Gun Mage 3: Surviving a Post Apocalyptic Magic Earth

by Logan Jacobs

  The watch passed slowly despite the sounds that seemed magnified now. I kept the Glock close at hand and found myself prowling quietly from window to window to check for more two-legged creatures in the night. When it was Sorcha’s turn to take over, I gently shook her shoulder, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep without her presence by my side. Rather than curling under the blanket again, I sat up by her side and talked quietly.

  “That coffee smells good,” Darwin announced as he sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

  “That’s because Hex made it,” Sorcha replied.

  “You stayed up,” the ex-trooper guessed as he squinted at me.

  “It wasn’t that long ‘til dawn,” I said with a shrug.

  “You guys talk too much,” Freya grumbled from beneath her blanket. I could see her tawny rabbit ears and a few stray locks of black hair and that was it.

  “Any more visitors?” Darwin asked as he scratched at the stubble on his chin.

  “Not yet,” I noted. “But I think we should get moving soon.”

  “Breakfast to go,” Darwin chuckled as he stood up and stretched. “Just another day in the hood.”

  I shrugged when I caught Sorcha’s questioning glance, but Darwin only shook his head when we looked his way.

  “I hope people on the west coast sleep in later,” Freya announced as she finally sat up and yawned.

  “Only when they’re not running from mages,” Sorcha replied with a smile as she handed a cup of dark coffee to the mutant.

  With Freya up, we quickly took care of business. Sorcha and I had the horses fed and saddled in record time, while Darwin and Freya cleaned up the camp and refilled our canteens. When we stepped outside, the early gray light of morning still lingered.

  “This way,” Freya called out as she bounded into the woods.

  We followed as quickly as we could, though neither the humans nor the horses could move as easily through the forest as Freya did. By the time our group stumbled back onto the trail to Pastor, Freya had managed to polish off her breakfast and then find a comfortable spot in a nearby tree to sit and wait for us to catch up.

  “You’re so slow,” Freya teased as we came into view.

  “I’m a septuagenarian,” Darwin huffed. “There’s no way I could keep up with you. I don’t know what excuse these two have.”

  “We didn’t want to leave you behind,” I offered.

  “Great, now people think I need someone to babysit me,” Darwin groused. “Next thing, you’ll be wanting to drop me off at the old folks home.”

  “Oh, gramps,” Freya protested as she slid from the tree. “People don’t do that anymore. Now, they just take them out back and quietly dispose of them.”

  “Geez, what was that movie called?’ Darwin pondered as we started down the trail. “The one where everyone was killed when they hit thirty? There was a Star Trek episode about that, too.”

  “Gramps says they had a youth obsessed culture in the old days,” Freya declared as Darwin tried to remember the name of the movie.

  “Well, that’s when you have the most fun,” Darwin remarked. “And isn’t that what we all want?”

  “I’d just like to stay alive another day,” I replied. “Though fun is good.”

  “Dang, now I’ve got that song stuck in my head,” Darwin grumbled.

  “What song?” Sorcha asked.

  “When the working day is done, oh, girls, they wanna have fun,” Darwin sang in a quavering falsetto.

  “And the boys want big butts,” I added.

  “Ha!” Darwin chortled. “You must have picked that up from Vance. He loves that song.”

  “What weird music you had,” Freya sighed.

  As the sun inched higher, Darwin sang snippets from other songs, most of which seemed as ridiculous as the big butt song, though I had to admit that they were catchy. Darwin called them earworms and promised we wouldn’t be able to forget them. In fact, he warned us that the lyrics would likely pop into our brains at the most inappropriate moments. We all laughed, but then I found myself quietly singing ‘We Are the Champions’ and realized he might be right.

  “Gramps,” Freya warned as she stopped and swiveled her ears.

  Darwin stopped singing, and I didn’t realize how loud we had been until he went silent. The horses snorted and looked around, their ears pricked just like the rabbit woman's.

