while I snickered at her.

  We passed a coffee joint, so I left her outside while I darted in to grab us each a cup. By the time I returned, she’d licked the last crumbs from her fingers.

  “Thank you.” She smiled as I handed her a cup of coffee and took a tentative sip from my own.

  “You’re welcome,” I said as her smile made my heart race a bit.

  “The bridge should be pretty busy by now,” she pointed out. “We can head over to Brook Island and then follow the river.”

  I thought about Paul’s map for a few minutes, then nodded.

  “We should try heading southwest,” I said. “Pappa Paul’s map showed a bridge in that direction, and it’ll put us further away from the main island.”

  We strolled slowly along Canal Street, just another young couple out for a morning constitutional. As we neared the tip of the island, Sorcha pointed toward a sign for the Brook Island Bridge. We followed the arrow and soon found ourselves in a pack of people with the same goal.

  The bridge was impressive, to put it mildly. Two arched stone towers stood on either side of the river, and in between, steel cables thicker than a man’s wrist carried two wide roads across the width of the water. I couldn’t help but be awed once again with those pre-magic humans, and I wondered for a moment how much more impressive the world would be today if that meteorite hadn’t hit.

  “I’m surprised at how many people there are,” Sorcha commented as we inched our way along. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this busy.”

  “They’re doing a search,” an elderly woman standing next to Sorcha inserted.

  “What do you mean?” Sorcha asked as she shared a worried glance with me.

  “The deputies are searching people going across the bridge,” the old woman explained. “My husband told me they had set up a checkpoint when he got home this morning. Made him almost an hour late getting home. Good thing I didn’t have to be at work early this morning.”

  “What are they looking for?” I asked as I tried to peer over the heads of the people in front of us.

  “Just some criminal,” the woman sighed. “They’ve got some of those wanted posters they’re using to check everyone.”

  “Waste of time,” a thin man added. “What fool would cross between the islands? They should just send all these idiots over to the tunnel and let us go about our business.”

  “What did this criminal do?” Sorcha asked as I started to fidget.

  I had to remind myself not to tap the pocket where I’d put the gun, but the urge to hold it was growing as we drew closer to the checkpoint.

  “Who knows?” the thin man snorted derisively.

  “Must have been really bad if they set up a checkpoint here,” the old woman sniffed as she rolled her eyes at the man.

  The thin man shook his head, but the old woman nodded at Sorcha.

  “My husband looked at one of the posters,” the woman continued. “It says he murdered someone.”

  “Well, that happens almost every day in the city,” Sorcha pointed out.

  “True,” the old woman agreed, “and it didn’t say much on the poster, which means the government is afraid to publish the details.”

  “Why would they be afraid?” Sorcha pressed.

  “Black magic,” the old woman hissed as she leaned in close.

  Sorcha jumped and glanced at me. We were close enough to see the deputies now, and my hand started to drift toward the gun of its own accord. Sorcha intercepted the hand and started to tug me toward the edge. It was hard going, and the crowd was unable and unwilling to move out of our way. Everyone was in a surly mood, and if someone had stood up and pointed an angry finger at me and announced I was the black magic mage, I was pretty sure the people would have snatched me up and tossed me over the bridge just so they could get on with their daily routine.

  I heaved a sigh of relief when we finally made it out of the crowd. It was still busy along the river walk, but at least we weren’t pressed against all those other people. I did a quick check for the gun and my money pouch, and I smiled when I saw Sorcha do the same. She shook her head, and just for a brief moment, gave me a smile. Then her expression turned serious again, and she turned to watch the crowd that waited to cross the bridge.

  Out of the crowd, it was easy to see what the problem was. There were indeed deputies checking everyone heading toward the outer islands, and as the old lady had warned us, they held fliers in their hands as they peered closely at every man who tried to cross. Carts were stopped and searched as well, which slowed everything to a crawl.

  One man stormed by us as he gave up on the idea of crossing the bridge. He held one of the fl
iers, which some of the deputies handed out as people neared the checkpoint, and he balled it up and tossed it toward one of the garbage cans. It hit the rim and bounced to the ground, unnoticed by the frustrated city dweller.

