6
Mason knocked on Officer Reinert’s red front door.
The sound of feet came pounding toward the other side from within, along with muffled sounds of scuffling and whispering.
“No, I’ll get it.”
“Don’t! Let me do it.”
The front door was suddenly yanked open and two young boys, one nine or ten and the other about twelve, almost fell over each other trying to manage the door between them. Blue eyes, blond crew cuts, freckles.
The nine-year-old brandished a plastic sword. The twelve-year-old wielded a battered police nightstick.
A woman’s voice shouted from further inside with some anger and alarm.
“Dennis Michael and Harold Thomas! We told you not to open that door for any reason. Oh, my gosh. Who’s at the door?”
She came close enough that Mason could see her. Blondie simply stared. Mason smiled and lifted both hands to show that they were empty. “This is Blondie. I’m Mason.”
The woman looked afraid, and glanced at a large kitchen knife sitting on the dining room table, on top of a bunch of other stuff–an assortment of bills, backpacks, schoolbooks, papers, two coffee cups, and an open tool box.
The kids remained oblivious, and things remained tense between the adults until Howard poked his head up from the other side of the couch, where he had apparently been sleeping. He looked at them bleary-eyed, raising the nine iron still clutched in his hands.
But recognition spread over his drowsy face. The mother of the boys, most likely Mrs. Reinert, took a hopeful cue from the old man, their new house guest. “Howard, do you know these two boys?”
“Sure do. These are the two boys who saved me and your husband. Tim and I said they’d be by later.”
Mrs. Reinert relaxed and her face brightened instantly. “Come in, come in.” She went behind them and quickly re-locked the front door. “Make yourselves at home. I can’t thank you enough for helping Tim. I’m Helen. Denny and Tommy, go play in the family room and stay out of the way. Now, go!” The boys took off, laughing.
She turned back to her new guests. “Would you two heroes like some lemonade? The fridge stopped working, but it’s still kinda cold.”
Mason kept smiling. “Sure. Thank you, ma’am.”
Denny and Tommy popped around a corner and shot Mason and Blondie in the back of the head with some of those foam gun bullets.
Blondie turned around, raised both of his hands like claws, and growled. “Arrrr!”
The two boys burst out laughing and ran away.
“Mace…I hate kids.”
“You can’t remember anything…remember? But you’re a womanizer who hates kids.”
“Well, I’ve recalled that much, at least. I do distinctly recall that children annoy the hell out of me.”
Helen returned in a few minutes with four glasses of lemonade in green Libbey glasses with stripes. Mason thought his own mom had the same glasses in their cupboards back in Cleveland.
By that time, Mason and Blondie were so thirsty, they nearly inhaled the lemonade and swallowed the glasses whole.
Helen laughed. “You guys are thirsty. Let me get a pitcher of water; you can drink as much as you like. We have one of those old hand pumps out back that still works.”
While she fetched the water, Mason called over to Howard. “Where’s Reinert?”
Howard set his empty glass down on the coffee table as well. “Upstairs, resting. He took some medicine. His head was still hurting after that beating he took. He said to wake him in time to go over to the high school. I’m staying here. Everyone’s afraid there’ll be another attack tonight.”
“I hope not,” Mason said.
“Think about it,” Blondie said. “Those creatures only had a few hours this morning, right after the Merge happened, to do all of the damage they did. How much more do you think they can do with a full night of darkness to work with?”
Helen had heard everything they said as she returned and set the pitcher of water down on the coffee table. Her face grew very worried, and she looked nervous, as if she was trying not to break down and cry.
“Do either of you boys know what’s going on or why all of this is happening?”
Mason shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Nobody does.”
“Has anyone figured out what happened to the moon?”
“What’s a moon?” Blondie said. Helen just stared at him in confusion.
“Blondie got hit in the head somehow, ma’am. He doesn’t remember anything anyway. People are saying the moon’s gone?”
“I think I’d remember a moon, if there ever was such a thing,” Blondie said, sounding like a loon.
“The moon is gone,” Helen stated. “It’s just…not up there anymore, and people are really scared about that and a lot of things. There’s a lot of other strange stuff going on.”
Helen questioned Mason and Blondie quietly over the next two hours while Howard and her husband slept, and her young boys played, mostly in the family room.
It gave the adults something to talk about and pass the time, but nobody seemed to know anything for certain.
Mason and Blondie told her everything that they had seen and heard.
Dinner with the Reinert family that late afternoon was tuna sandwiches, instant mashed potatoes, and unfrozen peas. Tim the cop woke up and ate with them all. They spoke about things a bit more, but they didn’t want to scare the kids.
Tim got his coat and hat on to walk with Mason and Blondie over to the militia station at the high school. Nobody knew what was going on our what would happen. The militia was still being formed, and to avoid panic, the word went out for people to barricade themselves in their homes and be prepared to hunker down or evacuate, as needed.
Mason wondered how much that was going to help if the monsters returned in force.
Helen looked worried, and made Tim promise her that he would be back home well before nightfall. Tim held her in his arms while she leaned against him and shook. He softly reassured her once more that he would be certain to make it back.
