She let go of the hat and let her hand drop to her side. “I guess you’re right.”
His grin shrunk. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—” He cut himself off with a frustrated groan. “Dagnammit, I’m outta practice.”
“Practice?”
“The datin’ game.”
“Dating?” She frilled her brow and folded her arms across her chest. “I wouldn’t exactly call a stroll down dystopian lane a date.”
“Date or not.” He averted his gaze as his face reddened. “I’m just no good at talkin’ with the ladies.”
“You’re putting too much thought into this.”
“Can’t help it.” Jon massaged the back of his neck. “It’s the way I am. I always overthink things when it comes to women.”
Michelle sighed. “Well, then, that’s one thing we share in common at least. For us, the art of conversation truly is a lost art.” She shrugged with an exaggerated smile. “Who am I kidding? I never had it to begin with.” She stepped on through the glassless window frame and into the hat store.
“Where are you headed off to?” asked Jon.
“I’m going hat shopping,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Wanna come with?”
Jon rested his hands on his hips. “Not a date, huh? Then why does it feel like I’m about to be saddled with a whole lotta bags?” He followed in after her. “Just don’t expect me to hold your purse.”
***
Michelle waded through a crowd of featureless mannequins. Dozens of smooth wooden heads were turned her way—glaring at her with blank faces—as she stalked down the aisle with Jon reluctantly trailing behind. Beams of light speared through holes in the ceiling in the dark dusty store, giving them just enough light. The musty odor of mildew and rot lingered in the stale air. Moths and silverfish scattered when Michelle stepped up and over a pile of tattered clothes to get to her target—a mannequin with cowboy boots, jeans, and a hat. She reached up and plucked the hat from the mannequin’s head, dusted it off with a quick pat, and turned to Jon to present her gift.
Jon’s gaze fell to the hat before rising back to her. He gave her a puzzled look.
“What’s a cowboy without a cowboy hat?” She fastened the hat atop his head.
Jon turned to a mirror stand and his reflection in the dingy glass. “A white hat.”
“That’s how you tell the good guys from the bad.” She broke off a golden star from the mannequin’s belt buckle and hung it over his chest from his shirt pocket. “There, you look like a real hero now, sheriff.” She rested her forearm atop his shoulder, leaned against him, and admired her handy work.
Jon’s expression grew somber as he dipped the bill of his new hat over his eyes. “This ain’t no place for no hero.” He removed the star and tossed it onto the glass counter.
The star wobbled to a noisy stop.
Michelle sighed. Great. “Now I said something wrong.” Way to go, stupid. Open mouth, insert foot.
“No, it’s just…” He fixed his eyes on a pair of mannequins, male and female, arms interlocked. “Well, the last time I wore a hat like this. I was a married man.”
“Was?” She found herself reaching out to him before she caught herself, thinking better of it, and recoiled her hand. “What happened to her?”
Jon stepped over to a fallen female mannequin in a yellow flower dress, littered with moth-eaten holes. “What happened to everybody.” He knelt down and plucked a yellow daisy from her straw summer hat.
“I’m sorry.”
The flower crumbled as he spun it in his fingers. “Me too,” he said with a sigh. “We were tourists caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Me and—my wife—well, she wanted to spend our honeymoon in the Big Apple. Countdown from ten and watch the ball drop. It was on her bucket list.” He sprinkled the remaining petals over the mannequin’s face. “Too bad somethin’ else dropped instead.”
Michelle placed her hand on his shoulder. Say something profound, stupid. “I’m sorry.” She cringed. Why am I so bad at this? “I already said that.” She let an awkward laugh slip. “See, I told ya I’m no better at talking.”
Jon rose to his feet. “Two peas in a pod, huh?”
She massaged the back of her head and held up two fingers. “Two socially awkward peas.”
They shared a laugh together.
Jon reached into his back pocket. “Here, ya need to eat somethin’.” He pulled out a yellow and red candy bar and offered it up to her. “It ain’t much, but—”
She snatched it up and read off the label. “Super Mega Awesome Bulking Protein Bar? Do I dare read the ingredients?”
