Wanderers

chapter 2

I

It was thirty minutes later that the boat entered a bay much larger than the one back at the village. The air grew milky white and hazy, and the way they drifted along in an almost imperceptible breeze called to mind the stillness of a tomb.

On seeing the orderly rows of bizarre midsized ships on the other side of the bay, Garigon asked Meg, “Would those happen to be the Nobility’s boats?”

“Yup. Seems they’ve been anchored there for more than a thousand years.”

Since it wasn’t the sheriff who’d posed the question, Meg’s reply wasn’t overly polite.

“They’re clean as a whistle. I heard they never ever rust, but the way they look like they just pulled up gives me the creeps.”

Meg wanted to say, “Good!” and stick her tongue out at him. As the daughter of a hardworking fisherman, she viewed bounty hunters as right at the top of the list of people to be spit upon.

“But with all their science, the Nobility would’ve been able to use aircraft to come and go to the island,” the bounty hunter continued. “I’d heard stories about them using boats, and now it looks like they were right.”

The Nobility had an intrinsic fear of water—running water in particular. In light of that, the fact that they’d built a facility out at sea on an isolated island and used ships to cross the waves to it was more than just strange; it bordered on the miraculous.

Catching glimpses of enormous docks and cranes off in the distance, as well as fantastic machinery for purposes they could hardly imagine, the group reached land. The faint fog that hung there hid the true nature of this world from their eyes.

When he saw what their final addition, Meg, was doing, the sheriff said with a stern expression, “You remember that promise you made, right? I won’t have you going ashore. Take the boat back to the village.”

“My folks and my little sister are here. Just let me be. I won’t be any trouble.”

“I hate to have to say this, but if something were to happen to the three of them, you’d be all that’s left of your family. I can’t let you do anything dangerous. You’re going back.”

“No way. I can’t face the coming night worrying about if the three of ’em are safe or not. Take me with you, Sheriff.”

“Can’t do it.”

“Then I’ll go anyway. Isn’t it safer for you if the boat’s still here?”

“Damn straight,” Bo concurred. “What say we bring her along, Sheriff? Only no one’s gonna be looking out for her. If she dies, it’ll be all on her.”

“Yeah. Out in a desolate place like this, having a girl along will make us wanna get it done a lot more than if it were just a bunch of guys.”

That remark came from Garigon as he looked all around him.

But the sheriff was only looking out for Meg. “No dice,” he said. “Meg, a promise is a promise. Head back to the village right away.”

“No way.”

“Then you leave me no choice. Wesley, bring Meg back. And then—”

The sheriff’s words were sucked into the air, vanishing.

A buzz—and tension—shot through the group. The faint fog clinging to them had suddenly increased in density.

“This is bad. Everyone, stay close,” the sheriff ordered. “Meg, hurry up and get in the boat.”

“No,” the girl said, having already squatted down, drawn a female-sized harpoon from the case she’d been wearing diagonally across her back since she got out of the boat, and poised to hurl the weapon.

“No sign of anything,” Garigon said. They could still make out the outlines of everyone.

Bo replied, “I know. I’ll try firing off an arrow. If anything weird’s creeping up on us, that’s sure to get a response.”

Not waiting for a reply, he raised the short bow that already had an arrow nocked. The bowstring twanged. However, his bow was aimed up at the sky. How was that supposed to deal with a threat that might lurk on the ground?

The answer came as a red rain. At a height of about thirty feet the arrow had split in four directions. And that’d released the liquid sealed inside. There was a breeze, though it was faint. The crimson liquid was caught in the breeze, misting the group before moving on to the far end of the bay—and gusting into the expanse of trees that stood behind the buildings.

“It’s blood!” the spear-wielding bounty hunter cried after seeing what clung to his fingers.

“What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to bring every damn Noble down on us?!”

Wesley’s roar got only a laugh in return from Bo. “Sheesh. That way’d save us a lot of trouble, after all. Let ’em all come at once.” He already had three arrows clutched between his fingers and a fresh one nocked in the bow he had aimed at the ground, ready for offensive or defensive action.

“What the hell are you doing, asshole?!” Wesley continued to shout, but the sheriff’s hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Pipe down.”

“Huh?”

