Blood Winter (Horngate Witches)

by Francis, Diana Pharaoh

  On the other side, sheets of corrugated steel formed the gates. It looked as if they’d been layered together with massive bolts to form impenetrable slabs more than seventeen feet tall. Max nodded appreciation. It would take a bomb to blow them open. Or a couple of good blasts of magic.

  “Hey! Who’s out there? What do you want?”

  At the shout, Max could hear the instant boil of movement within. There was a crackle of radio static as word went around, and several rifles zeroed in on her and Tyler. She expected every one of them was a marksman. In Montana, almost everyone hunted for food and used big-bore rifles to do it. One wrong move, and she and Tyler would be dropped. This was going well already.

  “We came to tell you that you’re about to get attacked,” Max shouted back. “We’re pretty sure it’s Sterling’s people.”

  That was met with silence.

  “Well, this is going well,” Tyler murmured.

  “Get lost,” the man on the wall shouted. “You’ve got five seconds, and then we’re going to shoot.”

  “Even better,” Tyler said.

  Max glared at him, then sighed. “Plan B, I guess,” she said.

  “What is that?”

  “Time to get face-to-face,” Max murmured as she tensed to jump. “You stay here and guard Gregory,” she said.

  “I don’t think so, my pretty,” he said, hooking a hand tightly into her waistband.

  “My pretty?” she echoed. “Don’t tell me you’ve been watching The Wizard of Oz again.”

  “What can I say? I’ve got a crush on Dorothy.”

  “Really? I thought you’d have been all over the Wicked Witch. All that green skin? Just your type. Hold on tight,” Max added, and then leaped into the air.

  The angel feather embedded in her palm gave her far more loft, and Tyler had added his spring to hers. She launched them at an angle to avoid drifting in the air too long and making big targets of themselves. Instead, they bulleted over the wall and landed in the middle of a tent, crushing it. Max staggered and fell over something like a cot and rammed into a table or a dresser.

  She bounced back to her feet and spun around to locate Tyler. He’d let go of her and dropped down a few feet away, landing on an open patch of ground. Showoff. Shouts sounded behind them, and a couple of shots rang out, although what they were aiming at, Max didn’t know. The bullets didn’t hit anywhere near them. She hoped the idiots hadn’t put bullets in their own people. She could smell them all around—unwashed and scared.

  “Move and you’re dead,” came a cold voice from just ahead. A man emerged from the swirl of snow. He wore a camo balaclava and insulated coveralls. Typical Montana winter wear. He held a gun out before him and had sighted in on Tyler. Also typical. Men always assumed other men were more of a threat.

  Tyler spun his knife in his hand. He could put it in the man’s throat before he could squeeze off a shot.

  Others closed in around them, all pointing weapons. Max sighed quietly.

  “Lower your weapons,” called a woman’s strong voice. “They’re friends.” Kara stepped forward. “Quite an entrance. Trying to get yourself killed?” She looked past them. “Where’s the witch?”

  “We left him somewhere safe,” Max said.

  Kara’s brows rose, and Max shrugged.

  “Safe enough. He can handle himself.” I hope.

  “So what do you want?”

  “Like I told the men at the gate, we think there’s an attack coming your way. Tonight. Sterling’s people, if I had to guess.”

  She stiffened. “How long do we have?”

  “No idea. Could be minutes. Could be hours. But it’ll be soon. We can smell the magic.”

  “All right, then.” Kara wheeled around. “Allison, go hit the alarm. Everybody else, get into position. You know what to do. This is not a drill. Where’s Ham? Get the nonfighting personnel into the cellar. Move it!”

  Max was impressed with their organization. Immediately, they started to move.

  Too late.

  Canisters hailed down and bounced across the ground. They hissed with escaping gas. They were almost instantly followed by Molotov cocktails. Bottles shattered, and fire spattered throughout the shantytown. People screamed, and guns fired. Max dropped to her stomach, pulling Tyler down with her. Bullets flew over their heads, and the chemical smell of the tear gas permeated the compound.