“I wouldn’t. It’s one long paragraph full of big fancy made-up words but I can promise you it both starts and ends with high fructose corn syrup.”
“Delicious.” She unraveled the wrapper, exposing the chocolate bar. The chemically enhanced chocolate smelled heavenly. “Thanks.” She snapped off a chunk and popped it into her mouth. Sweet sugar flooded her taste buds. “Mmmm.”
An eye opened up on her left palm and leered at the candy bar. “Psst,” whispered Lefty as he licked his drool dripping lips with a circular brush of his tongue. “Michelle, give us a taste.”
She broke off another piece and dropped it onto his extended tongue.
Lefty’s tongue ensnared the little chocolate square and rolled back into his mouth. “Mmmm, chocolate peanut butter crunch,” he said as he chomped down.
Jon whistled as he scanned the shop, pretending he didn’t just see that. “Scavengers can’t be picky.”
“Is that what you are?” asked Michelle, finishing off the bar and tossing the scrunched-up wrapper aside.
“Shoot, I wouldn’t list that on my resume but if we’re gonna get technical and such. Yeah, I guess I am. Ain’t we all these post-apocalypse days?”
“I’m not. I’m—”
“—the Marauder,” he said, finishing her sentence. “Yeah, I know.”
“Did the purple cloak give me away?” She gave him an exaggerated spin, showing off her cloak like she was a little girl presenting her first gown.
“Wearin’ that thing around these parts—hell, around anywhere—is like stickin’ a ‘please kill me’ sign on your back.”
“Then you better not hang around me for long,” she teased.
Jon frowned. “You aimin’ to walk that road alone forever?”
Her playfulness died. “That’s the plan.”
“Until what? You end up dead?”
“That’s the struggle.” My purpose. My religion. My sole reason for existing in this nightmare filled wonderland.
“Strugglin’ ain’t the same as livin’.”
She folded her arms and glanced away. “No, it’s not.” But what choice do I have? I am a shark—to stop swimming—to stop pushing forward—means death. It means your death too. Matthew’s death. Everyone’s death. I didn’t just inherit this cloak and sword from Atlas… I also inherited the world. She broke the uncomfortable silence between them. “It’s getting late. We should get going. I have to get going.” She headed for the exit.
Jon trailed after her and took the lead with a quicker pace. “Fine, I’ll go fetch the car.”
“Jon?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
She gave him a smile. “Thanks. For everything.”
He returned her smile and tipped his hat. “You’re wel…” His head spun toward the street. “…come… ummm…” He stopped suddenly.
Michelle stepped to his side. “What?”
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Is that a robot?”
She followed his line of sight and spotted it—a man-sized android with a tattered cape standing atop the hood of the station wagon. The android swiveled its head, its two, glowing gray-blue eyes scanning the area for its target—her. The soulless machine was as featureless as the mannequins that surrounded her but blocky like an old video game character with bad graphics. It raised its halberd and sp
eared the blade through the hood and into the engine. Steam poured up, shrouding the android in a white cloud of humid mist.
Jon plopped his hands atop his head. “Dagnammit, my car.”
A shadow moved over them.
Michelle spun around to spot one of the mannequins shift in the dark. “Get down,” she told Jon in a panic. “Now!” She grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him to the floor.
The android raised its hollow handless arms, with two barrels at the end of the wrists, their direction. Dual streams of fire jettisoned out and painted the shop red and orange with flames. The mannequins lit up like torches, their wooden flesh blackening and their clothes shriveling up.
Michelle held her and Jon’s head down as the flames and thick black smoke kissed the ceiling.
“There goes our ride. What now?” asked Jon.
The black smoke descended upon them, veiling them in the cover of darkness.
Michelle gritted her teeth. “We run.”
