Author: Harmon Cooper
Date: 2021-10-05 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction
Description: Sterling Monedero returns in the blazing second installment of the bestselling Cowboy Necromancer series! More action, more Southwestern mysticism, more amazing superpowers, and deeper intrigue as Sterling suddenly finds himself alone in a brand new environment, his team much closer than he thinks. It's going to be one hell of an adventure as Sterling not only takes on the Godwalkers, but is actually joined by one...
Publisher: Boycott Books, LLC

Infinite Dark

(Cowboy Necromancer Book Two)

By Harmon Cooper

Copyright © 2021 Harmon Cooper

Copyright © 2021 Boycott Books

Edited by Adam Luopa

Proofed by Andi Marlowe

Art by Daniel Kamarudin

Font by Shawn King

Audiobook produced by Podium Audio and narrated by Macleod Andrews

www.harmoncooper.com
writer.harmoncooper@gmail.com

Twitter: @_HarmonCooper

Harmon Cooper’s Patreon

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Book One recap

Map of Sterling’s Journey

Part One

.Chapter One.

.Chapter Two.

.Chapter Three.

.Chapter Four.

.Chapter Five.

.Chapter Six.

.Chapter Seven.

.Chapter Eight.

.Chapter Nine.

.Chapter Ten.

Part Two

.Chapter One.

.Chapter Two.

.Chapter Three.

.Chapter Four.

.Chapter Five.

.Chapter Six.

Part Three

.Chapter One.

.Chapter Two.

.Chapter Three.

.Chapter Four.

.Chapter Five.

.Chapter Six.

.Chapter Seven.

.Chapter Eight.

.Chapter Nine.

.Back of the Book.

.About the Author.

Book One recap

**Contains spoilers**

Five years ago, an event known as the Reset killed ninety percent of the world’s population, wiping the memory of anyone left alive. Alien monoliths known as Godwalkers appeared and took humankind off the electric grid. The population that was left were given stats, and were able to level up through combat. A select few were given enhanced mancer classes, allowing them to perform incredible feats.

Three years ago, Sterling Monedero and a band of superpowered mancers tried to do something about it.

They failed, ending in the deaths of a pyromancer named Liam and a hydromancer named Karina. Those still alive went their separate ways. Zephyr, an aeromancer, and the Sunflower Kid, a biomancer, headed to Albuquerque. Rowayton the Indestructible, also known as Roxie, headed to whereabouts unknown, and Sterling, the necromancer, moved to the outskirts of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, to retire and start a pepper farm.

Three years pass in relative peace until a group of bandits known as Killbillies show up to collect a chili tax from Sterling, the same time that a Godwalker appears in the sky and destroys his pepper farm. Deciding it’s time to get the old team together to deal with the alien monoliths once and for all, Sterling seeks out the mystical wisdom of a shaman named Don Gasper, which sends him to Las Cruces into the middle of a turf war between the Killbillies and the White Sands Militia. It isn’t an easy trip south, and along the way he ends up being taken prisoner by the Killbillies and crucified while their leader, a man named Commodore Bones, taunts him.

Sterling escapes and reaches Las Cruces. Through Don Gasper and a coyote, he learns that the Sunflower Kid is north. He also discovers that Roxie is being held by the militia, and is encouraged by Don Gasper to look for the Sunflower Kid first. Along his way, he encounters a group of Hopi natives who are protected by a solimancer named Paco. Paco points Sterling in the right direction of the Sunflower Kid, Sterling discovering that the Kid is being held captive by a cult known as the Culto Demente Sagrado. Due to a powerful telemancer, Sterling is unable to get close to the cult.

He heads even further north to find a man named Raylan, who is a flectomancer able to craft incredible items such as Sterling’s magical revolver, and his sickle-sword. Sterling learns that a bounty hunter named Ram is hunting him, but ignores the man as he makes it to Madrid, New Mexico, to meet Raylan. In Madrid, Sterling meets a female pyromancer named Sierra, and Raylan promises to craft some technology for him that will prevent the telemancer from affecting Sterling so he can rescue the Sunflower Kid.

