Cowboy Necromancer 2: Infinite Dark: (A Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG Fantasy), page 39
One by one, each of the members of the group nodded, starting with Sterling, then the Sunflower Kid, Paco, and Zephyr. Even Beep made its presence known.
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
“No, that’s not exactly true. You have a choice, amigo, but you need to make it now. Because once we get down there, there ain’t going to be time for no second-guessing. We either go forward as a team and do what needs to be done, or…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
“If you aren’t coming with us, we’re going to leave you here,” Zephyr said flatly, Roxie making a noise with her throat to indicate that she agreed. “For some reason, you weren’t brave enough to come down this mountain yourself; so maybe we will leave you for the next person to find. I don’t know. But you need to make a decision now. This isn’t something that you’re going to be able to change your mind about.”
“I never said I was going to change my mind,” Maron told her, growing defensive. “What was your name again?”
“Zephyr. People call me Zee.”
Maron exhaled audibly. “For the record, Zee, I can be somewhat timid, but… but none of you really know what I’ve been through, or what I know about these things. You haven’t seen,” he said, his voice tinged in fear. “A lot of it is hard for me to put into words, but what I’m trying to say here is—and I’m sorry it’s a roundabout way—I’m ready. Or better, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Sterling offered the technomancer his hand. “That’s all we needed to hear, amigo. Welcome to the team. Now, let’s git.”
Getting down from Mount Tuk wasn’t going to be too difficult considering Zephyr’s power, but the base didn’t seem too far away, and Sterling wasn’t in the mood to fly again if he didn’t have to. So most of them ended up walking, knowing that they were wasting daylight, but also well aware that by the time they got back to the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, supper would likely be ready and they could set off in the morning.
No sense in rushing back.
Paco walked with Sterling, as did the Sunflower Kid, Beep, and Maron, Roxie taking to the air, the aeromancer handling flights so neither had to use their mana. They wound their way down the mountain, Sterling coming to understand the new part of his blood magic power, one that hadn’t happened before. The six animates that he had called forth and sent out with weapons all met him in the woods as if he had summoned them, taking the others off guard.
“It’s like you are telepathically linked with them,” said Paco.
“Something like that.” Sterling sent the animates that he had picked up in Midway back to his inventory list after collecting their guns, which he planned to get back to Roxie.
As they continued on, he thought about what Maron had been able to do. What did it mean to be alive when someone could simply transfer their soul, their being itself, to an electronic object? What were the extents of his powers?
Smoking a cigarette, enjoying the walk down, the altitude slowly changing, Sterling wondered about these things, knowing full well that even if the mancers he teamed up with trusted one another, everyone sort of kept their stats and techniques to themselves.
Did this need to change?
Likely so.
If they were going to work together, it was probably best for them to know exactly what they were capable of. Then again, he also got the feeling that their lives had been stripped from them in a way, their identities, everything up until the Reset. Maybe holding on to what they were able to do was natural, an odd gesture of both remembrance and privacy.
The Sunflower Kid handed out apples and pears, which they gladly ate, Sterling feeling refreshed by the time they reached Roxie and Zephyr. The female gunner was already seated in the driver’s seat of the dune buggy, Zephyr cross-legged on the ground.
“Took us long enough,” Sterling said once no one responded to their appearance.
This statement caused Zephyr to laugh, the aeromancer lifting into the air. “Shall we?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sterling hopped in the front passenger seat while Paco, Maron, and the Sunflower Kid filed into the back. “Here are your guns.” He placed them on the dashboard, and Roxie sent each piece to her inventory list.
She keyed the ignition, heading back toward the highway and to the Hole ‘N’ the Rock from there. The ride back was a bit nauseating until they reached the road proper, Roxie again keeping to the shoulder, Zephyr overhead, the miniature Godwalker whistling through the breeze behind them.
The beautiful views, the taste of fruit on his lips, satisfaction with finding the final team member—Sterling was in hog heaven. Everything seemed to be going to plan, but then Roxie swerved to the left, Zephyr lowering next to the dune buggy as she skidded to a halt.
