The interior art for the sequel is completed. A major thank you to Adam Mathison-Sward who can be found at: https://www.swarddraws.com/ usually doing Dresdan Files fan art and taking commissions to do totally awesome stuff like the picture below. I highly recommend checking him out.
The first book took me two years to write, the second took me a year, and I’m hoping to pound out the third in six months.
That means I’ve got to really get on the ball. I think I can do it. And a book in six months is pretty professional. Heck, it’s probably way better than professional. But I’ve got to put out QUALITY writing. I don’t want to be a Nora Roberts equivalent who spits out a romance novel every three months. (Not that I plan on writing romance, unless the market REALLY takes a turn for the worse and I get desperate!)
All this means is that the first book really needs to sell well so Severed Press will demand an immediate sequel that is already written. Or else my stories will end with a quick and premature death. And I’ve a LOT more to write about in this world I’ve created.
So if I’ve sent you the first manuscript, and you liked it, buy a copy when it comes out. Then buy several more for your friends and family. Drive up the sales. Make it look popular. Heck, MAKE it popular!
But it’s been great to go back to the ‘early days’ of writing a book. Where the pages are blank and I’m just beating that keyboard like it owes me money. It’s the editing process that is SO tedious and time consuming… the rough drafting process is what I really love.
Because writing is problem solving. You’ve a million little issues that have to mesh together, not just the over arching story line and plot – which certainly has to go together, but figuring out each individual character’s subplot as well. (Because they all have a purpose, a reason for being and doing what they do, and that has to be explored and expounded upon.) It’s like a giant 2,000,000 piece puzzle that you get to cut the pieces to size and put them together how you see fit.
It’s just fun. Most of the time.
Also I just wrote an awesome intro scene that really drives home who my main character is and the lengths he is willing to go to do what he feels is right regardless of what the law says. And that’s Jedidiah Huckleberry Smith in a nutshell – Dark, quirky humor, with a morally ambiguous code of ethics, and the willingness to resort to gun play at moment’s notice.
🙂
As for an update on when West of Prehistoric will come out – I don’t know anything yet. But the contract has been signed and I’m eager to start the publishing process.
As for a personal update.
I’m a Jeep guy, I’ve a built 2001 Jeep Wrangler that I’ve had since 2005 and will continue to have until the day my kids inherit it. I also bought another 2001 Cherokee XJ recently for a daily driver. (Sure, I could have something nicer like a Jeep Gladiator Truck… But debt is stupid.)
And because I can’t help but tinker sometimes, I removed the fender flares, cut the fender wells larger, and installed some armor on the back end to protect the tail lights. Sure, it’s just a daily driver, but it was built by a guy from NC4X4.com forum with upgraded suspension, axle shafts, lockers, etc and it’d be a shame to not take the kiddos out in something more comfortable than my TOY Wrangler.
Here’s the after/before pictures.
Turned out pretty well. I’ve still got a few rivnuts to fix on the body armor. (Rivnuts are the suckith.) And I managed to only cut myself once working the angle grinder when I cut the wheel wells open. 🙂 Now the wife says I need some rocker guard armor on it, and I agree. So that’s in the future.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how a daily driver gradually turns into an offroading toy!
I wanted to give a glimpse of what I’ve been working on. But I REDACTED a few parts of it to keep from giving away the ending of WoP for anyone who hasn’t read it yet. You’re not missing much, just the summarized portion of the narrative.
Anyways. Here’s the opening two chapters with an update on general things at the end.
***
August 1885
Four miles north of Granite Falls, Wyoming.
The hot summer sun beat down on me as I watched the massive dinosaur feasting on the rancher’s corpse.
Hunched over on all four legs, the top of the dinosaur’s back was eight feet high and from blood covered snout to the tip of tail was easily sixteen feet in length. A scarlet fin rose between its eyes, increasing in height over a sloping skull before running down the neck and fading away between the beast’s shoulder blades. The rest of its body, corded with thick muscle and sinew, was a light green, with smudges of brown for added camouflage.
It was the biggest dinosaur we’d found yet on this side of the tunnel. So, of course it had to be a predator.
The beast raised the mangled remains of the man with both front claws and crunched the man’s skull between blood stained teeth. Even from this distance, the sound was sickening. The dinosaur shook the corpse and a severed arm fell. The torn limb landed amongst scattered remains of the man’s ill-fated herd of sheep that he’d apparently died trying to protect.
Carbine stomped his hooves impatiently. He was anxious to be away, but I knew the soldiers needed more time to prepare, so I watched and waited as it ate the rancher.
Wrapping my fingers on the black Allosaurus claw that dangled from its leather cord around my neck, I leaned forward on the saddle pommel and thought about the events of the past couple months.
Battle of the Apes.
That’s what newspapers across America called it.
At the time, we just called it survival. And the only reason I was there at all was because I was hiding from my vengeful outlaw past. I was just trying to make a fresh start. Then an Allosaurus killed one of my horses and tried to kill me. I barely survived by filling it full of lead and finishing it off with a crate of dynamite. Then I ate it, and now I wear its claw as a memento of the occasion.
After that some prehistoric, triceratops riding, giant apes visited my ranch and tried to kill me. I back tracked them to their home and saw their leader ritualistically rip a man’s heart out of his chest. That ticked me off, so I killed a bunch of them in return, possibly sparking a war in the process. But the apes didn’t seem fans of peaceful coexistence anyways.
Then, REDACTED.
Sighing, I arched my back to work out a kink.
I must have moved too quickly, because the finned beast whipped its fearsome head in our direction and snorted loudly as it tried to get my scent.
Carbine tensed beneath me, and I took a sharp breath, realizing my mistake.
Apparently still hungry, the dinosaur growled and charged. Dropping onto all fours, the clawed feet sent tuffs of prairie grass into the air as it raced towards us. It moved faster than I’d have thought possible for an animal of its size.
Whipping Carbine around, I kicked my heels to his flanks and he surged forward into a dead sprint towards where we’d left the soldiers.
My name is Jedidiah Huckleberry Smith.
This is my story.
***
My mustang stretched his legs out, black mane and tail waving in the wind as we raced across the rolling plains.
“Good boy,” I told him fondly while resting a hand on the grip of one of my twin Colt Peacemakers. Twisting about in the saddle, I considered trying to put a.45 caliber slug into the dinosaur chasing us. At this distance, the chance of hitting was slim, but just running and not shooting seemed foreign to me and I’d have felt better if I could wound it a little.