Disaster strikes in the form of Ram the next morning, the bounty hunter using his control over ice to cut Sterling’s arm off. Raylan and Sierra are able to run Ram out of town, and after using his mancer power to graft a skeletal arm to his own, Sterling leaves as well. He rescues the Sunflower Kid, and in doing so ends up finding an enormous amalgamation, which is the word locals use to describe strange creatures that have appeared after the Reset, ones with skeletal heads. Sterling is once again assisted by Paco the solimancer, whom he promises to meet again in the future, perhaps letting him join their group.

Now heading south to meet Don Gasper, Sterling reconnects with the Sunflower Kid, and learns that Zephyr, one of his original teammates, is in Albuquerque. As much as he doesn’t want to go to the city, mostly because it is the site of gang warfare, he knows he needs to at some point. Throughout his trip, Sterling has been discovering information about his family, and while he doesn’t know if his wife and his child are still alive, he does have a lead in Albuquerque in the records at an old insurance company.

Reaching Alamogordo, Sterling reunites with Don Gasper, who has fallen under the spell of a female witch named Magdalena. Don Gasper and Magdalena, alongside the Sunflower Kid, convince Sterling to join forces with Commodore Bones to take on the White Sands Militia, so he can free Roxie from imprisonment. He has also heard that the militia is holding a technomancer, which he’ll need on his team if he ever wants to take down one of the Godwalkers.

As they assault the military base, freeing Roxie and a technomancer named Maron, a Godwalker suddenly appears in the sky. Deciding not to run this time, Sterling gets over his fear of heights as he flies into an opening on the Godwalker provided by Maron, where he is able to bring the towering alien monolith to the ground.

Upon waking after a series of explosions, Sterling finds Don Gasper in front of him, impaled on a spike and begging for forgiveness. Magdalena, Gasper’s lover, has betrayed him and is secretly a telemancer. She has escaped with Commodore Bones to Las Cruces alongside the technomancer. Now that he has the start of his team back together, Sterling decides to ride to Las Cruces first, to be followed by Albuquerque, and then later Utah, where the Godwalkers are rumored to have a terminal, which Raylan thinks is the key to bringing them down once and for all.

Map of Sterling’s Journey

Part One

The Bonneville Salt Flats, the Elder of Nauvoo, Beep, Slickrock Country, The Serpents of Paradise, Deseret

.Chapter One.

Middle of Nowhere, Deseret.

Not too distant future.

It was either heaven or hell, that, or an alien planet. Sterling Monedero couldn’t tell.

One minute he was set to begin the assault on Las Cruces, where he planned to rescue the technomancer named Maron from the clutches of Commodore Bones; the next he was standing on a hardened white surface filled with porcelain cracks that seemed to stretch for miles, a thick sandstorm whipping up around him, his vision obscured, everyone he had been with earlier gone, vanished.

Don Gasper, Roxie, the Sunflower Kid.

Gone.

It happened that fast.

“Shee-it,” Sterling said as he summoned his bag of tobacco and quickly rolled up a cigarette, an instinctual gesture, something he now did without thinking. Had he somehow been transported back to White Sands, New Mexico? Had he fallen and hit his head and this was the result? Was all of this some sort of twisted, hallucinatory vision triggered by some entheogenic plant that Don Gasper had slipped him? Could it have been caused by a telemancer, perhaps Magdalena, Don Gasper’s ex-lover?

Was this all simply an illusion?

He felt a spasm in his chest as panic set in, and gulped in a fresh breath of air to cool his nerves.

Seems real…

Sterling removed his black cowboy hat and located the device that Raylan the flectomancer had made to repel telepaths, which was tucked inside the brim. Probably wasn’t a telemancer, he thought as he placed his hat back on his head and conjured a lighter. Probably ain’t Heaven neither…

He placed his cigarette in his mouth and lit it, taking a deep drag off the cancer stick, hoping it would do something.

Is it a dream? Sterling willed himself to wake up. He even tried burning the tip of his cigarette into his other palm, which stung, but did little to jolt him out of a deep slumber.

“Where in the hell am I?”

It couldn’t be an alien planet unless they used oxygen similar to Earth, and it wasn’t hot enough to be Hell, at least Hell as Sterling had come to picture it based on the performative religious troupes traveling through Truth or Consequences, who had combined Biblical scenes with costumed drama, a traveling freak show if ever there was one. No fire, no brimstone, no blood-red sky, no bastard little devil trying to poke Sterling in the ass with his pitchfork. No nothing. Nope, there was absolutely nothing around to indicate where he was, and certainly no indication of how he had gotten there.