“Shee-it…” Sterling noticed the commotion in the distance, motorcycles and fire, calamity at the Hole ‘N’ the Rock.
“It’s them,” said Paco. “It’s the Comanche.”
.Chapter Five.
Sterling didn’t know what a post-apocalyptic Comanche would look like, but he was not at all surprised to see a few of them on motorcycles, the others with flames ripping from their palms as they attacked the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, at least two of them pyromancers, another a cryomancer evident in the glacial spikes tearing from the soil.
Roxie took off toward the fight, moving at her top pace, Zephyr twisting forward as well, followed by Beep.
“Let’s go!” Sterling shouted as he summoned Manchester, his skeletal steed taking shape just about the time he threw his modified saddle onto the horse’s back. “Maron, stay here and hold down the fort, dune buggy, whatever. Shit! Kid, let’s go!” he said, reaching down for the Sunflower Kid. “Keep up!” he told Paco.
Sterling galloped ahead on his bone horse, the Sunflower Kid holding his waist with one arm, dragging more and more vines behind her that began to cut into the asphalt and the stone. By the time they reached the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, she had a proverbial tidal wave of rock she had ripped up, the strength of Sterling’s horse plus her natural ability making this feat one that seemed almost too easy.
The stones she had been dragging hit the airwaves, Zephyr taking over and using them as projectiles, the Sunflower Kid leaping off Sterling’s horse and floating just before she touched the ground. He reared up, and began firing his pistol at one of the motorcycle-riding Comanche, Sterling’s shots causing the man to lose his bike, Beep sounding off as well with an epic blast of energy. They had to act quick; he assumed that the Comanche had used the element of surprise, and now it was their turn.
The dust cleared as Sterling hopped off his bone horse, the cowboy necromancer getting his first glance at the post-apocalyptic Comanche in what he assumed was their battle garb. His opponent was thin, the man’s face smeared in black paint, buffalo horns jutting out of his hat, long feathers dangling over his ears. Muscled and sinewy, the Comanche warrior was already running towards Sterling, a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. Losing his wheels from beneath him had done little to stop his opponent’s charge.
Click, click, boom!
Sterling would have lost his leg had it not been for the Sunflower Kid, who had erected a barrier between the two, one which he quickly took cover behind.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
He fired his gun around the other side, another blast from the Comanche shotgun kicking splinters into the air. The man launched himself over the barrier, now gripping a jagged tactical knife, one with strips of leather and beads hanging from its grip. He lunged for Sterling; the cowboy necromancer continued firing his revolver as he went for his sickle-sword.
Turquoise energy radiating off the blade, Sterling swept the curved weapon toward the Comanche, who gritted his teeth as he jumped backward, his eyes completely red, Sterling recognizing by the fact that he hadn’t conjured any of his powers that he wasn’t a mancer.
Bam!
Sterling finally hit his mark.
The man gargled blood as he fell to his knees, Sterling slipping around his opponent and slitting his throat from there. He accessed his inventory list, and summoned the animates he had picked up back in Midway.
“Stop them,” he said quickly, “and find Don Gasper and the Chronicler. A bearded man with a bucket hat, a… shaman. You’ll know when you see them.”
His animates took off, Sterling ducking just as a giant plume of fire whooshed over his head, one that was quickly followed by a spear of ice.
Damn, damn, damn… Sterling thought as he tore off toward the commotion.
The adrenaline had a way of blurring his periphery, a manic panic swelling within him as more fire hit the air, as the ground shifted, as he heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. There were cries of anger, surprise, the air now filling with smoke and debris, dust, Sterling happening upon one of the attackers, her face painted black like the others, the woman on the ground nursing a wound across her abdomen, blood and intestines already fumbling through her fingers.
Bam!
Sterling ended her suffering.
He damn sure didn’t want to make war with the Comanche, nor did he want to end up on their radar. They needed to make sure none of them got away, and what mattered now was finding Don Gasper and the Chronicler, and hopefully the Christiansens, the family that lived there.