Because it was gaining on us.
The large reptilian head opened its mouth wide, exposing jagged teeth and let loose an ear-piercing roar as it closed the distance between us.
Carbine responded by stretching his neck out and giving his all as he charged up a grassy hill towards a waiting pair of Gatling guns on the crest. Groups of soldiers stood by the weapons under the watchful eye of Lieutenant Carson. The young officer stood between them, sword raised, waiting to give the order for the multi-barreled guns to open fire once I was clear.
The dinosaur was dangerous enough, but worrying about a man getting fearful of the charging beast and firing before I reached safety certainly didn’t help the situation any. I crouched lower over Carbine’s and urged him on with a rebel yell.
With less than a hundred yards left between us and the angry dinosaur, I raced between the Gatling’s. It was close. Too close.
Sunlight glinted off the Lieutenant’s blade as he swept it down and screamed, “FIRE!”
Before the blade dropped past the man’s waist, the gun on the left began firing.
A steady pop-pop-pop-pop erupted from the bottom rotating barrel as the gunner cranked the handle, sending bullet after bullet towards the red crested beast.
Bullets hit the dinosaur, causing it to stumble to the side and the other rounds to miss. Swearing, the soldier fought the traversing mechanism to line the gun up on the rapidly approaching predator as the rest of his team dumped more cartridges into the gun’s hopper to keep it firing.
The monster roared in pain and anger, circling away from the loud contraption. The gunner twisted the weapon after the dinosaur, struggling to catch up to the moving beast.
The other Gatling remained silent. A soldier jerked the handle back and forth, but it was jammed and not rotating the firing mechanisms.
Without that weapon, we were in for a world of hurt.
I pulled my Eighty-Six from the scabbard. Racking the lever, I sent a large .45-70 cartridge into the chamber of the custom 1886 Winchester rifle.
Dinosaurs never go down easy. Ever.
“Get that gun operational!” Carson shouted as he rushed over to the crew served weapon. Soldiers manning the gun worked feverishly to fix it. The officer shoved a man aside and slid underneath the wheeled carriage, jamming his hands inside the gun from below. His young face contorted as he worked to free the gun.
The beast slowed, hesitating, and a jagged row of bullets stitched into the beast’s chest and hind quarters. It roared fearsomely and rushed further to our right side, circling around our position to flank us.
Tucking the polished wood stock into my shoulder, I fired into the creature’s chest at twenty yards away. The bullet hit, sending a splash of blood across the green pebbled hide. The finned dinosaur didn’t seem to notice and charged directly towards us.
“Oh hell,” I muttered as I slammed the action open and close, sending an empty brass shell spinning to the ground.
Soldiers working on the malfunctioning gun grabbed stacked rifles and began to open fire with their small arms. Frantic at the distance remaining, most of their bullets missed the dinosaur.
Several large strides later, the monster was upon us.
With a swing of its red finned head, the working Gatling was knocked aside and the soldier operating the weapon snatched up in its teeth. With a savage twist of its sloping head, the shrieking man was bitten in half. His legs fell beside another soldier who scrambled away and ran for the picketed horses fifty yards behind us.
Another followed, throwing down his weapon to flee the monster amongst us. The rest, braver, and perhaps more foolish, stood their ground and fought. They circled around the beast, firing rifles upwards into its large body as it twisted and thrashed, ripping men apart with tooth and claw.
The young Lieutenant crawled out from under the malfunctioning gun and was immediately flung a dozen feet into the tall grass with a slap of the dinosaur’s tail as it twisted about on the small crest.
Claws swiped across the front of another soldier to my right. Blood sprayed in an arc and splattered Carbine. My horse jerked his head, and fought the bit to get away as I hammered the beast with large rounds from my rifle. Bullets cracked past me as soldiers missed from the other side of the dinosaur. I swore and ducked involuntarily before firing again.
Behind us, two fleeing soldiers leapt onto horses, whipping them frantically with reins as they rode away.
Kicking my heels against Carbine, I put him into a trot, moving in a circle to maintain distance away from the beast as I concentrated on putting as many bullets from my expensive rifle into the dinosaurs finned head as possible. It was difficult with the thrashing, roaring, biting dinosaur raging among the few remaining soldiers. Only a couple shots connected, and while the beast seemed to be weakening and slowing, it still contained enough life in it to kill us all.
The dinosaurs tail smashed into the other Gatling, sending it tumbling over a pair of disfigured corpses. It rolled, crushing mutilated bodies under the wheels before bumping down the hill and toppling over.
Rifle empty, I thrust it into the tooled scabbard and drew my matching Colt Peacemakers. Not the stoutest of fire power against such a large beast but they were faster than a reload and this dinosaur needed to go down fast.
Carson burst from the tall grass armed with only his sword. Bleeding and limping, the young Lieutenant raced towards the beast, slashing and hacking at its back legs and tail. The blade did minimal damage, but the temporary distraction did allow the two remaining soldiers time to flee to the horses and mount.
“Run dammit!” I yelled at the officer and kicked Carbine’s flanks, sending him rushing towards the dinosaur and wounded Lieutenant. Firing both pistols, I screamed at the beast to distract it from the officer standing before it with bloodied sword raised.
Ignoring me, the dinosaur raised a clawed foot and stomped down. Thick talons sliced through the Carson’s face, chest, and stomach. Loops of intestines fell as the officer grabbed at his mortally wounded body and collapsed.
The beast viciously bit the officers face and savaged his body with front claws.
Screaming in rage, I let Carbine race us away from the gruesome scene.
The dinosaur didn’t seem interested in pursuing us, and we stopped on the next ridge by the remaining staged horses of the dead soldiers.
From where we’d set our ambush, there was nothing but broken Gatling guns and mangled corpses. Dismounting, I kicked a rock and swore. All those men, dead, because one of our two guns malfunctioned. Lieutenant Carson had been a good man as well. Smart, funny, filled with the youthful enthusiasm that I barely remembered having… also dead.
Raising its blood covered face towards the sky, the wounded beast roared its dominance over mankind, then took two steps, and fell. It struggled to rise, pulling legs beneath the large body, but only managing to raise its head off the ground.
I looked after the other soldiers who’d escaped, trails of dust showed they were riding towards town with no intent to come back. Cowardly, but I couldn’t blame them. Only four of them survived and their commanding officer was dead.
