Michael Spradlin - Blood Riders

He was angry and confused, and for a moment not sure of what he should do. Should he retreat? Let his soldiers die here and start afresh somewhere else? All he needed to do was live three more days and he would be an Eternal. Nothing, no weapon, no spell, no elemental could kill him after that.

“I tried to tell you this would happen.”

The voice from behind him actually startled him, but he showed now sign of it as he turned to face her.

“Hello, Shaniah,” he said. “It is good to see you again.”

Hollister emptied the Fire Shooter and then shrugged the other one onto his back, twisted the knob, and pulled the trigger. Fire shot out of the barrel and more Archaics screamed and died. In Absolution, Shaniah had said that fire would not kill an Archaic. He had to consider the possibility that she was lying or withholding something in case she needed some tactical advantage later. Because to Hollister it looked like the Fire Shooter took the flesh right off their bones. He wondered if they were able to regrow skin. Maybe they could come back to life as skeletons or something. Or maybe Monkey Pete had put something in his “mixture” to give it a little extra kick. Holy water, maybe? Whatever it was, the Archaics sure looked dead.

The ground between the two buildings and the mine shaft was littered with bodies. By Hollister’s count there were maybe only sixty Archaics left alive. It was almost over. If they killed the rest of them, he could go after Malachi. He checked the gauge on the Fire Shooter and it now was about a quarter of a tank full.

He was swinging the barrel back and forth, the fire knocking down Archaics like bowling pins. Up near the mine entrance he saw Malachi still standing on the crates. It was like he was glued to the spot, forced by someone to watch his army crumble before his eyes. Suddenly Malachi broke for the mine shaft, and Hollister thought for sure he saw someone in a dark coat and flash of blond hair following him. Shaniah. Going into the mine after Malachi. A bad idea. Really bad idea. He couldn’t let her do it alone. She had taken a part of him. His heart, his soul. He just knew he couldn’t let her face Malachi alone.

He glanced across at Chee in the shed, still working the Gatling.

“CHEE!” he hollered, hoping he could be heard over the sound of the gun. The sergeant looked in his direction.

“I’m going after Malachi. You clean up the rest!”

“Major! I don’t think-”

“Shaniah is in there with him!”

“Sir! Please don’t, she will be able to…”

But Hollister was no longer paying attention. He slung the Ass-Kicker over his shoulder. For good measure, he put a couple of bundles of dynamite in the pockets of his duster. He grabbed the Henry with one hand and kept the barrel of the almost empty Fire Shooter in his other. He glanced out the open wall. He had a clear path most of the way to the mine. Chee was still working the Gatling and Hollister reminded himself to thank Monkey Pete for packing so much additional ammo.

Hollister broke through the door frame and cut to his left around the building. There weren’t any Archaics closer than thirty yards away, so he sprinted toward the mine. Five or six noticed he was out in the open and came his way. He pulled the trigger on the Fire Shooter. And as often happens in dangerous or combat situations, a strange and silly thought entered his mind. He really didn’t like the name “Fire Shooter” for Pete’s weapon. He made a mental note to work on a new name for it.

The fire shot out of the barrel and drove the advancing Archaics back, giving him time to run toward the mine shaft. And he would have made it just fine if he hadn’t tripped and fallen face-first into the dirt. He wasn’t hurt-mostly embarrassed, and afraid he was going to die like a fool, letting six Archaics jump on him and tear him apart. When he got to his knees though, he saw how close he was to serious trouble and his embarrassment disappeared. An Archaic had seen him tumble and lunged in his direction. Hollister swore they could cover twenty yards in a single bound. It would be on him in an instant. He dropped the Fire Shooter and tried to bring his Henry up so he could shoot, but the slings and belts were all tangled up from the fall. Only ten yards left, he pulled his Colt and was raising it to fire when Dog knocked the Archaic flat on its ass.

The creature had once been a young boy, and though he possessed newfound strength and agility with his new Archaic abilities, he was no match for the massive, enraged animal. There was no question Dog had developed a passionate hatred for Archaics. He wasted no time, grabbing the throat and shaking the creature as easily as he might shake a rabbit. Hollister staggered to his feet, raised the Henry, and shot the Archaic in the heart. It exploded into a cloud of dust. If it was possible for a canine to look disappointed, Dog did.

“Sorry to ruin your fun, boy. I appreciate you saving me and all, but I’m in a rush,” he said.

He checked the Henry and both pistols. The dynamite remained in the pockets of his duster. But the barrel of Fire Shooter was now clogged with dirt. He knocked it on his boot trying to clear it, and some of it came loose but it was still plugged, deep in the barrel. He shrugged out of the apparatus and left it there. He didn’t have time to try to fix it and it was almost out of fuel. The Ass-Kicker was probably a better choice anyway. He slung the Henry on his back and pulled the Ass-Kicker around to his waist. He worked the action, heard the small hiss of steam as the round chambered and locked in place. He was ready to go. All of his preparations had taken place while Chee continued firing the Gatling, keeping the remaining Archaics at bay.

“Thanks again, Dog,” Hollister said. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

He ran toward the mine shaft, surprised to find Dog loping along beside him.

The Archaics had been whittled down to a few clusters scattered between the shed and the mine shaft. Hollister ran as fast as he could while shooting with some level of accuracy. Dog worked like an anti-sheepdog; when an Archaic approached, he chased it away, never getting too far away from Hollister.

Finally he reached the entrance. It was dark inside, and he wished he’d thought to bring a torch. He glanced quickly around, but there was nothing serviceable nearby. Luckily he had Dog.

“All right boy, let’s find Shaniah,” he said. He tried to think of how Chee addressed the animal, compelling it to do what the sergeant commanded. He remembered something Chee always said to the giant animal.

“Dog! Hunt!” he said.

As Malachi ran deeper into the mine, he could hear Shaniah following behind him. The Old Ones had sent her to kill him. He assumed they would just let him go, figuring that a human with a new weapon or an elemental would eventually kill him. Yet, here she was. Impressive. The Council had decided he was too dangerous. If he succeeded with any part of his plan, he would bring human wrath down on the Archaics. From tonight’s events it looked as if he had miscalculated and the Council of Elders had been right to be concerned about the advancement of the human race.

The mine was played out long ago and no more gold remained, but the structure of it and its darkness made it ideal for Archaics to use. And he and his followers had made some modifications. Up ahead they had dug a wider, more open space. A chamber most often used when they brought captured humans here for feeding. It was perhaps forty feet by forty feet and well lit by torches.

Shaniah was getting closer. The blade was at his belt. Where the shaft widened into the larger, open space he stopped and stood to the side of the entrance. It was an old trick, but she had been tracking him for years, and hopefully, her exuberance would make her foolhardy. When she ran through the entrance he would kill her. Poor Shaniah. The Council had sent her, but she had accepted her assignment and her fate was her responsibility. He gripped the blade.