Billie the Kid: The Sky Fire Chronicles Book 1 Page 11

  It was a scene from hell.

  The only living things were the fat, grotesque flies climbing in and out of rib cages and over chunks of torn flesh. The flies had eaten their fill and many basked lazily in large swarms in the hot sun.

  What…did…this? Whatever it was wasn’t human. But neither was its killer.

  Billie lowered her gun, turned and staggered away from the ghastly area. After several faltering steps she sank to her knees, clamping her eyes tight and failing to rid herself of what she had witnessed. The revolver slipped from her limp fingers, dropping unnoticed to the ground.

  “Why?” She pressed her clenched fists against her thighs. “Why must there be all these deaths?!”

  Poised on the edge of a gentle slope, Billie scanned the enormous bowl-shaped canyon. Even her inexperience told her something wasn’t right. Nature never sculpted the land as smooth as the surfaces that stretched out before her—it was almost without fault.

  Billie’s eyes were drawn to a dark hole at the canyon’s center. A natural cave or man-made tunnel, she couldn’t decide. The opening was some distance from where she knelt and apart from a few scattered stones, it was the only feature on the canyon floor. As a stepdaughter of a miner, she had spent most of her life around mines and marvelled that there were no mine tailings or evidence of digging.

  Natural formation? I don’t think so.

  Shielding her eyes, Billie surveyed the canyon’s circumference. Nothing moved along the top of canyon, or down in its bottom.

  Where are they?

  The loneliness of this land was unnerving—it was too quiet.

  Joey could be anywhere… Why are the mutants travelling so far south? Nothing could live out here for long. And why take Joey?

  Her eyes were drawn to the cave. With no other foreseeable option, Billie took one last look around before dropping off the plateau. She created a mini landslide as she headed down the canyon’s bank. Dirt slid under her feet, but she remained upright.

  It was just after midday and Billie’s heart thumped in her chest as she crossed the open ground. It felt like eyes bored into her back every step she took and she moved as fast as she could.

  I’m being silly. There is nothing here…

  She carried the revolver as she jogged—it was strange, a few days ago Billie wouldn’t have thought carrying a weapon would feel natural, but it did now. She hoped when the time came she could summon the lightning as she did with the coyotes.

  God will provide…

  Several footprints were visible across the flat ground and intersected her path. Like her, they also headed toward the cave. Bending down, Billie touched the prints lightly with the tips of her fingers. Even though the dirt was soft, the shoe prints’ edges were intact and hadn’t eroded.

  Fresh boot marks? But who made them?

  Billie glanced around before continuing on with a new urgency—she didn’t stop again until reached the cave. Panting, she looked down into the dark entrance and shuddered. She had no wish to leave the surface and go underground, but this was her only choice.

  The coin.

  Suddenly, she had a desire to see the odd coin Clay gave her all those years before and removed it from her pocket. It was a plain silver coin, no doubt worth a lot of money—but it was her good luck charm and she had no wish to sell it. She rotated the coin in her hand, its surface shiny and clean against her dirty skin. Over the years it had never tarnished. It looked as clean as the day she got it.

  What did he say? Keep this close—

  From nowhere, a gust of wind blew up, throwing a wall of fine dust into the air. She closed her eyes and covered her mouth with her hat. The wind howled like a living thing and then, as quick as it came, it stopped.

  Oh, I don’t like this.

  Billie returned the coin to her pocket and dusted off her clothes, wondering if the wind was an omen. Was it warning her not to go underground? Hesitantly, Billie stared into the oily blackness.

  People went down there…

  With one last look around, Billie crept into the tunnel and was swallowed by the darkness. With no light, she guided herself with one hand on the rough wall and the other holding the gun. It felt like travelling into the bowels of the earth. After a minute, she glanced back the way she had come, surprised how far she had already travelled. The entrance was now a distant spot of light.

  It was a relief to be out of the merciless sunlight and she rested against the tunnel, its solid surface cooler than the desert above and comforting hiding in the darkness. She slumped down onto the dirt floor and took a swig from her canteen, washing the grit from her mouth.

