Ash: Rise of the Republic

by Campbell Paul Young

  When the men of the Refinery had crested the peak of the interchange, the Captain had Deb gun their UTV up the hill to join their line of triumphant troops. His rangers joined them in their own vehicles. He found Collier waiting for him and stood for a moment, trading pleasantries with his comrade. The men in the line behind them, all veterans now, broke out in cheers as they saw the bandits begin to sit in surrender.

  The Captain was pleased with the victory, but doubt nagged at him. There had been no sign of Werner. It was possible the big man was lying dead somewhere behind him in the thick brush, felled early in the battle by a lucky shot, but somehow he doubted it.

  Movement caught his eye in the distance: A small group of men running through the ash, men who had somehow escaped the cordon. His snipers were still in the UTV with his wife, a dozen yards behind him. He called them over, motioned for them to bring the tools of their trade. They could at last practice shooting at something other than birds. They sank to the ground at his feet, one pressing her eye to the big spotting scope, the other wrapping herself around the huge gun. He turned to joke with Deb about the girls, a smile on his face.

  The smile faded quickly. Werner was there, come from the bushes like a demon. The thorns had shredded him as he had crawled through the brush; blood was welling from dozens of thin scratches on his bare chest and arms. There was a crazed grin on his face, triumphant in his moment of escape.

  The huge, jagged knife went in deep under his wife's ribcage. The Captain watched her tense with the shock of it and a sickening rattle came from her throat. Roaring with hatred and grief, the old man charged at the blood covered maniac, drawing his revolver. Werner let slip a booming cackle and ripped his knife free, slinging dark, glistening blood in a wide arc. As the Captain charged toward him and grey-clad soldiers leveled rifles, he flung Deb's limp body from the driver's seat and smoothly took her place. As he stomped on the accelerator, three of his men jumped from the bushes. He slowed enough for them to clamber aboard and then he was racing down the hill in a spray of ash, bullets flying all around.

  Forced to let his tormentor escape yet again, the Captain checked his mad rush and ran to his wife's still body. She was unconscious, blood seeped slowly from the ragged wound. His rangers were climbing into their UTVs to give chase but he bellowed at them to stop. Legs, suddenly by his side, helped him gently lift his dying wife into the nearest vehicle. He barked at Stone and Blue as they climbed in.

  "Go! Keep that pedal on the floor! Get her back to town. You tell that doctor that if she dies I’ll cut his balls off!” Tears were streaming down his face now.

  The UTV was gone, already to the highway. He watched as it crested the low hill and disappeared. He sat down, his strength draining, despair began to overtake him. He stared at the blood on his hands, covering his uniform. Deb's blood.

  The men on the ridge watched his moment of grief, the mass of prisoners below forgotten. They watched as his head came up, saw the terrifying hatred in his eyes. Those who knew him well could see the storm coming, they knew the swirling fury would soon boil up and consume whatever was in its path.

  His gaze stopped on the single remaining UTV. He slowly rose up and walked toward it as if he were in a trance. No one moved to stop him as he started the motor, no one was willing to risk getting caught in the storm. Without a word, he pressed his right foot down and was gone.

  ****

  Within minutes, he knew he was gaining on them. The four big men were weighing the small vehicle down. Mile after mile he chased them, the suspension shuddering from the torturous terrain. He was in a cloud of ash thrown up in their wake, his world reduced to a white fog. His quarry was a dark smear at the edge of visibility. He focused intensely on the fleeing vehicle, ignoring everything else in his path.

  Twenty miles into the pursuit, he was close enough to see the fear in their eyes as they looked over their shoulders at him. All but Werner. The big man never looked back. Just as he was close enough to try a shot with his pistol, his UTV lurched, the engine sputtering. The fuel gauge was resting on the stop, the tank dry. He cursed and pressed harder on the pedal, trying to coax a few more miles from the machine through sheer force of will. He howled in rage as the motor gave up, shuddering. He let it roll to a stop, unwilling to use the brakes. He could see them smiling and waving as they began to pull away. Just as he was about to give up hope, he saw their vehicle lurch and sputter as well. Vengeful laughter erupted from deep within. He leapt from the driver's seat and ran, his pistol light in his hand.

