Dusk Mountain Blues

by Deston Munden

  How I’m gonna get up there? There was bound to be another way up. There had to be - the rest of the kids had made it out. Drifter crept around the corners, low and tight. The Bluecoats weren’t lookin’ for nobody, so they weren’t gonna find nobody. That was usually how it went down at least.

  ​Slithering through the shadows of machinery, he listened. The Bluecoats talked amongst themselves, frustration and worry from the creeping flames littering their words. The lean figure with a few more stars on his fancy lil’ coat barked some orders to the rest.

  “It has to be here. It’s no way that these hoarding hillfolks haven’t found it yet. Search harder. I’m not gonna be the one to explain it to the Major - or worse, to the Chairwoman.” They were opening up kegs now; a dangerous thing. Big Thunder liked rigging things. Call it an odd pastime of his older brother. Sooner rather than later, they were gonna trip something they were gonna wish they hadn’t.

  Right now I wish they wouldn’t. When they did, he might want to be miles and miles away. Drifter gave a low groan in his head. He had to hurry.

  ​He slipped through the darker side of the room, narrowly escaping the sight of an annoyed, stocky man in a stupid hat. After a little searching, he found a small ladder to the second floor. Drifter cursed. There was no way that he could use that without being seen. He thought himself a mighty fast climber, but he was an old man now, and it wasn’t the quietest way to get up there. Besides, Thunder had a few children that didn’t have use of their limbs; he would’ve built another way up.

  I should know my way ‘round. He knew that his patience made him the best one for this job, but gosh darn it, he wished that he knew a bit more about the actual layout. Winging it was only fun when it was just your own life in danger.

  Again, he swept his gaze around room, taking everything he could. If the solution was a snake, it would’ve bitten him. A simple door leading to a wrapping ramp was only a stone’s throw away, light still on from when the others escaped. At least he didn’t have to climb. I’m not as young as I once was, after all.

  ​Waiting until the Bluecoats were distracted, he dashed through the door and up the ramp to the second floor.

  ​A second problem arose once he made it up. He’d wondered why Toby hadn’t moved, despite being younger and pretty fast, able to make it to the ramped corridor with ease. Underfoot was metal mesh flooring meant for overlooking the main floor. Each step came with a loud chink. Tip toeing did nothing to stifle the noise. To a little boy seeing a bunch of strangers with guns below him, the sound might as well have been a siren sayin’ shoot me.

  There was no way around it. The young boy turned his head, finally seeing his good ol’ uncle tiptoeing across the metal floor. Drifter crept forward, putting a single finger on his mouth telling the boy to keep quiet. A wide smile stretched across the little boy’s face. Drifter smiled back, taking steps forward. Chink. Chink. Chink. Three steps. A little closer. Chink. Chink. Chink. A little more. Chink. Whispers below. Drifter felt his muscles tighten. Chink. One more step. The muffled sounds below grew a little louder. Dipping low, he joined the little boy underneath boxes of what appeared to be tools.

  Drifter gave a brief glance over the railing. The Coats had noticed the sound, but couldn’t figure out where it came from.

  “’Ey, Little Thunder,” he whispered. “Your grandpa and mom’s worried ’bout ya. How about I get you out of here, buddy?”

  ​Toby nodded. Smart kid. ’Course he is, he’s a Caldwell. Drifter swept the boy up, and his little arms locked around his neck.

  “Up ya go.” He heaved the thin boy over his shoulder. Toby remained silent. Drifter took tentative steps backwards, the vague taste of thick ash and alcohol in his mouth. The fire was getting stronger by the second, touching on the the outskirts of an inferno. He kept Toby close to his shoulder. The less the little boy breathed in whatever was in the air, the better.

  He took more steps back down the corridor, his heart slamming into his chest. Clink. Clunk. Bang. The smallest part of the railing fell away, tumbling down to the bottom and onto a soldier’s fancy blue cap. He looked up.

  Drifter wasn’t a man to believe in luck, whether good or bad; things either went your way or they didn’t. But seeing every eye slowly inch up to the second floor over one single screw-sized debris made him re-evaluate his outlook.

