“Eh, like I said, would’ve been better. Had to use what I had.” The Major’s face changed a little, noticing the shift in the atmosphere. Jo relaxed and seated herself, Loner kept quiet, and the Matriarch of the family laced her fingers together. He’d lost his momentum here and he didn’t quite know where and when.
Appetite widened his grin and helped himself to several spoonfuls and bites of food.
Major Debenham cocked his head. “What are y’all planning? I had you on the ropes until now; what changed?”
“You don’t know Drifter like we do. Call it a matter of faith.” Mary Lu pulled herself to her full height. “Do you mind, Major, taking me to that window after you’re done with your meal? I’m in need for some air. There’s nothing quite like rainy air for the old lungs.”
“Of course, ma’am.” The airman’s confusion deepened. To his credit, he kept his smile and finished his food. Like a true gentleman, he got up and offered his arm to the old lady that he would have no problem killing if he wanted. “This planet is really beautiful. You should consider yourselves lucky. There’s some nasty planets out there.”
“Yes, there are. Daedal was far worse.”
The Major stiffened. “That planet isn’t a thing anymore, ma’am.” There was an odd genuine tone to his voice...almost apologetic. “I handled it myself.”
“That’s good to hear, sweetie. When did that happen?”
“A few months back.”
“And that’s how you found us. There were records there.” She smiled again. “Also, I can’t help to notice your accent. You’re from a back planet too. We tend to have this drawl our voice. Where are you from, sweetie?””
“A small planet named Kalis. Ain’t - ” He caught himself. “It’s not big, out on the edge of the Civilization planets. I don’t like talking about it that much. But I can hear the similarities between us. It’s truly a shame, all and all, what I have to do.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“For a better galaxy.”
“It’s always for the better of the galaxy, isn’t it?”
The Major and his mother took their conversation to the window and opened it up, exposing them to the rain and wind of the outside air. As much as Appetite wished to hear their discussion, there were things that needed be done. He gave a subtle nod to Loner, who made a clicking sound in the back of his throat, a simple command to call over one of his drones. It buzzed around and hummed; from there, Loner whispered a few words.
Appetite didn’t know much about the drones and how they worked; but he did know that they could send a message.
The next command was soft snap of Loner’s finger. The small red drone phased into a deep camouflage known as a hard-light shift. Only a very light outline remained. Loner nodded softly towards his brother and clicked his tongue one final time. The drone zoomed towards the open window.
Here’s the tricky part. The faint outline of the drone drifted. Mary Lu kept the Major distracted, making small talk with very soft words against the wind. Seconds passed. More seconds passed. Major Debenham looked over his shoulder for a brief second. If he saw the drone, he made no effort to stop it; it zipped outta the window, into the rain and the wind. Worst come to worst, it would find a nearby family member to tell them what they learned. It’s a good plan. Be careful, Pa. It was the best they could do on such short notice.
Mary Lu closed the window herself. “How about I make us a pie, Major? You came all this way and brought somethin’. The very least I could do is return the favor. Come sit and enjoy a little time off.”
Chapter 10
Brimstone
Drifter
“Yeah, we got moonshine at the Drum...but that’s not all we got there.” Luke “Drifter” Caldwell
Yeah, ’bout time for it.
Whenya live as long as Drifter has, you start to pick up when things are ’bout to go wrong. There was a pattern to it that young people couldn’t quite see without experience. The tune was always the same; good things happen, good things keep happening, everything goes according to plan - and then always, like a swift kick in the balls, everything hits the fan. Didn’t mean he liked knowing. Being young came with a certain invincibility when the inevitable cosmic shift happened. All Drifter got now was an uncomfortable feeling when they reached Big Thunder’s home and distillery, the Drum.