  After putting away the water, Billie drew her knees up and rested her weary head on her folded arms. Her limbs felt like lead—the tension of the past few days weighed heavily on her. She tried blinking away her fatigue without success and gradually, her eyelids closed. She could feel herself drifting into sleep and she didn’t try and fight it.

  I’ll rest…just for a minute…

  Holding weapons in each hand, Tommy dropped into a low crouch. Roberts raised a hand in warning and the others froze. Pat leaned against the wall, aiming her carbine down the tunnel and past her companions.

  For a long time the Native American remained stationary, while the rest of the team watched his scared back. Pat imagined him sniffing the air like a hound—as she had seen him do before. Roberts once joked the tracker had a nose for trouble and she guessed the marshal was referring to Tommy’s excellent sense of smell—he had an uncanny ability of detecting the faintest scent.

  Tommy straightened and without a backward glance, he moved forward again. His slow and deliberate footsteps made no sound as he padded down the tunnel for several yards before crouching again. He remained still for a few long minutes before Roberts broke the silence.

  “Forward,” whispered the old marshal gruffly. “But remain quiet. There’s something ahead.”

  What’s ahead?

  The group moved down the tunnel, stopping a few yards behind the tracker. Roberts leaned in close to Tommy, whispering in his ear. “What is it, old friend?”

  “Bad spirits live here.”

  “What did he say?” asked Carter from the back. Bartlett indicated that he should stay silent. Carter scowled, but nodded his understanding.

  No one moved or spoke for some time, they all looked ahead. It looked no different from the tunnel they had already travelled, but it didn’t feel right. Pat was sweating, but not from the air temperature. She could feel something, too.

  Roberts placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder as he stepped past him. He stalked down the tunnel with his cavalry sword held out in front. Sheriff Bartlett limped after him, favoring his good leg. Pat glanced back at Carter. The man hung back. He was scared. No doubt he regretted not leaving when he had the opportunity.

  Tommy rose and faced Pat and Carter. “Death is near.” His face glistened with sweat. “It’s hungry.” Without another word, the Native turned and followed the two older lawmen, leaving Pat standing alone with Carter.

  The swordsman gripped her arm with a surprising strength. “Let’s leave!” he said, his voice strained and edgy. “You heard him. Death is here.” Carter’s eyes were wild and he wouldn’t look at her.

  “We have more chance of surviving if we stay with the marshal,” said Pat, breaking Carter’s grip on her arm. “Come on. Let’s catch up to the others.”

  Carter looked like he was about to make a run for it, but he nodded.

  The poor bastard has lost it.

  The luminous fungi growing along the walls and ceiling washed the tunnel in a dull light. Their companions were nowhere to be seen. Shit! Pat panicked and grabbed Carter’s arm, dragging him forward. They caught up no time.

  The semi-darkness disorientated Pat and she had lost all sense of time. They entered the cave around midnight and that could have been hours or even days ago now, she couldn’t tell. It was hard to judge the time without the sun or stars and she didn
’t carry a pocket watch. Society thought it ‘unseemly’ for a woman to carry a time piece. ‘Leave worrying about time to the men’ other women would say. ‘Concern yourself with more womanly pursuits.’ Pat’s response was—

  “We’ll stop here,” Roberts said. He stopped and sheathed his sword.

  Bartlett rested his rifle against the wall and slumped to the ground, stretching out his legs. He looked relieved to be off his injured leg, but didn’t complain. Roberts was definitely a hard ass, but she doubted he would leave the sheriff behind. There was no love between the two older men—there was history between them. Maybe they had run into each other during the war.

  Pat removed her pack and dropped opposite the sheriff, her carbine resting across her thighs. She drank a mouthful of water from her canteen and glanced over at Carter. He had dropped back from the rest of them, sitting apart. The drifter knelt with his back against the wall and muttered something she couldn’t quite make out. Taut muscles stood out on his forearms as he clenched his two sword hilts. His forehead creased as he stared down the tunnel—as though expecting something to appear out of the darkness.