She finally let them go, and started doing the dishes out in the kitchen while the boys played cards with Howard.
Along the way, Mason revealed to Tim what he could do with his pistols.
He asked Tim to approach the militia leaders and tell them about his new abilities. Mason had decided that despite his fears, he must try to help out his town.
But first, it took some convincing for Mason to get Tim to believe him.
Words couldn’t do it.
One lesser shot from an empty pistol did the trick.
At the high school, Tim left them quickly, to go speak with the militia commanders. Mason and Blondie walked around, observing what was going on.
People from all over the city came together there, bringing with them whatever weapons they could find, and anything that would pass for armor.
A few people from the local MHS medieval group actually walked around demonstrating various helmets, suits of chainmail, and other types of armor. They pointed out how to take them on and off, with or without assistance, and explained how they were made.
They also instructed groups of militia on how to use medieval-style weapons. Some of them looked familiar to Mason, but David and the Blackwoods probably knew many of those folks better by name, since they were in all in the same local reenactor group.
Mason wished again that his friend David was with them. Dave was an expert at fighting up close with swords and other such weapons.
All sorts of football, baseball, and hockey protective gear was piled up on tables. It looked like an attempt had been made to sort them out by size: extra small, small, medium, large, extra large, and larger.
There were lots of football helmets, batting helmets, and catcher’s masks, hockey helmets, motorcycle helmets, and military-style helmets.
Some of the cops present were lucky enough to have full suits of riot gear, complete with big clear riot shields and lon
g riot clubs.
One entire section was devoted to assembling various types of shields out of plywood, sheet metal, even metal and plastic barrels. Another held stacks of various poles, where spears were being fashioned.
Archery bows and arrows were at a premium. Any bow hunter or person with archery skill was tested at targets outside and assigned to the ranks of the archers. Some few had crossbows–but the big fear was the shortage of ammunition for the archers.
There weren’t enough arrows to go around.
Everyone looked pretty scared.
Blondie finally put it into words. “Mace, these people aren’t ready for this kind of fighting,” he said flatly. “Everyone’s still in shock from the Merge and what happened this morning.”
“You’re right. They’re used to fighting with guns, grenades, machine guns, tanks, and jet fighters and bombers–missiles and drones. But if this is the only way we can defend our people now, we’re going to have to learn it all over again–and fast.”
Tim suddenly came running up to them. “There you guys are. Come with me, Mace. The militia leaders are very anxious to test you and your abilities. Hurry.”
“I’m sure that took a little convincing,” Blondie said.
Tim nodded. “It sure did. They thought I was joking, at first. Then they accused me of being crazy, drunk, or both. But I finally convinced them to let Mason put on a little demonstration for them. They’ve set up some targets out on one of the practice fields. Let’s get out there before they change their minds. Most of them still think this a big waste of time.”
Mason was nervous. He wanted to help, but he didn’t want to be kept from going to Elkhart to find Tori, either. But it also might be safer working with the militia than being on their own.
Tim led him out past the school into a vacant construction lot. There was nothing there but some burned-out vehicles and houses along the street, and a few archery targets.
Six militia people, three of them cops and the others in fatigues, paced around waiting, skeptical looks on their faces. All six heads turned as Tim, Mason, and Blondie came up.
The apparent leader, a younger guy in his late twenties with fatigues and a crew cut, put his hands behind his back. “I’m Lieutenant Larry Watkins of the Army Reserve.”
“Mason Tyler.”
“His friends call him Mace,” Blondie said.
“Whatever, son. Officer Reinert here says that you have firearms that still work, after some strange fashion. I don’t know what to believe from what he told us. It doesn’t sound possible. So why don’t you just up and show us? But let me warn you, son. We don’t have all day, and this better not be some kind of joke, because none of us will be laughing, my friend. If you’ve got something to show us, step up to the line here and do your thing.”
“Yes, sir,” Mason said, striding up to the line.
First he readied a pair of his empty, single-action six shooters. Those would be good to start with.
He fired one, and then the other, and quickly blasted one of the burned out SUVs full of holes.
The six onlookers jumped as the red-orange blasts of energy ripped out of Mason’s pistol barrels.
For good measure, Mason fanned one of the pistols and fired more than twenty times out of the one empty gun.
His barrage of rapid shots reduced the SUV to smoking, glowing scrap.
All six of the observers stood there pale and staring with their mouths hanging open. Lieutenant Watkins came forward and held out his hand.
“By the Lord God Almighty, that was something, son! How in the hell did you manage that? I didn’t even see you reload–and you fired over eighteen times that last burst, from what I counted. Those are just six guns. How is that even possible? What kind of ammunition are you using in them things? How do you load them so fast?”
Blondie chimed in. “Sir, he did that with the pistols unloaded. It’s some kind of magic, and it only works for him and his guns–no one else.”
Watkins stared at him as if he was a nut. “Magic? You’re shittin’ me. Lemme examine one of those weapons, son. This can’t be. Magic my white-hairy ass.”
Blondie continued. “How else do you explain it? How can you explain any of this stuff that is happening all around us?”