The remaining horses were uneasy. They could smell the scent of blood and death in the air. We’d picketed them away from the shooting, but their masters were all dead now. I pulled up their stakes and gave them a gentle slap on the rump to send them on their way. They’d wander back to town in a day or two. Unless something ate them, or they were caught by the Indians. After the battle, the local Shaynee tribe had so much U.S. Government marked equipment that another half dozen horses wouldn’t be noticed. They got away with a lot now, because REDACTED. Also, they were no longer our main concern. Apes and dinosaurs were. For the moment, we were at peace with the Indians.
Picking a spot that looked relatively comfortable, I crawled into the prone position with the Eighty-Six. Laying on my belly and cradling the gun in my hands, I flipped the peep sight upright and squinted at the bladed front sight. The working Gatling and soldier’s bullets had done their job, the beast was dying. But until it stopped breathing, it was dangerous.
I waited for a clean shot. The Lieutenant and his men were going to be avenged by my bullet. REDACTED wouldn’t like it, she’d want the head as unmutilated as possible. But we’d already shot the creature to rags and it still didn’t quit.
The dinosaur struggled again, thrashing its tail against the ground. This time it managed to stand. Blood oozed from puckered wounds along its chest and side. It took one careful step and halted, swaying slightly. The finned head swung towards me and glared.
I squeezed the trigger, letting the break of the hammer be a surprise and sending the large 200 grain 45-70 bullet into the dinosaur’s skull. It staggered to the side, the large toothed head dipping as the creature wobbled side to side. It clawed a front leg at its face, then toppled over. The beast spasmed, legs and claws tearing up chunks of prairie dirt in death throes.
Racking the lever, I waited, much longer than was probably necessary, to make sure the beast was dead. The skull was thick, probably a half inch of more, and I wanted to make sure I punctured it instead of just knocking the dinosaur out. The risk of being eaten wasn’t worth the time saved by impatience.
After fifteen minutes passed, I put another bullet into the dinosaurs head. This time it didn’t so much as twitch. Ejecting the shell casing, I stood and rested the heavy rifle over a shoulder.
All manner of dinosaurs had made it through the tunnel before the fort was built. Most of them were relatively harmless. But some, like this strange red finned predator, were menaces that needed to be put down.
And put them down we did.
***
UPDATE TIME:
So. Hows the writing going?
Not at all. I’m burnt out. I’m taking a break, I haven’t written anything but blog posts for the past two weeks. I’m struggling with chronic fatigue/breathing issues, for reasons we haven’t figured out, and it makes me exhausted by 8:30 pm. Which means I have the awake hours of a toddler now. Except without the opportunity to nap.
Also we are buying a mansion.
Well, I call it a mansion because it’s 2x the size of the house we are living in now. But Google tells me that a mansion is 5,000 sq feet or bigger, and ours ain’t that. So I guess we are just buying a nice, big house. With lots of bathrooms. I don’t know why we need 3.5 bathrooms, but the house came with them.
I think one of them should be turned into an armory with a vault door. -sigh- Speaking of which, I need a bigger gun safe. I can’t fit everything in mine. Add that to the list of new furniture the new house will require.
Anyways, that’s been a huge time suck. But, historically speaking, I tend to write very little during Nov/December and jump back into full swing in Jan. That’s how the past two years of writing have been and it appears this year will be no different.
And we will have to sell our house AFTER we buy this house, so that will be a huge time suck also once we close on the mansion. I’m exhausted just thinking about everything we have to do for the rest of the year.
What else.
Oh yes, I’m doing another Spartan Race this weekend.
But no worries, I’m just in the absolute worst shape of my life, plus dealing with the fatigue and breathing issue that are making everything difficult. And of course, we are doing a Beast, which is a 13-15 mile obstacle course. Yay. Generally speaking, we have been doing the Trifecta (All 3 Spartan Races) every year for the past three years. But this year I had a lot of health issues and we put it off until pretty much the final race of the season… and it’s supposed to be around 45 degrees. So… awesome. Just… awesome. That means the water obstacles will be barely above freezing.
I’m cold and tired and hungry just thinking about it.
But hey, if I survive I get a free beer at the end!
The previous story portions:
RAWR! Pew! Pew! Pew-Part Three!
RAWR! Pew! Pew! Pew-Part FOUR!
The saga of blazing guns, ferocious dinosaurs, and hairy barbaric savagery continues with Part FIVE.
(Honestly, at this rate, I’m going to post the entire book online before I get published. But that’s what happens when you write something, you want to share it.)
Here. We. Go.
***
A pair of apes on trikes caught the corner of my eye as they splashed through the river into the canyon.
I turned the telescope on them. Large birds, identical to the ones chased earlier by the big-headed dinosaur, were draped across the backs of the mounts. Brown feathered bodies bounced with the heavy steps of the trike until they stopped before the caves. Leaping down, apes untied the birds and effortlessly hoisted them across their shoulders. Carrying the corpses, they moved along the base of the cliff towards a small stand of trees.
A distant chirping drifted to me, intensifying as the apes entered the trees with their load. Peering through the gaps of leaves and branches, I could make out an outcropping of rock jutting from the canyon wall, creating a natural overhang. Beneath it was a large cage woven from thick branches that reached from the ground to the bottom of the bulge, with a gate near the center. Small black claws reached through the woven gaps, grabbing and shaking the cage as the things inside tried to get out.
One of the apes leaned a makeshift ladder against the fence and climbed to the top of the overhang, carefully avoiding the grasping claws. He opened a portion of the fence as the other passed the dead birds up. The chirps hit a feverish pitch as the bird’s bodies were shoved through.
Apparently, trikes weren’t the only tamed creatures in the canyon.
I watched the apes feeding the unknown animals for a few moments longer before deciding I’d seen enough. I needed to get back to town and let the Sheriff know, and figure out just what in the hell we were going to do about the tunnel.
I began to push back away from the edge, then stopped as an odd thumping noise reached my ears. Unnoticed, a pair of apes had moved beside the large slab of obsidian rock and were beating their chests with a fist. Others noticed and stood, copying the motion while facing the rock formation, adding to the dull thudding. Within moments the entire canyon was reverberating with the rhythmic pounding as it spread through all the apes.
The two that started the beating, stopped abruptly followed by the rest.
All the apes began moving to the strange rock formation. The ones wrestling threw tanned skins over their nakedness, while others stacked spears and lay down bows, and the apes cooking pulled meat away from the fire.