  “No mages,” Sorcha said quietly as she scanned the forest. “No magic, period.”

  “Mutants,” Freya said as she sniffed the air. “They’re circling around us.”

  “How close?” Darwin asked as he checked the Winchester.

  “Not close enough to shoot,” Freya replied. “Not yet.”

  “Keep moving,” I urged. “Maybe we can make it to Pastor before they catch up.”

  Unfortunately, the trail we were on wasn’t meant for speed, and the mutants that followed us definitely had the advantage. They soon had us surrounded, and a chirping call was the only warning we had. Four mutants launched themselves from the brush, and though we all carried our weapons in our hands by then, only Darwin and I were able to get off shots before they were on us.

  The Glock barked as I fired at a man with large round ears and a rodent’s hairless tail. The man staggered backwards as a black hole opened in the center of his chest and a red bloom spread across his shirt. He collapsed against a tree trunk and twitched for a moment, but I couldn’t spare any more time on him.

  I heard Sorcha cry out and then something growled. I spun around and found Sorcha locked in a death stare with another man, this one with the leathery wings of a bat. I pointed the nine millimeter toward the mutant, but he suddenly sprang into the air, then glided away over the treetops.

  The sound of another Glock rang out, and I turned to see Freya with the gun in her hand and a woman with scales and a wide jaw at her feet. Behind her, Darwin scanned the forest with the scope of the Winchester while he nudged the body of a man with a bushy tail off the trail.

  “Let’s move,” I ordered as I jogged down the track.

  The others fell into step behind me as we tried to pick up our pace, but I could still hear something following us. The rifle cracked again, and a squawk went up, but the rest of the mutants stayed well hidden.

  “Shit,” I muttered as we reached the top of a hill.

  The trail split into two, but there were no handy signs or carved poles to point the way, and the view was nothing but trees and more hills.

  “Darwin,” I called out as a mutant started to chirp nearby.

  I heard paper rustle as Darwin pulled out the cook’s map.

  “Go to the right,” he shouted back.

  That response sent the chirping mutant into a frenzy of calls that drowned out everything else.

  “I’d say they don’t want us to go that way,” Sorcha murmured.

  I gave her a nod, then started down the trail toward the right. I’d only just managed to reach the bottom of the hill when I heard the sound of a very large animal crashing through the woods. It was soon joined by other large animals, and in a moment, it sounded as if they were coming at us from all directions.

  I barely had time to register that the mutant that charged me from the bushes was very tall, very broad shouldered and covered in thick brown fur. Two horns sprouted from the sides of the head, and even as I tried to point the Glock, the mutant lowered his head and charged toward me.

  It was probably a maneuver that had caused a lot of death and injuries among normal people in the past, but armed with the Glock, the mutant charging toward me never had a chance. The nine millimeter roared in my hand, and then the bullet burrowed into the top of the mutant’s head, right between the horns. There was a plume of blood when the hole appeared, and then bone fragments and brain matter flew out. The mutant’s body managed to stumble forward another step, and then it collapsed in front of me.

  Behind me, I heard another thunk as another heavy body crashed to the ground, and I realized that the Winch
ester had fired at the same moment. I started to glance toward the ex-trooper, but two arrows whizzed by my head, and as I faced forward again, I saw the projectiles bury themselves into the chest of a woman the size of a buffalo.

  Another large woman was right behind her, and I fired the Glock as she leapt over the body of her comrade. The sound of Freya’s Glock joined mine as blood spurted into the air and coated everything in a red mist. The second woman groaned as she fell to her knees, but I could hear other creatures closing in, so I sprinted past the pair without another glance.

  I barreled along the trail, faster than it was really safe to do so, but I managed to keep my feet beneath me and my gaze fixed on the thin line of dirt. I was so focused on the trail that I nearly blinded myself as I suddenly emerged from the thick canopy of the woods into a grassy field. I felt myself stumble as I blinked in the suddenly harsh sunlight, but I kept moving forward until I plowed into a wooden fence. I heard a cow moo at the hollow thunk as I hit the top bar, and then I saw Sorcha stumble to a halt next to me.

