Battle for the Wastelands Read online

  “May th’ Howling God et ther goddamned souls!” he roared. His rage blew away his educated façade. For a moment he was the rough coal miner Grendel knew he had been long ago. Alrekr hopped off Grendel’s shoulder and hooked its claws into its master’s back. As Clark raged, Grendel’s curiosity stirred. Though the big man was not known for self-control, this apocalyptic wrath was a bit much.

  “Hand me the message.” Clark obeyed. Grendel frowned as he read the message. Apparently an insurrection had broken out not far from the fort. His frown deepened. His regime brought them peace and this was how they repaid it? He continued reading. The garrison had engaged the rebels on a series of hills. The Flesh-Eaters had triumphed as expected and were marching on Carroll Town itself.

  Good. The Flesh-Eaters would make the townsfolk into an object lesson.

  Then things took a turn for the worse. The telegram claimed a delegation from the Leaden Host had been in the area. The townsfolk deployed an Old World grenade during the fight, delaying the encirclement of the rebel force. Old World weapons belonged to the Host leaders alone, so Alexander Matthews, lord of the Leaden Host, had to have been aiding the Carroll Town rebels somehow. Merrill involvement was also suspected.

  Grendel snorted. Though he and his top subordinates had a monopoly on Old World military equipment — vigorously enforced — he was not foolish enough to think it infallible. Some farmer probably dug the grenade out of his garden and sold it to a passing merchant, who misplaced it in Carroll Town before he could turn it in for a substantial reward. And Alex of all people would not undermine Grendel’s laws or connive with the lineage he once helped overthrow.

  “My lord,” Clark began. “If it’s true Matthews is aiding rebels in my lands, especially if he’s helping the Merrills —”

  “Alexander has been my right hand since the beginning.” He left “unlike you” unspoken. “He would not be stupid enough to break the arms law just to cost you a few men, nor would he be stupid enough to consort with the Merrills.”

  That didn’t stop Clark. “Alexander’s men have been nosing around my border. They don’t return absconding peasants.”

  Grendel frowned. The latter issue could be left to the two to work out themselves, but border incidents tended to escalate. Still, he was not going to just believe Clark’s accusations. He owed his old friend that much. “To bring charges like this is a serious matter, Clark.” His preferences and the threat of his wrath showed in his voice.

  Clark nodded. Grendel considered his claim. It was ludicrously unlikely Alexander would attack the Flesh-Eaters, especially when he was in his capital and not close by to supervise the resulting war.

  One unsettling possibility presented itself. It had been just over four years since he threw down the Merrills, the last substantial foes between the mountains, the desert, and the seas. With no significant wars to provide loot or land for his supporters to give to their supporters, keeping the peace had become a full-time job.

  It was in Alexander’s interests to keep the general peace, but not in the interests of his subordinates. Their best chance to improve their position came through war. A local commander could be stirring the pot, hoping for the chance to expand his personal domain.

  Clark’s accusation could have merit. A commander who sheltered runaways and aided rebels could generate a following on the wrong side of the border. Grendel was loath to believe an accusation leveled against his old comrade by a former enemy, but an accusation against his friend’s henchmen was an entirely different matter.

  And if war came between the Leaden Host and the Flesh-Eating Legion, it would likely require the presence of Grendel himself to stop it.

  “I am going to investigate this personally, and I will bring my men. If most of the fort’s garrison has left, the fort might be vulnerable to the Merrills.”

  “Do you think I…” Clark’s voice trailed away. He must have remembered to whom he spoke.

  “Fifty guardsmen are just outside your gate,” Grendel continued. Fifty Obsidian Guard. Fifty of the finest soldiers in the Northlands. Equal to five times their number of Flesh-Eaters, if not more. “They’re more than enough to handle the matter.”

  Carroll Town Falls

  The townsfolk screamed as the first explosions erupted around the gate. The shells fell deeper into the town, smashing windows and spreading smoke. The crackle of splintering wood filled Andrew’s ears. Those closer to the entrance rushed into the town square. Others ran this way and that like frightened chickens. The whine of incoming shells and the thunder of their explosions buried the townsfolk’s screams.

  Andrew closed his eyes and slowly forced the fear away. The enemy may well have licked the townsfolk, but even a hurt dog still had teeth. If he died, he’d take some with him.

