Gun Mage 3: Surviving a Post Apocalyptic Magic Earth

by Logan Jacobs

  We’d only made it past the second cross street when the church bell started to toll. Timothy stopped and looked back, and the rest of us followed suit. A moment later, I smelled a faint whiff of smoke and looked around.

  “There,” Freya said as she pointed toward the mountains. “In one of the fields.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Freya,” Timothy declared. “But I have to go help.”

  Our guide ran back to the church and was soon joined by a small army of other Amish. The four of us looked at each other, uncertain what to do. As we stood by the side of the road, I spotted a youngster ride into town on a lathered horse. He bolted past us and yanked the horse to a halt outside the church. Curious, the four of us ran back to the church, where the kid had tumbled from the saddle and was being helped to his feet by passersby.

  “Demons!” the kid cried out. “They’ve attacked our farm and the Stoltzfus place next to ours.”

  A few in the crowd gasped, but the kid was quickly hustled inside the church before he could say anything else.

  “Mutants,” I guessed. “Did they attack because of us?”

  “Does it matter?” Sorcha asked. “We can help.”

  I glanced at Darwin and Freya, who both nodded.

  “But I’d still like to be out of here today, if we can,” Darwin added.

  “Let’s go offer our services,” I suggested as I ran up the steps and plunged back into the dark church.

  Two older men stood near Buddy Christ and were issuing instructions to the rest of the Amish. As each group got their orders, they ran from the building. After a few moments, I heard barking in the streets and realized that Simon must have arrived with the town’s Weimaraners. A moment later, the red-headed man charged inside. He was besieged by a crowd of men, and the whole lot quickly returned to the street, and bit by bit, the sound of the barking dogs drifted away.

  When there was a break in the flow of people, I approached the two men who seemed to be in charge. They were talking quietly to each other in Amish, but they stopped when they saw me approach. I wouldn’t say they looked unfriendly, but they were certainly leery.

  “My friends and I can help,” I offered. “We’ve fought demons before.”

  The Amish exchanged a look, and then one of the men started to shake his head. Before he could utter his denial, the bell started to toll again. I hadn’t even realized that it had stopped until that moment, and I glanced upward as the hollow sound echoed through the church.

  The men looked at each other in concern and confusion, and then the church door swung open again. Eli, or maybe Isaac, stood in the entryway with a thunderous expression.

  “It’s another group of demons,” he declared. “Out near Jacob Miller’s place.”

  “We can help,” I asserted as I turned to look at the men. “And it sounds like you might need it.”

  After another shared look, the man who had been on the verge of turning us away finally nodded.

  “We can follow your people,” Darwin declared as he started to pull me toward the door.

  The Amish men ignored us after that, and Darwin pulled me back into the sunlight and the street filled with rushing people. Freya and Sorcha followed us back outside, where the bays watched the excitement with interest. Freya untied the reins from the post, and Darwin directed us to a grassy plot on the side of the church. We were on the side where Helga and Leonard’s little house stood, and I spotted the shed where I had spent most of the night. I tried not to blush as I pictured Sorcha’s lovely body on the bed, but something must have given me away because both women smirked at me.

  “Okay, I wanted to get us out of sight before we started handing out weapons,” Darwin announced, apparently oblivious to the looks I’d received from Sorcha and Freya. “Freya, I’ll add some ammo to the Glock, but you might want to take one of the rifles as well.”

  “I’ll take the Winchester,” she replied. “I saw a couple of spots where I can get a look at anyone trying to sneak into the valley.”

  “I still have my Glock,” I added. “And I’ll probably create a Winchester as well.”

  “I’ll have the Mossberg,” Darwin mused. “And if you could pony up a revolver for me, I’d appreciate it.”

  Sorcha had pulled the bow and quiver from our supplies during our conversation, and I saw her frown as she rejoined our group.

  “I don’t suppose you know how to make arrows,” she asked as she looked through the quiver.

  “Oooh, we are running low,” Freya noted.

