by T. A. White
She cast a glance around as she sawed. Horses had reached the square and were now stampeding past them, shaking the platform as they rushed by. Where did he think they could go?
“Thanks,” the last man said rubbing his wrists. “We’re in your debt.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to escape this gods be damned, shithole of a village.”
How exactly they were supposed to do that, she hadn’t worked out. Yet.
“What do we do?” James said in panic as he hobbled up to her. With Cam’s arm slung over his shoulder, James was supporting most of the man’s weight.
Horses still raced past them, but the herd was thinning. Shea didn’t know how Witt managed to get so many to stampede, but as a distraction, it worked amazingly well. The only problem was that now they couldn’t get off the platform without risking being trampled. Soon that wouldn’t be a problem, but the villagers who had sought shelter in the neighboring buildings were already poised at their doors, ready to recapture the men she’d just released.
One of the strangers tapped her on the shoulder. “Is he with you?”
Shea squinted at where he pointed.
Was that Witt at the rear of the herd, driving a wagon?
Yes.
She couldn’t believe it, but it was.
As she watched, Dane swung down from his roof, to a shorter building before leaping into the wagon bed and climbing onto the front seat next to Witt.
She grinned and clapped the man on the shoulder.
“Prepare to jump.”
“In there?” James asked, wild eyed. “While it’s still moving?”
“It’s not like they can stop and wait until we get comfortable.”
“They’ll slow down, right?”
Shea ignored the question, instead stepping up to the edge of the platform and gesturing for the rest to join her.
“Jump right before the wagon reaches you,” the man she’d freed said.
James and Cam balked. Shea shoved them into place. There wasn’t time for fear. They needed action, not doubt. The stranger with the whiskey-colored eyes tugged Cam’s arm from James while his friend put Cam’s other arm over his shoulder, sandwiching Cam between them.
“Shea, this is madness. We can’t make that jump,” James hissed at her.
She took him by the arm. The wagon was seconds away, Witt’s face focused and determined as he barreled down on them.
Shea looked James in the eye. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
She shoved him off the platform, forcing him to jump or fall to his death. Shea followed right as the wagon scraped by, knocking against the structure in the process. The strangers and Cam leapt at the same time, making the jump easily. James landed awkwardly on his side, safely in the wagon’s bed. Shea fell on top of him, her knee landing squarely on his stomach, nearly catapulting her off the other side in the process. The whiskey-eyed stranger grabbed her by the back of the shirt and hauled her back in before she could dive headfirst into the ground. He dumped her in the bottom next to the others.
“Thanks,” she said, patting him on the arm. The ground raced by. She didn’t think she would have survived the landing. “Guess I owe you one now.”
A slight smile partially thawed his granite expression. “Just returning the favor.”
His eyes seemed capable of staring right through a person, sizing them up in moments and learning all their secrets in the process.
Shoulder length brown hair framed a sharp featured face possessing rigidly defined cheekbones and jaw. Everything about him screamed strength. From his nose, to his mouth, to the way he held himself. He was over a head taller than Shea, who wasn’t exactly short. His hands, where they held her arms, were calloused and rough-hewn. There was a small scar, almost unnoticeable unless one was as close to him as Shea was, along his jaw line. It was almost hidden beneath the stubble covering a chin that hadn’t seen a razor in days.
His presence brought to mind words like forceful, powerful, intimidating. He was like a tightly leashed wild animal. Awe-inspiring and magnificent right up until the moment it decided you were its next meal.
Shea moved away from him. She was forced to crawl over James so she could clap Witt on the back. “That was some distraction.”
“Glad you liked it,” he shouted back as he deftly handled the horses.
The wagon bounced harshly, putting air between it and Shea. She landed hard enough to rattle bones. The others braced themselves against the sides. Traveling at breakneck speeds over uneven ground by wagon didn’t make for a comfortable ride.
“What about me?” Dane shouted. The noise from the horses’ hooves and the clatter of the wagon’s wheels nearly drowned out his voice.
Shea ducked her head, hiding a grin. “I don’t know. You almost hit me a time or two with your shots.”
“Almost hit you?” Dane’s voice rose a few notes in indignation. He turned to glare at her, shaking the boomer in emphasis. “There’s no almost about it. Each shot was perfectly placed and went exactly where I aimed. Almost hit you, my ass.”
He was right, but Shea was loath to admit it. To his face anyway. His ego was big enough as it was. As Dane muttered about how he’d known exactly what he was doing, Shea turned her attention to the others. She knelt by Cam’s side where he was propped up against the wagon’s side.
“How bad are you hurt?”
His face was a mask of pain, and he grimaced at the question. He groaned as the wagon lurched under them. Shea steadied herself against the wagon’s side.
“They beat him pretty badly,” said the first stranger’s friend. “I did what I could for his ribs, but there may be injuries beneath the skin that need to be treated.”
The stranger had grey eyes and appeared to be the same age as his friend. Though more handsome than the other man, he didn’t carry the same sort of presence. This one seemed more easygoing, like he enjoyed a laugh.