More of the apes poured from the caves in a steady stream. There was well over two hundred of them now standing around the circle of stone. But none of them stood inside the towering slabs of granite, leaving the area around the raised rock platform clear. I watched them through the telescope, in awe at the sheer number of them. Far more than I would have expected, and more were coming from the cave still.
A giant black-haired ape stepped from one of the cave entrances. Sensing something different about this one, I turned my glass on him.
He stood a head taller than the scattering of apes that hurried around him. The right side of his face was hideously scarred. The wound ran from chin to temple and twisted the side of his face into a grimace that exposed a large canine in a half snarl. He wore a simple waist belt and loincloth with a black handled knife tucked into a sheath. As he stepped forward, apes quickly parted before him.
Reaching the stone platform below the altar, he motioned towards the caves.
I swore viciously as a pair of apes stepped out with an Indian held tightly between them. The apes began hooting and calling in deep, rough voices. No doubt calling out insults to the captive.
The man’s chest was bloodied. His long black hair stringy and hanging over his face. He was naked, but he still had fight in him. Kicking and struggling he tried to pull away, and one of his guards slugged him in the stomach with a large fist. He convulsed and legs pulled up as he tried to double over against their grips. Vomit dribbled from his mouth. The apes dragged him through the crowd. Surrounding apes slapped and punched him about the head and body as he passed by.
The sound of their jeering joy and laughter at the man’s torment drifted to me. His feet dragged as he was hauled limply up the stone platform. I felt my face flush hot in anger.
Then I watched, horrified, as the guards dumped him on top of the obsidian slab. The crowd’s hooting grew louder as he thrashed weakly against the two stronger apes. With an almost dispassionate interest, they stretched his arms apart and lashed him down horizontally to the rock with leather cords. Their task finished, the guards stepped off the stone platform and disappeared into the crowd.
The black scarred ape stepped before the Indian captive.
A guttural chant began, followed by single clenched fists once again beating in unison. I felt it within my chest, as my heart seemed to pound in rhythm.
Sweat dripped from my brow, and the glass fogged. Quickly, I wiped the eye piece clear and looked back through the telescope.
Someone in the teeming mass of hairy apes was passing up a misshapen bowl. Green smoke wafted from whatever crazy stuff burned inside. The black ape accepted the bowl and laid it carefully beside the squirming man on the slab.
The scar-faced ape drew the blade from the sheath at his waist. It was obsidian, with a dark handle. The Indian hocked a wad of spit at him in defiance. In return, the ape casually palmed the man’s face and slammed his head backward against the stone. His body went limp.
My jaw clenched, and I ground my teeth so hard I thought they might crack.
I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t know what I could do.
***
Laying the knife gently on the black altar, the scarred ape cupped his hands around the smoldering bowl and raised it into the air as the chanting and pounding ceased.
The canyon was eerily quiet as he lowered the bowl and breathed in the green smoke.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then the bowl dropped from the ape’s hands, shattering on rock. The black ape shuddered and braced himself against the altar. He twitched, violently, jerking his head from side to side. Knees bent and wobbled, threatening to collapse underneath him.
Whatever was in that bowl wasn’t your ordinary peyote.
Suddenly the giant ape threw himself upright, thrusting out his chest and raising clenched fists at the sky. He roared, an ugly, harsh, inhuman sound as the other apes joined in. The thumping noise of hammering fists against chests began again with a fevered violence. The pounding was louder and harsher this time. There was no rhythm. Just a mass of noise that echoed and assaulted my senses.
The Indian awoke. Bewildered and groggy, he twisted and turned on the black rock.
The scar faced ape scooped up the knife and plunged it into the man’s belly.
I wasn’t prepared for the sudden violence and almost dropped the telescope as a high-pitched scream of agony pierced the air. The chipped obsidian knife slid upwards easily and stopped once it reached his rib cage. The man kept screaming in horror, staring wide eyed at his gaping wound along his stomach. The savage ape set the knife down and reached into the cut, amongst the vitals, and under the rib cage. The shrieking ended with a twist and rip, as the ape pulled out the man’s heart.
Raising the organ in his fist for all the apes to see, blood ran down the ape’s black fur arm and splattered onto the altar.
Hundreds of throats roared in satisfaction.
The scarred black ape savagely took a bite out of the heart. Blood oozed from his mouth. Swallowing, he hurled the remains into the crowd.
Apes pushed and shoved each other for it. One hairy monkey began pummeling another to the ground with both fists as others kicked and fought to get the chunk of human flesh.
A hand suddenly held it aloft victoriously above the thrashing apes, a bloody chunk of raw meat coated with dirt. Roaring, he bit off a chunk and hurled it across the crowd where the scene was repeated, again and again, until there was nothing left but apes fighting each other around the circle of stones while the scarred ape leader watched on in satisfaction.
Saying I was in shock was an understatement. Horrified was more like it. But furious…. absolutely.
Slamming the telescope shut, I slid my rifle before me and braced it into my shoulder. I found the black scarred ape at the altar and guessed the distance.
Common sense told me that my position would be given away once I fired, but I didn’t care. Every single one of these hairy men-monkeys needed to die. But I’d satisfy myself with just taking their leader’s life.
Carbine stamped softly from the tree line, but I tuned him out and slowed my breathing. Concentrating on the gentle rise and fall of the sights, I began taking up the slack in the trigger.
I was about to smite a giant, evil monkey with 350 grains of cast lead and vengeance.
Hell yeah.
Carbine snorted loudly, interrupting my concentration.
Annoyed, I rolled to the side to see what he was upset about.
A spear point shattered on the sweat soaked rock where I’d lain a moment before.
The ape stood towering over me. His large brow furrowed in frustration at his missed stab. Another monkey grabbed Carbine’s reins and was rewarded a vicious bite to his shoulder by my horse. He screamed, and Carbine twisted, kicking the ape in the chest and sending him sprawling.
I bet that hurt, but not as much as this.
With my freehand, I drew the Colt and shot the ape standing over me. He didn’t give in to the wound as the bullet punched through his belly, instead jerking the spear back and preparing to thrust with its shattered tip.
This time, I shot him through the center of the chest where his heart should have been, and he collapsed in a twitching heap.
As the other ape painfully crawled onto all fours, I carefully put a bullet through his skull and dropped him.
So much for the element of surprise.
Flipping back over, I realized the canyon had gone quiet. The multitude of apes had stopped beating their chests, and were staring at my position. I felt hundreds of eyes upon me.
Surprise monkeys, I have weapons of fire, thunder and lead. Fear me.
