Cowboy Necromancer 2: Infinite Dark: (A Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG Fantasy), page 42
He nodded. She didn’t need to finish that sentence. “We don’t want them people on our asses, Rox. Sure, we’ve killed a handful of them, but if we just slip on out of this region and do what we came here to do, then… then I don’t know,” he admitted. “I need to see what Gasper would have wanted too; I can say this though, we definitely don’t need all of Comancheria looking for our asses. Dusty showed us how big their territory is, and we’re going to have to cut through it on the way back home. Aside from all that, since when did you give a damn about Gasper?”
“While I might have had my disagreements with him, he was one of us. And…” The left side of her cheek lifted, Roxie clearly not excited about the next sentence to come out of her mouth. “And he helped us; he helped us get this far and find Maron.”
“He did.”
“And Maron was able to figure out… you know.”
“My wife.” Sterling shook his head at yet another thing he had yet to come to grips with. “My wife, what’s left of her, is trapped in a Godwalker.”
“And she’s trying to help us too. Don’t discredit that.”
“Yep.” Sterling lowered before one of the bodies. He lifted one of the man’s wrists and drew a line of blood, which he let pool onto the cold Earth. A face took shape, with a scowl outlined by starlight.
“Where…?”
“I’ll do the question-asking, pendejo,” Sterling told him in a gruff voice.
“Who…?”
“It don’t matter who. You and your people have moved into Deseret, and I want to know what you’re planning.”
“Why… why would I tell you shit?”
“If you do, I’ll bring you back to life,” Sterling lied. “I’m a telemancer and you aren’t actually dead; I’ve just got you and your two friends in a coma of sorts for the time being. I’m going to crosscheck some of your answers here, and decide who gets to live and who gets to die. So don’t lie to me, son. That amalgamation y’all fought? Figment of your imagination. You tell me what I need to know, I let you go and I get on with it. Whoever lies to me, dies. I wasn’t planning on sticking around here, or in Comancheria, for that matter.”
“What… do you want to know?”
Sterling glanced up at Roxie, partially surprised that his bluff had worked. Then again, if this one didn’t buy it, he could have just used his power on one of the others until someone answered his questions.
“Are the rest of your amigos in Monticello?”
“Yes.”
“How many fellas are we talking about here?”
“Close to two hundred…”
“Shee-it,” Sterling mumbled, “two hundred strong. How many are mancers?”
“Maybe fifty.”
“Maybe fifty, okay. What are y’all planning?”
“I… I… shouldn’t tell you.”
He tried a different line of questioning. “Are all y’all actually native? Do you all have Comanche blood? I’ve been wondering about that.”
“Some… the leaders… the rest have joined by force or choice.”
“And who is the actual leader of Comancheria? Or is it a group? Can you tell me that?”
“Shouldn’t you know? You’re a telemancer.”
“I done already told you that I’m checking some of your answers…”
“The leader of Comancheria is named Isa-tai.”
“Isa-tai, huh? And y’all got bands, right?”
“I’m part of the northern band, yes.”
“And you’re Comanche or have just become Comanche for the hell of it?”
“I’m not Comanche by blood… but I am by choice.”
Sterling nodded. “Y’all planning to go to Moab next?”
“Yes.”
“Figured. Well?” Sterling asked Roxie. She nodded. “I guess I’ll see you on the other side.”
The face of blood settled back into what was left of its puddle, most of it soaked up by the cracked soil by this point. Sterling stood, the urge to smoke coming to him.
“Yep,” he told Roxie once she didn’t say anything.
“What do you think we should do?”
“I think we should head back to camp and talk to the others. I’ll get Don Gasper’s take too. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take on two hundred Comanche, fifty of which are mancers, when we got places to go and Godwalkers to kill, but maybe there’s another angle. Shit, I need to ask that puddle of blood one more question. Just give me a second, Rox.”
.Chapter Seven.
