Midnight Riders

by Pete Clark

  “Great! To the cave,” said Boone. “I was going to wash my hat today but that’s all right; I can do it another time.”

  As was usual in life, thought Morgan, one break leads to another disappointment. But a stinky hat was a small price to pay for finally getting out of this cabin and on with stage two of the gauntlet. Mahrak led the way. Although the ice had, according to Mahrak, subsided, there was still plenty of snow on the ground. They made their way through what had to be several acres of thick forest before Mahrak finally announced, “The cave of the darkened eyes.”

  “Is that the same name he’s been using for it the whole time?” Marion asked. “I feel like he keeps changing it.”

  “Who cares? Let’s gauntlet it up.” Morgan was so happy to get out of the cabin that he didn’t care what it was called or what was in it, as long as it was something different.

  Boone seemed to be the only one who noticed. While they had been in the cabin for several months, almost nothing had bothered them. Very few rippers came and the ones that did were often by themselves and weak. It helped that they were very isolated, but Boone found an awful lot of tracks on the ground that they were traveling. Tracks that did not appear to be human or to belong to any animal that Boone could easily recognize. What was worse is that many of the tracks were in large groups. As though there was some kind of giant pack moving around. Boone was not overly fond of caves, but he also did not want to run into whatever huge pack of creatures was moving in a steadily closing circle around them. He wasn’t sure if the creatures were tracking them or if they were simply moving in a natural pattern. Whichever it was, there was no mistaking it. The tracks were closing. Like a steadily shrinking circle, the pattern grew closer and closer. If Boone was right, then the pack of whatever it was would be on top of them in the next hour or so.

  “Let’s hop on into this cave,” he said.

  “Okay, but let’s find out what we’re supposed to do in there. Mahrak, what exactly is the second stage of the gauntlet?” Marion asked.

  “You must outrun them.”

  That seemed unnecessarily ominous, thought Morgan. “Outrun whom?”

  “The goblin horde,” Mahrak said. He pointed to a large mass of creatures that was cresting the nearby hill. There had to be close to a hundred of them. Child-sized, as ugly as Morgan was angry creatures; they had a green hue to them and each one was riding some kind of deformed feral tiger beast. Or at least that is the best way they could think to describe them.

  Boone had been off on his calculations. He thought they had an hour. It turned out they had about two minutes. Much like that Scottish commander from the old war, Boone sucked at math.

  “Where exactly are we supposed to run to?” Marion had unslung his rifle, but it was pointless given the number advantage of the goblins.

  “Into the cave,” Mahrak advised. “There is a path through the cave of the darkened eyes. If you have a true heart, you will find the path and beat the goblins out the other side. That will prove that you are ready to move to stage three.”

  “What if our hearts are all filled with angst from being stuck in a cabin, then chased through a cave?”

  “Then probably you will die. Here,” Mahrak handed each of them an unlit torch. “I will await your return at the cabin.”

  “You might be waiting a long time if we don’t make it.”

  “That is okay. I do not know the meaning of the word bored.”

  He’s just being a dick, thought Morgan. He knows what the word means.

  They ran into the cave.

  ****

  Boston was in chaos. There were pamphlets circulating that practically announced that the colonies and the crown were at war. Rippers were so common at night that only the bravest would risk traveling in darkness, even over the most populous of streets.

  The Continental Congress of Virginia had come and gone with little fanfare and no results. Many of the country’s most powerful men could not attend given that Virginia was not centrally located and most of the trouble brewing was up north. It was then they established a new Continental Congress. For reasons that can only be attributed to the weak mathematics education of the colonists, this new meeting of the Continental Congress was called the first meeting of the Continental Congress. This was confusing, especially to those who had met in Virginia, but what the hell? History will probably just ignore the first one anyway, thought everyone.

  This “first” meeting of the Continental Congress was to be held in Philadelphia, a city that was second only to Boston in its cries for liberty and most everything else. The Virginians, who came all the way up to Philadelphia, griped often about how, if they could make the commute, why couldn’t it work the other way? But honestly, except for three or four people, no one cared about Virginia.

  There had begun to be a formation of groups of men who were armed and somewhat trained. There was no standing army per se, but most colonies did take the step of preparing militia, which was a giant move toward war. Massachusetts, the center of activity, had even put together a coalition of minutemen. These soldiers were on perpetual call. Should the cry for war be sounded any time, day or night, they could be ready to go to battle in a minute. It was actually more like two minutes and 15 seconds, but that wasn’t as cool to say.

  While many of the colonies’ most influential men converged on Philadelphia, Prescott was hungry for revenge. Two men held his ire now. First was, of course, the elusive de Lavoir; a close second was the man who lied to him: Samuel Adams. Prescott had taken a liking to Arnold. He appreciated his strategic mind and overall desire to get things done; however, he could get a little boasty at times. Since Prescott was still constantly failing in his attempt to remain anonymous, Arnold for all his benefits could be problematic as well. Unwilling to wait until Adams returned and having no leads to pursue regarding de Lavoir, Prescott decided to head to Philadelphia to see if he could get his hands on Adams once again. It took very little persuasion to get Arnold to come; it seemed like he was always on the lookout for action. Dawes, being Dawes and really having nothing better to do, also decided to tag along. They would have brought Revere, but he was already in Philly.

