“No, he said not to shoot the bearded man,” Barry said. “Do you see a beard on this kid?”
Dwayne shrugged. “Good point.” He pressed the muzzle of his rifle against Nathan’s head.
Nathan’s heart began to race. John, what are you waiting for? Hurry up!
“So kid,” Dwayne said. “Got any last wo —”
Chapter 17
John had seen enough — he pulled the trigger. The crack of his Colt ripped through the air and a bullet slammed into the side of the thin man’s head. Blood and chunks of cranium exited his exploding skull, plopping into the shallow water of the shoreline. The splash of the collapsing corpse followed.
The portly man awkwardly hopped on one leg, spinning around to look up at the roof. His crutch slipped out from his right armpit and he struggled to maintain his balance on one leg.
“You!” he exclaimed. “You’re John Osborne!” He clumsily pointed his shotgun at John, unable to properly aim it while standing on one leg.
“That I am,” John said. He raised his hands in the air, feigning surrender — he didn’t know why these guys wanted him, but he knew they wanted him alive.
“Giving up easy, huh?” Barry called out.
“No, I just think my friend will have more fun dealing with you.” John pointed toward the woods.
The mother black bear was creeping out from the trees, approaching Barry, Nathan, and his sister Emiko.
“What the Desolation — you brought a pet bear?” Barry screeched. He took aim at the massive black animal and fired off a a volley of buckshot.
The bear wailed in pain then began charging directly at the hefty man. One poorly aimed shotgun blast from that distance wasn’t going to slow her down. Bypassing Emiko, the bear roared as she lunged straight at Barry, knocking him over.
That could’ve been me. John grimaced at the thought. “Hey, kid, pick up your gun and untie your sister!” he shouted down at Nathan from the rooftop. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
***
Without a word, Nathan gestured OK with his hand. He picked up the Remington from the bottom of the canoe then dashed over to his sister, circling behind her chair and hurriedly untying the ropes around her wrists.
“Don’t worry, Emiko. Everything’s gonna be alright,” he said.
She let out an unintelligible reply, muffled by the gag.
To his right, Nathan heard the bear unleash an angry roar. A shotgun went off — probably Barry trying to keep it at bay.
There — his sister was free! Emiko jumped up and immediately reached behind her head to untie the white cloth around her mouth.
“Let me help you,” Nathan said, pulling at the knot. The cloth came undone and fell to the ground. Emiko spit out the cotton sock that had been stuffed in her mouth.
“What took you so long!” she said.
Good to see a few days of imprisonment haven’t broken her spirit, Nathan thought.
“Don’t I get a thank you?” he asked.
Without replying, Emiko looked over at Barry, who was pinned beneath the bear. The portly man was frantically screaming, trying to aim his shotgun as the bear battered him back and forth on the ground.
“Emiko — how many kidnappers were there?” Nathan said, trying to regain her attention.
“How many — ah, four, I think,” she said.
“Four?”
“Yeah, and one of them …” She trailed off mid-sentence, shifting her gaze back toward the outpost. “They have dad’s gun inside!” she blurted out. Without giving Nathan a chance to reply, she tore off toward the door of the outpost.
“Emiko!” he shouted after her. What the Desolation was she thinking! She opened the outpost door and disappeared inside. With a reluctant sigh, Nathan tightened his grip around the shotgun and followed her in.
***
Scouting the area for other kidnappers, John trotted to the far end of the roof. As he approached the ledge, a shotgun boomed from below. He grimaced and dropped the Colt as a wild surge of pain rushed through his right arm. The Colt hit the roof and slid toward the eaves before falling out of sight. I thought they had orders not to shoot at me. Apparently this guy didn’t get the memo.
No gun — what could he do? He dropped to one knee and with his left hand he ripped one of the thick spruce shingles from the roof. With the heavy shingle in hand, he rolled backward, putting distance between himself and his attacker. Then he stood up and began running for the edge of the roof, wincing in pain as his right arm swung back and forth. The gunner below shot at him again — a miss.
