Aftermath of the Reckoning

Chapter 3

Fighting back tears of sadness, James “Howitzer” Stone stared down at the body of Karnakle. He lay face down, coated from head to toe in congealed blood. His right hand appeared mangled and an arrow protruded from his spine. He wasn’t breathing.

My boy went down fighting.

Sorrow relented to anger, white hot, as only betrayal can evoke. He’d trusted Patch, one of their newer recruits, and now regretted that decision heavily.

Nearby a large rock at the base of huge oak exploded, carving out a semicircle from the tree, over two feet in radius.

They called him Howitzer because of his aspect. By concentrating on inanimate objects, he could make them explode. Multiple small explosions or a single large one, the latter requiring greater focus.

He used this power to cement his position as leader of the Harvesters. Ruthlessly executing most others with aspects, he ensured that no one could challenge his position.

Anger - not uncommon - caused him to lose control of his abilities. Things detonated without warning. Last year, he’d shattered an enormous boulder in a fit of rage upon learning the Death Stalker tribe stole what little food they’d managed to trap in the area. The explosion sent him flying and shattered his right arm in the process.

He met Patch in Poplar Bluff, or what remained of that small town to the south. In spite of his injury (he’d had worse - much worse), Howitzer insisted on traveling there. Amaretto, a female officer in the tribe, accompanied him on the several mile trek by foot. Gasoline was extremely rare along with most mechanical forms of transportation popular in the pre-Reckoning era.

Rummaging through the battered hospital, they searched for any remaining items to help mend Howitzer’s arm. Looters had long since pillaged the remaining drugs but they were able to find an old split and some gauze.

Passing the small dilapidated library on the way back, Amaretto spotted Patch exiting the building carrying a couple of books.

Since Patch was not on hunting grounds nor did he appear to be with members of an opposing tribe, Howitzer expressed curiosity.

“What brings you to these parts soldier?”

“Hi, name is Justin, but you can — “

“Don’t care what your name is soldier, why are you here?”

“Books.” Patch replied, absentmindedly staring at Howitzer’s arm that hung limply by his side. “Let me have your arm.”

“I’ll let you have my foot in your ass boy. Respond to my questions, no more no less. Now, let me see those books.”

Howitzer was not a large man, but he was a couple inches taller than Patch. He appeared to be in his late thirties. Baldness sheathed his head, mercilessly drawing all attention to dark brown eyes that burned with an intensity beyond description, almost inhuman. Furrowed eyebrows ornamented a face cast into a perpetual frown. His clothing failed to conceal a man in very good shape for his age. If his arm was in pain, he displayed no sign of it.

Patch showed him the books: The New England Journal of Medicine and Modern Genetic Analysis.

“Medicine? What you a doctor or some shit like that? You don’t look like no doctor.” Howitzer inspected the young man. Scraggly brown hair and tattered clothing smeared with what appeared to be grease stains.

“No, but I can fix your arm if you let me.”

Howitzer considered for a moment. “Ok boy, go for it. Amaretto, kill him if he tries anything funny.”

Amaretto prepared her bow. “Aye boss.”

Patch dropped his books, reached out and grabbed the arm with both hands and closed his eyes. Howitzer grimaced in pain for a few seconds. “What are you - ”

Then it happened. He could actually feel his bones reforming and skin stitching back together. His jacket covered his arm so he couldn’t see anything but he could certainly feel the pain receding like water down a drain. He stood in shock. Patch’s right arm fell to his side. After a minute, Patch release Howitzer entirely.

“Holy shit, look at this!” Howitzer flexed. “My arm’s good as new! How the fuck -”

Bending down to pick up his books with his left hand, Patch said, “I need to go now.”

“Whoa there buddy, we were just getting to know each other. How would you like to join our tribe? We can get you a new set of duds and something good to eat. Ain’t that right Amaretto?”

“Yes sir, Howitzer. Sir, it appears as if the man’s arm is damaged.” Amaretto lowered her bow and noticed the change in Patch’s movements.

“I suppose I could use a bite to eat,” Patch said, looking a bit paler than earlier. “My ability has consequences, I… absorb the injury into myself. However I usually manage to heal a bit quicker than most.”

“Well fuck me sideways. Soldier, what you say your name was again?”

“You can call me Patch.”

“Patch,” Howitzer laughed. “Appropriate. One thing about me, I usually kill others with aspects, no questions asked. With you though, I’m makin’ an exception.”

Not like the bastard can hurt anyone anyway, what’s he going to heal me to death?

“Amaretto grab those books, can’t let our new tribe member strain himself too much after all that excitement.”

Amaretto reached out and took the books. A few inches shorter than Patch, she was quite pretty for a hunter. Beige hair hung to her shoulders in a ponytail. Calm brown eyes conveyed an appearance of conformity. However a barely perceptible smile flirted at the corner of her lips, suggesting a mischievous side.

Over the next few days, Patch adapted quite well to life in the tribe. His arm healed in less than a week, something that would have been impossible before the Reckoning. Those that conversed with Patch found him somewhat withdrawn but amicable. His aspect however ensured his position as a crowd favorite. Injuries were a part of daily life in the tribe and Patch healed them as he was able. He would sometimes heal several simultaneously, depending on the severity. Healing sickness however appeared to be outside of his capabilities. Even with absorbing so many physical injuries Patch still found time to train as a hunter and pursued that as circumstances permitted.

Howitzer found him to be a pretty terrible hunter but allowed it because he wanted to keep Patch content. It was easier to control a ‘friend’ than an enemy.

That was, until today.