The Drum was tucked deep within the forests of the Dusk Mountain valleys beside a freshwater stream. Raindrops pattered against the canopy of pine needles and oak leaves in a steady stream above them. The weak grey light that did manage to peek through the clouds did almost nothing to brighten their road ahead. The thick layers of moss and mud gave their trucks and small tanks a bit of a struggle on the way. More than a few times they had to stop to fix a truck wheel or push them outta a ditch or a sea of a puddle. A trip that would’ve normally took them a couple of hours took well over a day, leaving the family tired and weary. Drifter could only hope that the Bluecoat was having as bad of a time of a time in their travels. Sure hope so; at least we know what we were getting into.
They continued down the rugged, beaten path, the sound of water in the air and at their back. It was a dang beautiful place, even when it was dreary, dark, and miserable. He loved this planet and he loved his family.
Today he rode with the youngest of his brothers, Montgomery “Moses” Caldwell. They had used their nicknames as armor on Daedal - a tradition they gave to their kids, and them theirs. Montgomery got his from his quiet, refreshing outlook on religion and his calm demeanor. And he split open a desert with his mind once; it kinda stuck after that. Drifter had seen this look before, the one that had his brother locked up deep in the mines. It was the very same look he had before his abilities manifested and he tore that man to pieces with his mind. He drove, the thick thatch of his dreads hanging down around his face. He knew that he would have to draw his gun today and was making peace with it. Moses without the flowers and the robes.
“Monty,” Drifter said, “you didn’t have to come. We had it.”
“Not a matter of what I wanna do. This is my planet too.”
“Your promise.”
“I remember saying that I won’t pick up my gun or take a life for any personal gain. This isn’t personal gain. It’s survival.”
“When you start makin’ exceptions to your own rules, you start seein’ exceptions everywhere. I - you’re better than most of us, Monty. You always have been. You don’t gotta - ”
“Luke.” Moses’s voice grew colder than the rain and much harsher. “My family, my wives, my kids, my grandkids... they’re important to me. I’m willing to fight for them.”
“Even for yer greedy older brother.”
“Even for my greedy older brother.” He laughed, flat and cold, not at all like his usual laugh. “I’m serious, Luke, we’ve never seen anyone above a Captain back here. I don’t think I get it. Why come so far? There’s gotta be somethin’ else they want. Somethin’ they lookin’ for. Somethin’ more than finding some smuggling boys and girls on a planet. We ain’t that important to bring someone only a couple of steps down from the General himself. They want something on this planet, mark my words. There’s somethin’ else afoot. I feel it. Can’t back down from duty.”
Moses’s different-colored eyes flickered from side to side, taking in the world around him. The forest thickened and so did the rain. Grey and rusted memories of the Old Planet began to bleed through the colorful nature. They began to see parts of the devastation of the old Civilization tucked in this valley; long-buried spires, buildings broken into cliffs, rusted vehicles touching the clear water...an old world, half forgotten, conquered by nature. Now that he thought about it, experienced it, it wasn’t so odd to think the Bluecoats might’ve lost something on this planet that they wanted. Among the things the Caldwells found during digs, salvages, and raids, there was more than enough to survive on. Ya might be onto a thing there, Monty. But
what do we got here? Curiosity piqued the old man’s interest. He turned his attention back to the road.
Cut from an old factory, the Drum sat within an old warehouse on a small, rocky hill. Big Thunder and his boys and girls had taken it and made it their own. restoring it from the ground up to the best of their ability. From there, they filled it with the thing that Thunder liked the most - booze. Moonshine and beer, mostly. Good stuff, too - he processed, brewed, and bottled it all in the facility. The upper portion of the Drum served as the living quarters. The lights were off on that floor. A bad sign, all and all; the young kids were usually upstairs during this time. The only reason they wouldn’t be if they were -
Crap.
“Monty.”
“I know.”
Up ahead, Thunder stopped and pulled aside; he crept out of his truck, weapon drawn, and extended his hand behind him before clenching it. Every vehicle in the caravan lost its power. Without the loud engines and the bright lights, only the sound of the storm and the river remained. No birds. He stalked through trees, squelching through the mud, rifle up. Bobby had been a member of the Daedel security team; they’d shoved a rifle in his hands as soon as they were big enough. He knew stuff like this better than Drifter ever could. Better for him to take the lead in times like this, Drifter reckoned - he wasn’t below giving the reins of this bucking horse to someone that knew how to ride.