  He grabbed Toby a bit closer. Getting this boy to safety took priority over ripping these men’s faces off. They blinked in confusion, recognition dawning on their faces minute by minute. They knew who he was.

  The leader of the pack recovered first, drawing his laser rifle up. An order was on his lips, but he was a little slow on the draw; Drifter shouted first.

  “Get on my back, kid, take my weapons and hold on,” Drifter said, taking advantage of the stunned hesitation. “Hold on tight.”

  Toby knew what was going to happen next. He scrambled onto Drifter’s back faster than a squirrel scurrying up a tree with the weapons around his small shoulders. Once Toby was tightly secured, Drifter vaulted off the ledge.

  They were falling for a brief second, the rain of lasers flying around them. His muscles strained tight against his body, bones cracking and reforming underneath his skin. From there, he grew.

  He landed with a powerful thump on the ground. The wooden floor shattered beneath his landing. His mass took up a little under a quarter of the room, his long green tail wrapping the full length around. No matter how many times he had done this across his decades, the feeling of transformation felt as foreign as the first time.

  The little boy on his back cheered in excitement. No doubt Bobby had filled the boy’s head with all kinds of stories about his great-uncle Luke.

  A few lasers smacked hot against his skin, the red rays exploding in bursts through the lizard scales and insect carapace. The heat left his scales glowing red and painful.

  Mutant Killers. High-heat lasers meant to cut through him. This time, they were prepared for him.

  The leader stepped forward, his entire forearm hissing open into a well-fashioned bullet gatling. The thick shadows from the rafters fell over the man’s scowling face. There was an odd red sheen to his eyes, a strange color to the beads of sweat rolling down his face.

  Drifter grinded the inner workings of his teeth, slamming his tail into the ground. This was Captain Owen Xan - and he was a ’roid.

  He looked, smelled, sweated, and breathed like humans. Some androids even ate and drank. Make no mistake, though, they weren’t human. Given a directive whether by their creator or by their own judgement, they would kill anyone without a second thought. Drifter winced. He could only assume that the gatling wasn’t for show.

  “I’m going to ask you once, stand down,” Captain Xan said. “Tell us where it is.”

  Drifter didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t care right now. He growled and snapped his teeth.

  “Have it your way, animal.”

  The rain of laser fire began again at the tip of the captain’s head. Drifter kept forward, shouldering the blows. His exoskeleton and scales were a bit weaker on the front of his body, but he couldn’t risk turning around.

  He took every explosion, the heat melting away his skin. The pain rippled through him, resonated with him. He couldn’t take this for long. The pain ran through his body, bursting against his skin over and over again in rapid succession. He pressed forward, the thought of the little boy melted into bone by those rifles or that gatling giving him strength.

  Family was his reward for surviving that planet. Family was his life and his joy. He would do dang well anything for them, whether that’s stealing or killing. They wouldn’t take another one of his kin away from him. No, not with the idea of Pit’s boy in the dirt still fresh in his head.

  Drifter let out an ear-splitting roar.

  He leapt over the crowd, through the pipes of the distiller and fermenters, crashing through a few kegs on the other side. Clear alcohol sprawled against the surface, spreading out. T
he fires soon drank it up the liquid within seconds, adding even more flames to the mix. Perhaps the explosion idea wasn’t Thunder’s best.

  Toby yelped in excitement the way only a little boy could as the inferno grew. This was one of Bobby’s brood, alright. Good. An excited boy could make good decisions; a scared one couldn’t. At least one of us is havin’ a good time.

  “Keep yer head down,” Drifter growled in his best impression of a responsible adult. “You don’t wanna breathe this in.”

  Drifter headed towards the barred front door, grabbing the boy. The heavy sounds of his massive claws scraped against the wood as he increased his speed, pushing all four of his legs further and further. Only a few minutes into the transformation, his body strained to keep up the speed, and everything already ached. Gettin’ old, ol’ boy. Ya gettin’ old. Beast or man, that fact remained the same.