  “Sam!” Andrew shouted. His friend snapped to attention. “Gather everyone who can shoot. Find guns for the ones who need them.”

  “Got it!”

  Sam limped after those nearest him. Andrew looked around. The first person he spotted was a woman. Though the idea of putting women in harm’s way offended Andrew in his bones, Eudora Court had killed a ripper menacing her baby nephew with a single shot through the throat two months prior. This despite being two years younger than Andrew himself. “Eudora!”

  His words grabbed the big blond girl’s attention. “Yes?” Her blue eyes were wide and her voice betrayed her fear. “You armed?” She pointed to the handle of the gun peeking out of the top of her long dark skirt. “Come on, then!” She hesitated. Mortar shells exploded in the street beyond the square, getting closer and closer. “Damn it,” Andrew snarled. He felt a momentary guilt for swearing in front of a woman, but pushed it aside. “The Flesh-Eaters will kill you, or worse!”

  Another mortar shell slammed into the town. Andrew felt its wind. Eudora flinched. “What are we going to do?”

  Andrew’s mind raced. The men of Carroll Town couldn’t face the Flesh-Eaters on the hills. What could they do?

  Then an idea hit him. “They’re going to come through the gate. Perhaps we can slow them there. It’s narrow. If they use their mortars, they might hit their own troopers.”

  Assuming they give a damn. “How many women can shoot and have guns?” Sarah had killed a Flesh-Eater. There had to be more.

  Eudora looked around. “There ain’t many left.”

  “How many?”

  “Two or three, probably.”

  “I’ll get Sarah. You get the rest. Meet me at the far end of the square.”

  She nodded. Andrew turned toward where he’d left Sarah.

  She was gone. Cassie too. “Sarah?” Andrew called out. “Cassie?” Nobody answered. Panic rose inside him. The Flesh-Eaters were still bombarding the town. They couldn’t possibly have taken the two women. If both were gone, they were likely somewhere safe. Maybe. Hopefully.

  Another mortar shell landed outside the entrance to the town square. The explosion swept across the porch of the butcher’s shop. Lily’s two little cousins, who’d been hiding behind old salt barrels left out as decorations, slammed onto the ground in the midst of the square. Some parts traveled farther.

  Andrew’s gut lurched. He quickly forced it down. The harsh smell of the spent explosives stung his nostrils.

  “Sam!” Andrew’s voice quavered more than he liked. “Sam!”

  “Here!” He had Ken with him. Both had rifles.

  Andrew frowned. Just three to fight the Flesh-Eaters, and Ken wasn’t exactly reliable.

  “Andrew!” a female voice shouted. Sarah? His gaze snapped toward the sound. It was Eudora and her short, curly-haired friend Amanda Fahner. Both were armed. Five men — townsfolk, rather — to face an oncoming army.

  Another mortar round crashed on the far side of the now-empty square. This explosion bloomed over the saloon. Wood and shrapnel flew.

  Andrew hoped Sarah, Cassie, and his mother were safe. Other than the two kids, there was only one corpse in the square and that one was male. He shook h
is head. If he kept standing there woolgathering, a mortar might find them. He counted the others again. Their quintet against hundreds of Flesh-Eaters. They were dog meat. But they wouldn’t die alone.

  Andrew looked at the gate. “The mortars are getting closer!” He could barely hear himself over his ringing ears. “We move forward, we’ll be out of the way!”

  He spotted the boardinghouse sixty feet from the gate. The mortar blasts had caved in the roof, but the lower floors should still be intact. It would be a good place to defend.

  Andrew pointed. “There!” The five rushed forward, Sam barely keeping up. “Hurry!” It would be a real quick fight if the enemy brought mortars to bear before they even saw the foe.

  “You said we’d get out from under —” Ken protested.

  Andrew’s thoughts whirled. “They’ve already shelled the square! They must be doubling back!”

  They had to move. The next whistling shell would be their death. Andrew ran for the boardinghouse. The others followed on his heels.

  All except Ken. Andrew skidded to a stop, with Sam following. The women kept running. “Goddamn it! You stay there, you’ll die!” Ken stayed frozen where he was. His mouth moved, but no words emerged. “Move, damn it!” Ken stayed put.

