Cowboy necromancer 4 nov.., p.36
Cowboy Necromancer 4: Novella Compendium: (A LitRPG Apocalypse), page 36
“That’s right,” Zephyr said. “We will remain undetected.”
Buster barked.
“Actually, that ain’t a bad idea, bringing the dog with us. It’ll make us look more authentic. If anything happens, I’ll send the mutt to my list,” Sterling told the Sunflower Kid as he scratched Buster behind the ear. “I won’t let you suffer the humiliation of being a prisoner if I can help it, bud.”
The trees were unlike anything Sterling had ever seen. They were certainly large from a distance, and along the outer edges of the forest, where they fought the centipede, some of them had loomed over Sterling and his companions. But to see them now, to see trunks as wide as a set of castle doors, trees so tall that he couldn’t see the top, to feel so small—it was unexpected.
Sterling took a big breath in through his nostrils.
The air was so fresh here, and moist.
He felt an instant surge of life as he pressed past ferns and other foliage that he didn’t recognize. Everything was wet and green, everything was alive. And this fact made him feel more alive himself.
“Vaya... increíble…”
“Wow. Just… wow,” Paco said once he came upon a tree with an absolutely enormous hole in its trunk, large enough to drive a truck through. He placed his hand on it and looked up, peering into the mist that had settled over the forest. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Ain’t much to say,” Sterling told him as he moved on. “This place is beyond beyond.”
“I wonder what it must have been like before, for the natives.”
“It was certainly fertile hunting grounds,” the Chronicler told Paco as he gestured toward a set of animal tracks. It was some kind of deer by the looks of it.
“It’s just so gosh darn beautiful.” Sterling forged ahead, repeating this phrase as they came to a group of trees that had grown together. It was awe-inspiring, nature and its capabilities in the right conditions.
They continued on, talking amongst themselves, trying to make noise. It was their goal to be discovered, so they moved leisurely, deeper and deeper into the forest. Maron had suggested that they communicate via headset, but Sterling didn’t want anything like that, anything that would give them away. Besides, there was Zephyr.
Occasionally, the wind would rush forward and he would hear her voice. He would turn and quietly respond, aware that it would travel back to the aeromancer.
Hours passed like this, but soon, they came across the telltale signs of civilization. An abandoned campground, old fire pits, discarded cans, bottles, plastic crates, and a broken coffee cup.
They were getting closer.
While they walked, Sterling kept his eyes on the forest, aware that there could be more creatures like the centipede amalgamation. He didn’t know how many they had killed back there, but with the mother, it must have been at least forty or fifty. And there was no telling if there were more.
He hoped that this wasn’t the case, but he was prepared for the inevitable.
Always.
That was the only way to survive after the Reset, preparation and a calm understanding that things could turn sour in the blink of an eye. This was exactly what happened about an hour later, as they passed over a small river using branches and came to a bit of a gully, one partially obscured by foliage.
Sterling sensed movement in the trees above, their canopies obscured by mist. Soon, they were surrounded by men and women wearing flectomancer-modified gear, all with weapons aimed at Sterling, Paco, and the Chronicler. Each of them had a small yellow patch on their chest, the flag of the State of Jefferson.
“I need to speak to your leader,” the Chronicler said in a low growl before they could talk.
The woman leading the group of scouts laughed. “You need to speak to our leader?”
The Chronicler began the story about how he had been transported here from the Southwest with his two mancer guards, that he was furious. The woman listened intently, a flicker of concern in her eyes as she looked from Sterling to Paco.
“That’s some story,” she said once he had finished. “But we will still have to take you prisoner.”
“By all means,” Sterling said as he offered the woman his wrists. Buster barked.
The Chronicler spoke: “We will only be taken prisoner if you bring us to your leader, otherwise… well, let’s not speculate. We were sent here from New Mexico. Heard of the place? Surely your leader would want to know of our arrival.”
Sterling snapped his head toward the older man, surprised to hear his caustic tone. Goddamn, Dusty, he thought. He had to look away to wipe the grin off his face.
“New Mexico? In the Southwest?”
“That’s right,” the Chronicler told the woman. “We were transported here with our dog, my dog.”
Buster barked on cue.
The woman huffed a response. Sterling thought for a moment that she was going to comment on Buster, how he was cute, especially with the red bandanna that the Sunflower Kid tied around his neck. But she didn’t. All of them seemed hardened, and two of the ones in the back, who wore wraparound sunglasses, seemed agitated, ready to strike.
“I will need to discuss this for a moment,” she said. “But before I do, what kind of mancers are you?”
They had prepared an answer for this as well. It was pointless to lie. If they lied and were asked to demonstrate their powers, they wouldn’t be able to. So they went ahead and told the truth.
“I’m a solimancer and he is a necromancer,” Paco said.
The response was something that Sterling had anticipated. Necromancers were hard to come by, and he was certain that someone trying to run a territory as vast as the State of Jefferson would make good use of Sterling’s class.
He turned out to be right.
They didn’t have to discuss much before the woman approached again and told him that they were going to be taken into custody. “Can you put your dog in your list?” she asked Sterling. “Custer doesn’t like dogs.”
