Cowboy Necromancer 2: Infinite Dark: (A Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG Fantasy), page 25
“Well?” Sterling asked once the Chronicler didn’t respond, the man puffing his pipe for a moment as he observed the mountains. “Are we going to set up camp here, or are we moving on?”
“There.” The researcher pointed his pipe at a hillside crested with trees, Sterling making out the rooftops of a few homes, or perhaps a single home that had multiple buildings. “That’s where we will go.”
“Are they friendly?” Roxie asked. “Or should I trail the group so I have some range?”
“I have stayed there before. It must have been…” He nodded his head. “Yes, maybe two and a half years ago. A man named Joe Ray Bjurstrom owns the place, and a few families live in the surrounding buildings. Last I recall, the Angels of Woe don’t give them any trouble, mostly because of their goat products. The place looks different than it did a couple of years ago,” he said, his brows furrowing. “It took me a moment to place it. It’s like the trees have grown taller or something, or perhaps they have gotten better at hiding their location. Either way, that’s where we go. And let me do the talking. One other thing…”
“What’s that?” Sterling asked as he placed a hand on the grip of his magical revolver.
“Put your weapons away, and don’t threaten anyone, at least not initially. These are good enough people, and we should treat them as such.”
“And you think they will be okay with us just showing up and telling them we got plans for the Angels of Woe down in Morgan?” Sterling asked. “You said they were trading partners.”
“Perhaps,” said the Chronicler, “but no one in these parts likes being told what to do, and the Angels of Woe are the type of group that tells others what to do. They prefer the situation that many have with the Oracle and the Serpents of Paradise. It’s akin to the way the United States was originally set up, at least in a way, with each group holding jurisdiction over its own area.”
“So instead of a group of mancers ruling with an iron fist, they want some telemancer giving them quasi-Biblical visions and whatnot, is that what you’re telling me?” Sterling asked as they started toward the hill in question.
“Different strokes for different folks, but yes, and don’t forget that I also work with the Oracle.”
“But you don’t believe she’s actually a Nephite or anything, do you?”
“I don’t, no, but I have seen the best come from the way she has organized things, and by best I mean the least amount of killing and turf warfare. There’s not many people left,” the Chronicler said with a hint of sadness in his voice. “And many of those that are left seem hell-bent on killing one another. At least the Oracle and what she’s doing has a way of banding people together rather than turning them into enemies. In the future, when Comancheria grows its reach, something like that will come in handy, and I predict what’s left of the Angels of Woe will eventually come around and join the Oracle. But that’s just me. These are the hopes and dreams of an old man.”
For some reason, this made Sterling laugh. “Better than going around doomsdaying like I do half the time.”
“That’s because you’re Skeleton Man,” said Paco. “It’s who you are.”
It wasn’t pretty. Nothing about what Sterling and his group came across was what they had expected to find. What was once a simple goat farm had now become a slaughterhouse. The place had been picked over; it was clear from the way the bodies were arranged they had been killed execution style, likely after being forced to empty their inventory lists.
“Shee-it…” Sterling mumbled as he looked beyond toward the city of Morgan, already knowing who was responsible.
The goat farm, which was actually a collection of small homes with matching fire engine red paint and cast in a forest of pine, had a direct view of the city below. The people who had lived here had even arranged sets of tires for them to sit in so they could keep a watchful eye on Morgan, Sterling imagining them seeing mancers come and go in dune buggies and ATVs, the Angels of Woe on the move and fanning out, deeper into Nomadland.
And now, they were all dead.
Roxie had already moved from her position in the passenger seat to clear the area, the hooded woman known for her killer instinct cursing under her breath for not hopping out earlier. The Chronicler, who sat directly behind Sterling, let out a deep sigh.
“And so it goes…” he said as he chewed on his pipe. “And so it goes…”
“Look on the bright side, we ain’t going to have any trouble staying here for the night,” said Sterling, trying to make light of a very dark situation. “I will see what I can figure out from these here bodies. Do they look old?”
Paco shook his head “They look all ages.”
“No, I mean how long they’ve been lying there. If the blood is too congealed, my power won’t work.”
Sterling got out of the dune buggy and adjusted his black cowboy hat, anger yet again rising in him once he took in the senseless killing, a not insignificant part of him wishing that he could summon Manchester from his inventory list and ride on down to Morgan and handle whoever had done this.
But it was best to go with the plan.
As impulsive as he could be at times when it came to leveling the playing field, Sterling knew better than to go in guns-a-blazing, especially if there were mancers down there. Then again, the only reason they needed to go to the city in the first place was to locate Zephyr. Maybe if he started a loud enough ruckus, she would make her presence known without them having to do much else.
Then they could get on with it, heading further south into Nomadland.
“Y’all see if Roxie needs anything,” Sterling told Paco and the Sunflower Kid. “I’ll see what I can figure out here.” For extra security, he summoned Beep, the miniature Godwalker that the Sunflower Kid had named Strawberry still with a face painted across its smooth, front surface. “Beep, you keep an eye out too.”
“Come on, Strawberry,” the Sunflower Kid told the bin-sized monolith. “You can stick with us.”