John reached the ledge and jumped. He could see his assailant now — a dark-skinned man, wearing a green vest. As John flew overhead, the man followed with his shotgun and fired a volley into the air — but missed.
John hit the ground, rolling forward to reduce the shock of impact. He stood up and turned around.
“You’re John Osborne?” the man asked, pointing his shotgun straight at John.
John scowled, growling through his beard in reply. Then he raised his left arm overhead, and with a guttural roar he heaved the wooden shingle like a throwing axe. The dark-skinned man’s eyes opened wide in fear as the shingle spun forward through the air. Then it tore into the man’s throat, and his body went limp, crumpling to the grass.
All was quiet. John looked more closely at his right arm. Two shotgun pellets had burrowed deep inside his forearm — there was nothing he could do about that right now. Cautiously, he walked back around to the front of the outpost.
The bear was there. Or its remains were, anyway. It was a bloody, mangy, mass of black fur, lying prone. John walked up to it and saw the fat man with the broken leg, pinned underneath the massive corpse. His eyes were closed; blood and bruises marked his face, but he was still breathing.
John stood over the man, looking down at his face. “Mama bear caught you with your hand in the honey jar, didn’t she?” he said.
The man weakly opened his eyes and stared up at John.
“Who … what the hell are you?” he said, his voice a rasping whisper.
John walked away without replying and retrieved his Colt from where it had hit the ground. Nathan and Emiko had disappeared — they must’ve run inside. Spinning the cylinder of his revolver to a live round, he approached the open door of the outpost.
Chapter 18
Stepping lightly, Nathan crept through the outpost’s narrow hallway. Doors on either side opened to a handful of small rooms — Emiko had to be in one of them. Why was his sister so childish? What was she thinking, running back into the outpost to fetch her Ruger? Nathan didn’t care that it was their father’s — he just wanted to get everyone in the canoe and make a break for safety.
He put his hand on a door to the right. Its hinges creaked as he swung it open. With the stock of his Remington tight against his shoulder, he sidestepped in front of the open door, only to find that the room was completely empty. I almost feel like a real soldier, he thought.
Was there always an outpost here? he wondered. He didn’t come to Sawbill Lake often, so he couldn’t say for sure. Whoever built the structure had designed it with ample room for storing weapons and people.
The cluck of a chicken broke the eerie silence. One of Pierre’s? Nathan couldn’t tell exactly where the sound had come from, but he didn’t have time to look for it now.
He stepped back into the main hallway — one door remained, on his left. It was already open. Silently, he rested his back against the wall next to it and readied his shotgun. Then he spun into the doorframe.
In the middle of the small room was his sister. A man stood behind her, with his hand over her mouth and a pistol to her head. She let out a muffled cry.
“Ramses!” Nathan shouted. “Let her go!” His fingers tightened around his gun, though he didn’t have a good shot. The room was sparsely furnished. A desk sat against one wall, bare except for a glass window. The only other notable feature was the rear door, likely leading outside —
Ramses’ escape plan.
“Nathan? What a pleasant surprise,” Ramses said. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Nathan narrowed his eyes. “You left Frontier View to become a kidnapper?” he asked.
“No — I left that little Podunk town so I could change the world,” Ramses said. “The people need a leader, Nathan. We can’t live like savages forever.”
Who gave him that idea? The Ramses Nathan remembered was a village bully, not a world-changing visionary.
“I don’t have your money,” he said. He could feel the sweat gathering in his palms — he’d never experienced tension like this before. Emiko’s eyes were pleading with him to act, but he didn’t see anything he could do. His shotgun wasn’t a precision tool. Even if he aimed directly between Ramses’ eyes, the spread would hit Emiko as well.
Ramses snorted. “This was never about the money,” he said. “I just need you to do a favor for me.”
“How about I give you a mouthful of lead?” Nathan said, surprised at his own aggressiveness.