With this in mind, Sterling sheathed his sword and turned toward the enormous rock itself. He was going to have to make his way inside, where it was thick with smoke and drenched in frantic terror. Sterling heard muffled cries just about as soon as he reached the entrance, which he was only able to navigate to by keeping his back against the enormous entrada sandstone and steadily pressing forward.
With a deep breath in to steady his nerves, Sterling plunged straight into one of the entrances, colliding with yet another Comanche, this one a man carrying a custom-made axe. The two slammed into the dining room table, Sterling immediately firing several shots into the man’s stomach.
He was thrown off and slammed into the rock ceiling, the man an absolute powerhouse. Yet his bullet wounds were deep, and by the point Sterling hit the ground, the man was already down to one knee, both hands on his stomach.
“Y’all shouldn’t have done this,” Sterling said through gritted teeth, the smoke now scraping against the inside of his throat.
Bam!
He finished the job and pressed on, coughing now, trying to cover his mouth with his arm as he kept his revolver up. The ground quaked yet again, the sound of rock on rock telling him that one of them, perhaps the Sunflower Kid, was doing something big outside.
He pushed deeper into the Rock, second-guessing every step he had taken thus far, feeling lost, the smoke and darkness of the place getting to him. The calamity of it all.
Another Comanche came charging out of the shadows, this one missing his horned headgear, his face smeared with black, eyes white and reflective, flames on the other side of the room dancing across them. Sterling fired a shot and missed as the man tackled him.
His opponent was fast, his punch dislocating Sterling’s jaw. This only enraged the cowboy necromancer as he managed to wedge his knee up, and turn his revolver around—Bam!—the man’s brains blew out of the back of his head, the rapport loud enough to leave Sterling’s ears ringing, everything even more disrupted than it had been moments ago.
He had to press on. Stumbling to his feet, Sterling began to find bodies, children and a woman, a man, the Christiansens, and then…
No.
It was Don Gasper, splayed out, the orange light of the encroaching flames showing a death mask, Gasper with his mouth agape, his arms spread wide, covering something.
“Dammit, dammit!” Sterling shouted even though his voice was hoarse.
“S-Sterling?”
The voice belonged to the Chronicler, who was lying on his side and bleeding out, Sterling interpreting by the way they were positioned that Don Gasper had protected him in the end.
“Got to get you two… out of here…”
“He saved me…” the Chronicler said on the tail end of a whimper. “If it weren’t for him… for Gasper…”
“Got to…” Sterling sent his gun back to its holster. He proceeded to lift Don Gasper over his shoulder, and then reached down to the Chronicler, offering the man his hand.
“My legs are shattered… just… just go.”
“Hell no, hell no, I ain’t…” Sterling said, feeling even stronger, realizing now what he had to do. Gasper had saved the Chronicler for a reason. “Just drag your feet, it’ll hurt… I’ll… I’ll do the rest.”
Gasper over one shoulder, Sterling crouched and waited for the Chronicler to place his arm over his shoulders. He wrapped his hand around the older man’s belly and began scooting toward the exit, or at least where he thought the exit was, everything blackened or burning, embers glowing red hot, the world on fire, the smoke thick. He didn’t think he was going to make it; he was starting to feel lost when an arc of dusty light caught his attention, Sterling invigorated once again.
He reached the exit of the cavernous home and kept going.
He kept going.
Sterling collapsed about thirty feet away from the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, still in the cracked parking lot, not far from the now overturned bull statue made of saddles and scrap metal.
He couldn’t breathe.
Sterling rolled onto his back, his hands on his ribcage as he tried to suck in air. Come on… he thought, wishing his Resolve could kick in even faster. Come on… He’d inhaled a lot of smoke, his lungs on fire, Sterling tasting blood as he gasped for air.
Suddenly, he could breathe again, his vision shifting as he drew his mana-powered revolver and sat up. He’d lost a few good minutes in the fight, crucial minutes, Sterling feeling as if he’d failed his companions somehow.