Scar-face pointed a thick, blood coated finger in my direction and bellowed a command.
The crowd went wild as apes began pushing, shoving, and running in different directions. Some ran back into the caves, others towards stacks of weapons, and most rushed towards the cliff below me.
Swearing, I yanked the rifle up and quickly shot at the ape leader as he turned away. The bullet missed and hit the Indian’s corpse instead. The evil black ape disappeared among the frantic swarming mass of his followers.
There went my chance at killing their leader. But at least the Indian was already dead. He probably would have forgiven me anyways, all things considered.
If there was any doubt as to where my position was before, the gun powder smoke from the Sharps that drifted over the canyon made it abundantly clear. But I figured I could slay a few more of them before I needed to get out of dodge.
Working the action on the rifle, I randomly selected an ape splashing through the stream in my direction and pulled the trigger. The rifle boomed again satisfyingly, and the ape pitched forward and thrashed in the water as another puff of gun smoke blew out to join the other.
I grinned evilly.
This was like shooting monkeys in a barrel.
Rising to a knee for a better field of fire, I fired into a small band of apes headed for the trikes. Another boom, and this time an ape dropped while the one beside it screamed and fell, clutching her side.
One bullet, two wounds. My sort of math.
The herd of trikes, stirred up by the gunfire and excitement, were proving hard for the apes to throw harnesses and saddles on. Dust stirred as the dinosaurs shuffled in confusion, making it harder for me to pick out targets. But the two trikes that rode in earlier were still harnessed and ready to go. As an ape tried mounting one of them, I fired. The shot was low, and hit the trike. It bellowed in pain and side stepped, shaking its horns and knocking the would-be rider off.
Apes were running for the canyon entrance now, trying to circle around and catch me from the rear. I ignored them. I’d be long gone by the time they reached my location.
An arrow zipped by, fired from an ape standing in the stream, and landing somewhere in the forest behind me. My aim was off, and I put a bullet through his leg as a large, hairy hand slapped the top of the edge.
Shocked that one of the apes reached me so quickly, I frantically worked the outdated reloading mechanism of the Sharps.
The big female monkey pulled herself over the edge. I cocked the hammer back and fired from the hip, the muzzle mere inches away from her face. Unsupported, the recoil of the rifle almost knocked it out of my hands. I managed to hang on to the gun as the bullet punched through the ape’s throat with a spray of blood.
At such a short distance, her flat face was filled with sparks of burning powder. Blinded and wounded, the ape clawed at her face and throat before toppling backwards and falling, yellowed canines bared in a silent scream.
Peeking over the edge, I saw her body twisted and broken amongst the rocks and a multitude of others clinging to the rocks below. Some stopped and stared at the corpse, others climbed faster. None of them looked happy.
From the canyon floor, more apes picked up bows and arrows whistled by me, thudding into the trees and ground nearby. One hit beside me, shattering the shaft on the rock and pelting me with splinters. It was time to go.
I ducked and scrambled away from the cliff edge. Reaching Carbine, I slammed the telescope shut and into the saddle bags before leaping into the saddle. From behind came grunts and hoots as apes began reaching the top of the cliff. Smacking his flanks with the barrel of my rifle, I let him lead as I twisted in the saddle and fired at the apes behind me. I managed to make one duck before losing sight of them as Carbine charged amongst the thick trees.
Within seconds, we were lost in the forest.
***
To be continued…
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The epic saga of shooting stuff continues.
P.S. If someone knows how to stretch a 24 hour day into 30 or more, I could get significantly more writing done. And maybe even have enough daylight to put the outside Christmas decorations up.
Anyways – onward we go!
***
The town doctor was an old man with a thick southern accent and steady hands. He had me strip my shirt off, and there was a long, quiet moment as he took in the decades old scar tissue. Most doctors in the west were used to all sorts of scars and disfigurements, but I knew mine were… unusual. Thankfully, he didn’t ask how I got them or the fresh wounds and that suited me fine. One of the best things out here is that people tended to mind their own damn business.
A foul-smelling medicinal oil was gingerly applied to small burned areas of my skin, then several neat stitches were put in my chest. He poked and prodded my nose painfully. I thought it was broken, but it was just bent a little. Luckily for me, the whiskey was kicking in and numbing some of the pain as he went over my various wounds.
With my collection of fresh bruises, cuts, and burns, it probably looked like I tried to cremate a mountain lion alive.
After paying the Doc for doing his best to extend my life, I wandered by the general store and bought some cartridges for the Sharps and a bundle of dynamite with plenty of fuse. Just in case.
The Reverend caught me leaving the store.
“Jedidiah,” he said in greeting. That was one of his ways. He always used a man’s formal name, never the shortened version. “Heard you had some trouble and a man was killed,” he clasped his hands before him, the old bible clutched tightly between them, as he took in my bruised and battered face. “Would you like to talk?”
I shrugged. “Nothing to talk about. The man deserved it and people dying around me is nothing new.”
“I know,” he half-turned away, and watched a carriage roll down the street behind a team of horses. “There’s nothing wrong with killing bad people who are trying to kill you or others. But I know how difficult it is for a man to escape a troubled past. Trust me, I wasn’t always a man of faith,” he looked at my face, his eyes searching mine. “I just wanted to make sure your past hadn’t followed you here.”
I nodded, understanding his concern after the things I’d told him. You never knew when your past might catch up to you. That’d be an awful day of reckoning. But so far, I was free and clear of it. “No, sir. He was just an angry, foolish drunk with an itchy trigger finger.”
“Good,” he patted my shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything. In the meantime, I’ve a funeral to prepare for.”
“Will do,” I called after him as he walked away, his boots thumping on the boardwalk.
***
An hour later, the Sheriff wrapped up his errands, which included the bar shooting, and was ready to head out.
I was still jumpy. But with the Sheriff traveling with me, I’d some peace of mind in our combined firepower. Worst-case scenario, I only had to outrun Dan’s horse drawn wagon. That’s what he gets for choosing slow comfort over a fast saddle.
On the way, I kept the storytelling brief and simple.
He shook his head in disbelief when I described the beast and our fight to the death in the burning barn. He had a lot of questions, but I had few answers.
After he grew tired of my lack of information to give, he filled me in on the latest news around town. The biggest news was that the town Mayor died, which explained the padlock on his office. A large man, his heart gave out and he dropped dead in the middle of the street in front of a wagon hauling manure. The wheels rolled right over him before the driver could stop the mules. There was irony in that somewhere, I knew it.