  “This is getting exciting,” Tyler said. He coughed, and tears and snot ran down his face.

  The caustic gas burned like acid in Max’s eyes, and her nose and mouth were on fire. She swiped at her eyes, trying to see.

  All around them, people ran. Some had gas masks, and she couldn’t tell if they were good guys or bad guys. It was chaos.

  Max got to her feet just in time to snatch a teenage girl by the collar and whirl her out of the way of a falling Molotov cocktail. It exploded, splattering Max with gasoline and fire. Tyler shoved her down into the muddy snow, and she rolled as he slapped at the flames.

  When she stood, her clothing was filthy, and her skin stung. Her burns weren’t all that significant, and her healing spells kicked in and smoothed them away in a matter of seconds.

  “I’m starting to get irritated,” she said.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Kill whoever tossed that cocktail. But first we’d better see if we can help.”

  Just then, a series of blasts shook the walls, and scarlet flames rose to towering heights. Chunks of shrapnel whirled through the air. Screams erupted again, and Max smelled blood and the acrid-sweet odor of magic.

  In wordless agreement, she and Tyler ran toward the explosions, leaping over fallen people and crushed tents and shacks. A gap had appeared next to the gates. Beyond it, a bridge had been pushed down over the moat, and people were pouring over it. Most of them were wearing camo, with masks and green bandannas tied around various parts of their bodies—necks, arms, wrists, ankles. So they’d know one another in the fight, Max guessed.

  They carried guns and were disciplined. They came across the bridge in twos. The first intruders formed a protective perimeter as the others reached the compound. All thirty-five of them made it safely. As soon as they were clear of the bridge, they formed a skirmish line five wide and seven deep.

  It was clear that they knew exactly where they were going, and shockingly, their goal wasn’t the hut of supplies. Instead, they marched toward the water system.

  “What are they up to?” Max muttered.

  “The pump setup, maybe? Or if these people have a purification system, that would be pretty damned valuable,” Tyler said. “’Course, Sterling has magic to burn, so what does he need it for?”

  “Maybe he just doesn’t want them to have it. Give them parasites, and they won’t be strong enough to fight him. Or they’ll come begging for help.”

  “Do we let them take it?” he asked. “Giselle did say to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Screw Giselle.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Tyler said with a cold grin. “Let’s go get in the way, shall we?”

  She tripped on something and looked down. She’d run into a boy with a ragged gash in his head. He was no more than eleven years old, and he was dead.

  Up to this point, Max had been mostly irritated. Faced with this broken child, her annoyance flashed into rage. Children were not supposed to be casualties of war. It was a concrete line she refused ever to cross, and she didn’t tolerate it from anybody else, either.

  Her Prime smothered every other part of her. Her fury was savage. She skimmed through the veil of snow, snatching the invaders, snapping their necks, and tossing them aside. She wanted them all dead. They continued to shoot and clash with the compounders, and bullets whined through the air. One grazed Max’s shoulder, and another whistled past her right ear.

  The screams continued mixed with wailing cries and shouts. Smoke thickened the snow until it was nearly impossible to see. Max relied on her nose. Tyler leaped eagerly forward. She
felt his emotions, wild and anguished, as if in this fight, he could redeem himself for letting Niko die. As if anything could ever make the weight of guilt lighter.

  She wasn’t sure how many she’d killed or even if the bodies she’d tossed aside had all been invaders. She smelled blood in the smoke. The invaders began to realize that their numbers had dwindled. They bunched together, circling, backs to one another, guns pointed outward.

  They shifted uneasily, unsure where they should go.

  “Truce!” called one, and he was instantly cuffed across the mouth by one of his companions.

  “Truce? For murdering bastards like you? We’ll send you to hell first!” someone called back. Furious shouts echoed the sentiment.

  “Good idea,” Max muttered. She picked up a chunk of brick and threw it. It was like a missile. It smashed one of the invaders in the forehead. He dropped to the ground. His companions flinched away from him and then surged back together to close the circle again.