  I snatched up the paper and unfolded it, and I found myself staring at a pretty good likeness of myself, along with a reward for any information leading to my arrest for questioning in the murder of a local citizen. I handed the flier to Sorcha, who drew in a deep breath before she balled it up again and carried it back to the garbage can.

  “Now what?” I asked as we both turned our backs on the deputies and stared out over the water. “What about one of those boats you mentioned?”

  “Most of them are further north,” she said as she watched the river traffic, “and the deputies probably left copies of the fliers with them.”

  “But they wouldn’t necessarily bother with checking their passengers, right?” I prodded.

  “For a gun mage, I would guess they made it very clear what would happen to any ferryman who took you across the river,” she sighed. “So, yes, this time they’ll probably check.”

  “Other bridges?” I suggested.

  She just shook her head, and I knew she was right. They would be watching everything very carefully now, and we were stuck on the island until they found us.

  I felt frustrated and more than a little angry. What right did they have to hunt me like this for a magic I didn’t even know I had until a day ago? It seemed so unfair, yet I had no idea what to do about it unless I found a way out of their trap.

  I shifted my position enough so I could watch the traffic without being obvious. I noticed the deputies were especially concerned about the carts, no doubt because they didn’t believe anyone on the wanted list would just try to walk across in plain view. Larger vehicles were ordered off to the side where they could be closely checked for any hidden riders. Whenever that happened, some of the deputies scanning the crowds had to help the teams searching the carts, and for those few moments, people could walk past the checkpoints without any scrutiny.

  “I see our chance,” I whispered as I spotted a convoy of mule wagons approaching the bridge.

  Sorcha turned around and nodded when she saw the approaching wagons. Then we edged our way back toward the horde near the bridge, careful to keep an eye on the mules and their loads. We needed to get the timing right, and I tried not to knock too many people out of the way as we pressed forward.

  The mules were clearly unhappy with all the people, and I could hear their braying complaints above the sounds of the crowd. One of the deputies let out a long and loud string of curse words as he tried to wade through the people and approach the mule train. Once there, he had a heated discussion with one of the muleteers, which was soon joined by the other driver. As the argument grew louder, several other deputies abandoned the crowd and moved toward the wagons. When it was down to just two overwhelmed deputies, Sorcha and I pushed our way toward the checkpoint.

  I tried to ignore the argument behind me, which had grown steadily louder. The deputy tried to order the wagons to the side, but neither the mules nor the drivers wanted to follow his instructions. We were nearly past the two remaining deputies and onto the bridge when one of the drivers pointed out all of the pedestrians who were now freely crossing the bridge.

  Sorcha and I exchanged glances, and then one of the deputies trying to deal with the mules yelled not to let anyone across until they’d been searched. A groan went up from the crowd, and it surged forward as people tried to hurry past before they could be stopped by the deputies. Sorcha and I squeezed through as the deputies started to grab people out of the pack. We were on the bridge finally and moving toward the outer islands, and Sorcha let out a sigh of relief.

  But being a gun mage, I should have known my luck would change for the worse, and I let out a hiss of annoyance when I looked back over my shoulder.

  Some of the other deputies had given up on the mule convoy and decided to chase after the pedestrians who’d squeezed through unsearched. I tried to push forward, but everyone else had the same idea.

  We were trapped again, a sensation I was really starting to hate.

  “Here!” Sorcha grabbed my hand and pointed toward an empty lane. It was supposed to be kept clear for emergency vehicles and official vehicles, but several other people had the same idea, and the lane started to fill up.

  We pushed our way through to the lane and joined the folks who were taking advantage of the confusion to move more quickly along the bridge. I was about to tell Sorcha that we were going to make it when I spotted more deputies approaching from the Brook Island side of the bridge. They moved through the crowd and randomly stopped the pedestrians, while two more deputies tried to round up the people who were using the emergency lane.

  We tried to cut back in with the rest of the crowd, but one of the deputies had already spotted us, and as we drew near, he signalled Sorcha and I to step over to the side.

  “Pretend we didn’t see him,” I muttered under my breath as I glanced at Sorcha, and she gave the barest nod of her head.

