In 7 years, much had changed. The once prosperous trading outpost was now just ruins, some burnt, some blown up, very little remaining. 4 graves just outside the town were filled with the dead, and Lincoln and Mackeroy and the others were nowhere to be seen. The town was dead silent, save for the random whistle of the wind, or the howl of a distant folstor.
In the distance, on a once oft-traveled path, rode in 4 muffalo, each with a rider: Lincoln, Mackeroy, and Abigail, now 11 years old. On the fourth muffalo was a man in a White Marshal Death Squad uniform, and he was leading the group back to their settlement, in irons. As they entered the once beautiful town square, they all got off of the muffalo, and the Marshal began to speak.
"You tried so hard to kill us, but a man stands no chance against a million. You three stand here today, to be executed, by the authority of the White Marshal Empire." Said the officer, a smirk on his face. "I say good riddance. Have you any last words?"
Lincoln, his face now scarred, spoke. "You and your ilk killed my wife. If I don't kill you, then someone else will." He spat on the ground, near the soldier's boots.
Next to him, behind his back, Mackeroy was fiddling with his cuffs.
YOU ARE READING
Chronicles 1: Revenge
Science FictionThe first of a collection of 10 stories throughout time on a distant world where humanity fled to after Earth became uninhabitable. The first story's rough draft is finished, though subject to change. The second story is being written, and a sneak p...