The young deputy fell silent, realizing that he was the only one that’d still been talking. His ears rang with an odd sound. At first he took it for the snarling of a small animal. No, that wasn’t right. It was human. Human groans. Or humans groaning like animals.

Garigon’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Pretty crazy, right? The forest is full of ’em!”

No one answered him. They were too focused on the voices issuing from the forest. Now groans rose from the entire forest, enveloping the landing party like a miasma.

“They’re hungry,” the spear-wielding bounty hunter remarked, licking his lips. There was something vulgar about his tone that made it seem like he might as well be talking about himself, but no one corrected him.

“What the—?”

It wasn’t clear who’d made that remark. Most likely it’d come from someone who’d spotted something shooting up from the treetops in that milky-white world. Much whiter than the fog, they were threads so fine that the more someone tried to focus on them, the more difficult they became to see. And hundreds if not thousands of them fell like a white rain.

It was the sheriff who shouted, “Run for it!”

The bounty hunters had scattered before he’d even given the word. Garigon and Bo dove into the water. In an unbelievable display of speed, the spear-wielder and rifleman dashed into a nearby building.

It was Wesley who grabbed Meg—frozen in her tracks—and got her back into the little boat that’d brought them there. No sooner had they pulled one of the thermal blankets on board over their heads than a white thread zipped right past them and a cry of surprise rang out.

“Pa?!” Wesley shouted, about to leap out from under the blanket.

“Stay right where you are!” he heard the sheriff cry. He was out in the white rain—or rather, wriggling in a net. White threads clung to his face, his shoulders, his hands and feet, and more stuck to him with every move he made until he was encased in a white cocoon.

“Pa?!”

Wesley was about to dash over to the lawman, but Meg clung to his waist for all she was worth.

“Let me go!”

“No. You’ll just end up like your father! You think that’s what he wants?!”

Wesley became flustered. “But—Pa?!”

No sooner had the deputy put his strength into his arms to throw off the blanket than a weird sound traveled through the air. The net of threads wound about the sheriff’s body had suddenly drawn tight. It was the sound of his bones breaking.

As the two of them stared speechless, the white cocoon was squeezed down to half its former size before their very eyes, rose into the air like a fish on a line, and was yanked off into the stand of trees where the threads had originated.

Meg could feel the young lawman trying to move in her arms, but she fought him desperately. The enemy was waiting for more prey to present itself. What’s more, just look. Weren’t there more white threads again drifting lightly up from the stand of trees, sketching white lines against the blue of the heavens as they drifted back down?

We can’t get out of here. We’ll just end up getting wrapped up like the sheriff sooner or later!

Fear froze Meg’s heart solid.

“At this rate, we won’t be able to move forward at all; we’ll just be left here to—”

The instant the girl put her despair into words, the rain of threads grew chaotic. The arcs they should’ve followed became weaker in midflight, and they fell, drooping from leaves and branches. The master of those threads had met with some sudden emergency.

Once the rain of threads had ended completely, the pair came out from under the blanket. Some threads clung to the blanket or the deck of the boat, so it took considerable time and effort to get through them, but on the other hand, picking a path across the open spaces on the now-white ground seemed impossible.

“As long as those threads stay sticky, we ain’t going nowhere,” someone shouted over from the building where the bounty hunters with the spear and the rifle had taken cover. “No way of knowing how long that’ll take. What’s our play?”

Wesley fell silent.

Though whatever was discharging the threads had settled down, if they weren’t careful how they moved they’d still find themselves snared. If the master of the threads or some other monster were to then come along, that would be the end of them.

“I’ve got a great way!”

The proposed solution had come from the water’s surface. As the group watched, Garigon crawled out of the sea and touched the rockface. Mixing with the water that dripped from the man’s body, the threads dropped off it.

“You follow? These damn threads lose their stickiness when they come in contact with water. So, what do you say to spreading some water on them? Better yet, it’d be a lot faster for the lot of you to dunk yourselves like we did.”

They all elected to do the latter. Wesley was the first to jump in.

On emerging dripping wet, he announced, “I’m going into the forest to see whether the sheriff is okay or not. The rest of you, wait here.”

No one voiced any objection to that. With the sheriff gone, who’d bother going with the likes of a young deputy? In fact, the entire group seemed wholly inclined to follow his directive. They kept their silence because Wesley was free to leap into the jaws of death for all they cared.