  Tyler lobbed a rock. Another man crumpled. Max winged another one. The grouped invaders panicked as another one of them fell. They lost cohesion and started shooting into the veil of smoke and snow as they skittered backward.

  But there was no escaping.

  The compounders had begun to sling whatever debris came to hand. It was a vicious punishment straight out of the Bible. The invaders quickly ran out of bullets, but there was no end to the hail of stones and rubble that descended upon them. They tried to run but were hemmed in on every side.

  It was not long before they fell, begging for their lives. But the compounders had no mercy to give.

  It was over within minutes.

  After the mob took over, Max found the fury draining out of her. She stepped back, letting them do what they would. She found Tyler beside her. Blood ran down the side of his face, and he’d been shot in the ribs. The wounds had closed, but he was still breathing heavily, one of his lungs punctured. He hunched over with his hands on his knees.

  “Are you going to live?” Max asked, nudging him on the shoulder.

  “Afraid so. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” He straightened with a groan.

  “Get rid of you?” she asked. “Who would keep me out of trouble then?” Despite her light words, her throat was tight. She thought of Simon’s pale, limp body. Death was hunting them this night, and it wasn’t done yet.

  “I thought you gave that job to Alexander,” Tyler said slyly.

  Max couldn’t help the little smile that curved the corner of her lips. “It is fun staying out of trouble with him.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes. “You know it makes me want to puke when you go all doughy over him, don’t you?”

  “Doughy?” she repeated in disbelief. “Say that again, and I might have to kick your teeth down your throat.”

  “It’s true. I say his name, and you get that look in your eyes like a kid at Christmas.”

  She grinned. “I’ll give you that, as long as he’s under the tree wearing nothing but a bow.”

  Tyler made a face. “Give me some brain bleach. Not the image I needed in my head.”

  “Really? It’s working for me,” Max said, her smile widening at his discomfort. “He’s really good in the sack. And I like getting laid regularly.” She stared. “Are you blushing?”

  “No,” he said with a grimace, his cheeks blotching brick red. “What do you want to do now?” he asked, shifting the subject quickly.

  Max scanned the surrounding damage. “We’ve got to get moving. I don’t want Gregory in here. We’ll never pry him out. They have too many wounds to lick, and we’re running out of time.”

  “So start a war and run? Sounds like a plan to me.”

  “We didn’t start anything.”

  He snorted. “Right.”

  “Sterling’s people were coming whether we were here or not,” she reminded him.

  “Semantics.”

  They started for the gap the bomb had made in the outer wall. The people they passed watched them warily but did not challenge them. Within the compound, someone screamed and others wept. Max hardened her heart against them as Tyler skirted a man who was staggering dazedly in a circle, blood streaking his face. They’d come back and help once they took Sterling down.

  “This shouldn’t have happened,” Tyler said darkly, turning to survey the destruction. There was little enough to see. The smoke and snow made ghosts of everyone. “We should have protected these people.”

  “We didn’t know.” It was a lousy excuse, and she knew it. They should have known. This was their territory, and this was their job.

  They were starting through the gap when Kara caught up with them.

  “Hey!” She was splattered with mud, and blood smeared one of her thighs and the sleeve of her shirt.

  “Yeah?” Max was having a hard time mustering anything like manners. The feeling that she should stay and help was like a nail in her heel.

  “Thank you,” the other woman said unexpectedly. “If not for the two of you, I’m not sure we’d have fended them off.” She hesitated. “Could you help us? With . . . magic?” She said the last word like she couldn’t quite believe what was coming out of her mouth. Max admired her. Faced with reality, Kara was learning quickly who made a good ally.

  Max rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. “Maybe.” Kara’s face remained stoic. Max liked her all the more for it. She blew out a breath. “First we have to take down Sterling.”

  “If you need help, send word. We’ll come. Not just us. There’s a group up in Rattlesnake Canyon and another at the university. We can pull together a couple thousand people or more between us. All armed and willing to go after the Last Standers.”