  “This must be it,” Darwin chuffed as he and Freya broke from the trees with the horses.

  “Run toward the buildings,” I instructed as I spotted a path worn into the grass near the fence.

  With the angry sounds of the mutants behind us, we ran down the path toward the clapboard buildings I could pick out in the distance. The town was larger than I had expected, with a central area crisscrossed by wide roads and farms that appeared to spread out across the entire valley. One lonely home sat at the top of a hill near the edge of the central cluster, but the rest of the area was fairly flat and largely given over to agriculture. And all of it was sandwiched between the mountains that loomed in the distance, and the line of rocky ridges behind us.

  I thought our sudden arrival at the edge of the forest had gone unnoticed, but as we drew closer, I heard a bell start to toll in the church spire. Not long after that, I saw three men in white shirts, black pants, and black hats run toward us with pitchforks in their hands. I finally slowed to a walk and waited for the local men to join us.

  “Freya, your ears,” I heard Darwin whisper.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the mutant replied, but when I glanced back, I saw that she had tucked them beneath her hat and hair once again.

  “They don’t look very welcoming,” Sorcha noted as the men stopped in front of us and blocked our way into the town.

  “Everyone got their guns out of sight?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Darwin agreed.

  “Hello,” I called out as we stopped a few feet from the men. “Is this the town of Pastor?”

  “And who are you?” the man in the middle demanded in a strange accent.

  All three men looked very similar, with dark brown hair, bushy, short beards, pale, angry eyes, and square heads balanced on thick necks and broad shoulders. They held the pitchforks like weapons, and I had no doubt that more than a few unwanted trespassers had been skewered with them in the past.

  “My name is Hex Theriot,” I offered. “The cook…”

  “Myrna,” Darwin added helpfully. “Myrna Thompson.”

  “Right, Myrna,” I agreed. “She gave us a map to this place. She said you would be able to provide us a safe place to stay for the night.”

  Another round of chirping filtered down from the forest, and I saw all three men scowl at the sound.

  “The demons have followed you here,” the man in the middle noted with more than a trace of anger.

  “They tried to keep us from reaching this place,” I replied as I tried not to look over my shoulder. “They clearly fear you and the… angel that protects you.”

  My mention of the angel triggered an intense discussion among the three men, all in a language I didn’t recognize. I glanced at Sorcha, who listened for several moments, then shrugged when she couldn’t place it, either.

  “What do you know of Michael?” the middle man demanded.

  “He protects this town,” I replied. “That’s all Myrna could tell us.”

  “We know Myrna,” the man on the right admitted. “She is not a fool.”

  “She is not,” I agreed.

  “Why did she send you here?” the man on the right asked with considerably less animosity than the other two.

  “We’re traveling west,” I explained. “After we helped the town, she suggested that this would be a better place to rest and recover than Pontius. She also said you would know a shorter way to reach Scranton-Barre.”

  Another consultation in the strange language took place, and I once again started to have my doubts about the cook’s advice. I had no idea what we would do if they wouldn’t let us into the town, and as I studied the valley while they talked, I realized we were completely surrounded by the forest. The idea of fighting my way along many more miles of narrow trail was not appealing.

  “We do not have many visitors to this place,” the middle man finally declared. “But Myrna is correct that we offer a place of refuge for those who find us. Come, before the demons decide to follow you any further.”

  The middle man turned around abruptly and started to walk toward the town. The man on the right gave us a brief smile, then fell into step next to me and Sorcha while the last man followed at the rear. As we got closer to the town, I could smell bread baking and horses nearby, and hear the distinctive sounds of hammers and saws, and the hum of human voices.

  Our guide led us past whitewashed homes and a small school, toward a small farm where goats and sheep gamboled in a field. I could pick out a crowd of people, mostly men in the same white shirts and black pants, and after a few seconds, I realized what I was watching.