Sterling slowly lowered and knocked his fist against the hard white surface below.

“What in the hell?” he asked aloud after he brought a bit of the ground shavings up, noticing it was fine-grained. He put it to the tip of his tongue. Definitely salt. “Whole damn thing is salt,” he said, perplexed as he tried to see through the sand and salt that had started to pick up in the air again, whipping into mini cyclones all around him.

Sterling had seen real sandstorms back in T or C, so what he was witnessing was nothing new, yet there was enough wind to continue to conceal his surroundings, the cowboy necromancer once again feeling the tinge of panic in his chest.

He took a drag off his cigarette, not able to stop from shaking his head.

Don’t make no sense…

No Sunflower Kid, no Roxie, no Don Gasper. They’d all been together just minutes ago, and now Sterling was all alone, which was a bewildering experience, considering he had just been outside the Killbillies’ base, ready to infiltrate, to put a bullet between Commodore Bones’s eyes.

Bam!

If ever a man deserved to die, it was Commodore Bones.

“Damn peckerhead.” Sterling cursed himself once again for not killing the man when he’d had the chance. Instead, he had, under pressure from Don Gasper and the Sunflower Kid, joined up with Commodore Bones, taking part in the Killbilly leader’s mad pursuit against a bandit group out of El Paso known as the Texas Rangers.

Sterling should have gone with his gut back then, and he knew it. He should have seen the betrayal that was coming and acted preemptively, but he didn’t. Or better, he did see it coming and he ignored it, and now…

Now…

Sterling was just about to pull Manchester’s skeleton out of his inventory list and start riding in the direction that looked the most promising when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Always a quick draw, he had his magical revolver out by the time he turned to whatever it was he’d seen, confusion tracing across his face as he tried to make sense of the hovering object.

A baby Godwalker?

He aimed his weapon at it. The Godwalker was no larger than a kitchen trash can, its surfaces smooth obsidian, the miniature monolith bobbing left and right as it emitted a noise.

<Beep.>

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Each magical bullet cost him a mana point, but Sterling figured he’d give it everything he’d got if it meant not having to get vaporized by the tiny Godwalker. It beeped and he shot it again—Bam!—his magical bullet ricocheting off its smooth black surface.

The small Godwalker disappeared into the dust that bloomed into the air, Sterling listening for its beeps with his gun drawn.

“Come on out…” he said through gritted teeth.

The next sensation that met him wasn’t a sound, it was a rumbling beneath the heels of his black cowboy boots, the tremors vibrating up through his spine.

Sterling turned to his right, squinting now, his revolver ready to go, his other hand detaching his sickle-sword from its sheath, the cigarette still in his mouth half ash by this point.

“Damn… thing…” Sterling muttered, and turned again, the rumbling coming from a different direction now. Was the smaller Godwalker bringing a larger one? He tilted his gaze up, figuring the shadow of the monolithic alien craft would potentially reach him before the vessel did.

A hulking monstrosity tore out of the wall of powdery white salt and sand, Sterling barely managing to dive out of the way.

A gargantuan buffalo soared past him, a skull in place of its head, which Sterling instantly identified as belonging to some kind of mountain lion.

Body of a buffalo, skull of a mountain lion—an amalgamation.

Sterling began firing on the buffalo amalgamation indiscriminately, knowing full well what a beast of this size was capable of, especially one that was so bulky and powerful. The buffalo amalgamation turned on a dime and charged toward Sterling again. It didn’t have horns jutting out of its skull, but it did appear to have a pair of razor-sharp canines, each over nine inches long.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Sterling continued to unload bullets in its direction, cursing at the amalgamation, at his good-for-nothing luck, at his life since the Reset five years ago, at whoever had sent him to this godforsaken salt flat, and for good measure, at Commodore Bones as well, because Sterling needed someone to blame.

“You miserable old bucket of guts!” Sterling growled as the buffalo amalgamation snapped its teeth, ripping through the ends of his black duster as it passed him. “You done did it now! You son of a bitch!”