  The foot pursuit was much the same. He slowly gained on them, his hatred driving him forward. He and Werner seemed driven by the same demons. They were tireless.

  It was dark when they reached the old oil rig. It had clearly been abandoned in the first days after the pillar. The crew had simply picked up off bottom, shut the well in, and jumped in their trucks to weather the disaster with their families. Now, other than thirty years’ worth of rust and a thick blanket of ash, the rig looked much as it had when the last roughneck had driven off location.

  He leaped the low dike at the edge of the pad and burst past the row of collapsed crew houses. His quarry scrambled for the stairs to the rig floor, breathless and terrified. He hoped the ‘Chief’ was beginning to worry.

  Two of Werner's companions were lagging behind, exhausted from the long run through the ash. Their legs were jelly, unresponsive. They tried to crawl up the steep rusty stairs to escape the tireless mad man who had chased them for hours. They died too easily to quench the Captain’s bloodlust. They just let him walk up and shoot them like wounded animals. He ignored their pleas for mercy. He took the stairs two at a time.

  The third stood in the middle of the rig floor as the Captain rounded the doghouse. There was genuine terror in his eyes. All day he had run from this lunatic and now he could run no more. His pathetic pleading earned him a bullet in the gut, the pain white hot, and his subsequent screams earned him another in the head.

  McLelland suddenly realized it had begun to rain at some point during the frenzied pursuit. Great fat drops of fresh water smacked into the rusting steel at his feet. He was soaking wet. He also realized with a shock that he had lost track of Werner in his haste to kill the last crony.

  He whirled around at a deep rumbling chuckle. The big man stepped from the shadows of the doghouse. The rain began to wash the blood from his chest in dark rivulets. He had no weapons but the big knife in his belt. Deb’s blood still crusted the blade. The Captain holstered his pistol.

  “I come here sometimes to think.” The sadistic crackle of his voice raised hairs on the Captain’s neck. “My men keep the floor swept for me. My father once worked on a rig just like this. I sometimes…”

  The Captain raised a hand and cut him off “You can lay off the theatrics. I didn’t follow you all the way down here to listen to your bullshit, Robert. I followed you here to do something I should have done thirty years ago. I followed you put you down like a rabid dog.”

  The Chief smiled, his mouth a rictus of black and rotting teeth. He drew the blade slowly and raised it to his mouth. He licked a crust of brown blood from the edge and smacked his lips at the taste.

  “I wish I had had time to cook your wife up proper, this is a rare vintage. Maybe when I’m done here I’ll go back for her.”

  The Captain drew his own wide blade. The rain beaded on the bright steel.

  “Whatever happened to all that archangel nonsense, Robert? What was it, ‘Zadkiel’?”

  The two men began circling each other warily, knives held ready. The two blades were swaying in the darkness, searching for an opening.

  “Hah! That skinny fool! It was so easy. He wanted to believe. I’ve always wondered: why didn’t you shoot us that day in the road? It would have been so easy!” His last word was shouted as he lunged. The blade sliced air.

  The Captain covered his surprise well. He had leaned away from the cut, but only just. The boy was fast!

  “I’ve a
lways wondered the same thing. It almost felt like something stopped me. Maybe you are an angel, Robert. Maybe you can’t be harmed by mortal weapons. Let’s see.” The Captain tossed his knife to his off-hand, yanked his pistol out, and put a bullet through the big man’s boot. Blood welled from the hole. “Nope.”

  The Chief yowled ferociously. He charged, blind with sudden rage, as the Captain knew he would. He sliced the big man’s side as he passed, the knife still in his off-hand.

  They squared off again, pausing for a moment. The Chief pressed a hand to the deep cut in his side. He brought the blood to his lips, tasted it, and then smeared it on his face and growled.

  “You fight like a coward.”

  “Hah! I’m an old man, I just wanted to even the odds a bit.” He holstered the revolver. “You call me a coward but you’re the one who’s usually running away when we meet.”