  We tried to keep walking, and I kept my eyes straight forward, careful not to make eye contact with the deputy. I heard him huff impatiently, and then a strong grip wrapped around my arm.

  “I know you saw me, son,” a deep voice breathed in my ear, “and I know you were using the emergency lane.”

  I glanced up into two hazel eyes set above a nose that looked like a cauliflower. He chewed on something that smelled minty, and his jaw was hard at work even when he was silent.

  “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, “but my girlfriend was starting to feel sick.”

  Sorcha leaned in toward the deputy and grabbed his hand while the hordes of people continued to pour around us. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to look sick as she swayed on her feet.

  “I just need some air,” she said in a breathless voice.

  A look of sympathy came over the deputy’s features, and a surge of relief rushed through me. The hazel eyes were focused entirely on the blonde mage, who clung to the man like he was a lifeline. The deputy started to walk Sorcha toward the other side of the bridge, while I trailed in their wake.

  I could just make out the wide tree-lined street that indicated the end of the bridge when another deputy approached. He scowled at the man with Sorcha and stepped in front of him, which brought everything to a dead stop.

  “What the hell are you doing, Grayson?” the new man demanded. He had a long, flat face and a high-pitched voice, and he glared at Sorcha, clearly unimpressed with her need for fresh air.

  “She’s just feeling a bit ill,” Grayson replied with a growl of his own.

  Sorcha promptly swayed and even raised a quivering hand to her brow. Grayson started to lead her onwards, but the long-faced deputy had already spotted me trailing behind. Something shifted in his glare, and then a moment later, recognition lit up his eyes.

  “You idiot!” the second deputy yelled at Grayson. “That’s him!”

  Grayson looked confused and tried to turn around, but Sorcha had a firm grip on his arm. Unfortunately, Grayson’s partner had no such encumbrance, and he threw himself at me before I managed to set my feet.

  The deputy’s shoulder connected with my chest, and I landed on my back with the long-faced man on top of me. He’d grabbed one of my wrists and was trying to slip a cuff on it while he reached for my other arm.

  I swung at his face and heard the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking under the impact. Blood spurted over me as the deputy reared back, and I gave him a swift kick that sent him tumbling into the press of people.

  “Stop in the name of the law!” Grayson yelled as he disentangled himself from Sorcha’s grasp. He didn’t even bother to check on his fellow deputy, he just lunged straight for me.

  I made it back to my feet before we collided, but this time I was ready, and we whirled around the bridge, locked together as we tried to punch at each other without let
ting the other one go. I felt several blows hit near the pelvis and knew I would have some bruises there by tomorrow. I landed a few quick jabs, then suddenly pushed Grayson away. He stumbled as he tried to catch himself, and I landed an uppercut to his jaw.

  “Hex!” Sorcha called out, and I took a quick peek in her direction. More deputies approached our fight with their batons out, and the crowd moved out of their way.

  Grayson lunged at me, and I lowered my shoulder. We’d run out of time and space, and as much as I hated the idea, I had to get rid of the deputy. He was the only one who could keep us here long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

  So, I charged forward and threw him off balance before he could change his angle of attack. He pinwheeled away from me and hit the railing at the edge of the bridge, then bounced off that and into the press of people who had stopped to watch our fight. He tried to lunge toward me again, but the mass of people had started moving again, split between escaping the wanted criminal and the deputies with batons. The crowd was moving in a hundred different directions, and Grayson was soon swallowed up by the seething mass.

  I ran to Sorcha, grabbed her hand without breaking stride, and tore through the crowd. I kept knocking people out of our way until we were at the bottom of the bridge and on the wide avenue. Then I veered away from the sirens that closed in on the bridge and moved toward the shadowed and shuttered tenements that sprouted like mushrooms under the arches of the bridge.

  We barreled past a slow moving cart and dodged around a pack of kids playing in the street. I could still hear the sirens, as could the locals, most of whom had no love for the law either, so the streets quickly emptied as most of the adults disappeared into their own hiding spots.

  “Hex.” Sorcha finally yanked on my arm and pulled me to a stop.