Billie the Kid: The Sky Fire Chronicles Book 1 Read online

  For a few seconds, the ground trembled, bringing Pat and Sheriff Bartlett to a sudden halt. They looked at each other, but neither knew the vibration’s source. Pat mouthed, “What was that?” Bartlett shrugged and indicated they should continue. Holding his rifle at waist height, he walked on with Pat beside him.

  The light glow ahead became brighter the further they travelled down the tunnel and it was also getting warmer. It was now almost as hot as standing outside under the cloudless sky. Her shirt, wet with sweat, stuck uncomfortably to her back and the Peacemaker felt slippery in her hand. She swapped gun hands and wiped her palm—thankfully, she was a skilled shooter with both hands.

  The old Sheriff seemed affected by the increase in heat. His pace slowed and his limp was now more pronounced. Sweat darkened his dusty shirt and water ran down his cheeks. He didn’t complain.

  He’s about to drop.

  They stopped so Bartlett could catch his breath and ahead they could see that the tunnel opened to a well-lit area. An open fire roared, flames leaping high into the air. From where they stood, the source of the fire was unknown, but appeared to be below ground level—a pit.

  “Stay here,” said Bartlett, moving forward.

  “Sheriff, you’re injured. I’ll go.”

  The old sheriff protested, but Pat raised a hand. “I know,” she said. “I’ll be careful.” Without waiting for a response, Pat crept forward, her Peacemaker in hand.

  She froze in the opening into a massive, high-domed chamber, dominated by a wide lake-like, fire-filled depression. Flames three times taller than a house shot into the air, licking at the rock ceiling and bathing everything in dancing orange light.

  The heat was intense—like she was sitting too close to a bonfire. The air was stifling and dried her mouth and throat, snatching her breath away. She coughed.

  This looks like hell.

  On the far side of the chamber, several imps tipped sky rocks out of carts onto a large rock pile of the precious ore—more than any mine she had ever heard of.

  What the mining companies would give for this!

  After the imps unloaded their cargo, they pushed the carts into one of the several tunnels scattered around the cavern’s walls, disappearing from Pat’s view. Some imps stayed behind and moved around the massive inferno’s edge, shovelling rocks into its flames. The effect was remarkable. The rocks caused parts of the fire to flare up and intensify, sending sparks high into the air. Unlike a wood fire, there was little sign of smoke—the flames burned bright and clean.

  Sky rocks burns brighter than coal. Do the mining companies know about this?

  Across the wide chamber, dark shapes moved on an elevated platform. In the fire’s glow she could see several people moving about a stone table. They looked human, but no doubt these were the mutants they had tracked through the wasteland. There were three of them.

  Pat watched as one, a hunchback, fussed over items on the table. He wore a long black gown and two small horns protruded through his hair. His short beard gave him the appearance he was a cross between man and beast. She shivered, despite the heat.

  He’s a mutant…

  The other two men stood nearby, watching the hunchback. It was then she noticed a dozen people sitting nearby, against the cavern wall. They sat motionless, heads bowed—a few of these captives were children.

  Is Eddie Stein amongst them? She wasn’t sure what he looked like.

  She was about to go back when one prisoner moved out from the shadows. It was Roberts. There was no mistaking the old marshal. Fresh blood glistened on the side of his face. It looked like he had put up a fight.

  Tearing her gaze from the hellish scene, Pat snuck back to where Bartlett waited in the tunnel. This was not what she expected. The Agency briefing said this would be a simple kidnapping retrieval. Did they know about all this? Why else would they send their best? Roberts was one of the most experienced and accomplished marshals the Agency had. He was old, but had proven himself to be more than capable of completing any assigned mission.

  Does the Agency know about this place?

  Bartlett and Pat crouched in the tunnel’s shadow, surveying the fire chamber. Imps continued to shovel sky rocks into the fire, increasing the flames’ intensity. The robed hunchback stood behind the stone table cleaning a long-bladed dagger with a white cloth. His white teeth flashed as he grinned, seeming to take pleasure with his task. Pleased with himself, the hunchback laid the dagger reverently on the table and stepped back.