  “Impressive,” Max said.

  “It’s nothing compared with how many followers Sterling has. He’s got upward of twenty thousand. Maybe more. He’ll field them all, kids to grandparents. He doesn’t care who dies in his name. All the same, this may be our best chance to beat him. We won’t back down. Send for us, and we’ll come.”

  “We will,” Max said, and stretched out her hand. Kara shook it firmly. Then Max and Tyler headed out of the gap in the wall, only to find themselves face-to-face with Alexander and Thor.

  SHE IS ALIVE. SHE IS ALIVE.

  Alexander silently chanted the words like a spell. They were all that was keeping him contained while Thor drove slowly through the night.

  “We’ll have to talk to Giselle about adding a snowplow to this truck,” the other man muttered with a sidelong view at Alexander.

  Alexander did not answer, his fingers drumming his thighs.

  “Giselle said she was okay,” Thor tried again. “You’d know different. Wouldn’t you?”

  Alexander jerked his head in a nod. “Yes.” But it was not enough to know. He needed more than that. He needed to touch her, to wrap himself around her and feel her heart beat against his. He needed to feel her breath move her ribs and taste her fire on his lips.

  “Well, okay, then. You can let the whole beast-outta-hell act slide now,” Thor said. The words were careful, questioning. One did not mess around with Alexander in this mood.

  His jaw knotted. He drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I am trying,” he grated.

  Thor sucked his teeth, then spit out the open window. “Driving with you is like driving with a family of pissed-off porcupines,” he said mournfully. “Wish I could get drunk. Hell, I wish you could get drunk.”

  That won him a smile. “I wish you would stop driving like a blue-haired old lady going to Sunday church,” Alexander shot back.

  “If I go any faster, I’m going to drive us into a fairy circle or take us off a cliff. Slow and steady keeps us all alive and in our own skins. Got any idea what Max would do to me if I got you hurt or killed because I was driving too fast?” He whistled low and shook his head, pushing his battered cowboy hat back on his head. “That’s one horror movie I have no intention of starring in, boss,” he drawled.

 
; “I might just have a role for you in mine,” Alexander growled back.

  Thor just grinned. “You’re scary, but you’ve got nothing on Max. She’s in a class of terrifying all her own.”

  Alexander grunted and said no more. Instead, he eyed his phone on the dash. She had not called him. She had nearly died twice and had not bothered to call him either time.

  Thor took the Orange Street exit. It was coming up on nine, nearly an hour later than they had planned to get back to Missoula. Alexander was opening and closing his fists, impatience spurring him mercilessly. He could see Max’s spirit flame and those of Tyler and Gregory. They had gone south of the river and were now angling back to the northwest. They must have picked up Sterling’s trail. Knowing Max, she would confront the bastard and get herself killed for her trouble.

  He made a sound deep in his throat, his teeth grinding together.

  “Almost there,” Thor said soothingly.

  The truck nosed down under the freeway, and Thor pulled off on the side. “Snow’s too deep,” he said at Alexander’s questioning glare. “Gonna have to go on foot.”

  Alexander shoved open his door. The snow came up nearly to his knee. He waited impatiently for Thor to get out and set the wards on the truck, and then they set off down the street. It was mostly deserted, with several cars and trucks sitting in the middle of the road as if they had run out of gas and their owners had abandoned them where they sat. The smell of woodsmoke drifted through the falling snow, along with the stink of sewage and rotting garbage.

  They had just come to a narrow underpass large enough for only two vehicles to pass when a voice stopped them. “Wait just a second there. Where you boys going? Don’tcha know there’s a toll to walk on my streets?”

  Alexander shook himself. He had been so intent on finding Max that he had not been paying attention to anything around him. The snow and other powerful smells covered the scent of their attackers, who stank as much like garbage and raw sewage as the real thing.

  There were two groups of three men on either side of the road and several more inside the tunnel. Those on the sides were on the raised walkway about five feet above the level of the road.