“I’ll be fine,” Cam said through gritted teeth.
Shea very much doubted that. He had two black eyes. One had already swollen shut. Blood was caked beneath his nose and around his mouth. The nose was probably broken. All that could be fixed given time. What worried her was the slight breathlessness he had every time he inhaled. As if something heavy was on his chest when there was no obvious obstruction. She suspected with the way he’d been moving earlier that one or both of his legs were injured.
She didn’t give voice to her concerns, just clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you will.”
James, watching the conversation, added, “Of course you will. Who’s going to remind me of what a bad idea this trip was if you aren’t?”
Cam gave a half laugh before wincing and clutching his side. “That’s true. With this latest scheme, I have ammunition against you until we’re old and gray.”
Shea was glad the two could joke with each other. Sometimes when things got especially bad, laughter was the only way you got through it. The journey back to their village, given Cam’s physical shape, was going to be one of those times.
“We’re being pursued,” the first stranger said, his entire attention focused on the village as it grew increasingly smaller.
Shea looked where he indicated, not noticing anything at first. Dust rose into the air and then small shapes took form as their pursuers thundered after them.
Witt chanced a glance back. “Damn, I was hoping it would take them longer to round up the horses.”
“How far to the cliffs?” James asked.
Shea knew what he was really asking. How long until they reached the Highland border? If they could just make it to the cliffs, they would be able to lose their followers. Shea knew a few of the hidden passages at the cliffs’ base in this area. If they put just a little distance between them and the hunters, they could disappear fairly easily.
It wouldn’t take them to the Highlands, but it should hide them long enough that the people chasing them would give up or move on.
&n
bsp; She tilted her head as she calculated. It’d taken two days to reach Edgecomb once they’d finished their descent from the Highlands. The wagon could cut that time considerably, but they would run out of flat ground well before they reached safety. The clunky shape of the wagon just couldn’t navigate the bumps and ridges of the uneven land. The first large rock they hit would break the wagon’s axel, rendering the vehicle useless. Their pursuers’ horses could move much faster even if the terrain delayed them.
“Too far.” She glanced back at their persistent shadows. Even in such a short time they’d managed to gain.
Her mind raced over options, disregarding one after another. Witt flicked the reins, urging the horses to greater speeds. The wagon shuttered and wobbled under them. Shea prayed it didn’t shake itself apart before they reached their destination.
There was one possibility. Though it was dangerous. More risky than traveling through red back territory. More nerve racking than trying to rescue prisoners from the execution platform.
“Dane, how much ammo do you still have?”
“Not much. Why?”
“James, trade places with Dane. I need him back here.”
James patted Cam on the shoulder, before moving slowly to the front of the wagon.
Dane crouched beside her and looked at her questioningly.
“I need you to pick off as many of them as you can.”
He looked skeptically at the mob gaining ground on them. “I can try, but my aim’s not going to be very good while we’re bouncing around like this.
“I don’t need you to hit them, just make them cautious. I’m hoping it scares them into keeping their distance for a little while. Wait until they get a little closer before firing.”
Dane shrugged and pulled the boomer into place, making sure it was loaded. He gestured one of the strangers up, handing him the bag of extra ammo with instructions to hand him more rounds when he called for it.
Shea left him to crawl back up to Witt. “I need you to veer right.”
He shot her a hard look before looking front again.
The wagon continued on its course.
“Witt, you need to go right.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You have to,” she snarled.
His jaw clenched. Damn, stubborn man.
“Witt. We won’t make it to the Highlands, and there are too many of them to fight.”
“That way leads to the Badlands. That way leads to madness.”
“I know.”
Shea did know and just thinking about taking this group past that land’s border made her feel sick.
The Badlands were part of the Highlands. Technically. Only people who were crazy, desperate, or had nowhere else to go went there. People said it was the home of evil, that all beasts came from there and that its shadowed interior hid even greater monsters.
Shea didn’t believe it was evil, but she had first-hand knowledge that there were creatures dwelling within its borders that hadn’t been seen since the first great cataclysm.
It was close to Edgecomb, closer than the passage Shea and her party had used to descend from the Highlands. Gaining entrance to the Badlands would be infinitely easier than trying to climb the cliffs with an injured man.
But, there was a reason they hadn’t made a straight path for its borders after the rescue. People who went in to the Badlands rarely came out.
“I don’t think Cam can make it up some of those passes,” Witt told her.
“Look. I don’t like this option any better than you, but we won’t make it to the Highlands. They’re gaining too fast, and we’re about to run out of safe ground for the wagon.” Shea nodded at the shadowy hills that marked the Badland’s edge. “The incline up is gentler and less rocky. We can use the wagon longer, and we can get to high ground before Edgecomb’s villagers catch up to us.”
A beat passed before the wagon veered sharply right.
“The Badlands?” a gravelly voice said next to her ear. “Sounds ominous.”