  I don’t like the look of that.

  “There are only…eight imps and three mutants,” said Bartlett. “We can take them.”

  I’m not so sure. Pat kept her doubts to herself. She was a talented marksman—an ability that secured her job with the Agency. With her carbine she could kill most of these demons before they knew what hit them, but this tunnel warren could contain a lot more than what they could see. How far would they get with a dozen prisoners and a horde of demons hot on their heels? Not far enough.

  “We’ll never get out of here alive if we start shooting,” she said. “Let’s wait and see what happens. You never know, we might get lucky.”

  “Yeah, we’re overdue for some luck.”

  “That we are,” muttered Pat, holstering her revolver and unslinging her carbine. She cycled a round into its firing chamber and looked down its iron sights. At this range, the carbine was a better sharpshooter’s weapon than the Peacemaker—although she was sure she could hit her intended targets even with the revolver. The carbine held more bullets.

  A weak cry drew Pat’s gaze back to the mutants. The two men were man-handling a young boy onto the stone table. One pinned down his arms, the other his legs. The boy struggled, trying to break their hold, but it was useless. Terrified, he screamed again—a sound that carried over the roar of the inferno.

  Grinning, the black-robed hunchback stooped over the boy and Pat’s carbine sprung to her shoulder. Her eye sighted down the barrel to the hunchback’s twisted shape. He was as good as dead.

  Bartlett pushed her barrel down and she released her breath. “Wait,” he whispered.

  “What the hell?!” Pat’s gaze followed where Bartlett pointed.

  Roberts stirred, using the wall to stand. Thick chains rattled at his hands as he kicked out at the man holding the boy’s legs. The marshal’s boot connected with the man’s ribs and got the desired effect. The man grunted, doubling over and releasing his captive. But the mutant recovered swiftly, turning on the marshal and driving a meaty fist into the old man’s jaw. Roberts’s head whipped around sharply and he staggered back against the wall. His head slouched to one side as he slid down the wall to where he lay motionless on the ground.

  The boy kicked his legs wildly, but he was no match for the remaining man who easily restrained him.

  “Hold him, you fool, or you’ll be next,” said the hunchback.

  The man complied, pressing his weight on the young boy’s legs again, who struggled and whimpered like an injured animal. The hunchback produced a dagger and held it high over the boy’s trembling body.

  “No!” the boy screamed.

  “Not today.” In a heartbeat Pat raised her carbine, steadied it and sighted down the barrel. At that distance, it was an easy shot for her although the bullet would pass through the wall of flames. She took a deep breath, focused for a second before exhaling and then squeezed the trigger. The carbine boomed like thunder, sending a steel bullet rocketing toward its target.

  The guard holding the boy’s legs moved into the path of the bullet which impacted the side of his temple. His head snapped back, spraying blood and brain matter into the air as he collapsed to the ground.

  “Shit!” Without lowering the carbine, Pat cycled another round and focused again. The second bullet sailed through the air, hitting the remaining man holding the boy in the center of his chest and blew him clean off his feet.

  The hunchback ducked behind the stone table.

  The imps reac
ted quickly, springing into action and sprinting toward Pat and Bartlett at full speed. Their pace was scary fast and they covered the ground in seconds.

  Bartlett’s repeater barked in quick succession, adding to the roar of her weapon. Several small demons went down, but more were coming, flowing into the chamber from the many side tunnels. Within seconds, over twenty imps were closing in on them.

  Click.

  Pat’s carbine was empty and the silence told her so was Bartlett’s. Without looking at the sheriff, she dropped her carbine and drew the Peacemaker. Seemingly without aiming, she fired at the closest imp and its dead body hit the ground, rolling to a stop at her feet. Its sightless eyes stared up at her.