The Chronicler was the last to get out of the dune buggy, the bucket-hatted older man making a beeline over to the bodies that had been arranged, all facing down, the backs of their heads blown off. There were flies, there was viscera, something had been eating at any exposed flesh, not to mention all the other critters and creepy-crawlies, mosquitoes and whatever little carnivores they had in the mountains outside of Morgan.
It didn’t smell great, Sterling holding his breath a bit as he approached. “We’ll bury them after. It’s the proper thing to do.”
“Yes, I believe that would be…” The Chronicler sent his pipe away. “I can grab a shovel.”
“No, there’s no need for that. Once the Sunflower Kid returns, I’ll have her deal with it the easy way. What would take us a good hour will only take her a few minutes. Now…” Sterling waved some of the flies away, the smell overwhelming to the point that he pulled a bandanna out of his inventory list and tied it around his face. “Let’s see if we can’t find us a little blood and figure out what happened here.”
“Such a fascinating power,” the Chronicler told him, the man now covering his mouth and nostrils with the collar of his shirt.
“It’s helpful, I’ll give it that. But I need me some fresh blood to make it happen.” Sterling withdrew his sickle-sword and, as respectfully as he could, made a few cuts on the first body, a teenager no older than fifteen or sixteen. No blood. This one had been dead a while, which led him to believe that the killing had taken place over some time. “What’d you say the man’s name was? The one who lives here?”
“Joe Ray Bjurstrom.”
“Joe Ray. And that’s him? That big feller?” Sterling motioned toward the largest of the six bodies.
“That’s him.”
“I thought you said there were others living here too. There are a few more compounds…” Sterling gestured with his sword at the rest of the property.
“There were; maybe they all left.”
“Or maybe they were tipped off somehow. Who knows. Either way, it just seems to be this family. Let’s see if papa here gots a little blood left in him.”
Sterling made a few cut marks, focusing on the front of the body, which was pressed into the ground. He was finally able to get a small puddle that would do.
“Here goes nothing…” Sterling lifted his hand over the puddle of blood and slowly curled his fingers.
The surface began to boil as a face came together, the Chronicler moving just a bit closer to Sterling so he could observe his blood magic power in action.
“You Joe Ray?” Sterling asked the face that had finally formed, a jowly one, slick and wet.
“Hell yeah, I’m Joe goddamn Ray,” said the apparition. “And who the hell is asking? Why the hell are you on my property?”
Sterling smirked.
“Well?” Joe Ray asked.
“Usually, people I conjure are bewildered.”
“Conjure? Bewildered? You bet your ass I am bewildered!” said Joe Ray. “But I’m also pissed. Real dang pissed. Them sons of bitches came up here and killed all my goats for one, robbed us blind… And… who are you? What do you want? You’re one of them, ain’t you?”
“No, sir,” Sterling said as he respectfully removed his cowboy hat. “And I’m sorry to see what happened to you and your kin. Tell you what though, if you let me know who did this, and what they are capable of, I’ll make sure to send them to wherever you are, and you can give them the ass whooping they deserve once they get down there.”
“Bunch of no good mancers!”
“Angels of Woe?” Sterling asked. “Out of Morgan?”
“That’s right. And to think that we’ve been friendly with them folks for years now. They came here drunk and whatnot, the things they did to my… to my kids…”
“Must have been real tough, but don’t you worry about that. Let me know who they are, and what they are capable of, and I’ll do what needs to be done.” Sure, Sterling had other things he needed to do, like find the rest of his team, but if the people who did this were in the same direction as Zephyr, he would see to it that they were handled.
He only hoped that Zephyr wasn’t part of it.
“You’d really do that?”
“Sure would. Now that I have your attention,” he told the bloody apparition, “wasn’t no aeromancer with them, was there? No wind whipping around, right?”
“No, nothing like that. It was a gaiamancer…”
“Them people are all over these parts,” Sterling said. “What’s up with Deseret and all these dang gaiamancers?” he asked the Chronicler.
“They seem to thrive here because of the terrain, and the power that they are able to harness.”
“Makes sense…”
“A gaiamancer, a hydromancer, and two pyromancers. They had some locals with them as well, ones I didn’t recognize,” Joe Ray told him. “You give them hell for me. I’m serious, stranger. If you are really going to go down there, don’t forget what they did here.”
“Don’t you worry about that part, Joe Ray,” Sterling assured the apparition. “I’ve got other business in Morgan, but we will see to them folks as well, and put a hurting on them when we do. What else do I need to know? We don’t have much more time.”
“Best time to attack will be in the morning. All of them fools like to party hard at night, carting in people from the area for nefarious purposes and whatnot. They ain’t drunk every night, but most nights. Best time is morning.”
“Any idea where I can find the particular group that attacked you here?” Sterling asked as he caught a glimpse of Roxie heading back in his direction.
“That’s what makes it even worse. I know this group. All of them stay on the outside of town, taking shifts with the guards on the western side of the city. You can’t miss it if you go down there. I used to do business with them, you know; best place to trade my goat milk and cheese. Did they take everything?”