“Sure, we’ll just wait here patiently. Be sure to watch yourself out there, now,” Bo said to him with mock sincerity.

“Wait,” Meg called out, stopping the deputy. “It’s dangerous to go it alone. One of you guys go with him.”

The girl’s doleful tone drew no reaction. Meg quickly abandoned that tack. She’d heard more than enough about what sort of people bounty hunters were back in her village. She’d been wrong in the first place trying to appeal to those who had no compunctions about shooting or stabbing the backs of those they pursued, criminals or not.

“Fine. Wesley, I’ll go with you.”

That drew a cold but surprised grumbling from them.

Meg turned around and said, “Just you remember this. Once we’ve rescued the sheriff, we’re gonna tell him all about how the rest of you left him for dead. When it comes time to get paid, don’t come crying to us!”

The men exchanged glances. Meg’s words couldn’t be discounted as the screeching of a mere slip of a girl. This could have a direct impact on their livelihood.

“Oh, that’s hitting us where it hurts,” said a voice Meg could’ve sworn she hadn’t heard before. Of course, that couldn’t be the case. She’d heard all of the bounty hunters speak back at the village. However, this man was so taciturn and his voice so low it hadn’t stuck in her memory.

“You folks can let your earnings get pared down if you like. But I’m going, too.”

Meg and Wesley gazed at the speaker, once again puzzled that he hadn’t made more of an impression.

He wore a ten-gallon hat—also known in the western Frontier as a cowboy hat—at an angle, but not much could be made out besides his aquiline nose. Given that the bandanna wound about his neck was red as blood, it was surprising that he’d escaped notice so long. The gunpowder rifle worn across his back on a leather strap looked quite old, and the thick tube mounted on top of it was something they hadn’t seen before. The bullets in the gun belt around his waist were for the high-caliber rifle, and he didn’t carry a pistol. Only the leather-wrapped handle of a knife could be glimpsed in one of his boots.

Like the others, he wore his saddlebags on his back. Ordinarily saddlebags were draped across a cyborg horse’s back, but by adjusting the straps they could be turned into a knapsack.

The rifleman didn’t seem to mind the unpleasant looks from the remaining members of his profession as he gave a toss of his chin in the direction of the forest and said, “We’re going, right, Deputy?”

“Call me Wesley. And you’re—?”

Before the young lawman could root through his memories, the man replied, “‘Cowboy’ will do.”

“Okay. Let’s go. As for you, Meg, you’re—”

“I’m going. Don’t you think I’d be in more danger staying here with this lot?”

After catching a smirk from Cowboy, Meg glared at the forest.

“Let’s go.”

They started off with Wesley taking point.

II

Not long after they got on a path winding through trees where white threads rested like cotton, Wesley asked, “You been to this island before?”

“Not once,” Meg replied with a resolute shake of her head. By nature, she liked to be perfectly clear about everything.

“Then I guess there’s no point in asking what this forest’s like, eh?”

“Of course not,” Meg managed to respond, though she sounded distracted.

They were in territory controlled by the Nobility, in a forest where tree trunks stood anywhere from thirty to sixty feet high. There was no telling what lurked there.

Everyone knew the Nobility had created organisms with little regard for whether or not they were deadly, then scattered them around the world. Man-eating eagles with sixty-foot wingspans soared the skies, enormous reptiles that might be mistaken for mountains walked the earth, and giant octopuses reached from the sea with tentacles that seemed to threaten the very stars above the horizon. In the eastern Frontier, where enormous reptiles were particularly abundant, their tremendous mass caused the ground to settle nearly an inch every year, and that combined with the tsunamis summoned by sea sprites to cause widespread damage on a regular basis. An average-looking stand of trees might suddenly bare fangs, vines could reach out and snatch up people, and a rabbit not unlike the one you’d cuddled the day before might pounce on you—only this one would be fifteen feet tall and as disproportionately violent as it was large. No human was known to have escaped the sixty-foot leaps those monstrous rabbits could make.

After pressing ahead for nearly ten minutes, Wesley halted. And Meg knew why. The wind had shifted. It blew at them now, carrying the scent of blood. The stench was so thick, Wesley and Meg began coughing in unison.

