Riders on the Storm

by Rob Blackwell

  He wheeled around as Ogdon—now disfigured and covered with black scales—shrieked at them. It was answered by a barely audible shriek from Seth on the floor.

  Jacob froze as the newly made Viper lumbered toward him. Jules stepped forward, shoving Jacob out of the way as she grabbed the weapon out of his hand. She shot Ogdon as he attacked, his body collapsing to the ground by her feet.

  She turned to fire again at Seth—or whatever he had become—but felt a claw on her boot. She aimed at the creature grabbing her, but when she pulled the trigger, all she heard was the click of the gun. She was out of bullets. The creature reached for Jules as she tried to pull away. But she knew she wasn’t going to make it before it sliced into her flesh, infecting her.

  There was a gunshot, and half of Seth’s face exploded. His clawed hand slipped away again. She looked up to see Luke standing nearby, rifle to his shoulder. He’d apparently found the ammo he’d been searching for.

  Jacob jumped up from the floor and screamed as he saw what was left of his brother.

  “You bastard!” he yelled and ran at Luke. Jules stepped forward and pistol-whipped him on the back of the head before he could get far. Jacob fell to the ground, unconscious.

  “Thank you,” Jules said to Luke, who merely nodded in return.

  She prodded Seth and Ogdon’s bodies just to make sure they were dead, then checked over the older man for good measure. She thought she’d taken care of that problem, but she’d clearly made a mistake before when she hadn’t examined Ogdon. She didn’t want to do that again. Once she was satisfied they were truly dead, Jules picked up her knives from the floor, yanking the one free from the Viper, and returned them to her ankle holsters. She found her revolvers as well.

  For the moment, the bank was covered in bodies. Fallen Vipers lay all around them, along with the corpses of the bank’s security guard, still lying where he’d been shot at the start of all this.

  As she watched, the monsters’ corpses melted into the floorboards. She’d seen it before, but it never failed to disgust her. They turned into black liquid that seeped across the wood, dripping into the slats.

  She looked down at Jacob. Some part of her thought it would be a good idea to scrounge up some normal bullets and shoot him now, before he could decide to avenge himself on Luke or herself. It wasn’t their fault, but men like him always blamed someone else for the trouble in their lives. She knew the type well.

  But another part of her objected to shooting a man in cold blood. Besides, she’d seen enough death today.

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s open the door and get everyone out of here.”

  Clayton made no objection, and Luke stood aside, still holding the rifle while he watched her. She took the key ring from her pocket and undid the locks on the door.

  When it opened, Miranda was standing on the other side, looking worried.

  She made a move as if to hug Jules and then stopped herself.

  “Good gravy, Jules, you’re a mess.”

  Jules looked down at herself. Her dress was smeared with blood. It was a good thing she hated it. Jules looked past her sister into the dark room beyond.

  “Everyone okay?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure why she bothered. Did she really care?

  Miranda nodded once. Jules noticed a large bag her sister carried in her hand. It seemed heavy.

  “You robbed the safe while you were in there?” she asked, impressed.

  Miranda managed to look offended.

  “Our father taught me things too, you know,” she said, and then added, in a surprisingly good imitation of their father’s voice, “’Never waste an opportunity, girl.’”

  Jules found herself smiling. “What’d we get?”

  “Now isn’t really the time.”

  Jules nodded. The other bank customers were walking out, and their shouts of horror and dismay almost made her feel bad about her excitement about the loot. She hoped it would be enough to make up for the silver bullets she’d lost.

  She reached over and found the ammunition sack, but it was empty. She’d need to restock—soon. She checked to make sure the blue pouch she’d originally come for was still in her pocket, and scanned the bank once more.

  The teller she’d initially robbed stood in the center of the bank, gazing wide-eyed at the devastation around him. The other customers were reluctantly coming forward, clearly afraid to leave their sanctuary. Clayton was still sitting by the wall at the back. Only Luke seemed to have his wits about him. He had the rifle propped on his shoulder and was watching her. He tipped his hat when he noticed her looking in his direction. She nodded back.

  Jules turned to go, Miranda following behind her. They’d have to find the horses somewhere, though she knew her mare was liable to come back as soon as the storm passed.

  She stepped out into bright sun, hardly believing it had been as dark as night just a few minutes before. There was no trace of the storm now, though she knew if she could have climbed onto a nearby roof, she would probably see it retreating in the distance.

  Still, the storm had left its mark. Jules looked up and down the street, but she saw no other people besides the ones coming out of the bank.

  When she’d encountered these creatures before, it had always been in isolated spots. She’d never been near a town when they came.

  Against her own better judgment, which was screaming for her to leave before the law or another storm showed up, she walked down the street. She peered into the general store, but there were no people inside. She passed the doctor’s office, which had its doors blown open. There was no one there.

  It was the same story in the rest of the shops, which had windows smashed and doors ajar, but a disturbing lack of people. Finally, she came to the saloon at the end of the track, as close to a social center as this village had. How many people had lived here? It wasn’t one of the larger settlements—she’d never heard of it before she decided to rob the place—but there must have been more than a hundred residents to support this many shops.