  “Come on!” Sam shouted from beside Andrew.

  There wasn’t time. “Sam! Drag him!”

  Sam hesitated. Would Andrew have to pull Ken to safety himself? “Come on,” Sam said. When Ken refused to budge, Sam grabbed his left arm. Wincing with every stumbling movement, he dragged him toward the town gate, toward the Flesh-Eaters.

  “N…no!” Ken cried out. He pulled away from Sam.

  “Goddamn it!” Andrew shouted.

  He rushed forward and grabbed Ken’s right arm with his free hand. He and Sam dragged Ken toward the boardinghouse. Beyond the smoke rose clouds of dust. The Flesh-Eaters were near.

  Whistling filled the air. This one would be close. Andrew suddenly needed to shit.

  The explosion bloomed atop a building to their left. Splintered wood rained down. One piece knocked Andrew sideways. He barely kept his feet. Sam shouted as something sliced his cheek. But it was the tramp of boots thundering loudest in Andrew’s ears.

  “If we don’t want the Flesh-Eaters catching us out in the open, we have to run!” Andrew shouted. “We might have to leave Ken!”

  “No!”

  “Keep up, then!”

  Andrew ran. Fortunately, so did Ken. Sam brought up the rear. The three scrambled up the steps into the boardinghouse. Andrew slammed the door closed.

  “Eudora!” Andrew shouted. “Amanda!”

  “In here!” Eudora shouted from Andrew’s left. The three barreled into the parlor. The two young women crouched beneath the window amid broken glass. Shafts of sunlight plunged from holes the mortars had torn in the ceiling. Andrew shut the front door behind him and braced it with a chair.

  The three men joined them. Seconds later, the Flesh-Eaters passed through the gate.

  The first through were the fanatics. Their mad gazes swept ahead, reminding Andrew uncomfortably of rippers. He remembered the arroyo and shivered. They climbed onto the porches nearest the gate.

  “You see them?” Andrew whispered, hoping like hell the men outside couldn’t hear. The others looked up and quickly ducked down again. “When we shoot, get the fanatics first.”

  The others nodded.

  The ordinary Flesh-Eaters soon followed. Their tramping was the only sound. They fanned out, kicking down doors and rushing into buildings. Two went into the bakery across from the boardinghouse. They emerged carrying a loaf of bread each. Andrew hoped they’d waste time looting.

  A big Flesh-Eater wearing sergeant’s chevrons on his collar intervened. Swearing loudly, he picked both up by their uniform collars and slammed them together. They dropped the bread. The sergeant threw it off the porch into the street.

  Andrew nearly leaped forward at the sight of food being so casually thrown away. These Flesh-Eaters were so used to living off the sweat of good folk that food — and the work of preparing it — meant nothing to them!

  “Andy!” Sam hissed. “Not now.”

  He checked his movement. His friend was right. He pursed his lips. If it took sergeants keep the regular soldiers in line, what would happen if the sergeants died?

  He pointed at the sergeant. “See the big man?”

  “Yeah,” Sam whispered back.

  “I’m going to shoot him. If you see others like him and there aren’t fanatics close by, shoot them too.”

  The others nodded. Andrew looked back toward the street. More Flesh-Eaters entered the town. Some drew near. Andrew checked his rifle to see if there was a round chambered.

  “Ready?” he whispered. They all nodded, Ken last. “Good. I’ll get the sergeant. The rest of you kill the ones heading this way.”

  Andrew rose into the window. He did not hesitate this time. The man slammed into the porch, the back of his head decorating the wall and doorway.

  Sam filled the space next to Andrew. Eudora rose up behind him. Firing together, the three killed both would-be looters and two fanatics. Boots thundered on the porch outside. The enemy pounded on the door to their hideout. Amanda fired through it. The pounding abated for a moment. Then the door exploded inward.

  “Kill for the Howling God!” a one-eyed fanatic with a missing ear shouted. He leaped over the chair that once blocked the door onto Amanda and bit her. She slammed into the floor, blood streaming from gashes in her cheek and ear. As she fell she tried to aim, but he batted her arm away and brought a pistol up…

  Ken screamed at the Flesh-Eater. The fanatic’s mad gaze fell on him. Ken raised his rifle but inexplicably did not fire.