“Sounds like you’ve learned a thing or two from our friend John,” Ramses said. “Speaking of whom, I have a message for him.”
“You kidnapped Emiko to get to him?” Nathan said with rising anger. “That was your motive?”
Ramses didn’t respond. He stepped back toward the door, dragging Emiko with him.
“I was hoping I could deliver the message to him in person, but you —” He stopped short, shifting his gaze beyond Nathan. “Ah, and there he is! John Osborne himself,” he said. “Did my compatriots outside treat you well?”
“About as well as a guy like me could expect, showing up unannounced. They welcomed me with hot lead, so I returned the favor,” John’s voice said — Nathan didn’t dare turn to look back at him.
Ramses’ eyes grew wide. He didn’t reply, except to take another step back toward the door. His hand was still clasped tightly around Emiko’s mouth.
“Let her go,” John said. Nathan heard the click of John cocking his revolver.
“I have something to tell you first,” Ramses said. His voice had lost its tinge of arrogance.
“I couldn’t give a rat’s —”
“About your arm,” Ramses said, cutting John short.
The room fell silent.
“Listen carefully, because I won’t repeat myself. The man who designed your arm — you can find him on Mallard Island, located to the north, on Rainy Lake,” Ramses said.
“Who are you?” John barked, losing his cool for the first time since Nathan had met him.
“A friend of law and order,” Ramses said, with no hint of irony. “The question, John, is: Who are you?” With that, he gave Emiko a hard shove forward and ducked behind her. He forced the back door open with his shoulder and dashed out into the wilderness.
Nathan lowered his gun and let out a sigh of relief.
John rushed past Nathan, heading for the door. His eyes flared with passion — he looked dead set on chasing Ramses. However, he stopped and looked down at Emiko. She’d fallen on her knees, exhausted. John gave the back door another passing glance, then knelt beside her.
“You okay, kid?” he asked.
Emiko didn’t reply. Her long black hair hung down over her eyes, hiding her face as she let out a sob.
Nathan rushed to her, setting his gun down on the desk. He fell to his knees and threw his arms around Emiko.
“Loons over the moon, Emiko! What were you thinking, running back in here?” he asked.
“I … I don’t know,” Emiko said between choking sobs. “I couldn’t let them have my gun … dad’s gun.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Nathan said, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “We can go back home now.”
She sniffled in reply. Nathan pulled away from her and examined her face. “Did they do anything to you?” he asked.
Her long hair waved back and forth as she shook her head, before meeting eyes with Nathan.
“What is Beard doing here?” she asked.
“Beard?” John sneered in disgust.
“He’s a friend,” Nathan said, turning to look at the bearded man with a proud smile. “I couldn’t have rescued you without him.”
Rising to his feet, John pursed his lips and shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” Nathan asked.
“Something ain’t right,” John muttered. “That kid knew too much about me.”
“Ramses?” Nathan said. “He used to live in Frontier View. What’s he care about your —” He stopped mid-sentence, as his eyes caught a glimpse of the red droplets streaking down John’s arm. “What happened to your arm?” he asked.
“What, this?” John said, grimacing in pain as he tried to raise his right arm. “Nothing a little bit of Cynthia’s soup won’t fix.” He walked over and leaned against the desk.
Moose pie! thought Nathan. How were they going to get home in this condition? He just hoped none of Barry’s shotgun blasts had punctured the canoe.
“Can we go now?” Emiko whined.
With a groan, John stood up straight from the desk.
“She’s right — we should go. That frankenmoose won’t wait all day,” he said.
“Frankenmoose?” Emiko snorted.
“He means a tvapa,” Nathan said.
“Whatever. Either way it’s a freak on a yoke,” John said.
The trio began heading back through the outpost toward the entrance. A chicken clucked somewhere in the distance.
“We should probably do something about the chickens,” Nathan said. “I have a feeling they’re Pierre’s.”
“Well, we can’t bring them back with us,” John said.