  Anytime now, the flames were going to find their mark. He didn’t want to be here when that happened.

  He shouldered through the front door with all the power he could muster through the pain of the still-pelting lasers on his back. He howled, splinters of wood stabbing into the now soft parts of his melted skin. The door wouldn’t budge. The bulk, the scales, the monstrous mix of a lizard and a bug, underneath it all was blood, muscle and bones. Those things made an old boy feel a little less invincible. One more shove. One powerful lurch - and then the door left its hinges.

  ​The air gave the fire a much-needed meal to go with its drink.

  ​The failsafes went off all at once. An ear-splitting sound rippled through the once quiet valley. Drifter pulled out another leap, using all his muscles to jump onto the cliffs. He ran through the forest with Toby still attached to him. He was looking back, Drifter knew. That was his home in flames, crumbling to the ground. The excitement had died for him, leaving only the ash to remain.

  Drifter remembered having those feelings as a kid. He’d hoped for them to never taste that sour bitterness so young. Homes can be rebuilt. You can’t.

  “Uncle Luke.”

  ​“Yeah, Lil’ Thunder.”

  ​“They’re still alive.”

  ​Drifter turned his head. The boy’s eyes hadn’t failed him. Among the ruins of the Drum, Captain Owen stood with his team. A light blue force field enveloped the area, leaving none of the men to die in that horrible explosion. At the very least, it slowed them down. Force fields of that strength came up quick enough and held their shape for a bit. They didn’t come down easy from there. At the very least, anything the Bluecoats could use against them, whether they knew the value of it or not, was destroyed.

  The Caldwells needed to clear their heads, create a better plan. Think we might’ve underestimated the Coats here. It was time they formed up and retreated. There was a time to fight...and a time to turn tail and run.

  Chapter 11

  Moth Wings

  Kindle

  “I’ve had the pleasure of the first taste of the Flame. That was when I realized we weren’t that much different from moths.” --Remy Breaux

  Kindle watched the end of the world and thought nothing of it.

  ​The memories of it came and went through her waking hours and her sleep. The Flame, as the name suggested, found places of warmth within C’dar’s memories. Sometimes that was good - hands huddled around a bonfire, laughter in the air. Much more often, though, it was the fires of war the visions latched onto.

  The world remembered the day it died. It remembered the bombs, the warships of the warring colonies that brought the first Civilization to its knees. Kindle saw the orbital strikes from the Dreadnaughts, the crash of a Cruiser off the shores, the missiles and the raids from the A.I. Darts. She tasted the horror on the air, the desperation locked into the people fighting the war.

  The vision was old now. She’d combed through its contents hundreds of times by now, sitting in her bed among the fireflies and the thick smell of swamp water. Kindle blinked the visions away from her own head. After a few deep breaths to anchor herself to reality, she tore the sheet from her bed and walked to the window, flinging it open.

  ​The almost eternal night of the swamp and the barj made it difficult to tell what time of day it was. The rain didn’t help much. Over the crown of trees, harsh lightning streaked and leaves spun violently in circles. An unsettling feeling churned in her gut. She hadn’t ever thought that she would feel the way her pa did about storms; it never made sense until now.

  She leaned over the pane of the window, gathering her strength bit by bit through the humid air. Wind whistled through the willows of the swamp, splashing her face with much needed droplets of water, cooling her down.

  Remy warned her that this would happen the deeper she dove through the Flames. Soon she would be able to block it out. That couldn’t come soon enough. Trying to block it all out felt like trying to stop a speeding truck with her hands.

  ​Just when she thought she was in the clear, another vision swam into her mind. This one felt different than the ones of the past. Urgency ran through her, quickening her heart. She saw a quick glance of a valley, pines and oaks standing tall. She heard a river rushing beside her, the smell of its freshwater odd against where she knew she really was. She turned to see the very thing that drew her here.

  The Distillery she saw now wasn’t the one in her memories, the one filled with her uncle’s laughter and her dozens of cousins. Embers of the once-massive building still burned. Blurry figures stood in the middle within a dome of blue lights. Kindle tried to search through the vision for clues. She came up empty. The vision dissolved seconds later.