Chapter Three
Michelle ran, as fast as her small, bruised mud-covered feet could take her. The shadows in the woods of the Sacred Forest were moving all around her—and gaining. Their wicked hoots and grunts and shrieks grew louder and multiplied in the darkness. The towering ancient giant trees of Nirva dwarfed her small, seven-year-old body and their canopies crowded out her view of the sun and pink sky of Tuat above. But just enough light shined through to allow her to follow the sun toward the East, toward the desert and civilization beyond that still. Her only desperate hope—find sanctuary among kindred spirits in a village nearby. A hope that was dying with every new wheezing breath and pounding heartbeat.
Keep running, Michelle, she told herself, you have to keep running. One foot in front of the other. Eyes ahead. Don’t look back. Don’t lose sight of the sun. Trip and you’re dead. One slip and they’ll tear you limb from limb.
Her lungs were on fire, and her legs were numb and as limp as two soggy noodles but that did nothing to slow her. Better to drop dead from exhaustion than die a slow death by way of fang and claw. The hot winds lifted her tattered white gown and long blonde hair and when she felt the warm, sun-baked sand between her bare toes, her spirits lifted—only to be dashed once more when she cleared the forest and peered up at the sky. The winged beast men circled above like hungry vultures. She was a fool to believe she could outrun them. A fool to trust the thing in her hand. The lies he whispered to her last night in the privacy of the dark damp cell they shared. She clutched her throbbing left hand against her chest as she climbed up a sand dune. Her wedding gift, the monster in her left palm. All she had to sacrifice in exchange were her parents’ lives and her little baby brother.
Matthew… She couldn’t help but look back. Leaving him behind was the hardest choice she had ever made. I should’ve never escaped without you. But what choice did I have? He has you now. The man with the skull mask. Forgive me, Matthew. That’s when she stumbled into the deep sand.
The beast men were almost upon her, a dozen of them, maybe more—not counting the ones in the air above. Each one wore a different face, a different animal’s skin. A white tiger, a jackal, an ape, a hyena, a toad, a cobra, an ant, a bull, and more still pouring out of the forest. They stood upright on two legs, wielding crude meat cleavers and chains with spiked iron balls dangling at each end.
Michelle fell to her knees and curled up in a ball over her spasming left hand. It would be over soon, she would unleash her new power and they’d all be sucked into the empty abyss together. She held in her breath and prepared herself for oblivion.
A flurry of gnashing teeth and serrated steel descended upon her.
That’s when a purple cloak enshrouded her small frame.
A stream of blood showered the air. A severed jackal’s head landed with a thud in the sand. The beast’s decapitated body collapsed, still twitching. The other beast men recoiled and retreated a few paces, howling with displeasure.
Michelle gazed up. A large cloaked man with broad muscular shoulders, a square jaw, a bushy white mustache, and a raised sword stood over her. She sat up between his legs, her head only coming up to the old swordsman’s kneecaps.
“So even Tuat has fallen into darkness,” said the old swordsman with much disappointment in his voice. “Yet another world I’ve let down.”
She blinked at him. “Who…?”
The hulking swordsman peered down at her and gave her a smile and a wink. “You’d think with the name Atlas I’d have known better.”
The white tiger charged, taking a swipe at Atlas with his large paw.
“Look out,” Michelle yelled with a gasp.
Atlas blocked the powerful blow with his forearm, halting the beast without budging an inch himself.
The white tiger’s jaw dropped. Then Atlas dropped him with a single punch.
Michelle could only look on with disbelief in her eyes.
Three more beast men attacked—a toad, a piranha, and a hyena—attempting to overwhelm him with numbers. With one swipe of his sword, he cut through them—sending six halves crashing into the sand.
Blood stained the sand before Michelle’s knees.
Another two beast men, an ape and an ant, circled him, twirling their chains above their heads. They hurled the chains at Atlas—ensnaring both his forearms. With all their strength they pulled, the chains snapping tight.
Michelle’s heart skipped a beat.
Atlas’ eyes darted to the left then back to the right, sizing up his foes, before cracking a toothy grin. He flexed his biceps, his muscles rippling under his long sleeves and the fabric stretching in audible cries. “Is that all the strength you two have? Pitiful. No wonder you’re picking on a little girl.”
The beast men hissed.