The others were awake by the time Sterling and Roxie returned to the camp, Zephyr floating with her legs crossed beneath her, Paco and the Sunflower Kid seated on plant constructs and drinking water, Maron crouched with his arms wrapped around his legs, and the Chronicler seated in his camping chair.
“I didn’t think you’d need backup,” Zephyr said in a nonchalant way, “but you could have been quieter about it. Was that you with the explosions, Rox?”
“What do you think?”
“Hey…” Sterling hoped that the wave of his hand would calm the tension between Roxie and Zephyr. It didn’t always flare up, but people were tired, and it was too late to go back to bed, yet too early to officially be awake. “I couldn’t sleep on account of… Strawberry and what happened to Gasper. Just too many thoughts racing through the old dome. Anyway, I woke up and well, we saw Comanche and decided to deal with them. Get us a little info.”
“You’re going to call Beep Strawberry now?” Zephyr asked. “What was your wife’s name again? I’m so confused…”
“Don’t be too confused. It just… it is just easier for me to call her something other than Isabelle for now. I don’t know. All this is too damn sudden. Here I am, talking shit and roaming around Deseret with what I thought was a floating alien trashcan and it turns out to be my wife? I need…” He sucked in a deep breath. “What I need is a goddamn cigarette, but I also need time to process all this.”
Zephyr showed him her palms. “Take your time, cowboy.”
“I intend to. You know what? Before I get into what we’ve been discussing, I think it’s high time I give ol’ Gasper a ring, you know, catch him up.”
“Can you bring Strawberry out?” the Sunflower Kid asked. “I still want to fix her face and dress her up.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
Sterling’s inventory list appeared and he selected the miniature Godwalker. It took shape, and as it did the Sunflower Kid began to grow a vine of flowers from the ground, which she thickened with more flowers until she could make a belt of sorts.
With Paco’s help, the Sunflower Kid wrapped the flowers around the Godwalker, and then used her power to tighten the vine.
“See? Now she has a belt.”
“Shee-it…” Sterling said, not able to hide the smile on his face. The Kid, who currently had her long jet black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, turned to him and shrugged.
“Aren’t you going to talk to Gasper?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Wanting some privacy, Sterling floated up to the top of the mesa, where he’d been last night. The sun had just appeared in the distance, a blazing plum holding court over the stark desertscape.
Sterling watched it rise until he couldn’t anymore, the cowboy necromancer finally turning away from the sun and summoning the jug of Don Gasper’s blood. He also equipped tobacco and some papers, which he quickly fashioned into a pair of thin cigarettes. He lit one and popped the top of the jug.
His hand hovering over the opening, Sterling called Don Gasper, the old shaman’s face squeezing through the opening of the jug, the blood glistening in the early morning light.
“Amigo?” Gasper asked.
“Sorry to bother you.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just getting used to it here. So many pinche idiotas over here.”
“I’ll bet,” Sterling said, realizing in that moment that Don Gasper himself must have had this electric soul that Maron had spoken about, a concept that Sterling didn’t even pretend to understand. “Something came up.”
“Is it Magdalena?” Gasper asked.
“Hell no, it ain’t. I’ll let you know when we get to her, Gasper, promise. Still a ways away from New Mexico. There are a number of things that have come up, but I’ll start at the top…” Sterling gave Don Gasper the quickest explanation he could about his wife, how she had been able to shift her soul into the body of the miniature Godwalker. He also reminded him about how it had been Beep, Isabelle, who had brought them all together, that she believed in them.
At least he thought she did.
“Sí, sí…” Gasper said after he’d finished. “It makes sense, no?”
“What? Hell no, it don’t make no sense. You’re just going to accept this explanation?” Sterling took a long drag off his cigarette. “Electric souls and whatnot? Hell nah. None of it makes any sense.”
“We exist in many forms, vaquero nigromante, many different forms. Look at me, no? I’m in a void yet you still are talking to me, keeping me company. It’s energy, amigo. We are all energy. You got any mota?”