  The weather was still rather harsh; swirling winds and snow made visibility almost nil. There were a couple of yetis about, but they managed to avoid them. Now, the three men sat in, of course, a tavern. This tavern was known as the Orangutan’s Left Nipple. They were having lunch and hoping that a member of the Continental Congress would happen into this tavern for lunch as well. That would give them a chance to drill for information. So far, they had had no luck.

  “They must be ordering in again,” Dawes said.

  “Yeah. I haven’t seen anybody I recognize leave that building in the past two days. They are really keeping this thing sealed up,” said Prescott.

  “Talk is fine if it leads to action. But half these guys,” Arnold motioned with his hand toward the building, “all they do is talk. You may hate Adams, but you have to hand it to the guy. He takes action.”

  Prescott was not amused by the compliment. He was growing restless. “How good can the security possibly be here?”

  “What do you mean?” Dawes could tell something bad was about to happen.

  “We can sneak in there. I’m sure of it.”

  “Through the roof,” suggested Arnold.

  “Right,” Prescott thought. “The roof. We can scale the outside when it gets dark and probably find a way in through an upper window. They must be sleeping in there as well. We’ll just scare the hell out of somebody, find Adams, and there you have it.”

  “Sounds good. But I’m more interested in the actual events of the Congress than Adams. You can get Adams, but let’s do a little spying first.”

  They shook hands on it. “Agreed.”

  “Can I stay here?” Dawes asked.

  Neither man answered him, but he knew that, somehow or other, he was going to end up on the roof of Carpenters’ Hall.

  ****
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  Inside Carpenters’ Hall, the discussion was raging more than the storm. Inspired by Patrick Henry’s “Give me liberty or give me death” speech, a speech that he rehashed at every convention he attended until someone got it in the papers, a large faction of the 55 delegates was leaning toward war. Many felt, however, as if there should be steps prior to war. John Adams of Massachusetts, not to be confused with Samuel Adams of Massachusetts, was among the hardest supporters of George Washington’s nomination to be the leader of the colonial army. Washington was not only a logical choice, due to his experience in war and his very positive and charismatic personality, but John Adams also wanted to make a statement that made it clear to all the colonies that, if they went to war, it would be a war of America against the British; it would not be just a small Massachusetts insurrection.

  War seemed unavoidable. The British sanctions were crippling the American economy and they were clearly trying to flex their muscle. More and more troops arrived each week; it seemed that the crown expected war as well. However, the Americans did not want to give up completely. They opted to impose their own economic sanctions on England. They would no longer trade with England. As the Brits relied on America for a great deal of materials, this would indeed cause them significant problems. It would become a staring contest; who would blink first under the economic pressure? Or would neither blink and each be forced into war? As a final attempt at peace, the delegation agreed to send a proposal to King George III in an effort to request that he remove the sanctions. Although that seemed the easiest road to peace, nobody believed it would happen.

  The last major effect of the meeting was the Congress’ decision to set its own government. They would no longer accept the ruling of the British officials or the crown. This act in itself was essentially an irreversible step toward war. In concluding, they agreed to plan a second Continental Congress for the following year. Sure, it would really be the third, but whatever. At that time, they would review what had changed and reach a conclusion of either peace or war.

  Luckily, as Prescott, Arnold, and Dawes hung awkwardly among the rafters, the Congress summed up all of their findings. This was great, since they had missed the majority of the Congress and only managed to spy on the final day. Thank goodness for summaries; they now knew what was going on. Arnold was mostly pleased by the developments, Dawes was nervous, and Prescott was simply waiting for his chance.

  Outside there remained a firm snowstorm. The weather was uncommon for September and some people were starting to wonder if it was related to the rippers. At first, everyone thought it was just the wind and gusting snow that was rattling the doors and windows of Carpenters’ Hall. But eventually, when John Jay went to look out the window, they were shortly informed that it was not merely the elements, but also a small army of wraiths.

  Figures, Prescott thought. Now everyone is going to know I was here.

  ****

  de Lavoir had plans of his own. From back when he had been in the colonies during the French and Indian War, he had fallen in love with the land. He enjoyed the vast undiscovered nature of it, as well as all of the forests that seemed to stretch out into eternity. He had discovered many years ago that he wanted to live in America. However, living here was not enough. He also saw opportunity. There were strange, supernatural creatures here. Many of whom he could speak with and even reason with. Some of them were too animalistic or egocentric to listen to him, but many almost seemed to thirst for someone to lead them. Why not him? He had kept his own secret long enough. Why not spend some time making connections with this seemingly endless supply of powerful allies? The Indians may have conjured them, but they had no intention of controlling them. Even if they had such designs, they were out of their means. Indeed, this land of opportunity was most opportune for de Lavoir. He was in a rare position. There were not many like him and, as far as he knew, none over on this continent. For the next decade and a half, he had worked hard to form alliances and establish himself as a virtual leader among the supernaturals. It was not as hard as he first thought. Most of them did not live nearly as long as he could and so seniority slowly grew to be in his favor. He could intimidate or persuade most of them and the most powerful? Well, they did not seem concerned with leading or talking for that matter.