  Is someone dead? Who was there? What happened? She needed find out.

  ​Grabbing her revolver Coal from her nightstand, she hurried out of the room. She realized it must have been afternoon. The workers and servants of the lavish manor buzzed from room to room. Kindle stared over the lip of the railing of the second floor, looking down. The chatter rose at the sight of her. Heads turned every time she made eye contact. She knew that look; everyone did it when they knew something they didn’t want to share. She took to the steps, descending down the spiral with her shoulders squared, back straight. The crowds parted around her. The chatter stopped. Eyes found her and quickly lost focus. She ignored them all.

  Cassie Caldwell was on a man-hunt for her grandfather. No matter what they needed of her, family came first. Whatever Remy wanted, it would need to wait.

  ​She found him in his lab. The empty-gazed wooden masks gave her no pause today. Black wax candles burning an odd purple fire sat around his cleared desk. A thin, lavender holographic screen stretched over the entire length of the room; a foreign alphabet cascaded down it in a waterfall of text, and Remy’s eyes gleaned obvious information there that Kindle couldn’t see.

  He hadn’t noticed her. She took a few more steps, getting a bit closer. He spoke to whoever he was speaking to with audible clicks from the back of his throat. In the shadows, he looked more alien than he ever had before. Kindle swore she saw a few green tentacles draped over his chest like her grandpa’s snow-white beard.

  Remy’s my pa too.

  “Grandpa?” she asked in a tentative voice. She searched for a little hardness in her voice and found nothing of the sort. “I’m leaving.”

  ​Remy snapped his fingers and the screen dissolved in a burst of white light. He swiveled in his chair. A spark of what looked like amusement glittered in those purple eyes.

  He leaned forward. “Any particular reason why?” he asked, tilting his head.

  ​“My family’s in trouble.”

  ​Remy paced around the room. “Saving your family won’t really matter if the world dies while you’re not looking, my dear.”

  ​“You think I care ’bout that right now?”

  ​“It’s this wonderful thing called priorities. Young people don’t seem to see its value very much.”

  ​Kindle opened her mouth for a comeback. She tried to think of witty retort. When nothing came to mind,
she snarled out her frustration. The only comfort she found was in the cool finish of Coal.

  All logic told her that it wasn’t Remy’s fault that this was happening. He more than likely didn’t have a stake in all this. The apathy soured her of him further. She understood his concerns and wants; that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  She cared about her grandpa and pa more than the planet at this very moment. That wasn’t going to change. And he couldn’t stop her no matter how menacingly he sat in that stupid swivel chair.

  “I’m leaving,” she repeated. “You can’t stop me.”

  ​“Yes I can,” Remy said with a shrug. “But you’re gonna stay of your own accord, because I have something you want.”

  ​“What?”

  ​“A way to save them.” Remy put his hand up. Kindle hated that she couldn’t charge through the conversation anyway. “They’re alive. I had one of my ships scout ahead. Your family handled themselves well against the Captain’s platoon; only a few of them were injured in the attack, and they gave them quite the beating along the way.

  “Drifter’s in pretty bad shape, last time we saw. He helped one of the little ones out of the building. An...unfortunate underestimation almost got him killed. To think that the Civilization developed a fully functional, sentient ’roid - and a mutant killer at that…” Remy approached his desk, tapping his finger against the wood. “But it is what it is. They handled themselves and that’s all that matters for now.” He kept his hand up. “But how long are they gonna hold out, Cassie? How long before the Major gets involved and decimates everyone you love? What will you be able to do with that little pistol alone? You’re a good shot, but taking down a cyborg and an android meant specifically to destroy your family….that’s not gonna work.””

  ​“What are you gettin’ at?” Kindle snapped.

  ​“I’m getting at the fact that you’re going to need all the help you can get to beat them. You have a rare opportunity to learn something from us, Cassie. Until Woody, we didn’t mingle with your family even when they crashed on that mountain. Honestly, I didn’t care much about them. I daresay they weren’t interesting to me at the time. Then slowly my interest rose.