“I still got some.”
“You want to smoke it for me? Blow some in my direction.”
“It’s been a rough night, Gasper.”
“Do you have plans for the day to come?”
“Not… well… That’s another thing. I don’t quite know about that part just yet. We need to get to Monument Valley, and we’re almost there. Asked the Chronicler at some point yesterday and he said just a few hours. Light at the end of the tunnel… something like that.”
“And?”
Don Gasper’s form started to waver. Sterling used his power once again, the mana drain subtle but definitely something he noticed.
“You really want me to blow weed smoke at your face even though you can’t technically inhale it?”
“It’s the thought that counts, no?”
“You’re right,” Sterling said, and while he could have pretended to roll something and simply blow cigarette smoke, he owed it to Gasper to honor his wish, however stupid it was. Sterling grabbed the bag of marijuana he’d gotten sometime back in New Mexico. He ashed his cigarette and put out the tip, figuring he’d smoke the rest later.
“Just give me a second to roll it up.”
“Take your time; it’ll help you rest.”
“Yeah, you would say that.” Sterling rolled up a thin joint and lit it, his first inhale nothing to write home about, the second one causing a calming sensation to roll down his shoulders. He exhaled the cloud of smoke straight into Don Gasper’s face. “Happy?”
Sterling started to cough, Gasper laughing, which caused the blood construct to quiver.
“Dammit, Gasper. I called you because… because…” Sterling’s mind skipped a beat. He blinked a few times and refocused on Gasper. “Because… shee-it…”
“Sí, sí, it’s good to let go. You’ll remember, relax…”
“Look, them Comanche,” Sterling said, interrupting the shaman. “Rox and I dealt with three more of them just now, and apparently, they’re… holed up with two hundred of their closest friends in… shit, forgot the city name. Midway. No, that ain’t it. Monticello. That’s it, where the distiller is.”
“Two hundred Comanche?”
Sterling put out the joint and rubbed his eyes. He focused again on Gasper, just as his form started to blur again. With a grunt, he cast his Death Whisper power, hoping to make this the final time he did so.
He was really starting to feel the marijuana.
“Gasper, I called you here because I wanted… I wanted to get your take on what to do with the Comanche. You know… you know me, amigo.”
“Sí, lo sé.”
“And that’s the thing. The normal me would waltz right into Monticello, especially with the crew I got, and make a run at it. But… but they got mancers, maybe fifty, and we got…” Sterling had to count them out on his hand. “Five. We got five, and Rox, and shit, maybe she counts as two, but Maron… technomancer… I don’t know how useful he’ll be. Could be wrong, so…”
“I get what you’re saying. You want to know what I think, if I want you to avenge my death.”
“Yeah, something like that. I just need a second take.”
“No sense in vengeance, and there never really is,” Gasper said matter-of-factly. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other things you can do…”
“You see… that’s what I was thinking,” Sterling told the old shaman. “I already checked with one of the men I killed. They ain’t got no telemancers in that particular band.”
“You sure?”
“Nope, no telemancers in Monticello. I told him… ha!” Sterling recalled the lie he’d come up with. “I told him I was a telemancer. So… if there was one… he would have admitted it because… because I could have just gotten the info from him if… dang, Gasper, why’d you have to go and get me high?”
“Use the high, amigo, it’s nice. Use it to do what you’re going to do. Or rest. You sound like you could use some rest.”
“You bet your ass I could. Been burning the candle at both ends and then some.”
“So they don’t have a telemancer, but they have a small army there. What are you thinking, amigo?”
As best he could, Sterling told Gasper the plan he’d cobbled together on the way back to their camp. There were still some details that needed to be worked out, but it was solid enough.
“Heh,” Gasper said once he finished. “You really are loco, aren’t you?”
“Loco? Do you approve or not? I think it’s a damn good idea.”