  The doors to the saloon lay on the ground, one of them broken in half. She walked inside and looked around. Several of the tables were smashed. The piano was split nearly down the middle.

  The bottles behind the bar, however, were mostly intact. She hoisted her sack onto the bar, ignoring the splatter of blood she saw there, and walked behind it.

  “What are you doing?” Miranda asked behind her.

  She didn’t look up. “What’s it look like? Fixing myself a drink.”

  She poured some whiskey into a dirty glass and downed it in one gulp. Then she poured herself another.

  “Jules…” Miranda called, her voice warning.

  Jules glanced up. Miranda’s eyes were red. She’d been crying. She understood what had happened here. There were no other hidey-holes of survivors like they’d made at the bank. There weren’t any bodies either. The creatures had come along and made the residents their own kind, creatures who’d then joined the tempest as it left. The citizens of this place were worse than dead now. The storm had come through, torn this place apart, and left it a ghost town.

  So why didn’t Jules cry? She felt bad, but had no impulse to sob over these people. What good would it do? They were past saving. She wondered what had become of the woman who had run out of the bank—whether she and her husband had found each other before they’d been taken.

  A memory abruptly entered her head of a little girl sobbing over the body of a horse. She could almost feel the hand that slapped down on her back.

  “Are you crying?” her father’s voice said. He sounded angry.

  “Betty… she… you…” the girl stammered.

  “You listen to me well, girl,” her father said. “You don’t cry. Not ever. You understand me? You want to put on a show for some mark and shed a few tears, be my guest. But don’t ever show ‘em the truth of you. Crying is for the weak, and I won’t have that said of my daughter. You hear me? Men are apt to underestimate you,
and that’s for the better, but crying will make you a target to them. I don’t care if it’s your horse that died or your best friend. I never want to see you cry again.”

  “Yes, daddy,” she replied.

  She snapped back to the present and stared at her whiskey glass. Maybe a third glass was unwise after all.

  She looked up at her sister.

  “Come on,” Jules said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Five

  “The most famous U.S. female outlaw is Bonnie Parker, who took up with Clyde Barrow in the early 20th Century. But there are many more if you know where to look. That includes Sally Scull, a hard-charging sharpshooter who lived in the early 1800s in Texas. It’s said she could outgun and outwit any man, with a particular skill for poker and theft. She’s rumored to have killed at least two of her five husbands.”

  — Jessie Berry, “Overlooked Women of History,” 2016

  As always, it was Onyx, her horse, who seemed to locate Jules, rather than the other way around. She sometimes wondered if Onyx was part bloodhound, a ridiculous thought that nevertheless had a grain of truth in it.

  The sisters had just barely walked out of town when Onyx came galloping up. Jules didn’t know where she’d been, but her horse shared her knack for getting herself out of trouble. She was even still wearing the saddle.

  “Hey girl,” Jules said, running a hand along Onyx’s smooth body, who whinnied in response. Jules didn’t love her horse’s name—it had been Miranda who had named her as a foal—but it fit her well. She was entirely black, the color of dark coal, and sleek. Jules had never known a horse that could move faster, or one with such spirit.

  Jules gave her one last pat and stowed her gear. She hoisted herself up and helped Miranda up to sit behind her. She let Onyx guide her to Miranda’s horse, Conchita, who had her face buried in a patch of grass outside of town.

  The two rode hard then, determined to put as much distance between themselves and that doomed town as they could. They made good time over the open prairie. Jules’ mind raced as she flew, turning over the business at hand.

  She had what she’d come for, and the only thing left was to take it back to the town of Stanton and find her contact, who should be waiting for her. And what then? Would she finally get what she wanted, or would her mysterious benefactor make her jump through some other hoop? If she ever met him, she had half a mind to make him pay for what she’d been through already.

  They made camp near a small hilltop that jutted out of the landscape. It wasn’t that high, but given the flat terrain of the grasslands they rode through, it might as well have been a mountain. It would give them a good view to see whether they were being pursued or, worse, whether another storm was on the horizon. Jules didn’t know if their horses could outrun a tempest, but they’d die trying.

  She brushed down Onyx, giving her the sole remaining carrot she had in her possession. It was moldy, but Onyx didn’t appear to mind. She’d eaten worse.

  Jules changed out of her blood-stained dress, pulling out fresh clothes from one of her saddle bags. She was tempted to burn the dress, but resisted. It was useless as clothing, of course, but she could cut it up and reuse some of the material later. She was just happy to be back in her black trousers and a plain white shirt. The men’s clothes fit her just fine.

  She cleaned her brown leather boots, which were coated with a black muck she assumed was from the Vipers. She put her holster on, making sure both Colt revolvers were loaded with normal bullets. No sense wasting her silver ones.

  As night came on, Jules built a fire and Miranda made dinner. Her sister used water from one of their canteens to make a light broth that somehow managed to taste decent despite Miranda’s lack of cooking materials.

  “What do you think they’re doing?”

  Jules didn’t have to ask who she was talking about.

  “What every mindless animal does,” Jules replied. “Killing, feeding and making more of themselves.”

  “I wonder.”