Following the trail, we broke free of the forest around my ranch, and the creature’s body lay in plain sight by the pile of burnt timbers and ash. Broken, charred bits and pieces of debris still lay strewn across the yard from the explosion. There was a lot of cleaning up to do.
Dan pulled back on the reins to stop the wagon and stared at the body. It took him a long moment to gather his thoughts enough to ask, “Just what is that thing?”
“No idea. Something big and mean.”
“Looks like it,” Dan cut his eyes at me sideways. “You know, by all rights, that thing should have killed you.”
“It almost did.” I tapped boot heels to the flanks of my horse and led us into the green field surrounding the house.
When we reached the remains of my barn, Dan pulled the brake on the wagon while I dismounted and tied Carbine to a corral post. He jerked his head side to side, unhappy at being tied up instead of turned loose to pasture.
Dan leapt down from the wagon and we walked to the dead beast. Its mouth lay open, exposing jagged blood-stained teeth. Other than the mangled rear legs and tail, and the arm I chopped off, the rest of its body was in reasonably good condition except for all the bullet holes. The corpse didn’t even stink yet.
I kicked its head with the toe of my boot for good measure and was rewarded with a thud. “I doubt there’s just one of these. And folks will need to know about it. I barely killed this one and the next man won’t be so lucky.”
“You’re right. We’ve got to figure on there being more of them. But it’s going to be hard to convince them that a creature like this exists, even with the claw.”
That’d occurred to me as well, but I already thought of a solution. “We won’t be able to fit the entire body in your wagon, but the head will. If that doesn’t convince folks, nothing will.”
Dan glanced at his wagon and shrugged with one shoulder. “Works for me,” he pointed towards my ash heap of a barn. “You got any tools left?”
“Not really,” I said, thinking of the small kindling axe and Bowie on my hip. “This is going to be messy.”
“Yes…It is,” he seemed distracted as he tugged on his beard thoughtfully and walked around the corpse. Reaching the mutilated and torched tail, he stopped and stared at it in silence.
Leaving him to his thoughts, I walked over to the pitchfork that almost impaled me. The handle was burnt away, leaving a charred end sticking out of the twisted metal fork. Pulling it loose from the ground, I tossed the ruined tool towards the remains of the barns where it landed with a soft thud amongst the wet ash.
“I’ve seen something like this before,” the Sheriff called out as he cut a plug of tobacco with a pocket knife and began chewing.
That got my attention. “What? Where?” I looked at him in bewilderment. “Hell, how?”
“Newspaper. Someone wrote in it about digging up giant bones in Montana and Colorado. Said they were from dinosaurs.”
“Dinosaurs?” I asked.
“Big extinct animals that’ve been dead so long their bones turned to rock. There was a sketch of what they looked like when they were alive. One of them was like this one. Except it had a bigger head, small worthless-looking arms, and walked on its back two legs. Yours kind of reminds me of it, but the head is smaller and the front arms are normal sized. Anyways, I remember thinking it was ridiculous.”
I looked at him in surprise, “Seems it ain’t so ridiculous. You know who wrote the article?”
“Not a clue, and I used the paper in the outhouse. But the Smithsonian Institute was mentioned, I recall that. They could probably tell us what we are dealing with,” he spat a stream of tobacco juice. “I bet they’d be real interested to know they’re wrong about them all being dead.”
“Can you wire them? Ask them how worried we ought to be?”
The Sheriff squatted on his haunches beside the corpse and gently touched its blood-stained teeth with his fingertips. “I will. But I got a feeling we ought to be mighty concerned.”
“Me too.”
Dan ran his hands over the pebbled hide and peered into the beast’s empty eye socket. I stared at the burnt remains of my barn, alone in my thoughts. Until one struck me.
“Hey, Dan?”
“Yeah?”
“After we cut this thing’s head off… you want to stick around for some steaks before heading back to town?” I asked.
“Steaks?”
I nodded, grinning. “Big ones.”
He looked puzzled, until the realization of what I implied sunk in. “You’re teasin’, right?”
“What better way to celebrate my defeat of this horrifying beast than to feast on its roasted flesh?”
He sighed and looked back at the dead monster before spitting again. “Okay.”
It tasted like chicken.
***
The next morning, I woke stiff and sore. Today’s plan was to take it easy and try to salvage anything of value from the ruins of my barn. I wasn’t looking forward to digging through the knee-deep ash and debris for any little treasures that may have survived.
I slung the gun belt around my waist and glanced at the Spencer Carbine above the door. It tempted me, but I had my pistol, and I’d keep a careful watch as I worked. I decided to leave it. My new shotgun was freshly cleaned and oiled, laying on a small table beside the door with a box of shells. I left that gun as well. It was daylight and with the open fields around the ranch, I’d be able to see any strange beasts well before they reached me.
Pulling the door open, I stepped out into the bright morning sun and arched my back as I stretched.
It was going to be a nice day.
A spear whistled by me and slammed into the log wall next to the rocking chair. It stuck, driven deep, the thick wood shaft quivering.
Instinctively, I drew my pistol and spun to face whoever just tried to kill me.
There were four of them scattered before me.
Big hairy things, wrapped in hides around their waists, easily a foot taller than me, with long arms and hands big enough to beat a horse to death. Only their broad, ugly faces and muscular chests were hairless, the exposed black skin marked with colorful swirls and strange patterns.
They reminded me of jungle apes from my childhood picture books. But instead of carrying bananas, they held weapons and didn’t have any tails.
The smallest of the four knelt beside the dead monster, a bow in hand and quiver of arrows at his waist. Two others stood by the pasture fence, watching Carbine run away again. Meanwhile, the biggest one who’d thrown the spear sprinted towards me in large strides, a stone axe held high overhead. He let out a ferocious roar as he quickly closed the distance.
Even as the iron sights of the Peacemaker lined up on his broad forehead and I squeezed the trigger, it felt like this was a dream. This couldn’t be real. It was laughable. First a monster and now giant monkey-men.
It was loco.
The recoil from the gun blast shocked me out of my stupor as the bullet punched through his skull and he dropped at the edge of the porch as though his strings were cut.
Behind him, the others began to react. The small ape nocked an arrow and drew the bow back.
Ducking, I snapped a quick shot at him as he released. I caught a glimpse of him spinning away, grasping his side, as I dove into the house. The arrow zipped through the open doorway, narrowly missing me, and thunking into the far wall.