  She fanned the revolver’s hammer, firing three more times before the demons were on them. Razor sharp claws ripped into her flesh as she was dragged to the ground. She tried to stand, but one creature landed on her chest, knocking the wind out of her.

  No!

  Pat raised her head as something struck her temple and her vision blurred, making her head spin. She felt like she was sinking into the hard ground as distorted sounds washed over her. No longer aware of what was happening to her battered body, she sunk into blackness and knew no more.

  Chapter 16

  A wave of pain washed over Pat and a groan escaped her split lips. Her body ached and throbbed. Her eyes opened and the reality of her situation came flooding back like a tidal wave. She lay face down on the ground and by a miracle she was still alive.

  Pain racked her body as she pushed herself up. Thick chains rattled at her wrists—she was secured to a wall beside a row of seated prisoners who stared mutely at the ground. The stone altar was in front of her, towering over them like a menacing monolith.

  They were close to the massive fire pit where she could see the imps shovelling sky rocks into the fire. Tall tongues of flames flared up, leaping over ten yards into the air with each shovelful of sky rocks. The heat was intense and even the ground they sat on was warm.

  Further down the line, Roberts returned her stare evenly. Splotches of blood dotted his torn clothes and his skin was covered in deep scratches. A large, dark bruise was prominent on his cheek. He nodded to her. Roberts still had some fight left and hadn’t given up.

  “You made it,” he said.

  “Shut your yap!” said a guard, kicking Roberts and knocking the marshal over. Roberts righted himself and glared back at the guard defiantly.

  Don’t speak! Pat pleaded silently.

  She gazed at the other chained prisoners. There were a dozen of them, men, women and children. All looked beaten, terrified and on the verge of hysteria. The young boy who was almost sacrificed watched her. Silent tears dampened his bruised face. He was about the age of the Stein boy.

  That must be Eddie.

  Sheriff Bartlett was slumped against the wall. He was unconscious and he had received quite a beating—one of his eyes was swollen shut and his lips were split. His clothes were torn and covered in splotches of dark blood.

  I’m sorry, Sheriff. You don’t deserve this.

  Bartlett didn’t have ‘gifts’ like her and Roberts. He was an ordinary man, a normal, not equipped to battle mutants or demons—but was anyone?

  Joseph lay beside the sheriff, his bandaged leg coated in dry blood. He was conscious, but looked too weak to stand. He glanced over at her, smiling feebly which turned into a grimace when he moved. She indicated for him to remain stationary and he nodded his understanding.

  The poor boy looks done for.

  The two guards standing over them were mutants. From across the chamber they had looked like ordinary men, but this close Pat could see they had physical mutations. Above his shirt collar, one had scales running along his neck and jaw and his eyes were reptilian. He rested a scaly hand on his holstered revolver and stared at the prisoners with a steady, unblinking gaze. The other appeared to be a normal man—except his nails were long, thick claws and would have been more at home on a mountain lion. He carried no visible armaments although his claws looked to be a more than capable weapon.

  The hunchback appeared from a side tunnel and walked to the raised area where they were shackled. His dark robes looked priestly and he flashed a predatory smile at Pat when he noticed her watching him. He stooped in close to her face, his teeth were animal-like and his breath smelled putrid. She turned away from him, not wanting him to see her fear.

  “You are a pretty one,” he said. “It’s good my friends didn’t kill you.” He went to touch her face and she turned away. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. Yet.”

  “What do you want with us?” she demanded.

  “You have spirit. I like that.” He straightened. “It's a shame you must die.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you’re a causality of war. Yes. War is raging on our world and many others. The old gods battle each other for control of our mortal realms and we are their soldiers. Centuries ago, my master was defeated in combat and was imprisoned here as his punishment—to live amongst us mortals. It’s his world by right, but other gods want it back.”

  “You’re just a slave for these demons!”

  The hunchback laughed loud and without restraint. When he regained control of himself, he looked along the line of prisoners, his eyes stopping on Roberts. “You know the truth, don’t you, old man? You’ve seen much and done much for your government. I have seen you kill my kind before…but not for much longer. You and your Native friend...where is that Indian? He can’t be far. Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

  “You’re insane,” she said.