  Jules had told her everything that had happened while her sister had been inside the locked door in the bank, a ritual Miranda insisted upon every time they were apart. Jules suspected it was at least partially for her own benefit. She often felt better after she’d told her sister about a job, even the unsavory aspects.

  “Anybody ever tell you that you think too much?”

  “Come on. Doesn’t it seem strange to you how many times we’ve run into them lately? The train job? And out on the plains the month before that?”

  Jules shrugged. “Maybe they’re just lonely, holed up in the Maelstrom by themselves. I don’t know.”

  She hated even thinking of the Maelstrom. She’d never been close to it, but the word was it was a massive, churning storm that never moved or subsided. And these Vipers reportedly lived there. She shuddered.

  “They’re spreading, Jules,” Miranda said. “You know the stories. There were whispers of them when we were children, but nobody we knew had actually seen one.”

  “Father did.”

  “Because he went everywhere,” Miranda said. “But nobody else saw them. The past few years, it’s been different. There’ve been reports of them throughout the territory. That Oglala scout we ran into a week back insisted he’d seen them as far north as Canada.”

  Jules shook her head. “Rumor. Nothing more. Everybody knows they can’t go anywhere except in those cursed storms. And Canada’s too far away from the Maelstrom for that.”

  “That’s my point,” Miranda replied. “They’re traveling further—and in bigger numbers. You saw what they just did to Longstone. One day they’re going to take out an even bigger settlement.”

  Jules eyed her sister carefully. She had half a mind to keep what she was about to say to herself, but knew that would be a mistake. Sooner or later, she’d hear on her own, and blame Jules for keeping a secret.

  “They’ve already done that,” Jules said quietly.

  Miranda started in alarm, looking scared. “Which one?”

  “Evanston,” Jules said.

  Miranda’s mouth hung open for a few moments and then she looked away.

  “When did you find that out?”

  “Just before the bank job.”

  “And you didn’t feel like mentioning it?”

  “You know how you get, Mira. You burst into tears when I cut the head off that rattlesnake that was about to kill you.”

  “That was ten years ago, Jules.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Sometimes you sound so much like Father it’s eerie,” she said. Before Jules could object, Miranda moved on. “What happened?”

  “The word is… well, the word is that the sheriff came back from tracking down a thief to find the town like the one we just left. Everybody gone, and signs that a fierce storm had come through. The government blamed it on the Sioux, but I think we both know your people aren’t in the habit of kidnapping entire towns, leaving behind perfectly good supplies and no corpses.”

  Miranda visibly bristled at the reference to “your people.” She kept staring across the prairie.

  “I saw it, Jules,” Miranda said softly.

  “What?”

  “The attack on Evanston,” she said. “I thought it was just a nightmare, but…”

  She didn’t bother to finish, and Jules understood why. Miranda had always had powerful dreams. She could see events hundreds of miles away and sometimes into the future. Their father used to deny that was true at first, but even he’d given up at some point.

  Lately, Miranda’s dreams had been more and more about these so-called Vipers. She didn’t always talk about it. She just woke up screaming.

  “Sooner or later, the army will come in and finish them off,” Jules said. “They can’t keep blaming the Sioux forever.”

  “You’ll excuse me if I don’t put much faith in the U.S. Army,” Miranda said caustically. “And even if they did show up, what makes you think they’d win?”<
br />
  “Because these Vipers are just animals, Mira. They’re stupid. They don’t have any sense of strategy, just dumb brute force.”

  “Based on what you told me about the battle in the bank, I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “How you reckon?”

  “They attacked low while their companions got into position up high,” Miranda replied. “That doesn’t sound like a dumb brute to me.”

  Jules considered it, recognizing that Miranda was right. The creatures had been smarter than she was giving them credit for. The thought disturbed her.

  “It’s not just these things out there either,” Miranda said. “You know it’s not. Things are getting worse. I’ve heard stories about other creatures, even people coming back from the dead all wrong—”

  Jules cut her off.

  “Most of it’s horseshit, Mira,” she said. “We’ve got enough real problems without believing every ghost story we hear. I don’t need—”

  She heard the scrape of something against a nearby rock.

  She leaped to her feet, drawing a gun. A shadowy figure stood in the dark just outside the ring of fire.

  “Best come where I can see you,” Jules said.

  Luke, the older black man from the bank, stepped forward. He was clutching the rifle, aiming it at her heart.

  “I wouldn’t start shooting, miss,” Luke said. “I get nervous at the sound of gunfire.”

  Though she was looking down the barrel of a gun, Jules cocked a half smile. “Yeah, I saw how anxious you were back at the bank. Like a scared school girl.”

  She looked around and shouted into the darkness. “You can come out now, whoever else is out there. I got an inkling Luke didn’t come alone.”

  It was just a hunch, but a short, familiar man stepped out of the shadows a moment later, confirming what she suspected. Jules frowned at the man. He was missing several teeth, and his nose was mashed and bent from all the times it had been broken. It looked like a lump of oatmeal had been stuck between his beady eyes.

  “Gilroy,” Jules said distastefully, as if she’d just eaten a bug. “So wonderful to see you again.”