Slamming the door shut, I shoved my pistol into its holster. Heavy feet stomped across the porch as I grabbed the shotgun off the table. Gripping it tightly with both hands, I thumbed the double hammers back, just in time for the door to violently slam open.
It bashed into me, knocking me backward onto the floor, and sending the box of shotgun shells flying off the small table. The cardboard box burst on impact, thick cased shells rolling in every direction.
The giant ape’s painted bulk filled the doorway, stone club held low. Pounding a clenched fist against his broad chest twice, he roared, revealing large yellowed canines.
I let the shotgun roar back.
The twin large bore barrels spewed a cloud of white smoke and double rounds of buckshot punched through the ape’s painted lower chest and out his upper back. At this range, the mass of packed lead balls didn’t spread, they simply blew a pair of holes in the big monkey large enough to put my boot through. The hairy bastard flew backward in a spray of blood and pulverized flesh. The stench of burning hair filled the air.
Breaking the shotgun open, I plucked out the empty shells as fast as I could, before grabbing a pair off the floor. Dropping them in, I snapped the gun shut, just in time for another ape to come through the door and swing its club.
The big stone on the end of the thick wood stick hit the floor as I dodged aside. Splinters stung my face as the rock smashed through the floor boards.
I struggled to maneuver the shortened shotgun for a shot and managed to thumb one of the hammers back.
The ape grasped the barrels and ripped the gun away, inadvertently making me discharge a round of buckshot past his head into the ceiling. A spray of splintered debris rained down on us. Roaring, he dropped the club to clutch his ear while flinging the shotgun across the room with his other hand.
From the ground, I drew my pistol, but lost it, as the ape grabbed me by the shirt and leg with an iron grip and hurled me across the room. Slamming into a pair of bookshelves near the wood stove, I let out a cry of pain and fell in a shower of books.
A colorfully painted Wyatt Earp glared at me from the cover of a fallen dime novel, his face stern under a tilted hat. Below in large blue words, it said, “CAN HE SURVIVE?”
Thanks for the vote of confidence, Wyatt.
Floorboards creaked in protest as the great ape lunged across the room after me. No gun was within reach, but a cast iron frying pan was. I grabbed it and swung hard at the ape’s knee. He easily dodged the blow, and the heavy pan slipped and flew from my grip.
Screaming in anger, I kicked at him in desperation.
He smacked my boot aside effortlessly and grabbed me by the throat. Single handed, the ape lifted me off the floor. Fighting for air, I pounded at his hand and arm, kicking futilely, struggling to draw breath.
The monkey watched me twist and flail, a thin trickle of red dribbling from his ruptured ear drum. His face twisted in a snarl, exposing his large canines.
As my vision began to fade, I realized I still had a weapon. Drawing the large Bowie knife from the sheath on my belt, I began stabbing whatever I could reach. The blade drove deep into his soft belly below the rib cage, slicing through muscle and fat and into organs.
The ape screamed, dropping me before toppling onto his back, clutching the gaping wounds. The heavy knife fell and stuck point first in the floor as I crawled to my hands and knees, gasping.
My attacker said something in a rough, guttural language through clenched teeth while writhing back and forth. Bright red blood poured through his clasped hands and pooled underneath him.
I didn’t understand what he said, and I didn’t bother asking him to repeat it. Instead, I added insult to injury by angrily punching him in the face. It felt like punching a hair covered rock, but I was rewarded with a small spray of blood from his wide nostrils. That was for trashing my house.
The ape may have been dying, but it wasn’t fast enough to please me. I jerked the Bowie knife from the floorboards. Wrapping both hands around the handle, I brought the blade down, again and again, with all the force and violence as I could muster. Blood sprayed and splashed across the floor as his body shuddered under the vicious knifing. That was for him and his buddies trying to kill me for no reason.
Breathing hard from the exertion, I stared at the mangled bloodied mess I had made. Then I suddenly recalled there’d been four apes and the small one was unaccounted for. Diving across the floor, I grabbed the dropped pistol. Sliding against the doorway, I peeked cautiously, waiting for the fourth one to pop around the corner to plug me.
Instead, the small one with the bow lay motionless in the yard. I’d gotten lucky with that snapped shot and hit something vital. He’d made it several steps from the dinosaur before collapsing.
***
Doc had done a proper job on my stitches. Only one tore loose during the brawl and it looked like I’d survive without it. But I desperately needed a week or two without violence to heal up.
Satisfied that I’d survive this assault, I buttoned my shirt and inspected my latest kill.
The dead ape in my house lay gashed open from painted chest to throat with over a dozen wounds. I pulled the knife out of him, wiped it off on his fur, and slid it back into its sheath while looking the corpse over.
Simply put, he was large, hairy, and ugly.
His face was a bald patch of wrinkled black skin covering his mouth, lips, and wide flat nose. The rest of his head was covered with the same thick, dark brown hair as his body, leaving only his chest, palms, and bottoms of his feet hair-free.
His chest was thick with muscle and painted with red, green, and white swirls and strange patterns. I scraped off a little of the green paint with my fingers and rubbed it between them. It was clotted with small bits of plant fiber and what looked like smashed bugs.
What gave me the greatest concern was the skins he wore. I picked up an edge of the hides and ran the treated leather between my fingers. The pebbled hide was like nothing I had ever seen before. Except on the monster I killed last night.
So, there were more of them. Many more. Somewhere. And with them were these apes. But where? How had they never been discovered until now? Just what the hell was going on?
A small leather pouch was stitched into the hides he wore. I opened it hoping to find answers. Inside were thin strips of leather, a sharp chipped stone knife with leather-bound handle, what looked like flint and pyrite for making fires, and several bright purple fern leaves tightly roiled. More questions without answers. I fingered the purple ferns, they were still green and appeared to have been freshly picked. But from where? I’d never seen anything like them before either.
Disgusted, I pushed the contents into a pile on the floor and grabbed the ape by his hairy legs. His feet were huge and barefoot, covered in heavily callouses, with long toes and huge black nails. Grunting, I pulled the body towards the door.
The corpse left a long smear of blood across the floor as I dragged him out of the house and rolled him off the side of the porch into a heap with his dead buddies.
Then I checked their weapons.
I knew the apes were strong. One of them lifted my entire body with a single hand and almost choked me to death. But as I picked up one of their clubs and struggled to swing it, I realized just how strong they really were. The club must weigh around thirty pounds. The handle was smooth dark wood with a reddish tint and small grooves cut to help the bearer keep a grip. The large gray stone at the end had been chipped into shape and bound tightly in place with strips of leather. Getting hit with one of these would end a man’s life quick, or leave him permanently crippled.