  “Take the Maverick,” Darwin suggested. “It’s only two shots, it’s easy to handle, and you can use it only if you run out of arrows.”

  Sorcha looked uncertain, but the bell started to toll again, and she nodded. Darwin quickly loaded the weapons we already had while I produced a Winchester seventy for myself and a Colt revolver for Darwin. Darwin gave Sorcha a quick lesson on how to handle the Maverick while Freya moved the horses into Helga and Leonard’s stable, and then we were ready to move.

  Freya left us first as she sprinted toward a line of hills that spread out from the rocky ridgeline. A few moments later, Darwin followed a group of men who were running toward a plume of smoke, while Sorcha and I joined a crowd that was heading toward the mountains.

  It was easy to spot the farm that was under attack. A crowd of Amish men were already there, armed with pitchforks and bows, and they were locked in combat with a group of mutants. Unlike the lot we had encountered in the forest, most of these mutants appeared nearly normal, and they were armed with swords and crossbows, just like any band of scavengers.

  Sorcha joined the fray first as she unleashed a pair of arrows that took out a mutant man with short striped fur on his head rather than hair. I fired next as I picked out a woman who had knocked down one of the Amish men with a swift kick and had raised her sword for the death blow. The woman had short brown hairs over most of her body and a long tusk on either side of her nose. Her hands looked more webbed than human, and then I realized it was because they were supposed to be hooves, like the feral hogs she shared traits with. The snap of the Winchester sounded heavy in the cold air and the puff of smoke lingered longer than usual, but the bullet traveled at its usual lightning speed, and the woman toppled backward as her chest exploded. Blood and chunks of meat flew out in a broad pattern that coated everything nearby.

  I’d expected the Amish, at least, to react to the sound of the rifle, but the men didn’t react at all. I had a second to consider how odd that was, but then I saw another Amish man fall down with a crossbow bolt in his shoulder. As I peered through the scope, I quickly found the mutant responsible near the edge of the fighting, and I could see he was about to fire his next bolt. I fired just before he did, and I saw the crossbow bolt jerk up as the bullet found its mark and the bolt sailed harmlessly high into a tree trunk. Half of the mutant’s head was gone, and I could see the skull and part of the brain as the mutant collapsed to its knees and then fell face forward into the field.

  I heard a boom nearby then, and I realized that Sorcha must have pulled out the Maverick. I glanced around and saw the Irish mage just to my right with the body of a mutant nearby, its chest covered in blood and a red pool rapidly forming beneath the body. I saw that the quiver was already empty, and I felt a moment of panic when I remembered that she only had one shot left.

  I started to move toward Sorcha’s side when another thunderous clap echoed across the fields. At first, I thought it was another gun, but the Amish men started to chant the name Michael even as they increased the fury of their attack. A moment later, several fireballs rained down on the scene, and the mutants slowly started to retreat.

  “Where the hell did those come from?” I asked as I skidded to a stop next to the Irishwoman.

  “Look!” Sorcha hissed as she pointed behind us.

  I turned around to see a man standing at the top of the hill where the odd house sat. He was clothed in a loose-fitting shirt and pants dyed dark red that fluttered in the
breeze, and his chest was covered with a metal plate that flashed in the sunlight. He hovered a foot or so above the ground, and as I watched, I saw him launch another round of fireballs with one hand while he held a burning sword in the other.

  “Mage?” I asked suspiciously as the fireballs streaked toward us.

  “Definitely,” Sorcha confirmed.

  “So much for not trusting mages,” I murmured.

  “Hex,” Sorcha whispered. “I think that’s Michael.”

  “The guardian angel?”

  “That’s why they haven’t chased him out,” she replied. “They don’t realize he’s a mage.”

  “Crud,” I muttered.

  Chapter 8

  The mutants were in rapid retreat by then, but the Amish men didn’t follow. They watched the fireballs crash into the attackers and set two of the mutants on fire. The scent of burning flesh filled the air as the mutants screamed in agony before they fell to the ground. Their companions left the smoldering bodies behind as they scattered and ran back toward the forest. A few arrows followed them, but the battle was over, and the Amish quickly turned to help their own people.