  I better mention this to Roberts. He’s going to break.

  A few yards away, Roberts and Tommy stood together. Curious, thought Pat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say those two were talking. Roberts pointed up the tunnel and gestured with his weathered hands. Neither spoke, but something was passing back and forth between them.

  Pat jumped—Roberts had turned and was looking directly at her. His cold yellow eyes seemed to bore into her and for some reason she felt guilty, averting her eyes. Shit! She took another swig from her canteen. When she looked back, Roberts and Tommy had separated.

  “Here.” Bartlett threw Pat a chunk of dry bread, no doubt baked somewhere other than Deepwell and more than likely, it was several weeks old. She thanked him and then bit into its thick crust. It was tasteless and seemed to suck all the moisture out of her mouth. Like eating leather. Regardless, she took another bite.

  The old sheriff lifted the edge of his bandage, winced and lowered it again. He didn’t look happy with what he saw.

  Infected? Will any of us survive this?

  “It’s time.” Roberts indicated they should move again. Bartlett struggled to stand by himself and Pat moved to his aid. He thanked her for her help and she handed him his repeating rifle which he now used as a walking stick. His movements were stiff and every movement cause his face to wince.

  We need to cut our losses and leave. It’ll be a miracle if any of us make it out alive.

  Tommy moved off and the rest followed. Pat walked level with Bartlett, offering him help when he needed it. She carried her Peacemaker revolver now, her carbine was now slung on her back. The carbine would be hindered by the narrow tunnel and close proximity of her companions.

  Every time she glanced back at Carter, the drifter had lagged further behind. She waved to him to catch up, but he didn’t respond. Plodding on, he staring listlessly at the ground, lost in his own thoughts. He carried one sword limply in his hand, the other sheathed—he didn’t look capable of much in his current condition. There was nothing they could do for him now. He was lost, fighting his own internal demons.

  Suddenly, Roberts stooped and called for silence. Tommy had disappeared into the gloom and they tensed, not knowing what was going to happen.

  Pat expected the worst.

  Roberts looked from Pat and Bartlett. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Tommy’s gone quiet.” He looked past them. “Where’s Carter?”

  “Carter?” Pat glanced back. The tunnel was empty. “He was here a second ago.”

  “That bastard has chickened out,” Bartlett growled. “He’s a coward.”

  “Forget him,” said Roberts. “He’s as good as dead without us.”

  The three lawmen continued, passing several side passages branching off the main tunnel. Distorted sounds echoed and bounced out of their depths. The side passages were totally dark, but they continued along the main tunnel.

  After some distance a light appeared ahead, illuminating the walls and sending the shadows dancing. The light was brighter than fungi and flickered like fire. There were people ahead.

  “Stay here,” said Roberts. “I’ll go ahead and if I’m not back in five minutes, I suggest you cut your losses and leave.”

  “We’ll not leave without you,” said Pat.

  “Touching,” said Roberts grimly. “But the choice is yours.” Without waiting for a reply, the old marshal moved down the tunnel and toward the flickering light.

  Time ticked by and there was no sign of Roberts. Pat glanced at Bartlett leaning against the wall, sweat trickling down the side of his face. He looked weak and noticed her watching him and smiled. He removed his watch from his vest pocket and checked it for the tenth time since Roberts left.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “Almost ten minutes.” He returned the watch to his pocket.

  “We have to go after him.”

  “I’ll go,” said Bartlett. “You stay here. If you hear any shooting, run.”

  “Why? Because I’m a woman?”

  “No. I…”

  “Good. We go together.”

  Bartlett started to speak, but decided it wasn’t worth. With a grunt, he pushed himself off the wall and readied his rifle. He nodded to her and then hobbled up the tunnel. Pat slipped her shoulder under his to take some of his weight. She had a sinking feeling in her gut.

  This is not going to end well.

  Chapter 15

  “What devilry is this?” muttered Bartlett.