  “A barn raising!” I laughed. “It’s been ages since I’ve done one.”

  “You’re familiar with barn raisings?” the man next to me asked in surprise.

  “Sure,” I assured him. “I’ve done more than my share while working the trails.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to help, then,” the man suggested with a laugh, though when I glanced at him, I could see that he waited for the answer with a serious expression.

  “Be happy to,” I declared. “It’ll be nice to wrap my hands around a hammer again.”

  The man studied my face for a moment and then smiled again.

  “I’m Abram, by the way,” the man offered. “And that’s Eli. The man in the back is Isaac.”

  “You must have someone in that church spire keeping watch on the roads,” I said.

  “A necessary precaution,” Abram replied. “But, come, let’s find some water for you and your companions, and if you’re serious about helping, then I’m sure we could find some work for you.”

  Eli and Isaac seemed less enthusiastic about our assistance, a feeling that was initially mirrored by the rest of the town. The happy air of the barn raising turned chilly as we approached the gathering, and more than a few frowns were cast our way. But Eli led us past everyone to an old elm tree where an ancient looking man rocked in a beautifully crafted rocking chair.

  “Jacob,” Eli said as we stopped in front of the man. “These travelers have come from Tucker, sent by Myrna Thompson. They seek a place to rest for tonight and the road to Scranton-Barre in the morning.”

  Jacob regarded us from one gray eye for several moments, all while he rocked gently back and forth.

  “You must have done something quite amazing to earn Myrna’s trust,” Jacob finally mumbled. “Perhaps you’ll share that story at dinner tonight.”

  “We’d be happy to,” I replied. “And as I told Abram, I’d like to help with the barn raising as well.”

  Jacob gummed his lips for several moments, then finally nodded.

  “Extra hands are always welcome,” Jacob replied as he lifted a hand and pointed toward the barn.

  “Come on, then,” Abram said as he clapped me on the back. “Let’s find that hammer for you.”

  Darwin and I followed Abram toward the rest of the work crew, while two of the women approached Freya and Sorcha and
led them toward a group of picnic tables that had been set up nearby. The local women and the younger children were near the tables, and I saw the townswomen gather around the newcomers with smiles and plates of food, while two of the boys took the reins for the horses and led them toward some of the other farm animals.

  The old man and I shook hands with several of the men, though I lost track of all of the names past the third man introduced as Frederick. After gulping down water from a pair of flasks, we were led toward a group that was finishing up one of the walls. We were soon pounding away with the rest of the crew, and it wasn’t until we had pounded the last nail into place and were ready to lift the wall into position that I had a moment to look around.

  The town itself looked prosperous and well tended, with several major streets, the church whose spire looked out over the valley, and a collection of homes and businesses that were clean and tidy. The only oddity in the whole thing was the people themselves. All of the men, from the youngest boy to Jacob, who still sat in the rocking chair, all wore the same white shirts, black pants and black hats, and had the same strange beards. Those boys too young to help with the barn also wore black jackets, and I suspected that the rest of the men would put their own black jackets back on once we’d finished work on the barn.

  As for Sorcha and Freya, the Irishwoman and rabbit woman stood out like a pair of peacocks among the hens in their pants and shirts. The townswomen all wore long dresses in shades of blue and black, small white bonnets, and kept their hair tucked out of sight. Sorcha almost blended in, with the dark blue shirt she’d opted to wear that morning, but the dark brown pants, gray jacket and unpinned blonde mane made it clear she wasn’t one of the locals. As for Freya, her browns and dusty greens may have been designed to help her blend into her surroundings, but here she stood out like a sore thumb.

  “Why is everyone dressed the same?” I whispered to Darwin as we moved into our appointed spots for the raising of the walls.

  “Tradition,” Darwin replied. “They stopped trying to follow the latest fashions a couple of centuries ago.”