“Do it, vaquero nigromante. Make them wish they hadn’t killed me.”
After going over the plan with the others, Sterling found himself a comfortable place to rest his eyes, his cowboy hat squarely over his eyes to blot out the morning sun, everything calm. The marijuana helped him sleep, Sterling only waking once over the course of an entire day, the shadow of the alcove keeping him nice and comfortable, the others quiet or resting themselves.
While they did this, Zephyr once again headed back to Moab to brief the afroed Elder of Icaria on the Comanche that had gathered in Monticello. She also was tasked with telling the woman what Sterling and his crew planned to do about it, which would buy them some time to come up with a solution, a way to either stop the Comanche from spreading into Nomadland, prepare for the siege that was to come, or lead the offensive. According to the Chronicler, the Elder would also have a way to quickly get word to the Oracle, who would likely have a say in the matter.
It was nice to simply be able to rest while things happened in the background, Sterling feeling just about as close to a CEO as he had ever felt before, or someone else calling the shots, the puppet master of sorts, especially when Zephyr and Paco joined their powers yet again, creating another heat vortex in practice for what they would do in Monument Valley.
But that was at least a day away, Sterling looking forward to what they were going to do in Monticello first; he hadn’t used his powers in this way before, nor had he really thought outside the box as much as he should have, especially with the people he surrounded himself with.
It wasn’t going to be easy, but he was up for the challenge.
He finally awoke about the time that Zephyr landed, dust swirling around her, the aeromancer’s dark hair lowering onto her shoulders. She wore a leather jacket over body armor, her trademark skirt, and her combat boots laced over a pair of pink socks.
“How did the Elder take it?” the Chronicler asked, looking up from his camping chair. His bucket hat now cast a shadow over his eyes, the book in his hands disappearing.
“Just as you said she would. She was a bit surprised, but also expected to receive this news at some point. They are beginning their preparations to push back against the Comanche. She has already sent messengers to Saltair and…” Zephyr squinted up at the sky for a moment. “I think that’s about it. We ate some food, she complained about her chihuahua, and she invited us back whenever we would like.”
“Shoot, I wish we could go back to Moab,” said Sterling. “I would love to have me another nice night at the saloon.” He knew that Roxie heard him say this, but she never looked up at him, the female gunner seated on her knees and picking at her nail with a black tactical knife. “Anyhow, I told y’all that you had the day to think about ways we could have a little fun there in Monticello. Well? What do y’all got? Because I got a way to at least get us in, add a little fun to the mix.”
“We will have to see the sources they are using to light Monticello at night,” Maron said.
The Chronicler summoned his pipe and lit it. “It’s like Moab there, Monticello. They are using generators and have some mancer-enhanced tech. The Comanche will likely be using whatever power source they have there. I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”
“Definitely one of my specialties. I’ve got a way for us to communicate as well. I’ll show you later.”
Sterling nodded at the technomancer’s suggestion. “There will probably be captives. As y’all know, I spoke to one of them fellers last night, and they basically got one rule in Comancheria: submit or die. Now, I’m guessing that they have learned by now that just rolling into a place and forcing everyone to submit can be a little difficult. You’ve gotta deal with ruffians and whatnot, maybe local militias. So you take them captive, kill off the ones that are causing trouble, and make it easy. These ain’t the Comanche of the past; these are a post-apocalyptic Comanche, and hell, most of them aren’t even native. Some have joined by choice, others have joined by force. So we’re going to be dealing with several different kinds of people here, and maybe different motives depending on who you ask.”
“Which means that the more we can do to disrupt their operations, the better,” said Roxie, finally looking up from her blade.
“It could even spook some of the ones that might be on the fence to the point that they may leave. I’m sure that they’re not all that gung-ho about the war that is to follow. Sure, those closer to the upper echelon—Isa-Tai is the overall leader, from what I’ve been told—will be obedient. But others may not be so zealous.”