  Andrew remembered his own hesitation. Oh no. He’s dead…

  The Flesh-Eater lunged. Ken finally pulled the trigger. The bullet knocked the fanatic backward. He kept his feet, despite blood pouring from his left shoulder. He hissed in anger. His gun hand rose…

  Another rifle fired from the doorway. The bullet struck Ken in the hip. He cried out and fell to his knees.

  Andrew’s rifle snapped sideways. He squeezed the trigger. The rifle thundered in the small room. The bullet threw the Flesh-Eater out of the door into the hallway.

  The fanatic turned to face Andrew and laughed.

  Then Eudora’s bullet caught him in the back. He fell to his knees. He dragged himself toward Andrew, lips moving soundlessly. Despite his injuries, Ken fired. The bullet punched through the Flesh-Eater’s head and buried itself in the nearby wall. The fanatic slumped to the floor, finally dead.

  Another Flesh-Eater appeared in the door. Andrew fired again. The enemy sank gurgling to his knees. Another Flesh-Eater dragged him out of sight.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Andrew shouted, barely hearing his own words. “Elsewise they’ll trap us!” Making their stand in a room with only one door had not been smart.

  Sam nodded. He dragged himself toward the door. Gunfire cracked in the hall. He jumped back. “Two Flesh-Eaters,” he shouted. “Maybe more behind them.”

  A sick feeling rose in Andrew’s stomach. The enemy was outside and inside. Shit. Although he knew the boardinghouse had a back door, he hadn’t planned how they’d get to it if they had to run. Shit.

  Andrew gestured to Sam and to Ken, who lay moaning on the floor in a pool of blood. Then he pointed toward himself and the door. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but he was damned if he was going to send his best friend and the women into their enemies’ teeth alone.

  Something clattered on the wooden floor in front of the window behind Andrew. He turned. It was a grenade. That changed things. “Run!” Andrew shouted.

  He jumped into the hall, firing as he landed on his side. His first shot missed, but the second hit a crouching Flesh-Eater in the chest. The man slumped onto the ground.

  His companion fired at Andrew. The bullet sliced through one of his pants legs and the flesh beneath
. Pain flared, but only briefly.

  Eudora jumped into the hall behind Andrew and fired. Her bullet caught the Flesh-Eater in the head. Andrew looked back into the room where the other three remained.

  “Sam!” Andrew shouted.

  “I’m right —”

  The exploding grenade cut him off. Thunder cracked in the confined space. Sam fell on Andrew. The weight forced the air from his lungs. For a moment, he saw red.

  Luckily it was over quickly. Sam scrambled off. Andrew gulped down air as Sam swore. A chunk of shrapnel stuck out of his friend’s left arm. Blood from other wounds spotted his clothes.

  “Ken took the worst of it,” Sam shouted. “He’s dead!”

  Ken’s body lay just inside the door. The grenade had shredded him from his knees to his head. Jagged metal emerged like quills from a porcupine from the red and white mess the explosion had made of his body.

  “Amanda!” Eudora screamed. She rushed into the smoke pouring from the room. Despite his wounded arm, Sam snatched at her dress. He caught a handful of fabric, but she nearly pulled free anyway.

  “She’s dead!” Sam screamed. Blood welled around the shrapnel in his arm. Despite her struggling, he slowly pulled her out.

  “We’ve got to get out!” Andrew shouted.

  “Back into the street?” Eudora screamed. “We go there, we’re dead!”

  “Back door!” A slim chance was better than none.

  The two pulled Sam to his feet, then rushed through a hall into the kitchen. Ahead, beside the old stove, the back door hung open. Through it, Andrew saw Flesh-Eaters gathered on the dirt path behind the building.

  “Oh shit.” Andrew’s mind whirled. “I’ve got an idea. They’re going to expect us to run out panicking.”

  It was Sam who grasped it first. “We run out shooting.”

  Andrew nodded. “Wish we had a grenade. Our rifles will have to do.” He stepped forward. Sam and Eudora followed. Andrew shook his head at her. “Keep an eye out for anyone who comes in the front door.”

  Eudora scowled but nodded. Andrew and Sam raised their rifles.

  “Wait,” Andrew said. “Reload!” Both young men reloaded their rifles. “Ready?” Sam nodded.