Emiko smiled. “Then let’s set them free.”
“Sounds good to me,” Nathan said, shifting his attention to John. “By the way, can you paddle with your arm in that condition?” He still wanted to know what Ramses meant … how could someone design John’s arm?
“Can a woodchuck chuck wood?” John said.
Nathan replied, “You know, woodchucks actually can’t —”
“I know. Let’s go,” John said as he stepped outside.
***
Emiko sat on a log, listening to the crackling of the campfire as she gazed into the hypnotic orange and red embers. The group had set up camp at the south end of Sawbill Lake, as it was too late to head back to Frontier View that night. She cradled the Ruger 10/22 in her arms, like it was a part of her. She didn’t ever want to part with it again.
Discreetly, she shifted her eyes to look at John. He was ripping off a strip of his plaid shirt to bandage his wounded right arm. Her eyes turned to his left arm. It looked like … well, it looked like an ordinary arm.
After much prying on Nathan’s part, John had finally divulged what little he knew about his arm. He’d lost his real arm in combat, before the Desolation. Then he’d fallen into a coma, and awakened after the Desolation with a new arm attached to his shoulder. The hospital where he woke up was empty — not a single person remained, leaving him with no one to describe the nature of the new limb. He quickly discovered the bionic arm had nearly boundless strength, but beyond that he had no idea how it worked.
And now, he also wondered how Ramses knew about it. John hadn’t told a soul about the arm, meaning Ramses must have heard about it from someone who knew more. John was determined to find out who that someone was.
Continuing to mull over John’s dilemma, Emiko turned to look at Nathan, who was snoring as usual. She’d never seen him act so bravely. Where he had gotten the courage from she couldn’t say.
Contentedly, she looked up at the stars and picked out the constellations her dad had taught her — Andromeda, Hercules, Ursa Major. Their twinkling glow was reflected in her eyes.
Emiko smiled. Nathan, I knew you’d come for me, she thought to herself.
With a yawn, she again stared at the flickering embers of the campfire. As much as she loved the wilderness, right now she wanted nothing more than to wa
ke up early tomorrow and return to Frontier View.
Chapter 19
The dull twang of fingers striking rusty guitar strings carried through Loon’s Landing. John stood in the back corner, alone. He lifted his glass and let the harsh scent of moonshine whiskey hit his nose before taking a quick gulp. The liquor triggered his gag reflex and he nearly spit it back up before forcing it down. They should just call it what it is: frankenmoose piss, he mused, setting the glass down on the nearest table.
Thankfully, the music was better than the booze. The guitarist — a young man, wearing a dark plaid shirt and a black beret — sat in another corner, strumming an old song John vaguely recognized and singing, “Don’t stop believing, just hold on to that feeling.” A small crowd stood around him, clapping between songs and chatting all the while.
John thought back … how long had it been since he’d played guitar? Not since high school. He held his left arm out, examining it as he wiggled his fingers, imagining the crunch of a rosewood fretboard splintering underneath his superhuman grip.
Cynthia stood among the audience, her long white skirt swaying gently back and forth with the music. She looked back and smiled at him, then tilted her head toward the guitarist, encouraging John to join. John shook his head, then looked down at the grimy wooden floor. Despite the dim, flickering lamplight, the dust accumulation on the floor was readily visible.
“No drink for you tonight?” a voice asked.
John swung his head upward to find Pierre approaching with a beer mug in hand. The old man eyed the abandoned whiskey glass on the table.
“Maybe you should try a beer,” Pierre said. “It goes down a bit easier than the whiskey.”
“Yeah?” John said with a smirk as he leaned back against the wall.
“How’s the arm?” Pierre asked.
John looked at his right arm, bandaged and in a sling. He thought the sling was overkill, but Cynthia insisted that he wear it for a few days.
“Just a scratch,” he said. “It’ll heal faster than you can rebuild your chicken coop.”
The Northland Chronicles: A Stranger North Page 9