I tugged the arrow out of the wall. It was almost a foot longer than an Indian arrow and twice as thick. The fletching was made of long strange greenish-yellow feathers, and the point chipped obsidian. The bow carried by the small ape was six feet long and made from what seemed like a type of carved horn and finely braided gut string. I tried to draw the bow back and gave up after moving the string only half way.
The spear was sunk deep into the outside log wall, and using the axe I chopped the shaft off, leaving the tip embedded. Like the club, it was much larger than anything a human could easily wield. The shaft was almost nine feet long and several inches in diameter. Big enough that I could jab with it two handed, but impossible for me to throw. I found enough spears for each of the apes to have carried one, and their points were of the same glossy chipped obsidian as the arrows.
I dumped the weapons in a pile and stood on the porch with rifle in hand, looking around in bewilderment. Once again, I found myself confused and trying to wrap my head around the notion that not only had I killed a creature that should have been extinct, but also several giant monkey-men without tails.
Just what in the hell was going on?
The breeze ruffled the hair of the apes in the yard and sent small dust devils spinning. Buzzards noticed my new yard decorations and circled lazily overhead. A sure signal for miles around that something was dead. I’d provided quite the feast for them as of late.
I looked at the forest edge and wondered what else was out there.
There was no telling anymore.
As I watched Carbine trot back towards the ranch, I knew one thing for certain, I needed to know where these apes came from. Wherever that was, based on the hides they wore, there were more of these dinosaurs. Going without help didn’t appeal to me. But neither did spending most of a day fetching the Sheriff while the trail went cold.
I’d go alone and cautiously. If things went south, I’d ride like hell for town. I glanced at my saddle bags that lay on the floor by the door. Just in case, I’d bring the dynamite along.
***
I tracked the apes easily enough.
The hairy men had followed the dinosaur, which explained how they ended up in my front yard. And that big creature left an easy trail to follow as it stomped through everything, leaving deep clawed tracks, broken branches, and crushed foliage in its wake. Regretfully, the dinosaur’s tracks did like most wild things, they meandered all over the place instead of in a convenient straight line. Eventually the markings broke free of the forest, and out into the open rolling hills of the plains.
I’d no idea why the apes would follow the beast. If they were hunting it, then they were more badass than I originally thought and that much more dangerous. But it appeared I was attacked by the apes simply because I had the bad luck of the beast ending up dead at my place.
After a couple hours, I came across the bloody, grisly carcass of one of my steers. All that remained was broken horns attached to a shattered skull, punctured by teeth, and some crunched-up bones amongst shredded scraps of meat and hide. The area was painted with blood and gore for a good ten feet. The monster had eaten well here.
Eventually, the beast’s tracks led me to an area of the Granite Mountain range further than I’d ever wandered before. The tall prairie grass ended abruptly against the base of mountain cliffs jutting up from the plains. Before me, the cliff face rose fifty or sixty feet into the air, complete with tumbled rocks and debris at the bottom and a few scraggly pines striving to survive tucked into small cracks and crevices.
Both the ape and beast tracks led right through a massive tunnel that stretched almost forty feet wide at the bottom and at its highest point, arched twenty feet or so above me.
But, somehow, impossibly, the tunnel was only thirty feet long, and defied everything I knew was possible.
In a daze, I dismounted and squatted on my heels, staring at it, trying to understand how such a thing could exist.
Not only should the mountain range have been miles and miles long, each end of the tunnel was… different.
My side was normal, the other side… not.
What I saw wasn’t possible. It didn’t just break the laws of nature, it shattered them.
There was a clear line of division inside near the center of the tunnel. A line that showed where my side ended and the other began. Nothing in nature is perfectly straight, but this was. The grass on my side, small and thin, ended abruptly where large thick blades of grass and big green and red tinged ferns suddenly began and continued down a small rise where my view ended, showing only a blue sky with several puffy white clouds.
The unseen line continued up edges of the tunnel and along the ceiling, splitting two different types of rock. On my side, it was gray and marbled granite, then it suddenly became limestone. Cracks that began in one side or the other, ended abruptly when they reached the line.
I couldn’t explain it. There should have been a solid mountain right there. But it wasn’t.
The only thing I knew for sure was that apes and the beast came from the other side. The dinosaur appeared to have walked right through it, and wandered off to find a rancher to terrorize. Then the apes, but their tracks were muddled together as they crossed through and wandered around the area, apparently as baffled as I was.
I gave up trying to figure it out. To hell with it. My head was starting to pound something fierce. It was simpler just to accept it.
Frustrated and disgusted, I stood and kicked a fist sized rock into the tunnel. As the rock bounced across the unseen line and into the other side, for a brief moment, the air shimmered and tiny ripples spread in every direction.
At that moment, I said a lot of things my mother wouldn’t have wanted me to say. But, in my defense, I was really getting sick of all this strangeness.
Unsure of what I was dealing with, I did what everyone does when confronted with something so strange and bizarre that it challenges your belief in what is real.
I walked over and cautiously poked it with a finger.
Like before, small ripples spread outwards, sparkling like clear water in the sun, before quickly fading away. I pushed my hand through and watched the ripple, flexing my fingers and watching them through the brief shimmer. I clenched my fist and waited a minute to see if it would wither and fall off. It didn’t and other than the faintest of tingles, I felt nothing.
I was sorely tempted to go through and see what awaited me on the other side. But light was fading and shadows growing longer, and I didn’t feel safe wandering through such a strange place in the dark. Running my fingers across the air to make a trail of shimmers once more, I reluctantly turned away.
We rode away from the tracks and cliff for over a mile, before finding a small stand of trees that would provide shelter and concealment from any critters prone to violence that might be wandering around. Especially anything that may have come through the tunnel.
Staking Carbine nearby, I trusted him to alert me if anything came near. My bedroll was spread amongst some fallen logs that formed a natural fort of sorts and I stacked a few large rocks in the gaps. Just in case.
Lying under my blanket, I looked through the leaves at the stars in the night sky and tried to decide which was worse, the creatures I’d encountered, or the unknown things on the other side that I didn’t know about yet. Before I drifted off to sleep, I settled on the unknown and kept my rifle close by my side while sleeping fitfully through the night.
***
The saga continues with… RAWR! Pew! Pew! Pew-Part FOUR!
Gunpowder and Ink! 