“We’re close.” Wesley gave the air a sniff, slowly testing for the direction the scent of blood was coming from.

“That way,” Meg said, stepping off the path and dashing off at an angle.

Wesley hastened after her, and after running about thirty yards he stopped.

Meg was standing there.

The deputy’s heart was pounding madly not just because he’d been running full tilt, but because of the scene that lay before him. About thirty feet off the ground a gigantic white spiderweb was strung between the trees. Glittering in the dappled sunlight, it could even be described as beautiful. If not for the pair of corpses that lay beneath the web.

“Pa?!”

Wesley ran straight for them because, even though one of the bodies was weirdly twisted, it was still his father.

As natural as that was for him, Meg remained rooted because the other remains, more horrible than the sheriff’s in some ways, still had a kind of beauty to them. In a manner of speaking, the corpse was a double-edged blade. The giant spider was purple with crimson spots, and its seven-foot-long body had been split in two right through its stocky abdomen. The slice through it was exquisite. As she was looking at the spider, Meg couldn’t tell whether she was frightened by its brutalized remains, or mesmerized by the perfectly beautiful slice through it.

Clinging to his father’s corpse, Wesley sounded a million miles away as he called out his name.

“Hell of a thing, isn’t it?” Cowboy said in a voice that called to mind iron. “Cutting a monster like this in two with a sword. Who in the hell—”

Meg was just about to reply in a frightened tone that she knew who’d done it. Only one gorgeous man could’ve cut down this monster with such grace and beauty.

The girl nodded. The figure in black she’d glimpsed on the cliff over the village wavered seductively behind her shut eyelids. Neither giving nor receiving a single ray of light, he was exquisite.

“What about his father?”

Cowboy’s query brought Meg back. She looked over at Wesley. The sheriff’s body lay on the ground, and Wesley was praying beside it. He had both hands clenched tightly, and they trembled ever so slightly. Was that from anger or grief? Actually, it was both.

“He’s dead.”

That was all she said. Now back to her senses, Meg let out a deep breath. But no tears fell.

“We’ve confirmed the worst. Let’s go,” Wesley said, standing up.

“But, your father—we’ve gotta bury him,” said the girl.

“I wish like hell we could, but it’ll have to wait till later. The job comes first.”

He’s got what it takes, thought Meg. Not at all what he was like earlier. Was he this driven by duty before?

Wesley looked over at Cowboy and repeated, “Let’s go.”

“Not yet.”

“Huh?” Meg said—and just then, there was the crack of gunfire.

Cowboy had discharged his rifle. But when had he managed it? A split second earlier the weapon had still been hanging on his back, and he’d shown no sign of bracing for action.

“Pa?!” Wesley cried out.

Bullets had pierced the sheriff’s heart and forehead. The shots had come with such speed they seemed simultaneous.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

An electric jolt of fury made Wesley’s right hand jump to the pistol on his hip—and stop. The smoking barrel of the rifle was pointed right between his eyes.

“Simmer down. Sorry, but I had to deal with this my own way. See, out in the western Frontier I’ve seen other kinds of living dead besides Nobles. And those ones you’ve gotta plug through the head to kill.”

“Then why didn’t you say so? And why through the heart, too?”

“The ticker’s just to be sure. And if I’d asked you beforehand, would you have given me the okay?”

Meg touched a soothing hand to Wesley’s right arm. Though she didn’t actually come out and say it, that was her way of telling him Cowboy was right.

Wesley let the strength drain from his body. His hand pulled away from his pistol. Relief spread across his face, but it immediately pulled tight again.

Cowboy hadn’t lowered his rifle, and murderous intent emanated from every inch of him.

The two young people stood there unable to do anything, and a second later their eyes caught a fiery shot. Unlike a pistol, this had a roar like a rumbling in the earth, and it shook the stand of trees. Meg and Wesley only turned to look because the anguished cries of a beast had risen behind them.

A black form was in the process of lying down in the midst of flying gore. Even before the realization that there’d been a vicious beast coming up behind them could flash through the pair’s minds, there was once again a burst of flame and a thunderous roar that shook them both. Straightening up from the hunched positions they’d taken, they turned their eyes in the direction the shots had gone.

Quiet had returned to the stand of trees, as if there hadn’t been any shooting at all just now. In a thicket about thirty feet ahead of them a bloodstained gray body writhed weakly, but that wasn’t what held the trio’s attention.