Drifter watched Big Thunder stalk through the trees with a few of his sons and daughters, following what appeared to be a small red drone. From back here, they reminded Drifter of a small hunting party searching for a buck. Pit and his boys followed suit; hunting dogs for the hunting party.
Drifter grabbed a revolver and a rifle, jumping out of the truck and landing with a satisfying plop in the mud; it came up almost knee deep. Rain dripped down his body. Should’ve packed a good raincoat and a good pair of boots. Too late to worry about it. Better muddy than dead.
Up ahead, the Hounds picked up a scent; they sprung into action. The first bullets were in the air within seconds, bursting through the bark of the trees. Flashes from the guns’ barrels lit up the dark as bullets ricocheted in all directions . Bluecoats surrounded them on all sides, firing both conventional and laser weapons from the cliffs above. The family fired back into the emptiness.
The Bluecoats had the advantage on that high ground. Down here, all of the family were sitting ducks for the gunmen above. Didn’t help that neither side could shoot their way outta paper bag right now. Maybe it was the weather. Drifter couldn’t make heads or tails outta of it.
Drifter stepped outta cover to show the young people how to do it. His fired his gun and - whaddya know - he hit some men. They toppled over the side, landing face first in the mud. With a few shots, three men were dead and two ’roids disabled from waist up - but he missed the last bullet completely. Rain. Gotta be. Messes with a man’s aim. He scrambled from cover to cover, reloading his six shooter and eying the attacks on the treeline. They didn’t have enough bullets to keep going like this. They needed to -
A bullet hit him on the shoulder. The pain rose through his right side and spread upward through his body. Blood pooled against the already wet fabric of his white t-shirt, dying it red with every second. Judging from the pain alone, it wasn’t a confirmed hit; more like a nasty knick. Didn’t help his mood any. Those bastards shot him. He threw his revolver to his left hand. As Thunder once said, “Better to know how to shoot with both hands and not need to than wish that you learned.”
Drifter fired off a few more shots toward the trees, holding his position as the pain crept up his neck in a fire. He ran through the road, Moses not far behind. Why’d we stop, Bobby? What did that drone tell ya?
Must’ve been Evan that sent it, maybe as a warning. But he couldn’t think ’bout maybes. He need some definitelys.
Growling through some mighty fierce aches, he headed for where he last saw Thunder in the treelines. Rain dashed against his face. The taste of tree needles was hard and sour in his mouth. Moses and a few other men followed behind, laying down cover fire.
Drifter turned, slipping against the mud as he saw a platoon of Bluecoats charging at him. Trying his best to slow himself, he grabbed onto a nearby tree with his injured arm, wheeling around it and shooting with his offhand. He missed gloriously. That he could blame on the rain.
Moses stepped ahead in the nick of time; he raised his hand and pushed forward with his palm, and a powerful, purple sonic boom rippled through the air, uprooting trees and men alike. He pulled his fingers back, holding everything in place with that odd purple energy, then ripped them from the air, slamming them into the ground with a sickening crunch.
One second was all it took for the frightening mind juju to grip the men and crush them like a can.
Moses brought the lumps of meat back into the air, suspending them in a whirl of energy once more and slammed them down again for good measure. Or... perhaps out of habit. He levitated the meat pile up again...
“Monty, enough!” Drifter yelled.
His brother didn’t move immediately, drawn into the temptation of his power. Spittle dripped from the side of his brother’s mouth, foaming white at the corners of his lips. Drifter eased over, motioning with his hands for Moses to take slow breaths. The color of his eyes had already changed to that sickening pale white, empty of pupils. Thick purple whelps bubbled on the surface of his skin, contorting his features.
All at once, he lost his interest. He dropped the people - or what was left them - onto ground equally soft and mushy as their remains. He took a deep breath. After a few more, he returned to himself.