  “Thank you for your help,” one of the Amish men said when he caught sight of me and Sorcha. He took in the guns but said nothing else as he jogged away to help put out some of the flames.

  “So, Michael is a mage,” I murmured as I turned to study the hill.

  The mage was still there, though he had settled on the ground and the flaming sword was now just a simple blade. His head swiveled slowly as he scanned the surrounding valley for any more mutants, and apparently satisfied with what he saw, he turned and retreated back toward the house. It was hard to pick out much detail, but I could see curly dark hair, a youthful face, and no sign of the beard that the Amish men favored.

  “Hex,” Sorcha murmured.

  I turned back to the battlefield and saw that the Amish had stopped their efforts and turned to face the hill. As the mage retreated with his cape swirling behind him in dramatic fashion, the Amish offered thanks for their safe delivery to their god and to his servant, the angel Michael. Sorcha and I watched silently until the service was done and the men renewed their clean-up efforts.

  “Was that Michael?” I asked a young Amish man who stopped near us to put out a few embers.

  “It was,” the Amish man replied. “Thanks be to God for his swift justice.”

  “Ummm, right,” I said as I glanced toward the hill.

  “But he’s just a mage,” Sorcha added. “A fire mage, primarily, but he also has some wind skills as well.”

  The Amish man reared back as if he had been struck. He glared at Sorcha, then looked around to see if anyone else had heard what she had said.

  “Do not blaspheme the angel,” the man warned.

  “But…” Sorcha started to protest.

  “Maybe he just reminds us of a fire mage,” I quickly interjected. “But the mages certainly don’t look anything like that. He is most definitely an angel.”

  Sorcha looked at me like I had lost my mind, but the Amish man seemed to consider my words. After a moment, the man slowly nodded, then made his way toward a pair of men helping one of the injured. I saw him say something, and then all of the nearby Amish turned to look at us.

  “I’ll go see if they need a hand,” I told the Irish mage.

  Sorcha nodded, though she turned to study the hill and the house that sat atop it. I glanced back as well and took in the odd scene. In a town where everything was kept neat and in excellent condition, the house seemed oddly dilapidated. It was a two-story wood structure, with tall, narrow windows, a small front porch, and a steeply slanted roof. The basic structure was simple, like the rest of the town, though someone had tried to add a bit of flair by having the front entryway jut out from the main structure. It looked dark and vaguely menacing, even in bright sunlight.

  “How can we help?” I asked as I approached the men.

  I was greeted with a frosty silence at first, but one of the men finally stood up and nodded toward the town.

  “We have things in hand here,” the man said, “but if you wouldn’t mind heading back to the church, you could let them know that we have two people who have been injured who will need the services of the doctor.”

  “We can do that,” I agreed quickly.

  I stepped away from the group and returned to Sorcha, who stared at the house like she could make the angel Michael appear if she squinted hard enough.

  “They asked us to head back into town and let them know they need a doctor,” I noted as I stopped next to the Irishwoman.

  “I can’t believe they don’t realize he’s just a mage,” Sorcha replied with a frown.

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter,” I pointed out. “He protects this town, no matter what they call him. So let’s deliver our message, see if we can find the others, and get out of here.”

  “I suppose,” Sorcha conceded. “Though it does seem odd. Why would he go through this charade?”

  “So they don’t attack him,” I guessed as I started to walk back toward the town. “I mean, they might be peaceful, but you saw how quickly they went after the mutants. And they were organized about it, so they’ve had some practice.”

  “But was he born here?” Sorcha mused. “Is that why he defends them?”

  “It would make sense,” I agreed. “And it’s not like this place is easy to find.”

  “So when did he discover he was an angel?” Sorcha continued. “The way the Amish have talked about him, it sounded like he came here as an adult.”