“As far as we can tell,” Sterling said as Roxie gave him a short nod.
“Well, I got me a stash of the good stuff behind the barn that has a red door. I’m sure they didn’t get that. Got some milk down there, some cheese, some meat in an old bunker built by the crazies that used to live here. Always wondered if those crazies were me! Just kidding, I picked this place up after the Rapture…” His form started to waver. “Hey! What’s happening…?”
“Our time here is up, unless there is something else you need to say,” Sterling told the man, realizing he could just conjure him again if need be.
“I’ve said my piece. Good luck, friend, and give them hell for me and mine.”
“Same to you once they get down there.”
As night spread over Deseret, Sterling hunkered down on a rocking chair in front of one of the main homesteads, the front porch recently built, plastic bottles filled with sweet syrup hanging from beams. The bottles were filled with dead wasps, the family having come up with a clever way to keep the stinging little bastards off their backs.
From what he could tell, everything in the little homestead had been repurposed in clever ways, including another seating area across from Sterling with upholstered chairs from what he believed was a minivan or an SUV. The candles that lit the place were made of shoestrings and animal fat, and a half-built deer blind about a quarter of a mile away told Sterling that the family had hunted relatively close to home.
The place was downright cozy, and he felt bad they were all dead now.
“Just don’t seem right,” he said as he smoked a cigarette an hour or so later, Beep floating around the property while the others rested. The plan was to head into town early in the morning and take care of business, a challenge of sorts.
Feeling melancholic, he gave his cancer stick a final puff before putting it out in an old glass beer bottle.
He ended up dozing off in the rocking chair, only to be awoken a few hours later when Roxie came and placed a quilt over him. The urge to reach out to her and bring the woman into his arms passed, Sterling not certain if they would ever have that kind of relationship again.
“I thought you would be up,” she said as she stared down at him, the hood of her poncho over her head and obscuring her troubled features.
“Wrong, I was fast asleep; just remembering what life used to be like before it all went to shit.”
“Is that so?” she asked as she placed a hand on his shoulder.
Sterling looked up at her. “At least from what I can remember. It’s nice out here; I didn’t have a rocking chair back at my place in T or C. I thought I’d gone country, but apparently not country enough. You know what? I think I’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
“I’m keeping this here rocking chair once we leave. Wherever we go now, you’re going to see my haggard ass rocking when I get a chance. My new thing.”
“We can strap you to the top of the dune buggy and you can ride up there with a gun in your lap. That would be a sight…”
“Heh. That would be something, wouldn’t it? Speaking of getting strapped up, what are you doing awake, Rox?”
“Checking my weapons, for one, and I was planning to go down there and have a look at the outer limits of Morgan, just to get the lay of the land.”
“You know I’m all for having a plan, but with Beep and this biomancer I have in my inventory list, and that’s not to mention the Sunflower Kid or Paco, them Angels are going to have one hell of a time trying to put us down.”
“It’s better to be prepared.” Roxie knocked her fist against his cowboy hat.
“Hey,” he called after her, but she was already gone, the woman disappearing into the night and now with a sniper rifle over her shoulder. He thought about going with her, but there was really no sense in it, not when he was nice and comfortable in his rocking chair.
He fell asleep once again, the wind whistling through the trees that surrounded the house, the air with that pretty scent it got when the temperature dropped, Sterling feeling warm under the quilt that Roxie had given him.
It was a few hours later that Sterling blinked his eyes open to find the Sunflower Kid standing before him, the teenager now with black hair that had been cut short across her eyes, the bangs framing her face. “Everyone is getting ready,” she said.
“Damn, you spooked me,” Sterling told her, even though he hadn’t really flinched. He’d figured someone would wake him up. “You sleep all right, Kid?”
“There was a tree house; I slept in there,” she said, referring to the deer blind.
“And Paco? He okay?”
“He slept in the living room inside; the Chronicler too. We are ready.”
“You told me that already,” Sterling said as he followed her down the steps of the porch. “And remember, we ain’t trying to kill everyone in town, just the mancers at the front gate.”
“Roxie already told us the plan.”
“Shee-it…” They reached the others. Roxie was standing next to Beep, who still had a face painted on its front surface. Paco was crouched and eating some of the goat cheese they had procured, the Chronicler smoking his pipe nearby, his eyes trained on Morgan in the distance.
“Let’s make this fast,” Sterling told the group. “It would be nice to be in and out before eight or nine rolls around. Wishful thinking on my part, maybe, but it would be nice…”
“And I will be staying back, as discussed,” the Chronicler said. “I’m not really the fighting type.”
“Didn’t figure as much, and I mean no offense by that, Dusty. We’ll handle it, and then grab you before we head toward whatever cliff dwellings you want to check out. Let’s move.”
As they came out of the trees, Sterling caught up with Roxie.
“Nothing to report back,” she said, anticipating what he wanted to ask about her trip last night to the town.
“See? I told you.”
“The entrance is as guarded as, say, Las Cruces. They’ve got a few buildings around the highway and a little fence line they’ve set up. I think much of their intimidation tactics come from who actually lives in the town, rather than the barriers erected.”