“That second shot—what did you see?” Wesley asked, his query sounding oddly shaken. He was staring at Cowboy’s face.

“A person. One dressed in black.” The tough’s voice sounded terribly hollow.

Before Meg could ask him about something, he said something else. It was the very thing she’d meant to ask.

“Only, maybe he wasn’t human after all. That was one good-looking man.”

III

Wesley carried the sheriff’s body back to the bay. Though the water that’d protected the three of them had since evaporated, the spider’s threads had seemingly lost their stickiness, turning to dust when anyone touched them.

On their way back, Meg’s mind turned to the matter of the “good-looking man” Cowboy had seen. In fact, it’d be safe to say he completely filled the girl’s thoughts. The most important question—what exactly he was doing on the island—didn’t even occur to her. Meg’s memory struggled simply to re-create the beauty Cowboy had recounted. Yet when they returned to the bay and found no one else there, she had no choice but to return to her senses.

Blue had begun to tinge their faintly fogged world, where there were only the furtive sounds of the breeze and lapping waves. Though Wesley and Cowboy shouted for them time and again, no one ever appeared. The trio split up to check out the buildings and the boats tied up at the dock, but their efforts were in vain.

“Where the blazes did they run off to?” Wesley spat on returning from one of the buildings. His words were swallowed up by the thin fog.

“I don’t figure they were attacked by anything. No matter how off-guard they might’ve been taken, I don’t think they could be carried off without a fight. Maybe they fell under a spell or something?” Cowboy murmured.

“They just set out on their own!” Meg snarled. Looking over at Wesley, she continued, “Every bit of food and water stashed in the boat is gone. Pardon me, but I’m just gonna come right out and say it. Those jerks never had any intentions of taking orders from you. We’re lucky to be rid of them, but they took off on their own—I think that’s the truth of it.”

Wesley’s face was devoid of emotion as he looked over at Cowboy, who looked away for a minute before nodding his agreement.

“I see. Not much we can do about that. But let me make it clear that since they’re not following my directives, they’ll be considered civilians who landed on the island of their own accord. In other words, they’re guilty of stealing our food and water. They’ll receive no compensation, and I’ll only give them the bare minimum of aid as a sheriff’s deputy. You’re an exception to that, but just keep it in mind.”

“Sure thing,” Cowboy said, and the lawman watched to make sure he raised one hand. The bounty hunter continued, “So, are we gonna head off, too?” He gave a toss of his chin in the direction of the path they’d returned on.

Flustered, Meg said, “Not without food and water we can’t. Why don’t we go back first and gather the people and stuff we’ll need before coming back? This island belongs to the Nobility! No telling what’s hanging around out here.”

Wesley hesitated. He knew Meg had a point. Under the circumstances, that would be the best course to follow. However, his pride wouldn’t allow him to run away just because his food was gone and his compatriots had disappeared. What’s more—

“Look at that, Meg.”

The deputy had just turned toward the bay so that he’d be facing Meg, and it was in that direction he pointed. Cowboy had already noticed the same thing.

On turning, Meg froze in place. She didn’t know when it could’ve happened, but the prow of the small boat that’d borne them there was pointed straight in the air. Not only that, but the boats belonging to the group of settlers were already pointed toward the heavens and shaking in their final moments as if they’d been torpedoed, slowly slipping underwater. However, it was no normal case of sinking.

“Are those hands—human hands?!” Meg cried, on the edge of madness, pointing at the countless hands protruding from the surface of the blue-black sea to grip the boats’ hulls.

Damp hair clung to expressionless, blue-black faces, looking like brutal wounds. One turned their way. Its eyes met Meg’s. Meg felt as if she were about to break off at the knees, but her ears—and those of the other two—were assailed by a voice that sounded like a noise an insect might make. It was pointing in their direction.

Those who clung to each and every vessel there turned that way in unison. Their expressions, their gazes, their complexions—the girl from the village was too afraid to even faint as the boats’ prows finally sank. It happened with such speed, it seemed as if they’d all been dragged down by some enormous sea monster.

The waters churned, and waves barreled toward the rockface. The spray reached all the way to the top. And from the spray there’d shot a human form. It landed on its belly a mere fifteen feet from where the trio stood.