  Everything was going well until he got a bit careless. It wasn’t enough for de Lavoir to have connections among the beasts; he also wanted connections among the men. So, he decided to spend time in the city. However, he didn’t think. So much time in the open fields of the world had made him careless. He forgot how multiple murders in a city would bring attention. And not just the attention of the foolish police or politicians, but worse. When he raised the ire of Prescott, he knew he had to do something. Prescott was young, but he had already gained fame among the supernaturals as a ferocious killer and a virtually unbeatable foe.

  de Lavoir took a chance. He hired out a few different groups to try and eliminate Prescott. He used humans first. That proved a mistake as the idiots revealed his name. He did not even remember giving it to them. Another slip up. He was done with slip-ups. He was going to get rid of Prescott and finish building his army. News of the likely war was great. It would mean distraction and death among the humans and an increase in numbers and strength among the supernaturals. Only Prescott seemed to be in his way. Maybe he would get rid of a few of his friends too, just to be safe. When Prescott headed to Philadelphia, his welcome would be waiting for him.

  In the meantime, de Lavoir had to worry about doing some more politicking. He had a meeting with the centaurs. They were tricky. They were among the smarter of the supernaturals. They also had a tendency to be inflexible with negotiation. But he knew that he could find a way to manipulate even them. He sighed. A vampire’s work was never done.

  ****

  The cave was dark as shit. It smelled like it, too. In fact, Boone was convinced that there was a chance that this part of the cave was actually made of fecal matter.

  “Should we light our torches?” Morgan asked.

  “I don’t think so,” said Marion. “The light will give away our position. Our advantage in these small dark passages is that they can’t attack with all their numbers. So, if we remain quiet we can pick off any that come close. But if we light the torches...”

  “Then they’ll all come running.” Morgan nodded. “The downside of that is that we can’t see and we could walk right off a cliff.”

  “Just stick close to me,” said Boone. “I can find my way around anything. Ah!” He banged his head on a rock jutting out of the wall. “Don’t say anything. That rock was an anomaly. Stay close, stay quiet, and I think I can find the way through.”

  They could hear some skittering in the darkness behind them. “Shhh.” Someone shushed too loudly. The skittering increased briefly, then became quiet. They sat there unmoving in the pitch darkness.

  They could feel a presence getting closer but could see nothing. Marion whispered almost inaudibly. “If they are here, use swords; don’t use the guns. Muzzle flash and noise.”

  As the sound of Marion’s voice died down, the skittering began again. Just a bit at first. Then it grew louder and closer. At least four creatures, Marion guessed.

  There was a small flicker of light as Morgan drew his sword. That had to mean that there was light coming from somewhere. Marion had time to think this as he caught the brief glow in the reflection of a goblin’s eye, not five feet away. Oh, yeah, thought Marion. Can’t goblins see in the dark?

  The answer to his question came quickly. The nearest goblin swung some kind of blade at him, but missed him by over a foot. So, they may be able to see, but not well. Marion couldn’t see either, but he sensed the movement and plunged his sword into the area; it met with significant resistance and a squeal. There was a bit of shaking, some rather inhuman gasping, and a spray of liquid. Then, whatever his sword was stuck in stopped moving. He was pretty sure it was dead. He just hoped he hadn’t stabbed Morgan or Boone.
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  “Screw this,” said Morgan as he lit up his torch. This was useful, because now they could see that they were surrounded by not four goblins, but closer to twenty. There was also the one dead one that Marion killed. Luckily, there was a tunnel that led sharply downward. There were no goblins between them and it. It was also rather narrow, which could lend itself to being well-defended, as opposed to the sort of open alcove in which they currently found themselves.

  “Let’s get into this tunnel thing,” Boone yelled. He dashed in, followed by Marion and then Morgan. Morgan stopped at the entrance and impaled the first creature that followed. Then he beheaded the second and a large gout of black blood sprayed across his face and chest. You had to hand it to Morgan; nothing fazed him. The other goblins, apparently seeing the danger of running right into the cave, paused. This allowed the three men to proceed deeper down the narrow passage.

  “First, he bores us to death. Now we have to fight in the dark. I would kill for just a straight-up battle. These gauntlets suck. If this Mahrak guy does not come through for us in a big way, I’m going to beat him to death with his own jawbone.” Morgan seemed pleased with his rant. He then announced, “Screw it.” He unslung his rifle and bulls-eyed the next goblin that had decided to sneak down the passageway. The report of the weapon was near to deafening in the confined rock-lined space.

  “Morgan. They’ll hear where we are,” said Boone, his hands covering his ears.

  “I think it’s a bit late for that. Did you not see the small army of green midget-sized bastards running around?” Morgan asked.

  “Little people,” suggested Marion.

  “Are we doing that yet?” Boone asked.

  They ignored him and crept further along the passage. Morgan’s torch provided a reasonable amount of light, and the occasional blasts from Morgan’s rifle told them when any of the goblins were getting too close. It also told them that they would soon lose their hearing if they did not find a way out of here.