“Not everyone does,” Sterling said as he sent Buster away. But that is generally the sign of an asshole, he thought as they started off.
Three of the Jeffersonites took position behind them, two in front, and two at the side, the group moving swiftly through the trees. They really were like monkeys, just as Sterling had heard back in Crescent City.
They started off.
Sterling didn’t know how long they had to go, and he didn’t ask. He wanted to appear slightly mysterious, but also like he was willing to cooperate.
It was about an hour and half that they came to a wide open clearing. It was startling, especially stepping into a pasture and out of a dense forest. Ahead, Sterling saw a large cabin surrounded by tents and other structures.
“What is this place?” Paco asked their captors.
“It used to be the Ranger station,” the woman said. “There was a time that they were logging the trees in this forest. There’s a plaque for the guy who helped establish it, but I can’t remember his name. Something old and fancy, you know how those names used to be. Basically, he helped establish the park, but some of the damage had already been done, like this area. So they put the ranger station here. And it is where we come for the winter.”
“Ain’t that something.”
“And the locals don’t know about it?” Paco asked.
Sterling had the desire to kick the Hopi youth. This was the kind of question that would let them know that Sterling’s companions knew more than they were letting on. Luckily for Paco, she didn’t hear. There was chatter at the front of the group, as ATVs headed in their direction.
“Sorry,” he whispered to Sterling as the ATVs reached them.
A trio of guards hopped off, two of them clearly pyromancers by the way flames lifted off the backs of their heads. It was a show of force. A reminder of where they were, and who they were about to see.
“Howdy,” Sterling said.
They didn’t respond to him. Instead, they interrogated the woman away from the group. Soon, some kind of agreement was made, likely based on Sterling and Paco’s classes.
It was then that another vehicle moved by, one stacked with bodies. Sterling had been so focused on trying to hear the conversation that he hadn’t seen it in his periphery.
“Jesus,” he said when it became clear that some of the bodies had been stripped of their flesh. “What the hell is going on around here?”
“We are here to meet their leader,” the Chronicler reminded him through clenched teeth.
Unfortunately, one of the men guarding them heard Sterling’s question. “You don’t do this in… Where are you all from again?”
“New Mexico.”
The man shrugged. “Sometimes things get scarce; there are plenty of bodies to go around. You get used to the taste.”
Sterling tried to hide his disdain for the man. To do so he looked up at the sky, squinting at the pale sun, which was entirely blocked by a thick gray mist. “People do crazy things.”
“Ain’t nothing crazy about it.”
Sterling nodded. “Lizard eat lizard, I got a saying.”
“Don’t see many lizards, but I have seen some salamanders.”
“Same difference.” Sterling watched the cart roll on, driven by a tractor. He knew they were about to be in a mess of something, and he was ready for it. But they had to get Custer out in the open first. Sterling had a notion to animate some of the bodies as they moved past. That was always an option, but he was trying not to do anything dramatic.
They wanted this to work, so they could complete their mission and move on. Quanah would see to the alliance being formed, and then they would have a new territory to add to their growing influence. He didn’t know about Southern California, or anything beyond the northern region, but they would have the area completely boxed in if they were able to deal with the State of Jefferson.
Sterling had gone from a simple pepper farmer to whatever he was now, some sort of alien-hunting diplomat, a post-apocalyptic statesman.
This thought brought a grin to his face, but it did little to wash away the distaste in his mouth on seeing the bodies, knowing what they were being used for. More ATVs in the distance signaled that some communication had taken place. These were followed by a pickup truck, one that looked too shiny and new to belong to anyone but the leader of the State of Jefferson.
“Custer is coming to meet you,” the woman said, even though that was already clear. “A word to the wise.”
“Yes?” Chronicler asked, still going with his disguise. The only problem was that he was now sweating profusely, even though it was chilly out, the heavyset man clearly agitated by what was about to take place.
“Try not to look him in the eye. Custer doesn’t like that. Just tell him why you’re here, and he will decide what happens to you next.”
“Shee-it—”
“And watch your mouth, cowboy,” the man beside Sterling said. He was now pointing a gun at him, and there were more muzzles aimed in their direction.
Sterling offered him a curt nod. “Relax, fellas. We’ll get this here sorted.”
.Chapter Seven.
Gerald Custer was a thin man who walked with a limp, his white beard patchy, one of his eyes pale blue and the other brown. He wore an olive green Boonie cap with the word Jefferson stitched across the front. Like the others who had joined his cause, he had a State of Jefferson patch on the front of his old military jacket.
Humans and their branding, Sterling thought as he sized the man up.
“What do we have here,” Custer said on the tail end of a whistle. “And which two of you are mancers?”
“Him and me,” Paco said.
“Then why is there a third?”
The Chronicler stepped forward, his chest puffed out. “They work for me.”
“Do they now?” Custer sized him up. “Long way from New Mexico.”
“It is certainly a long way. You are their leader, yes?” the Chronicler asked, as he casually motioned to the Jeffersonites.
Custer bared his teeth. “You bet your ass I am.”
“Then you are exactly the man we came to see.”