A chill deeper than anything the rain could cause ran down Drifter’s spine. Seein’ this mind stuff (telepathy? telekinesis?) always disturbed him. He supposed turning into a giant lizard was equally unnerving to some people.
“Stay with us. We’re gonna need you,” he said to Monty. Look forward, Drifter wanted to say, but he found his tongue stuck on the roof of his mouth. He thought he had the stomach for this kinda thing.
Tired and a little thunderstruck, Drifter led them through the dark trees and up the hillside. They were heading towards the back end of the Distillery, which wasn’t nearly as impressive as the front; only sewer drains and garbage bins.
Once they arrived, they saw Thunder standing with a small group of boys and girls around him. His oldest (the first of many and should be considered an accomplishment considering how many siblings she had to deal with) stood beside him. Eleen - a spitting image of her father with her dark hair, and sharp eyes, and lean features - stood hunched over, panting and muttering under her breath. By the look on Thunder’s face, Drifter could see there wasn’t good news.
“Three problems,” Thunder growled as they approached. “There’s explosives on the road, they’re in my Distillery, and Toby’s trapped inside.”
“Don’t worry about it. I got him,” Drifter said, “Anything else I need to know ‘bout?”
“Except the shooting and the bombs? Nothin’ much. Someone saw the Captain ’round here somewhere.”
“Once I got Toby, we’re getting out of here. No need to lose any more kin off this.”
Thunder mumbled something under his breath, holding what Drifter now saw as his ruined arm. “’right. Y’know what we’re gonna have to do.”
“I gotta back up plan. Do what you hafta do.”
“Get it started. I’ll be out in a few. Make sure Moses don’t overextend himself.”
Another pack of soldiers rolled over the hills to the south. Drifter loaded his revolver and prepared to shoot, but Thunder pushed him off towards the Distillery; he needed to think about Toby first.
Drifter left Thunder to fend off the soldiers, rushing through to the back door with the sound of gunfire rippling behind him. He yanked the door open, the smell of dust and days-old garbage hitting him in the face. The smell of smoke lay soft within the rotten stench of the single
-passage dark corridor of the back entrance. After running for what felt like a small eternity, the corridor spewed him out into the massive main room of beer, moonshine, and an ever-growing inferno. Drifter cursed. Some idiot tripped the failsafe. Not entirely from the look of it. How’d they managed to do that? Perhaps someone saw it and managed stop it, or Thunder hadn’t quite rigged the place right, but it wasn’t doing what it was intended to do.
...And that was explode.
The Caldwells had learned things on their time on this planet - most importantly, don’t leave behind anything they can use.
Though this was Thunder’s largest home and main factory for his products, it wasn’t his only one. Still, this was gonna be a loss. Hundreds of thick wooden kegs lined every wall, stacked upwards and outwards to the window. Some were filled with drinks, while other kegs were only to get certain questionable merchandise off planet. Over a dozen metal fermenters and stills glimmered from the warm light of small fires peppered throughout the main room.
Drifter blinked away the pain in his sweat-burning eyes, stepping in with care. The place was swarmed with Bluecoats. Whatdya lookin’ for, ya morons? That creeping hunch that Moses had in the truck resonated in his head like an echo in a cave. They were looking for something on the planet; getting rid of some backwater mutant clan was an added bonus. But what? There weren’t too many things on this planet that he didn’t know about. What made them think that they had found whatever they were looking for? Drifter shook off the thought. Toby. Gotta find Toby.
Drifter eyed the top floor, which overlooked the main floor. Tucked tight within the crevice of a few stacked boxes he saw the little man, shaking and afraid. He had found a good hiding spot, at least. No fires had started up there, and the failsafe still had a long time before it truly went off, but that didn’t mean the Little Thunder wasn’t in danger. Smoke and little lungs didn’t play well together.
One brother had already had to bury a grandkid. He wasn’t gonna let it stand twice.
Dusk Mountain Blues Page 13