In a furious sudden burst of energy, Atlas pulled his arms across his chest, yanking his captors off their feet and sending them flying. They crashed heads in the middle, knocking themselves out cold.
Atlas scoffed, shaking his head with disgust as he glanced down at Michelle. “Never send a chimera slave to do a warrior’s job, right little one?”
Michelle nodded on impulse. “Right…”
He gave her a little pat on her head. “That’s a good girl. Now be strong for me and sit tight for just a bit longer while I take care of—”
That’s when she heard the horn. The vilest and most horrific sound blaring out over the desert—like some ancient sorrowful beast’s wail before its final breath. The same horn she heard the night they came, Solomon’s dark hordes, the beast men and their cruel leader. Krull, the Skeleton Knight. They sacked her village hunting for a suitable bride for King Solomon. They set fire to homes and murdered any who resisted. Her parents were among the first to taste Krull’s cold steel—caught attempting to hide her and Matthew. Michelle watched them fall in front of her eyes, their warm blood coating her cheeks. In the end, she was chosen—a rare rose plucked from a mound of soot and ash, imprisoned in a golden vase, and placed on a castle’s windowsill to bask in the hellish warmth of the Black Sun.
Michelle hugged herself to quiet her trembling body. Thirteen shadows circled her and Atlas. They both gazed up. Twelve dark winged figures danced around the sun. The pink sky was filled with shrieks and caws as twelve-winged beast men descend to a gentle perch in the sand. A vulture, a bat, an eagle, a beetle, a pterodactyl, a mosquito, and more still landing and encircling her and Atlas. But the owner of the thirteenth shadow never landed.
The chimera slaves all took a knee and bowed their heads together. The ones ahead of Michelle and Atlas formed two parallel lines with space for a path in between—as if awaiting the arrival of royalty.
Michelle’s stomach turned sour when she spotted the thirteenth shadow slowly creep up the path, heading straight for her.
The shadow, like a black pit of tar, bubbled and shifted with malice. A human skull was the first shape to surface and take form—dripping like melted wax. The skull was followed by a heavily armored body saddled atop an eb
ony winged horse, a dark Pegasus with red glowing eyes. The skeleton knight emerged from his own shadow brandishing a lance twice his horse’s length with a steel pike at the tip. His red cape flapped in the desert wind—a black sun sewn in the middle. Another black sun was carved into his very forehead and a third engraved over his chest plate. Once the dripping shadows hardened and smoothed, dark flames ignited and engulfed his naked skull. Krull turned his hollow, flickering eyes on Michelle.
Michelle clasped her hands over her mouth as she convulsed in a retch and dry heaved. Luckily, she hadn’t eaten in days or she would have lost more than spit and drool. What she did lose instead was the remaining contents of her bladder—a stream of warm urine trickled down her thighs and dampened the sand between her legs.
Atlas placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, what did I just say? You have to stay strong for me, little—”
“What have we here?” Krull asked, his high-pitched and nasal voice like a ghostly echo stretching out over the desert. “What fool dares to keep Solomon from his bride?” Krull’s chimera slaves gave no audible grunt or hoot, offering up only silence as their answer as his dark steed trotted forward. “What madness afflicts this decrepit geezer’s mind that he might believe he could oppose the forces of the Black Sun?”
Atlas sighed a growl as he removed his hand from Michelle’s shoulder and set his sights ahead. “They call me the Marauder.”
“And who are they?” asked Krull, leaning forward atop his advancing monstrous steed.
“The Seven Maidens.” Atlas straightened his back and stood tall and proud as a soldier. “It is by their will that I stand between you and this poor child.” He gestured to Michelle. “It is their power which I wield in my hands.” He held up his sword above his eyes. The blade lit up with blinding, glorious white light.
The beast men shrieked and howled as they shielded their eyes and recoiled from the overwhelming glare. Even Krull threw up his arms over his face, hissing out a few curses, his dark steed rising up and bucking and kicking under him.
To Michelle, it seemed like Atlas was holding a small white star in his hands, warding off the evil spirits gathered around him and driving them back into the dark holes they crawled out of.
The Marauder Page 3