Watkins examined the weapon, and then tried to fire it. Nothing. The action just clicked. He check it, and then checked it again. Then he handed it back to Mason, still skeptical. “There, now I know it’s empty and you can’t switch it on me. I’m watching. Go ahead. Make that empty gun fire again.”
Mason took the pistol from him immediately. He held it at arm’s length and didn’t even aim. He kept staring Watkins in the face, meeting his eyes.
He proceeded to fire off several more blasts into the ruined SUV as fast as he could.
Mason watched as the blood drained out of Lieutenant Watkins’ face.
Dozens of people came running from several directions, hearing the blasts.
“Someone has guns that work? Who is it? How come those guns work and no one else’s will?”
Watkins shouted at the onlookers. “Stand back, people. We’re with the militia. That’s what we’re trying to find out, here.”
Blondie was still grinning, apparently enjoying himself immensely. He tapped Watkins on the shoulder.
“What now?” Watkins asked.
“Have Mace show you what happens when he does fire one of his guns fully loaded. Once you see that…you just might decide that you have need of him.”
Watkins paled again. “Christ the Holy Lord from Fresno, I’m afraid to ask. All right, son. We’re not in Kansas anymore, and you’re the pistolero here. If you have one of your rigs loaded, fire off a test round and show us what happens.”
Mason took aim, and everyone present except for Blondie took a step back.
That one shot swept a wide, cone-shaped swath of flaming destruction before Mason in the flash of an instant. It was sixty yards in length and half that wide, and it tore up and melted the asphalt of the street, obliterated the remains of the SUV, and took down most of the partially burned building beyond that.
The six militia observers and all of the onlookers fell back in amazement. They got back up and stood there, freaked out and astonished.
Watkins was the first to react. “Holy jacking Jehoshaphat! You’re a walking artillery unit with those damn things. Need you? By thunder, you bet we’ll need you. Load up and walk right next to me, son; you are not leaving my side. Bring your friends, too. All of the commanders will need to hear about this. And here we thought this was some kind of hoax. My greatest apologies.”
On the way back, Mason did his best to try to explain his situation. “Sir, I want to help out around here, but I’m no soldier. I also need to get to Elkhart to locate my girlfriend. Her name’s Tori–Tori Nelson. I love her more than anything, and I need to find out if she and her family are safe. They could be in danger.”
“We are all in trouble, kid. If we make it through tonight, we will find a way. If I have to, I will personally carry you on my back all the way to Elkhart, and you can whip me bloody with a riding crop all the way there.”
“I’m serious, sir. I must find her.”
“I am as well. Give me your gal’s name and address, Mace. We have riders and messengers trying to reach Elkhart. We’ll have people check on that address. If we can locate her, we’ll bring her here, safe and sound. Is that good enough for now?”
Mason nodded with appreciation. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Well, Mason. I don’t know what exactly we’re up against tonight. But our Pistolero here is our new secret weapon. We’ve got to hurry up. There’s only a couple of hours left, and we don’t even have our forces organized and in place yet. It’s going to get dark pretty soon.”
That fact didn’t really make Mason feel any better.
7
David looked back over his shoulder at the strange forest where Mason’s neighborhood and house should have been.
His friends were gone, replaced by weird trees and plants, and monster trails. Everything tunneled in on him.
Destroyers, monsters, and dragons on the loose. A cataclysm that changed everything in an instant. Jerriel. All of it was too much to process, but he’d seen it all firsthand.
Find a way to handle it. Don’t go off the deep end.
A person from another world, another dimension, sat right beside him–however pretty she was.
And now–on top of everything else–now there was magic to deal with.
“So, you can do magic?” he asked. He had a hard time breathing; it was even hard to say.
She waved her hands again and grimaced. “I could, before the event. Now I can’t seem to make eet woork.”
David nodded. “Great…just like our technology,” he noted. “So, magic isn’t working, either?”
“Is that what yoo call yoor magic?” she said. “The magic yoor people used to live and run their woorld?”
He rubbed his aching head. “I guess you could call it that. Nothing seems to be working now, for either of us.” He’d never thought of it that way before. But to someone from another world–a very different world–Earth technology would in fact seem like extremely powerful magic.
He wondered what Jerriel’s magic was like.
The wizard girl shook her head. “A dimensional event of this magnitoode could disrupt booth of our realities in many ways. These changes put us booth at a very serious disadvantage…and oor peeples. The monsters, as yoo call them, Daeved, will come back tonight een force. And they will take great advantage of yoor people’s confoosion and vulnerability. Many moore will perish, I fear.”
David rose up. “Then we need to do something. First things first. We need to organize a defense against the monsters when they attack again. Everything else can wait. If they kill and eat us all, nothing else is going to matter.”
Jerriel stamped her staff on the pavement. “I agree.”
He pointed the way. “We’re going down Portage to Cushing.” Even though that all looked blocked by trees now.
“I’ll follow yoo, Daeved. I cannot read yoor language, so the signs yoo point to tell me nothing.”
B00M0CSLAM EBOK Page 6