  The sheriff and Pat stood at the edge of a cavern, fifty yards in diameter. It was dark as the fungi growing on the high ceiling only dimly illuminated small pockets of the chamber, leaving most of it in shadows. The air was stuffy and hot—hotter than it had a right to be this far underground. The heat source wasn’t obvious, but seemed to radiate from the far end of the chamber as it got hotter the further they went. It stunk of charred earth and Bartlett stifled a cough.

  Ducking behind stone rubble, they peered at a group of small creatures some distance away, moving in and out of the shadows. There were three of them—they were the same dark-skinned imps they fought in the horse chamber. In this shadowy cavern, the imps blended in well with their surroundings and it was only their chatter that alerted the pair to their presence. The imps had emerged from one of the chamber’s several side passages, laboring over a laden cart. Pat and Bartlett just made it into cover when the creatures appeared. The cart, which looked too large for their thin frames to push, was full of black rocks streaked oddly with multiple colored threads—sky rocks.

  “What are they doing?” asked Pat.

  “Mining sky rocks by the look of it.”

  “Underground? I thought sky rocks were only found on the surface.”

  Ten years ago when the sky burst into flames, fire and sky rocks rained down from the heavens, peppering the borderlands and wasteland. The precious sky rocks are mined at the surface or to a depth of a few yards. There were no reports of the rocks being deeper.

  “And it would seem underground as well,” said Bartlett.

  They watched the imps struggling to turned their heavy cart and push it toward the largest tunnel at the far end of the chamber. A faint glow radiated from this opening, giving it a foreboding appearance—much like how she pictured the entrance to hell would look. The imps pushed their cart through the opening and disappeared from view.

  They continued to watch the chamber and after a few minutes, Pat asked, “Where do you think the Marshal is?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Do you think he’s…”

  Three more squat imps appeared from another tunnel pushing a similar cart into the chamber. This cart was also full of sky rocks and they, too, turned and headed toward the same tunnel as the first group.

  Why are they mining sky rocks?

  “I think we should follow
them,” said Bartlett.

  “Follow them? You’re crazy.”

  “Yeah, I might be.” Bartlett’s gaze never left the imps. “But we don’t have a choice. Roberts and Tommy have disappeared…along with Carter. There’s something happening down that tunnel and maybe, that’s where Eddie Stein is.”

  Pat wasn’t so sure they’d find the answers down that tunnel. Stein’s youngest son, Eddie, was probably already dead, like his older brother, Karl.

  Why would mutants go to the trouble of stealing a few bags of sky rocks when they have a mine of the stuff? It doesn’t make sense.

  The imps and the mine cart disappeared into the far tunnel. Bartlett stood and alarmed, Pat grabbed his arm, stopping him from making a mistake.

  “Is it possible that the mutants were after the boy and not the rocks?”

  “Why would…shit. You might be right.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “But why? He’s just a small child.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Billie paused, her revolver shaking in her hands as she glanced ahead. She gripped the weapon in two hands, trying to steady it—it didn’t help. The tunnel opened into a chamber, illuminated by strange yellow fungi growing on the ceiling. The light, regardless of its odd hue, was a relief from the pitch black tunnel she had just traversed. These dark tunnels made her feel like something was going to jump out at her. She was jumpy, but so far she had resisted shooting at shadows. She was scared what the sound might bring.

  An iron cage receded into a wall on one side of the chamber, corralling half a dozen horses. The sturdy desert horses’ ears twitched and a few moved nervously in their confined quarters. No doubt these horses belonged to the men that took her brother.

  Across from her, a tunnel led off into the darkness. With her gun held out in front, Billie moved into the chamber. Her sight darted from shadow to shadow looking for any hidden danger. She was relieved there was none.

  The others must be down here somewhere. I’ve got to find them.

  Tensely, she glanced at the passage opposite. She had no choice, it was the only way she could go—deeper underground. Wiping her sweaty brow with her shirt sleeve, Billie left the chamber and headed down the tunnel.