Shea turned to find whiskey eyes very close to her hazel ones. He waited expectantly for an answer, but Shea hesitated. Everyone from Highlander to Lowlander knew about the Badlands. They shared stories around campfires and scared little kids about what waited there.
“I take it you’re not from around here?” She watched as they pulled closer and closer to the Badlands.
He shrugged his massive shoulders.
Shea frowned slightly. Evasion.
They really knew nothing about these strangers, though she very much suspected they were some kind of warriors. Neither had a mark on them whereas James and Cam were covered with bruises. They both had small scars on their hands and forearms, the sort that came from extensive sword practice. From what little Shea had witnessed, she knew both could handle themselves in dangerous situations.
He waited expectantly, his focus entirely on her as she puzzled through the implications.
James chimed in before Shea could come to a decision. “The Badlands? I thought it was overrun with beasts. My father told me stories of men who tried to settle that territory. They never last long. The people are either found dead, or the villages abandoned as if its occupants just disappeared one night. I’ve never even seen a map, not even a generic, rudimentary one of that land.” He paused and looked at Shea. “How are we supposed to find our way out if you don’t have a map? Have you ever been there?”
Shea had shifted to watch their pursuers as James took up the explanation, hoping her part in the conversation was finished. The scenery passed by unnoticed as Shea’s focus turned inward at his question.
“Shea?”
She looked up, her gaze sliding past James to the string of sharp hills looming large. “Once.” Sadness whispered through her. She’d barely made it out that one time. Many others had not. Clearing her throat abruptly, she shook off her thoughts. “We shouldn’t have a problem. We’re on the very edge, and we won’t go any further in than we absolutely have to.”
The stranger’s gaze sharpened on her, picking up on her hidden expressions and making her feel exposed. A sharp crack forestalled any questions.
“Damn it. I can’t hit shit like this.” Dane adjusted his grip on his weapon, shifting forward and wedging himself into the corner of the wagon. He took another shot and then cursed roundly as it missed. “I’m just wasting ammo.”
“No, wait. Look,” the stranger Dane had drafted said, pointing as the mob split to either side of the wagon, while still maintaining their distance.
“That’s not better. Now I have two groups to try to hit.”
“Yes, but they’re being careful not to get in range now.” The stranger with the gray eyes turned to Shea. “That’s what you were hoping for, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“Now you just wait until they start edging closer again before firing,” the stranger instructed.
The next few minutes were tense as Dane tried to hold off the mob with a few well-timed rounds.
Witt urged the wagon faster. There were a few hair-raising seconds where the wagon almost tipped as the ride got rougher. All it would take was one good bump, and they would all be sent flying.
The Badlands were just ahead.
“Drive along their edge. We need to find a good entry point,” Shea shouted at Witt.
Steep rolling hills that lurked like giant beasts announced the boundary of the Badlands. Very little vegetation broke up the stark browns and grays.
“There.” Shea pointed at a slim dip between two sheer rock faces. “Get as close as you can before stopping.”
Shea was hoping the path would be narrow enough to prevent their pursuers from following on horseback. She needed the men chasing them to dismount. Otherwise, Shea’s group would just be run down before they could hide.
Witt pulled the horses up sharply, almost sending the wagon crashing into their rears. Dane and the stranger jumped down while Shea and the whiskey-eyed man helped lower Cam to the gro
und.
The mob surged forward.
Dane dropped to one knee, cradling the weapon’s stock to his shoulder and bracing his elbow against his raised knee. Without the obstacle of the wagon, he picked off two men while Shea and the others raced toward the small gap.
He followed quickly after them.
Chapter Three
The narrow space forced their group to run single file. It wasn’t long before the defined depression between the two hills turned into a narrow gorge. Granite cliffs towered over them on either side, allowing only thin rays of light to filter down. A river must have run through there at one time, the water eating away at the rock over millions of years before eventually drying up.
It was perfect. The villagers wouldn’t be able to ride their horses after them. They’d have to follow on foot.
A hundred feet in, the crevasse cut sharply right, hiding them from sight.
They moved quickly.
Witt and one of the strangers supported Cam as Shea slipped past to race ahead to scout possible routes. A dead end meant death.
Dane brought up the rear, turning every couple of feet to make sure their pursuers weren’t getting too close.
Shea didn’t hold out much hope that the villagers would let superstition keep them from following.
Sure enough, the sound of pursuit began quickly, shouts echoing in the tiny space.
Up ahead, the canyon abruptly widened, and the path became uneven and difficult to traverse, slowing the group.
She fairly bounced on her toes as she waited for the others to catch up.
She’d already scouted ahead and needed them to pick up the pace.
Must move faster, repeated over and over in her head as the sound of pursuit grew closer.
There was little talk as Shea led them further and further into the Badlands. The mood was tense, and they moved quickly, not taking the time for breaks or rest.
They couldn’t. The villagers were never far behind, and they all knew what would happen if they were caught.
Shea held up a hand signaling a stop.
“What is it?” Witt asked, coming up beside her.
“We have time for a short break."