It looks like a fish with hands and feet, Meg thought, fighting back her nausea. As a child, she’d often done an imitation of a fish. She’d seen drunken adults do it, too. It’d been something to laugh about then, but the real thing was truly disturbing.

There was one splash after another. Dripping water on the rockface all the while, nearly a dozen men and women closed on the trio. Like fish out of water, they puckered their mouths as they clawed across the ground with both hands.

“Are these—are they your villagers?”

Meg shook her head in response to Wesley’s query. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before—maybe they’re the ones who crossed over to the island?”

“Whatever the case, they don’t seem too accustomed to dry land,” Cowboy said, still not having taken the rifle off his back. He must’ve been supremely confident of his speed with it.

“Can you understand what I’m saying?” Wesley said to the fish people. “Are you the folks who crossed over to the island from the village? See, I came here from your village. I’m a lawman. Understand?”

A number of them made croaking sounds with their throats. Blue-black water spouted from their mouths and the sides of their necks.

“They’ve got gills! They’ve been changed,” Wesley said, drawing his handgun. This was too weird for him to handle.

“Hey, if you understand what I’m saying, let me know,” said the girl. “Yesterday, the folks vanished from my village. Are they all here? Are they on the island?”

Meg’s pained figure was reflected in muddied eyes. The blank look on their faces said they didn’t even know what they were doing. Suddenly a stream of black connected a fortyish man’s face and Meg. Her scream was prompted by the black water. The man had spat it out. As Meg covered her face and reeled, the man spat something else at her.

There was a roar of thunder.

Turned toward Meg with his handgun at the ready, Wesley was frozen in place. It wasn’t his gun that’d blasted the thing to pieces.

“Here they come!” Cowboy said, swinging around the smoking barrel of his rifle.

Two of the three objects flying at the trio were blown to pieces, but one latched onto Wesley’s right shoulder. It was a little blue-black fish, but when it opened its tiny mouth it had rows of teeth like razor-sharp shards of glass. And it had bitten into the flesh of the young man’s shoulder.

Though he cried out in pain, Wesley shifted his gun from his right hand to his left and hammered it down on the fish’s head. Making the same noise the man had moments earlier, the fish with the pulverized head dangled limply from the young man’s shoulder. Its fangs were still sunk in his flesh. The blood gushing out stained its corpse red.

“Run for it!” Meg shouted, taking Wesley by the arm and dashing for the forest. Cowboy was right behind them. Though relief flooded through her chest as soon as they made it into the trees, Meg ran on.

“Enough, we’re good now, Meg,” Wesley told her, and she finally halted.

They turned around.

Cowboy was facing the bay with his rifle braced down by his hip.

“How’d it go?” Wesley asked. His breathing was ragged. Deep red had completely soaked his right shoulder.

“You little bastard!” Meg said, making a grab for the fish still latched onto him. With a squeal she pulled her hand back. Though it should’ve been dead, she could distinctly feel the organs still working within it.

“It’s alive!”

It came as no surprise that Wesley peered down at the fish, but even Cowboy craned his neck, squinted his eyes, and said, “It’s sucking your blood!”

“What?”

“Look. The gills are moving. It’s inhaling. Only it’s getting blood instead of seawater.”

“What the hell is this?”

“You bashed its head in, but it’s not dead. Must be nearly immortal. And it came to suck your blood.”

Cowboy looked at Wesley. Perhaps the lawman read something in the bounty hunter’s expression, because Wesley’s face twisted horribly.

“Don’t!” Meg cried, reaching for Cowboy with both hands.

The bounty hunter stopped. He’d just been about to draw a bead on Wesley’s chest with his rifle. But Meg’s right hand gripped the pistol she’d pried from Wesley’s grasp.

“You were gonna shoot him, weren’t you? You can’t!”

The girl’s face was stiff with determination, but Cowboy gave her a wry grin and said, “Well, you stopped me, so you must know why I aimed to shoot him, right? That fish is in league with the Nobility. Meaning whatever it feeds on will turn into one of them.” He looked directly at Wesley, whose face was pale, and continued, “If we don’t take care of you now, sooner or later you’ll feed on us!”

His voice was like iron, and it carried a determination that rivaled Meg’s own.