They held their breath as a rotten odor became more obvious.
In the time they’d ridden closer, a familiar, cloying stench had filled the air, mixing with the fetid odor of decaying mud and making breathing a chore. No matter how many times she smelled the awful beasts, their stench always turned Kirby’s stomach.
“Mutants,” she hissed.
Kirby perked up her ears, listening, but she didn’t hear anything, nor did she see anything that might indicate the presence of monsters. Still, they aimed their guns at the shrouded entrances, watching.
“Why don’t you two stay here and keep guard?” Bray told his companions, dismounting. “I’ll go inside and check out the buildings.”
Before Kirby or William could disagree, Bray handed them the long rope to his steed and was off, trudging through the knee-deep water.
Chapter 8 – Bray
Bray pinned himself at the edge of one broken wall and aimed his rifle through the building’s darkened doorway, observing irregular shaped patches of light on the floor. This first structure was many times the size of a Brighton hovel, with a ceiling that extended high above his head. The ancient, stone walls were cracked and divoted. Between the windowless holes in the walls, and the light from the doorway, he had some visibility, but the many dark corners, crevices, and piled debris made him nervous.
Bray waded through the putrid mud and water that pooled over the building’s foundation, contending with submerged rocks and other things he couldn’t see.
Along the closest wall, he saw jutting slabs of stone that might’ve been shelves, or tables, at one time. A weed-covered window occupied the space above them. During his travels, he’d seen plenty of such buildings constructed near the old roads.
Perhaps they had served an important purpose at one time.
Following the building’s perimeter with his eyes, he found evidence of what he’d smelled. Demon scat floated on the water and covered the walls in finger-shaped patterns. The monsters were as disgusting as they were vile. Gnawed, white bones jutted up from the water in shallower spots, cracked and picked clean, like the ones they’d seen in the mud. The filthy animals had evidently dragged their meals back to their den, where they’d then resorted to eating each other.
Immoral, soulless creatures.
William was right: this was no place for a man to live.
Finding a similar mess in the second building, he headed to the third.
To the left of the structure, the tree rose from the muddy water, growing up through the half destroyed ceiling. The light of the grim sky striped the room in pale light and deep shadow.
His knees bumped something heavy.
Startled, Bray aimed his gun.
A branch floated idly on the water’s surface.
Something hissed.
Bray spun, retargeting a bulbous, wart-covered head, just visible in a spear of light. A demon slumped against the shadowed wall, half in and out of the water. With effort, the creature reached out a weak hand toward him. Bray crept cautiously closer, finding innards spilling from the side of its torn stomach. It groped at the fatal injury with its other hand, as if it might somehow shove its intestines back inside its body and live.
Of course, it wouldn’t.
Seeing no other signs of movement, Bray relaxed his grip on his rifle and pulled out his scabbarded sword.
Something about this putrid demon made him feel pity. Rearing back his blade, he shoved it into the creature’s head, cutting off its final hiss.
**
Bray cleaned his sword in the water before heading out to his friends.
“We heard a noise…” William said nervously.
“It was just a demon,” Bray explained. “I put an end to it.”
“That’s not all we have to worry about,” William said.
He and Kirby drew Bray’s attention deeper into the forest, where nearly three-dozen naked figures splashed through the water, moving erratically.
“We saw them when you went in that last building,” Kirby explained.
“It looks like going west is out,” Bray said with a curse.
The sight of so many demons gave him an uneasy feeling. Normally, the horses could outrun the filthy beasts, but on this terrain, that was more of a guess. Bray looked back in the direction of the trail. He could just see the last blockade they’d passed, but he couldn’t see another past that.
“Maybe that was the last obstruction,” he said hopefully.
Kirby seemed indecisive.
“I don’t like the idea of riding along that path any more than you do,” he said, keeping his eyes on it. “But one thing is certain: staying near a demon nest is an easy way to die. And the horses can make faster progress there.”
Kirby agreed.
“Let’s head back to the trail,” Bray said. “At least we’ll be able to see what’s coming. Maybe we can get a little farther away, then rest the horses.”
Chapter 9 – Bray
Bray led the way, forging a path through the weeds on the trail. A gentle breeze carried the stench of the marshlands up to their noses, as if the putrid landscape was following them.
On either side, algae and duckweed floated on the sludgy brown. A desperate man might look for sustenance in those waters, but Bray knew the dangers of drinking unclean liquids, or eating questionable things. A hasty or ignorant decision could lead to a horrible sickness.
They rode for a long while, keeping a steady gait and pushing through the more overgrown foliage, as the horses trudged on. Stepping on something uneven, his horse lifted a shaky hoof.
“I don’t think we can put off stopping any longer,” he told Kirby and William. Pointing to the brush around them, he said, “We’ve made some progress. Maybe we can hunker down in the grass while the horses graze.”
The others agreed.
Pulling up on the reins, Bray leapt off his horse, tying it to a nearby tree. Kirby and William followed suit, crouching from exhaustion. Appraising their thin bodies and gaunt cheeks, Bray offered, “I’ll keep watch, if you want to eat something.”
