Aftermath of the Reckoning

Chapter 11

Howitzer felt no guilt in forcing Karnakle to carry the two wild turkeys, each weighing in excess of twenty pounds. Showing no signs of fatigue, Karnakle used his left hand to haul the burlap bag containing the birds. The thumb and index finger of his right hand awkwardly grasped a bow, while a bandage concealed the stumps of his other three fingers on the same hand. Amaretto strode alongside Howitzer as the three headed back to camp.

Upon returning to camp yesterday, Howitzer found Karnakle resting in his tent, still groggy from whatever Patch injected into his spine. Apparently the other hunters heard him calling out for help shortly after Howitzer’s team began pursuing Patch and Zoey. It took a few hours for Karnakle to regain full control over his limbs, however today he seemed as spry as ever, except for the hand of course.

I hear any more hand complaints around here, I’m going to show these boys the real meaning of pain.

Pleased to see Karnakle alive, Howitzer decided to grant temporary freedom to Patch and Zoey. Besides, they needed to spend today hunting as winter approached and they lacked enough food to survive. However those two fugitives still rested heavily on his mind, he hated being tricked.

At that moment, Amaretto stopped abruptly and dropped to her knees. Touching the earth, she turned quickly to the northwest and pointed. “We have company,” she whispered.

The other tribe members had already returned to camp, no one should be north of their current position.

If those two fools came back for more fun, I will show them no mercy.

Howitzer stared intently in the indicated direction, however he saw nothing. Then a small branch broke from a tree and his peripheral vision picked up movement. As he focused, he thought he saw a cloaked figure running, but then it seemed to disappear. Definitely male, judging from the size. He concentrated and the individual came into focus, but his head felt weird, it was almost like trying to look at those stereograms he remembered as a kid.

Yet he could clearly see the man moving now, running like a wild animal no more than 40 yards north of their position. Even at this distance, it didn’t appear to be Patch or Zoey. Howitzer didn’t care, the person was on his territory now and he wasn’t about to let this trespasser go.

Sorry boy, you’re about to have a bad day.

Howitzer held up a fist, notifying the group to remain still. He focused on a tree the man was quickly approaching. Envisioning the heartwood deep at the tree’s center, Howitzer grinned broadly as he felt his energy infuse it from a distance. His timing could not have been better.

The center of the oak exploded as if from a mortar shell impact. Bark and splinters of wood sailed outward, as did the man in the cloak. In fact, the guy almost seemed to cleave in two.

An arm landed a few feet north of Howitzer with a thump.

Karnakle jumped back. “Holy fuck! Sir I think you tore the bastard’s arm off.”

Howitzer cautiously walked toward the arm and examined it. His features twisted in revulsion. “Amaretto stay back, you don’t want to see this.”

Karnakle walked up beside him and dropped the bag he was carrying. “What the fuck…” Karnakle turned and vomited.

The arm lacked any hint of skin and smelled ghastly. Flesh that remained at the location where it severed pulsed rapidly. The axillary artery extended beyond the torn flesh, squirming like a tentacle in search of prey.

Within seconds, the arm turned black and shriveled to a quarter of its size, like watching a time lapse video of a banana rotting.

“Sir this shit ain’t right,” Karnakle said after he swallowed down the acidic remains of his lunch. “We gotta get the fuck outta here.”

Howitzer ignored him. Obviously something was fucked up. No human decayed that fast and though he wasn’t an expert with his aspect yet, he’d never seen skin completely melted from an arm. No way his explosion did that.

He cautiously approached the location of where he thought the body landed. After walking a few yards, he noticed a large granite rock jutting above a small downward slope. A piece of the man’s brown cloak lay on its surface.

Must be on the other side of that rock.

Howitzer reached into his field jacket and pulled out Old Betsy, his Colt Anaconda, from a shoulder holster. He was the only tribe member to carry a gun but he never used it. Short of finding an abandoned military installation with its supplies still present, ammunition proved to be almost irreplaceable. He only had one box of .44 Magnum rounds remaining back at camp in addition to the six in the cylinder.

But he had no idea what the fuck this thing was. The precious seconds that his aspect required to detonate objects may not be available if the man ran at him as fast as he was running earlier. Besides, it had been over a year since he and Old Betsy danced together. The gun felt like an extension of his arm as his fingers clasped around the polished rosewood grips. Howitzer grinned.

If that poor boy’s still alive, I’m about to have myself some fun.

***

Darkness.

Everywhere, darkness.

And then luminescence trickled into the sea of black, slowly at first. Tree’s eventually manifested and sharpened in the surrounding grey of dusk. And then, his memory returned.

Wendell remembered his purpose.

Needs Bloodflower.

Misery struck him like a sledge hammer as he contemplated his delay. How could he doze off in the middle of such an important mission?

As his full senses returned, so did the awareness of his missing left arm. In spite of the urgency demanded by his assignment, this gave him a moment of pause.

Needs arm first.

Wendell turned looked up. Above the rock a grinning bald man advanced with a gun pointed directly at him.

Two arms. Wendell sees two arms.

The bald man’s grin converted into an expression of utter disgust. Wendell realized that his cloak hung about in tatters; only a few charred pieces remained, seemingly melded to his body.

The bald man growled, “Don’t know who you are boy, but you definitely picked the wrong day to go hiking.”

Wendell jumped high to the top of the rock before him. Before landing, a solid point bullet struck him square in the sternum with enough force to throw him off balance and toppling back to the ground. Impossibly, his rib cage remained intact. This didn’t surprise him.

What did surprise him was that this bald man could see him. People almost never saw him, let alone attack him first. How could this be possible?

Too dangerous.

Wendell stood and bolted to the east, but he didn’t get far before the gun fired. And fired again.

One bullet entered the soft area next to his scapula, passed through his lungs and exited his upper chest between two ribs. The other bullet tore through the calf muscle of his right leg.

Neither puncture bled nor slowed him down by any measurable amount. Quite the opposite, his pace increased, faster and faster, until he far exceeded what could be considered normal for a human.

Soon, he escaped the gun’s range. The sound of the bald man yelling diminished in his ears and once again the pleasure of fulfilling his master’s orders welled up inside him.