What was once a battleground was now silent aside from the crackle of flames. The smoke outside had mostly cleared and the dust had settled.
The Sunflower Kid turned to him, Paco not far off, a laceration across his face. Still with her weapon drawn, Roxie appeared from behind a smaller boulder and slipped over to Sterling, motioning with her chin for him to stand. Beep appeared as well.
“Yeah… I’m…” Sterling dropped his head, feeling a wave of guilt rush over him.
Had they gotten there just twenty minutes before, things would have been different. Had he not taken the long way down the mountain, had they briefed Maron later—any combination of those two things would have put them back at the Hole ‘N’ the Rock with enough time to fight off the Comanche.
Sterling had failed, and not only that, he had lost a damn good friend in the process, a spiritual guide.
The wind whipped up around them as Zephyr landed. The aeromancer had an absolutely exhausted look on her face. She stumbled forward and ended up using Roxie’s shoulder for support, much to the female gunner’s chagrin.
“Why aren’t you going after them?” Roxie asked, her eyes twitching as she tried to refrain from glaring at Zephyr. “They’re getting away.”
“I can’t catch them.”
“And… and you won’t be able to…” Sterling said as he finally got to his feet. “That’s how they did it back then, and that’s apparently…” He spat and wiped his mouth. “Looks like that’s how they’ll do it now.”
Roxie shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“The Comanche were never… they weren’t the type to fight to the death. Ain’t no sense in it. If their ambush worked… it worked, and they took what they could, killed who needed to be killed. If it didn’t… they skedaddled, they left,” Sterling said, feeling better by the second. Paco and the Sunflower Kid approached, the two tuning in to what he was saying. “The American settlers couldn’t figure this out at the time… why they didn’t stay and fight… if that makes sense. What I’m trying to say is that it looks like they’re operating the same way now.”
“How many got away?” Paco asked Zephyr. “Did you see?”
“Three. All on flectomancer-enhanced motorcycles. Never seen any move that fast. They already had a head start and I tried sending a tornado after them but…” She pressed off from Roxie’s shoulder. “I failed.”
Sterling swept his hand toward Don Gasper. “You didn’t fail, I failed. You all right, Dusty?” he asked the Chronicler, who was now seated, blood smeared across his bearded face, his bucket hat disheveled.
“We have to get word back to Moab that the Comanche are in this region.”
“I can see that. But the first thing we need to do…” Sterling dropped in front of Don Gasper and summoned a pocket knife and an empty jug bottle from his inventory list. He also recalled the mana powering the animates he had dispersed earlier, sensing they were no longer in any shape to fight. “Gasper,” he told the corpse, “I’m going to get as much of your blood as I can. Kid, I’ll need your help. Rox, can you go and check on Maron, maybe bring the dune buggy around? I got a feeling it’d be best for us to get on the road sooner than not. Zee?”
“Yeah?”
“Like Dusty here said, I need you to head to Moab and let them know what happened here.”
Thick wooden vines wrapped around Don Gasper’s legs, another portion supporting his body as the plant construct lifted the old shaman in the air to drain as much blood as he could.
It pained Sterling to make that first cut, but he swallowed the notion that this was all his fault, knowing that dwelling on what happened would only make things worse. First they’d get his blood, then they’d talk to him and figure out how he wanted to be buried.
Draining the blood became Sterling’s only focus, and in the end, he was able to nearly fill the jug. Leave it to a post-apocalyptic pepper farmer who was often mistaken for a cowboy to be carrying a jug of shaman blood in his inventory list, but this was what things had come to, and Sterling knew they could tumble further downhill at any point.
“Got us some Gasper for later,” he said, still trying to cope with the old man’s death through a poor attempt at humor. But it didn’t land, and no one laughed or made any indication that they’d even heard him. Sterling returned his focus to the suspended body, where a bit of blood had dripped onto the ground. “Here goes nothing.”