Kirby and William nodded, pulling a few leathery strands of meat from their bags and munching, while Bray sipped from his flask and kept guard. For a while, he surveyed the empty marshland, his thoughts turning inward.
Too many of his battles and memories became confused; events overlapped, melding together, but some had made a bigger impression. On one particular occasion, he’d been outside Brighton, on a long, grassy hill similar to this trail, when some ill-intentioned men had discovered him. He’d met them earlier in a pub, shared some laughs, and drank some snowberry. Now they were following him in the shadows. The glint of one man’s sword gave him away. Suddenly, they’d forced him into battle.
Noticing him deep in thought, Kirby asked, “What are you thinking about?”
Keeping his voice low, he said, “I was thinking about some bandits who attacked me.”
William tilted his head and listened. “What happened?”
“Late one night, I was sitting in a pub, clinking flagons with a few men, commiserating over the watered-down ale,” Bray paused. “The next morning, they were following me through the forest.”
“They stalked you?” William asked.
Bray nodded. “As you know, the rules of a township often lose power once a man passes out of its bounds. The wild has its own law, and this was no exception.”
Of course, William understood. Bray paused, wiping some water from his beard.
“I’d just killed a handful of demons, and I had their scalps in my bag. The dirt scratchers probably figured they could make some coin off me. So, they attacked. We fought for a while. I wounded one man with a slash to his arm, and almost killed another, but the cowards outnumbered me.”
“How did you survive?” William stopped chewing his meat, as if the noise might prevent him from hearing a detail.
“For a while, I evaded them through the forest, but they caught up to me on a knoll.
This time, instead of approaching as one, they surrounded me on all sides.” Bray spit into the tall grass. “They wanted to finish me off. By that time, I was angry. I rushed toward the nearest pair, facing them head-on.”
William listened attentively, waiting for the conclusion of the tale, of which he could guess the ending.
The snap of a twig interrupted.
In the time they’d been talking, men had appeared everywhere in the marshlands, creeping up both sides of the bank, north and south.
Bray backpedaled, lifting his rifle.
Maybe his thoughts had been more prescient than mere memory.
Chapter 10 – Bray
Bray aimed his rifle in the direction of the closest men, firing and forcing them behind some trees near the top of the slope. They ducked, but more came forward.
Their plan was clear.
They were walling in Bray, Kirby, and William at two ends.
He hurried back the few steps to his friends, ducking, while whistling projectiles screeched through the air. The men kept coming, twirling their corded ropes and agitating the horses tied to the nearby trees. There was no time to mount the steeds now.
“You take the men to the south! I’ll get the north!” he yelled to Kirby, firing more rounds in defense.
Hiding lower in the grass, Bray faced one side of the trail while Kirby faced the other, their backs to each other. Weapon blasts rang in their ears. Nearby, William untied the horses, trying to keep them from bolting.
A stone ricocheted off the tip of Bray’s boot, skidding away. Another flew past his shoulder. He hunched lower, fighting the feeling that his rounds weren’t making a difference. They were keeping the men from advancing, but too many were using the trees as cover.
Gritting his teeth, he aimed at a man who’d taken one too many bold steps out into the open. He fired. Blood splattered from the men’s leg as he toppled. Two others pulled him behind a tree and out of danger, resuming their attack.
Nearly a dozen men assaulted them on both sides.
There was no way they’d fend off so many.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Kirby frantically warding off the ambush from the other side, while William continued corralling the horses.
They had to ride now, or they never would again.
“Let’s go!” he cried, emptying the last few shots of his rifle and running for the horses.
They scrambled for the animals, nearly falling off in their attempt to get astride them. Bray’s horse spun erratically, spitting and struggling against its bridle. Kirby and William had similar trouble. To the north, the men narrowed the gap on the trail, wielding their slings. To the south, more men moved out from behind their hiding places.
Helping William onto her horse, Kirby yelled, “This way!”
Bray bounded after her, cursing an empty rifle he had no time to reload.
“William! Help clear a path!” he shouted.
From behind Kirby, William pulled out his pistol, shooting at the men in front of them, while the horse stamped furiously forward. Fearing the large, spitting beast, the men scattered to the opposite side of the trail. The horse’s hooves beat the ground.
Kirby steered toward the empty side of the trail.
Perhaps they’d get lucky and make it past the men, or maybe the ignorant bastards would be stupid enough to get caught beneath the horse’s trampling hooves.
As if on cue, one of the slinging men raced out in the open.
William pivoted, taking aim.
The horse bolted.
Kirby pulled down and back on the reins, trying to keep it under control, while William’s boot struck its flank.
Confused by two mixed signals, the horse reared.
William flew from the saddle.
In horror, Bray watched William hit the ground hard, and roll down the hill. He veered for the boy, as if he might somehow stop his fall, but it was too late.
William was gone.
Chapter 11 – William
The world became a blurry mess as William turned end over end, reaching for something—anything—to stop him. Prickly vines and tree roots scratched his hands. His bag shook on his back. Stones gave way underneath him and rolled. None of those stopped his descent or slowed his momentum. His cheek collided with a head-sized rock, making him bite his lip. The fresh, squirting blood in his mouth reminded him of the metallic odor of his gun.
