The summer sun beat heavily on the rider. His face, deeply tanned by years in the sun, was grim beneath his wide-brimmed hat as he looked into the wasteland beyond the wire fence that marked the border of his spread. Not that any marker was needed. The land outside was blackened as if by a great fire, and there was a glassy texture in many places. Legend said that giants had once battled by throwing lances filled with fire, and that one had landed here. This was a fairy tale, no doubt, but it certainly felt real, looking out on this waste while the stone kings looked down from the mountain.
Inside the fence, long generations of labor had turned the waste into a luxurious bounty. A river of clean, clear water that never killed flowed through the land, and the grass -green grass!- grew thick and well, perfect fodder for the man's prized cattle. These cattle, free of the strange defects and stunted growth so typical of the area, commanded a huge price at market, and allowed the man to purchase many luxuries that were alien to most of his fellow ranchers.
Luxuries like the pistol on his hip and the rifle in his saddle sling. Purchased from a merchant that had travelled far from the East, each had cost him five cows, and the ammunition wasn't cheap either, although local tinkers had managed to divine the trick to producing it. This was convinient, as the tinkers accepted payment in coin, while the foreigner only accepted meat and grain. Coin was always easier to acquire than quality food.
It had been well worth it. Until the foreigner, named Joshua, had come to this land, most guns in these parts were the simple muzzle-loading pistols and rifles that had been used for generations. A few men had expensive imported breechloaders, but the only repeater guns in the area had been ancient heirlooms from the time of the stone kings.
Or carried by bandits, who seemed to have an unlimited supply. Although a rare problem, these raiders were becoming increasingly dangerous. They would ride out from the wasteland, looting what they could carry, and burning much of what they could not. The goodfolk tried to stand and fight, but single-shot muskets and rifles were no match for the repeaters. Only once had they been defeated. Five years before, they fell upon the large town nearby, but the townfolk had been forewarned, and had the time to raise a militia. In what had become known as The Battle of Keystone, three hundred bandits were killed attacking a force of more than five thousand citizens firing from windows and rooftops. They hadn't made an appearance since, and many believed that the battle had destroyed them.
The rider called William disagreed. They were still out there, and his land was an obvious target. Even though he was by far the richest of the ranchers here on the border with the waste, he could not begin to afford the thunderfences and groundcrackers that the larger ranchers to the south and east defended their land with. Nor could he afford to hire an army of mercenaries to guard his borders. That meant that he was squarely in the crosshairs, as the representatives of those richer men had pointedly informed him as they pressured him to sell.
Besides, there were many threats in the waste. A feral dog slunk under the fence fifty yards from where William sat contemplating. With little thought, he brought up the new rifle and fired. It was an automatic action of long practice, as such dogs often slipped in to feed upon his herd. Riding over to the corpse, he dismounted and flung the filthy thing back into the waste from whence it had come. Turning his attention to the fence, he saw that it was indeed broken. Well, that is why he had a roll of spikewire in his pack. He set to work fixing it.
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The sound of the shot echoed across the plain, to the kitchen where a woman and young girl worked on repairing their winter clothing. It was high summer now, but winter came fast and harshly here. Rebecca, wife of William, looked up quickly at the sound, but when it was not repeated she returned to her work. Single shots were often heard all the day long. Her daughter Maria was less at ease. Only twelve, she was far more apt to imagine monsters or other terrifying dangers than was her mother. Still, after a short time she had returned to her sewing as well. Still, they worked now in a tense silence, without the banter (and the pointed hints from Rebecca that, at twelve, it was getting to be time that Maria began spending more time in town to meet people, primarily those of the male persuasion) that had earlier marked their labor. Time passed, and the sun had begun to grow longer, when another shot rang out. This was followed quickly by more.
"Nine and six." Rebecca spoke in tones of worry. She didn't need to say anything more. Between the two guns, William only had fourteen rounds loaded. There was only one thing to do now. Before Maria had left her chair, Rebecca was already releasing the latches on the heavy oaken panels that dropped down over the windows. In only a little less time, Maria had retrived from the living room her father's old muzzle-loader, along with her mother's and her own shorter gun. They were already loaded, as was the brace of pistols that they retrieved from a kitchen drawer. Both had always hated those two guns. Unlike the rifles, the pistols were not for an attacker. Horrible things tended to happen to women and girls that were taken alive.
This was a drill that they had practiced many times. In less than five minutes, the house was ready to stand siege. It was dark and uncomfortable with nothing but firing slits for light and air, but neither complained. Like William, they had expected attack for a long time.
After what seemed like hours, and was actually at least thirty minutes, they saw a lone figure staggering towards the house. It was William. After carefully scanning for pursuit, Rebecca threw open the door and pulled him inside quickly, locking it behind them.
William's words came in a forced gasp. "Pack of dogs tried to get through the west fence. One of them was some kind of mutant. Bullets didn't want to stop it. Bit me pretty bad, but I got it. Good thing I brought this thing along." As he spoke, an old single-shot pistol fell from his hand. The shiny new pistol was in his holster, and the rifle was nowhere to be seen. He collapsed into a heap.
Maria and Rebecca hauled him into a bed and stripped off his clothes. The many puncture wounds on his arms were very deep, and he had clearly lost quite a bit of blood. That wasn't the real problem, though. Angry red lines already traced his arm and shoulder from the wounds. Rebecca ran from the room. Assuming that her mother was getting bandages, Maria retrieved a bottle of high proof alcohol and a pan from a chest, for soaking them. Much to her shock, Rebecca returned, not with stripped cloth, but with the shiny pistol that William had been carrying.
"Listen to me. I've seen this before. There is nothing that we can do against this. We need a doctor, and we need him know. You can ride faster than I can. Take Lionheart, he's the strongest horse we have. " Rebecca handed Maria the pistol. "I've already loaded it. The road is not safe.
By the time Maria was able to fetch a doctor and return, her father was dead. She sat on the roof of the house long into the night, alone in her grief. The stone kings looked down on her from the mountain, and she thought of the fairy-tale lands that her father had told her of. This would not have happened in Oz, or Narnia, or France. She thought further of the stone kings, of their fabled age when there were no mutants, and the bandits were kept in check by a mighty army that fought beneath a flag full of stars. Such tales were of no comfort to her. The pistol that her father had left them, and the rifle that her mother had retrieved from the attack site, were chief in her thoughts now.
She could shoot already, but she would become very familiar with those weapons in the days ahead. Her dauntless father had , without knowing it, kept many dangers from them merely through the sheer strength of his will, and at some level she now knew that that protection was gone.
A little too much "postapocalyptic" and not very much "interdimensional," although there are hints of the latter. It is, of course, only the first chapter.
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Topic: Collaborative storytelling game. (Read 8356 times)