  They were circling again, each man waiting for a chance to strike. The Chief was slower now, limping. Lightening flickered briefly in the distance, the sudden light revealed a grin on his dreadful, blood smeared visage. He laughed again.

  “I ate that little red-headed bitch of yours. The one I caught at the warehouse. I roasted her with some black pepper. I fed her offal to my pigs.”

  This time the Captain charged, and this time the Chief’s long blade was wet when they parted. The Captain felt warm blood soaking his shirt. They circled again and again.

  “You probably don’t remember, but your father shit his pants after Tracy shot him. The smell was awful.”

  The Chief howled and charged again. The Captain dodged frantically and kicked out, his boot catching a kneecap. The big man fell heavily, the knife skittered off the edge of the rig floor. He scrambled to his feet before the Captain could press the attack home and picked up a huge pipe wrench from where it leaned against a handrail.

  He came again, swinging the wrench in great, whistling sweeps. The Captain retreated before the onslaught. He ducked beneath the last blow and lunged forward, jerking the knife up in search of flesh, but it was the Chief’s turn to sidestep. The huge iron wrench cracked down on the Captain’s wrist with a sickening crunch, the knife fell useless to the ground.

  McLellan reached for his pistol again but the Chief hit him in the chest with a tremendous back hand swing of the wrench, lifting him from his feet and sending the gun scraping along the steel floor. He fell heavily, and gasped for air. He risked a look up and saw the wrench coming for him ponderously. He rolled to his right as it clanged into the floor next to his head. The Chief groaned as the shock reverberated through his arm.

  The Captain saw a wooden handle and grabbed for it. He threw the sledge hammer wildly and it smashed the Chief’s temple with a wet thump. The big savage dropped the wrench and shook his head to clear the sudden stars. He stumbled to the old man and fell on him, pinning him to the ground with his great bulk. He scrambled up to dig a knee into his chest and began smashing his big fists down, landing blow after blow.

  The Captain squirmed, desperate to escape, but the Chief kept pounding him. His head slammed back into the cold steel with each blow. He flailed his arms, searching for a weapon. He felt the bones in his face giving way.

  Then the blows stopped. The night was suddenly bright, the rig floor was illuminated in a cool white light. The glow revealed his last chance: his big revolver lay a few inches from his face. He turned to the Chief, suddenly realizing that the pummeling had stopped. The savage man was staring out at the sky, his mouth hanging open.

  The click of the hammer broke his reverie. McLelland didn't give him time to process the new development. He put the fat barrel in his gut and pulled the trigger.

  Wiping the blood from his face, the Captain turned to see what had transfixed the man.

  The moon! A full moon. A sight he hadn't seen in thirty years. And stars! The clouds were breaking at last. He struggled for a moment to roll the Chief’s limp body to the side and then crawled over to lean against the drawworks. He faced east, hoping he would last long enough for a glimpse of the sun.

  Epilogue

  *

  “The suppression of the Outlaw Uprising ushered in an era of turmoil for the Republic. Though the battle of Hempstead and the disappearance of Robert Werner effectively ended the outlaw menace, a new threat was festering to the west.”

  -Daniel Galloway, ‘Risen From The Ash: A History of the Republic’; RNT University Press, 50 PC (2065 AD);

  *

  He woke up in the sky. The wind roared in his ears. His head was white with pain. Straps were tight across his forehead and chest. He struggled for a moment, but hands held him still. He opened his eyes. A helicopter. One of the flight crew, a medic, pushed a headset over his ears.

  “Can you hear me, Captain?” He tried to speak but no words would come out.

  “Don’t try to speak, there’s a tube in your throat. Hang on.” The medic pulled and the tube came free with a choking suction. “We’ve been looking for you all day. What were you doing all alone up there on that rig? ”

  “Deb?” He croaked.

  “Just rest Captain.” A needle pricked him and warmth flooded through his veins. He rested.