My gun! William had a moment to think about his pistol before it skittered out of his grasp.
He landed at the bottom of the incline, splashing in the mud.
Brown, sludgy liquid soaked his face and his eyes and drenched his clothes. Something clawed at him. Frantic, William kicked and thrashed, certain the men had gotten hold of him, until he realized it was just a loose branch.
Throwing away the offending stick, he dragged his curly, mud-caked hair behind his ears and blinked. He couldn’t locate his gun, nor did he see Bray or Kirby.
“Bray! Kirby!”
Figures appeared at the top of the slope. Enemies. He watched in terror as three, mud-covered figures slid down the side of the hill.
Move!
William got to his feet, sloshing in and out of the muck. His body stung with scrapes and aches he couldn’t see. Blood still ran in his mouth. His only thought was to get away from his pursuers.
It felt as if he was wading through an impossibly thick river in a dream, with no hope of an end. No wonder the horses were exhausted. Looking over his shoulder, he glimpsed his pursuers passing the midpoint of their descent, their slings swinging wildly at their sides. William had seen what those fearful, whistling weapons could do. They’d rip through his soft flesh as if it were goat’s cheese.
He might die, with a single shot.
As if on cue, a whistle pierced the air above him.
William lunged behind a tree, just as something exploded on the opposite side. Gasping, he raced to another tree, and then another, putting as many obstacles between him and the enemy as he could.
More shrieking stones pierced the air, landed in the mud, or splashed up debris.
Swamp, half submerged trees, and wet moss covered the ground ahead. The steep incline rose to his left.
He had a decision to make. If he went farther into the forest, he’d find cover, but might never find his friends. If he stayed near the hill, he might stand a chance.
He looked over his shoulder. The men were gaining ground too rapidly. He couldn’t risk a climb.
With a shudder, William continued running straight into the marshland.
Chapter 12 – Bray
“William!” Bray’s call died beneath the whinny of the horse, and the defensive blasts from Kirby’s gun.
He pulled up on his horse’s reins, halting the beast mid-gallop near Kirby’s, while she fired another round. It’d taken several moments to stop the horses. Now they were almost a hundred feet away from where William had toppled.
Farther back along the trail, one of the mud-slicked men lost his footing and fell, struck by Kirby’s round. Bray drew his pistol, joining her in suppressive fire, while keeping his view on the place where William had fallen.
“We’ve got to get to him!” Bray cried, watching three men veer down the slope after him.
A whistling projectile hit the ground near one of his horse’s hooves, skidding off the path. Shaken, the nervous horse bucked.
“The horses are in a frenzy!” Kirby yelled, trying to control her own animal. “If we take them down to the marsh, we’ll never control them!”
Bray opened his mouth to argue, but she was right. Each whistle agitated them further. Their training no longer mattered.
“We’ve got to do something!” Bray yelled.
He spun, looking around the trail. At the moment, they had a small buffer from the men—a thicket just aside the trail. He fired off a few more rounds, keeping their attackers at bay, but soon, they’d have to reload, and one of their enemy’s stones would bore a bloody, fatal hole
in them.
He looked around the landscape until something grabbed his eye.
“Look!” he told Kirby, in between firing his rifle at the oncoming men. “Over there! Do you see it?”
Kirby turned toward the western side of the slope, where no men were positioned. Down that bank, the marshland continued for a while, but after a distance, lush green foliage took over.
“Dry land!” Bray yelled.
Kirby looked back at Bray, realizing what he suggested. “I’m not leaving you. Or William.”
“There’s no point in the three of us dying. Take the horses, Kirby! Do it before they catch up!” Bray fired another shot at the men. Before she could argue, he leapt off his steed and threw her the rope.
“We’re not splitting up!” Kirby said resolutely.
“And I’m not getting back on my horse,” Bray insisted.
Kirby stared at him, anger in her eyes. “This is as stupid as what you did in Brighton.”
“At least I’m telling you what I’m doing this time,” Bray countered.
Before she could argue, he dashed after William. “If I die, you can tell everyone about the brave, handsome man you travelled with.”
“And if William dies?” she called after him.
“I won’t let him die,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I promise. Go! We’ll catch up!”
Chapter 13 – Bray
Bray dashed for the eastern side of the trail, firing a few more, precious rounds. The men had flattened on the ground, temporarily abandoning their vicious attack. Reaching the edge of the slope, he peered down, searching for William. Where is he? For all he knew, he was lying facedown in the mud, a hole in the back of his head.
No!
Bray hit the top of the incline and slid. Rocks tumbled under his boots, causing a mini avalanche. Sticks and weeds tore at his pants legs. Moss gave way. Desperately trying to stay upright, he grabbed at some scraggly weeds, preventing a fall. The gunshots on the top of the trail had stopped. He felt a stab of worry for Kirby. She’d fought in many battles, and even some wars. Still, he knew how emotion could cloud one’s judgment, convincing a sane person to take foolish risks.
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