  “Am I? Governments have lied to their people for generations. Are the wise allowed to talk about the old gods and their conflict? Can they inform the people? No! This information is kept secret. The gods tricked people into creating barriers around this world to keep my master contained and keep out the others. But these barriers have been breached before and they will again. Then the glorious fires will rain again—”

  “The Sky Fires?”

  “That’s right, my dear. The Sky Fires destroyed some of the barriers for a brief time, giving enough time for my masters to regain a foothold here. You know the Sky Fires created all this—the wastelands, sky rocks. It reminds my masters of their homeland. It’s how our earth is meant to be.”

  Pat glanced at Roberts, but his face was expressionless, his eyes cast toward the ground.

  Could all this be true? Are we at war with demons, old gods…are they being held back by a magical barrier? It all sounds insane.

  “The good marshal knows the truth,” continued the hunchback. “No doubt he is sworn to secrecy. How noble and stupid. You know the Sky Fires have a small side effect…it triggers mutations in the lucky. Marking us as followers of the rightful gods of this world. I smell your mutation, my pretty. You will become a devoted servant of the dark gods like the rest of us.”

  “Go to hell, you crazy bastard!”

  The hunchback laughed mirthlessly. “You have no choice. Your body is a perfect vessel to house one my demon brethren and then you will be no more.” The twisted man turned and moved to the altar. Ignoring Pat, he inspected the instruments laid out on its stone surface.

  Pat was confused. It was a lot to take in. Sky fire? A war with demons, old gods? It doesn’t make sense. Whatever is going on here, Roberts knows something.

  “Bring that one.” The priest pointed to a middle-aged man. He looked like a miner.

  “No! No!” he pleaded desperately.

  The two guards unlocked the miner from his chains and dragged him to the stone altar. The scaly guard punched the miner twice in the kidneys and the man quietened down enough so they could lift him up onto the altar. Both guards pinned him down by his arms and the mutant with the claws gripped him tightly around the neck. The miner whimpered, but laid still.

  The hunchback stood over the prone man, raising a dagger in two hands above the miner’s chest. Wide-eyed, the miner struggled aga
inst his captors, but he wasn’t strong enough to break their hold. The clawed mutant tightened his grip, sending blood trickling down the miner’s neck. The man started wide-eyed at the raised dagger—

  “Diis quos ego placabo hostiis in tenebris, nominis.” With a dull thud, the hunchback drove the dagger into the miner’s chest.

  The miner screamed, thrashing briefly before going still. All the prisoners flinched—except Roberts. Pat started to stand, she had to do something, but a hand stopped her. She turned, staring into eyes of a twelve-year-old girl. They were all chained. There was nothing they could do for him now. Many of the prisoners burst into tears, men and women alike. Several prisoners made the sign of the cross and prayed for this nightmare to end.

  Why is this happening?!

  The hunchback expertly ripped the dagger down the man’s chest, cutting through his shirt and flesh all the way to his stomach. Blood gushed from the open wound and ran across the stone surface, to drip onto the dirt floor in growing puddles. The hunchback continued his grisly work, cutting deeper into the man’s chest before he thrust his hand inside. Standing back from the altar, the hunchback raised his crimson hand into the air.

  He held the miner’s still pulsing heart!

  The hunchback moved to the edge of the massive fire pit, holding the heart before him. He seemed unaffected by the inferno’s immense heat. “Venerunt domini,” he said as he threw the pulsing heart into the flames. A small part of the fire flared brightly for a second as it consumed the bloody flesh and then settled back down. Staring into the wall of flames, the hunchback raised his bloody hands, muttering something that Pat couldn’t hear.

  A dark shape stirred within the flames.

  Impossible! Pat blinked. I’m seeing things. Nothing could withstand that amount of heat—but the shape moved again. She was sure of it this time.

  “God, please protect us!” said a woman.