  “Is it really that important if we’re leaving?” I sighed.

  “No,” Sorcha admitted. “It’s just strange is all. Like the fact that we’re walking along with two guns, which we fired, and not one Amish reacted either to the sound of the guns or to the fact that we have them.”

  “Out here, the Magesterium may not have collected all of the guns,” I remarked.

  “Then where are they?” Sorcha pressed. “And again, they’re supposed to be peaceful. They’re not supposed to have guns.”

  “Okay, okay,” I laughed. “You’ve convinced me that there’s something weird going on here. How is that any different from anywhere else we’ve been so far?”

  “It’s not,” Sorcha sighed. “But it makes me worried that there’s a mage here, even if he is posing as an angel. It’s unlikely, but he could be in contact with the Magesterium. Maybe this is their way of keeping an eye on the Amish.”

  “Seems rather elaborate for the Magesterium,” I mused. “I think it’s more likely that he’s a rogue mage who found a situation he could take advantage of that was too good to pass up on.”

  “He must have known something about the old religion in order to pass himself off as an angel,” Sorcha added.

  We were closer to the town by that point, and more people were moving quickly along the roads. A few stopped to ask what had happened, and we explained what we could, and again, no one commented on the guns we openly carried. By the time we arrived at the church, word had spread ahead of us, and Frederick was on the front steps ready to greet us even as a man with a medical bag was climbing into a horse and buggy.

  “There were two people who needed a doctor,” I noted as the buggy started to pull away.

  “Already on his way,” Frederick assured me.

  “At least we managed to fight them off before any real damage could be done to the farmhouse,” I replied. “How did it go at the other locations?”

  “I’m afraid there was damage to a barn, and one of the houses has burned,” Frederick replied as he shook his head. “But no lives were lost, and for that we thank our protector, Michael.”

  “He was quite impressive,” I agreed.

  “As were you, I imagine,” Frederick said with a nod toward the guns. “It has been a very long time since we saw such weapons.”

  “But you don’t seem very shocked,” Sorcha pointed out.

  “Out here, we do not
judge how people choose to protect themselves, especially with so many demons and sorcerers now free in the world,” Frederick replied. “As you saw, we have ourselves been forced to take up arms to battle these spawns of the devil. Our ancestors would be surprised by that, I know, and probably even offended. But we must adapt to survive.”

  “Tell us about Michael,” I prodded. “When did he arrive?”

  “The angel was sent to us a few winters ago, when we suffered through a particularly harsh growing season,” Frederick murmured as he looked toward the hill. “We lost many good people that winter, and we would have lost more. But Michael appeared one morning, on the edge of the town, and said that he had been sent by God. We were skeptical at first, but then he created fires that would keep us warm through the worst of the winter and drew life from the soil once again.”

  “And you’d never seen him before?” I asked.

  “Only in the Holy Book,” Frederick said with a smile. “But come, your friend Freya has already returned, and her grandfather will no doubt be here soon.”

  Frederick ushered us inside the church which was still a hive of activity. Jacob the elder was there as well, ensconced in a pew near the front. Freya sat next to him, and though I couldn’t see her face, I could see the tension in the line of her shoulders. Several Amish were gathered nearby, and it was obvious that Jacob was issuing instructions to each person.

  “Glad to see you’re okay,” I declared as Sorcha and I reached the front of the church.

  Freya practically leapt from the pew and gave us each a quick hug.

  “Same here,” she replied. “Still waiting for gramps to get back. Jacob here was just about to dispatch teams to help at each of the sites.”

  “We just saw the doctor heading out,” I mentioned. “How did it go at your location?”

  “Fine,” Freya replied with a sideways glance toward Jacob. “I got off three good shots with the Winchester and plugged another one with the Glock.”

  “I’m afraid we’re out of arrows,” Sorcha noted. “We’ll have to collect more before we leave.”

  “We can help with that,” Jacob interrupted. “Though I’m not sure why you would bother with a bow when you have the guns.”