With those words, the wind whipped through and struck the weapons aimed at Sterling’s companions. Sterling quickly summoned the bodies in his inventory list along with the centipedes. They all came alive at the same moment.
He went ahead and summoned Manchester too as shots were fired, the calamity growing in intensity once the Sunflower Kid began cutting Jeffersonites down with her plant constructs.
“Paco, protect Dusty!” With those words, Sterling hopped on Manchester and took off.
He blazed toward the group of ATVs heading in his direction, right into the heart of the madness. He went for his grenade launcher, which he fired in the opposite direction to add to the confusion. Then, he equipped his revolver and started shooting as bullets whizzed past.
Someone was putting down cover fire, and that someone was Roxie. Sterling knew this to be the case once he saw a beam of energy from the miniature Godwalker cut through Custer’s truck.
The wind took over from there, flipping over the ATVs and crushing people. Soon, Zephyr wielded the back half of a truck like it was a giant fist, the aeromancer crushing several of the Jeffersonites.
A flash of heat caused everything around Sterling to ignite. That must have been Paco, whom Sterling trusted to protect the Chronicler. Just about the only person not fighting was Maron, or so he thought until the drones came forward firing bullets, killing more of the Jeffersonites.
“There you are,” Sterling said as he pressed past some of the fog that Zephyr had kicked up. He spotted Custer just as the man punched one of his own soldiers off an ATV. He jumped on it, revved the engine, and took off in the opposite direction.
Sterling thought about shooting their leader in the back, but he decided against it.
He wasn’t a coward.
The ATV was fast, and Manchester probably wouldn’t have been able to catch it had it not been for the landscape, which dipped, slowing Custer’s escape. Sterling was still about seven or eight feet away but he decided it was time. He launched himself off of his skeletal steed, and tackled Custer, the two spilling off to the side.
“Who are you people?” Custer managed to ask.
Sterling answered with a fist, one that shattered Custer’s teeth.
He lifted Custer up and punched him in the stomach, and the man doubled over. Sterling equipped his sickle sword in the blink of an eye and ended the man’s life, giving Custer a wound that he wouldn’t be able to heal from.
The leader of the State of Jefferson died asking Sterling the same question again: “Who… are… you people?”
Sterling didn’t have an answer for him. Maybe there was a time he would have come up with a clever quip, something about them being the kind of people that you didn’t want someone to call.
But it just wasn’t there.
He had seen too much of this, dealt with too many warlord types. Sterling was just glad that Custer and the Jeffersonites wouldn’t be able to hurt people anymore. Perhaps there would be stability in the region, and perhaps an alliance. Safety. Safety in neighbors and safety in numbers, that was the kind of thing that Sterling wanted to leave as his legacy.
That and dealing with the Godwalkers.
“Good, Pingo,” he told his bone horse. “Sorry for jumping off of you like that.”
He looked back toward the main theater of the fight. There weren’t many Jeffersonites left, and the ones still alive were gravely injured. Roxie moved around now, the metal woman putting people out of their misery.
It was gruesome, and it ended quickly.
Zephyr landed. “A few escaped to the forests. I can find them.”
Sterling considered letting them get away. But then he remembered the cart of dead bodies, that these people had turned cannibalistic. “Do it.”
“Will do.”
“I’m surprised there weren’t more mancers,” the Chronicler said.
“There were,” Sterling told him. “We just moved faster.”
“What else should we do?” Paco asked. “Don’t tell me we are camping here tonight.”
For some reason, this reminded Sterling to release control over his animates. He did just that. He then went around and collected the best ones, something to use later. He returned to Paco. “The best thing we can do now would be to check out the area and see if there’s anything worth taking. Food. But no meat, if you get my drift.”
“Works for me. Kid?” Paco asked Sterling’s daughter.
The two took off together to explore the cabin beyond and the tents.
“Why do I get the feeling that that was too easy?” Sterling asked the Chronicler as he lit a cigarette.
“I couldn’t tell you. Nothing about that was pleasant.”
“You did a good job, though. Real convincing, Dusty. I thought you were really one of the bad guys there for a minute. Could have fooled me. Hell, you may have been an actor, maybe some local theater, you know, back before the Reset.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe.”
“Shee-it, well, I would give you an Academy Award if I had it. So kudos there, amigo. Anyhow. Let’s see what Paco and the Kid can find.”
Sterling knew that he could have checked pockets for charms, maybe things of value. Whatever they traded up in Northern California. There would be stashes, and he could certainly loot a lot, but that wasn’t his focus at the moment.
The adrenaline. He could feel it now, and it edged everything as he moved about the battlefield. The stark contrast between the dead bodies and the beautiful forest beyond was surreal, like some sort of fever dream. He hated to see it, yet he also knew that this was necessary.
Necessary for progress, Sterling thought as he stepped around a tire of an ATV, one that was smoldering. He waved the smell away.
Pop!
Roxie continued to put people out of their misery behind him.
Sterling was just turning back to see how many more she had to go when he felt the ground tremble. A flash came, coupled with the sudden appearance of the Inquisitor Godwalker, the craft looming overhead.