  ****

  The hospital room was bright, brighter than he’d seen a room in years. Sunlight gleamed through the grimy windows. The walls were bare. He floated in a daze for a few minutes, enjoying the morphine. Memories slowly flooded back. He sat up, head pounding. The room swam for a moment and he steadied himself. He ripped the needles from his arm and stumbled from the bed. There were people passing in the hall when he yanked the door open. His vision swam again.

  “Deb!” he howled, his voice hoarse from disuse. Orderlies and doctors scurrying busily through the halls turned at the sudden noise. He advanced down the hallway, moving faster now, feeling stronger after the shout.

  “One of you bastards had better produce my wife. If you let her die then one of you owes me a fresh pair of balls. Come here you little shit!” There was a satisfying glint of fear in the nearest doctor’s eyes. He lunged at him, but stopped short at the sound of a familiar voice from behind him.

  “Husband! You leave that poor boy alone! He saved your useless skull, god knows why.” Tears welled up as he turned. Deb sat in a wheelchair just outside the doorway he had just left.

  “I was just gonna break a few fingers…”

  “God dammit! I’ve been waiting here for your stubborn ass to wake up for hours! I finally take a piss and you decide to break loose and terrorize the hospital with your ass hanging out! Get back in that bed!” She pointed to the room.

  He fell to his knees in front of her and wrapped her in his arms.

  “Good god, not so tight! I was stabbed, remember?”

  “Sorry.” He kissed her over and over.

  ****

  The Captain and his wife lounged in their rooms on the top floor of the ranger barracks for a week. They moved their bed near the window so that the warm sunlight woke them up each morning. Their troops brought them meals, sometimes the whole company would crowd in and they would have dinner like a family. There was laughter and wine; they hung no outlaws and no one died bleeding in the ash.

  The Governor sent for them on the seventh day. They met Captain Collier outside the office, looking out of place in the luxurious waiting room. He shrugged when they asked why they were there.

  They went in together. Governor Garza was pacing behind his desk, muttering to himself. After a moment, the Governor looked up at them and smiled, gesturing distractedly at a row of chairs.

  “Please, sit, sit. Mrs. McLelland, how are your wounds?”

  “Could be worse, I’ll live. Thank you for asking. I’m sorry about your son.”

  “Yes, a great tragedy. The reports say he fought well, so at least he left us with a brave legacy.”

  “Yes, he did well, died a warriors death. Couldn’t ask for more.” The Captain lied gracefully.

  “It’s a shame about Price, the boy had potentia
l. At least he died gallantly – the bullet entered the back of his head, so he must have been turned toward the troops, ordering them forward.”

  The Captain looked appropriately surprised and nodded. “A heavy price was paid that day.”

  The Governor walked to the window and stared out at the sunlit campus. He stood there silent for a moment. The Captain finally cleared his throat.

  “What can we do for you, Ruben?”

  The Governor turned and looked him in the eye. “I need you back to work, Captain. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done; you deserve a lifetime of rest, but there is too much happening right n230ow. The Texan Union is boiling over. There have been raids up and down the border. They think this fiasco with Werner shows that we’re weak, I’m afraid they’ll strike deep any moment. We’ve got to put their lid back on as soon as possible. On top of that, Congress is demanding we renew our efforts to establish diplomatic relations with our neighbors to the north. And, like usual, the scientists are clamoring for an expedition to Yellowstone, god knows why anyone would want to go up there. Ever since the clouds broke they’ve been agitated. They’re actually gaining some traction with a few of the senators. I need you, McLelland, the Republic needs you.”

  “With all due respect, Governor, I was thinking about retiring…”

  The Governor leaned over his desk toward him. A sly smile crossed his face. “With all due respect, Captain, that’s bullshit and we both know it.”

  ~~~~

  Thank you for reading Ash: Rise of the Republic. If you enjoyed it, I hope you will take the time to leave me a review at your favorite retailer. Captain McLelland and the 1st Rangers will ride again soon.

  About the Author

  Campbell Young graduated from Texas A&M University with a degree in geology. He worked in the oilfield and made far too much money for several years. Now he lives in Houston with too many dogs and a wife he loves very much.