Henry Olsen - The Northland Chronicles - A Stranger North

He looked at his left arm. How much force could it muster? Time to find out. He secured the chain in his left hand and extended his arm behind himself, setting his feet by digging his heels into the dirt.

Then he pulled.

“Aaaaaaarrrrgghh!” he screamed. His heart raced. Sweat exploded from every pore. His feet bored into the ground, anchoring the force of his pull.

The tvapas stumbled backward from the unexpected surge of power tugging on their yoke, then regained their footing and plowed forward to fight against it. A sharp crack rang out from behind.

John kept pulling. He couldn’t feel his limbs. His vision grew blurry. Vomit rushed up from his stomach, burning his throat with acid.

Then he collapsed onto the grass and his vision went dark.

Emiko sat, bound to her chair by leather straps. Dust particles floated around the room like baby fireflies, dancing in the moonlight that beamed in through the window. She sneezed, causing the specks of dust to scatter violently before returning to their aimless hovering. The dry air irritated her sinuses — she couldn’t bear being shut in much longer.

Her stomach growled. Every time her captors tried to spoon feed her, she spit it back out. If they wanted her to eat, they could untie her first. They were probably afraid she’d escape, or grab her gun and retaliate. She’d never shot a person until Barry, but they didn’t know that. She felt no remorse, and now that she’d done it once she could do it again. Next time she wouldn’t aim for the leg.

Why were they keeping her here, anyway? She tugged at her restraints, yet they refused to budge.

Just then, two shadows passed the window. Emiko stopped struggling and listened intently.

“What we gonna do with the girl?” It was Dwayne, the man who’d knocked her in the head — she recognized his voice.

“Dunno,” said Jeremiah.

“Well, I was thinkin’, I never had me an ‘oriental’ woman before …”

Gross! Emiko grimaced. Another silhouette hobbled past the window — Barry, on a pair of makeshift crutches.

“That’s ‘cause the only woman you’ve had is your own sister,” he said with a guffaw. Emiko heard a thumping noise — Barry smacking Dwayne with a crutch? She wondered if Barry, Jeremiah, and Dwayne had ever considered forming a traveling comedy troupe. They were more suited to slapstick than soldiering.

“Ya know that ain’t true, Barry!” Dwayne said. “Why, I had me plenty of — ”

“You can’t have her,” Barry cut in, “cause soldier boy wouldn’t like it.”

Soldier boy — it was what they called the fourth man, Private Brushnell, behind his back. Emiko hadn’t seen him, but she’d heard him speak. He sounded more intelligent — and likely more dangerous — than the other three. His voice vaguely reminded her of someone, though she couldn’t place it.

“Reckon this ‘Osborne’ guy is gonna come?” Jeremiah drawled.

“If he don’t, I got first dibs on the girl,” Dwayne said.

“Dwayne, I’ll tell you what,” Barry said. “After we reclaim Minnesota, I’ll line up ten virgins and you can have first pick. I’ll even throw in an Asian or two.”

“What’ll Brushnell say?” Dwayne asked.

“Soldier boy will be too busy kissin’ the General’s behind to say anything,” Barry said.

The trio chuckled.

“You got yerself a deal,” Dwayne said.

Emiko shook her head. Just listening to these creeps would kill her before starvation could.

“I see you’re still awake,” a voice said from behind her. Emiko twisted her neck to see the speaker, but he was in her blind spot. If only she were an owl …

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

“Long enough,” the voice replied. “I thought I should inform you that this will all be over tomorrow. We’re going to let you go.”

“What a load of moose crap,” she said.

“Just as feisty as always, I see,” the voice said. “Emiko.”

A chill ran down Emiko’s spine. She’d never told them her name.

“My brother won’t let you get away with this!” she said.

“Nathan?” the voice said with a scoff. “Done watering the crops with his tears, is he?”

Emiko didn’t reply … could it be him? she wondered.

“That’s right, Emiko — I know who you are,” he said. “And there’s something I need you to do for me: tell Pierre and everybody else in Frontier View that I’m doing just fine without them.”

“ Ramses? You’re behind this?” Emiko said.

Ramses Brushnell! How hadn’t she recognized the voice earlier? She realized she hadn’t heard his surname, Brushnell, in years — everybody in town had just called him “Ramses.”

“Just deliver the message,” Ramses said. Emiko heard his footsteps, leaving the room.

“I’d rather put a bullet through your brain,” she said, thrashing at the leather straps.

Ramses snorted. “Always barking, but where’s the bite?” he asked, as he stepped out and latched the door shut.

Emiko’s blood boiled with anger. Calm down, Emiko. Save it for tomorrow, she thought. If Ramses was to be believed, her chance would come then, when this mysterious Osborne arrived. She took a deep breath and focused on getting a wink of sleep.

John opened his eyes and gazed up at the hazy starlit sky. Bristles of grass massaged the skin between his fingers.

“Well,” a woman’s voice boomed, “look who just woke up!” She leaned over him. To his blurry vision, she looked like a bouncer — bulky and imposing. Standing up straight, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Cynth, get over here!”

“Be right there, Doris,” a voice in the distance called back.

The woman — Doris — looked back down at him.

“Pretty nuts, what you did over there,” she said. “Your feet dug nearly a half foot deep into the ground.”

Pushing his palms against the ground for leverage, John sat up. He looked over to this right. The smoldering chicken coop was there, resting on its side. The fire hadn’t yet burnt out completely, but the remains were far enough away to no longer threaten Pierre’s cabin.

“We all thought you were gonna order the tvapas to back up a step or two. You know, make them do the grunt work,” Doris said. “But no siree, you pulled the whole damn building over by yourself. The wood snapped and splintered, and then boom! ” She clapped for emphasis. “The entire building came crashing over.”

“It was quite a show,” said an approaching voice — Cynthia. She gave John a stern look. “Though I wasn’t impressed by the part where you heaved your guts out.”

John shrugged. Then he opened and shut his jaw, tilted his head back and forth, and stretched to make sure everything felt alright.

“You ladies know who started the fire?” he asked.

Doris jumped at the opportunity to answer. “Oh, I’ll tell you who! It was that Ramses boy. I’m sure of it. We thought he was gone for good, but he just keeps coming back to slather it on.”

“Ramses? Give me a break,” Cynthia said. “That kid probably got himself eaten by a bear three steps outta town. What makes you think he’d do this?”

Doris stuck out her chin and put her hand on her hips, giving them a little wiggle.

“I can feel it in my bones,” she said, beaming with pride.

With a snort, Cynthia crossed her arms and doubled over, visibly restraining herself from bursting into laughter.

“You and your bones,” she said. “Is this like the time your dog disappeared and you thought a wolf had gotten him? Turned out he’d just decided life was better at the Jensen’s house.” She wiped away a tear. “Or that other time, when — ”