Sterling brazenly took off toward the buffalo this time, deciding to go on the offensive. There were a number of things he could have done, including fly, but he didn’t like heights, and the more the amalgamation toyed with him, the more heated he became.

“Send me out to the middle of nowhere, attack me… Not today! No sir, not today!”

He sidestepped its next attack like a matador and brought the curved end of his sickle-sword into the buffalo’s side, the blade with the turquoise energy radiating off its tip cutting a deep gash just over the amalgamation’s shoulder. No time to cuss, no time to see how much damage he’d done, Sterling swiveled around and began firing his revolver at the monstrosity indiscriminately, hoping to at least scare the beast away for a second, to give him a bit of space.

No such luck.

The amalgamation turned back toward him and managed to strike Sterling this time, the impact sending the cowboy necromancer flying back thirty feet.

He hit the hard salt flat, bounced up and rolled, losing his sickle-sword in the process, the wind knocked out of him as if he’d just taken a gut punch.

“Shee-it…” he mumbled, trying desperately to get back to his feet, the buffalo nearing him, hooves tearing into the cracked salt.

The impact was going to hurt, and while Sterling could likely heal from it, if it used its mountain lion head and chopped off his arm or leg, it was going to be difficult to find a replacement part.

He’d already been through that before back in Madrid, New Mexico, where there were more options for the cowboy necromancer via the graveyard outside of town. But here? About fifty miles to the north of no man’s land in a barren salt flat that made the underworld look inviting?

Fat chance.

“If I die…” Sterling said, psyching himself up, “I’m going to bring your ass with me!”

He aimed his revolver at the charging bison, ignoring the ground as it trembled beneath him, or the fear that had started to boil up in his chest. Sterling knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was about to be trampled, and was fine with it.

He was going to die, but he was damn sure going to do so fighting to the very end.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

BOOOOOOOmmm!

Blood, guts, entrails, viscera, bits of bone, torn ligaments, shards of teeth, burnt nerve endings, you name it, Sterling was covered in it in a matter of seconds. The muck stank to high heaven and it was sticky, but at least he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

He spat some of the mess out of his mouth and wiped it from his eyes, a scowl coming across his face as he looked up to see what had single-handedly destroyed the amalgamation.

<Beep.>

“Damn you,” Sterling said as he pointed his revolver at the pint-size Godwalker floating in front of him. “Damn you to hell.”

<Beep.>

Bam!

Once again, the bullet bounced off its sleek, chrome black surface.

<Beep.>

The tiny Godwalker tilted a bit to the side, as if it were not only curious as to why Sterling kept shooting at it, but also somehow offended by it.

<Beep.>

“I’ll shoot you again if you keep it up.”

<Beep.>

“I heard you the first time,” Sterling said as he began to get out of his clothes. He had a spare set, and sending something to his inventory list always cleaned it up anyway. “Don’t know why you’re here, don’t know where I am, but…” He looked at the smoking carcass of the amalgamation. “I guess… I guess there ain’t no other way around it. You saved me.”

Sterling dropped his shirt to the ground. From there it was his belt, his boots, his pants, his underpants. “Turn around or something,” he told the Godwalker, Sterling at the point now that he didn’t care if he was undressing in front of it or not.

Miraculously, the miniature Godwalker did as he had instructed.

As soon as Sterling was dressed again, his charms began to take shape on his body, everything clean, which was an advantage of cycling clothing through an inventory list. He took a deep breath, hoping to suppress the feeling of bewilderment and failing. “You got a name?”

<Beep.>

“Listen to me,” he mumbled, distaste in his voice, “asking a pipsqueak of a Godwalker if it has a name. I should have let that amalgamation trample me. And if you were trying to kill me, you should have done it when I was standing there in my skivvies.”

<Beep.>

“Yeah? That’s all you’re going to say for yourself? I guess I’ll call you Beep then.”

<Beep.>

Cautiously, and with his revolver still drawn, Sterling approached the Godwalker.

It floated just a bit closer to the surface of the salt flat, Sterling finally holstering his weapon. He placed a hand on the monolith’s smooth surface, as if this would somehow indicate what it was for, and what it was doing here.

It was weird to actually touch one. Beep’s surface was smooth and cool, not at all taking in the heat of a hazed sun overhead.

“This is all sorts of f—”

The roar of an engine in the distance caught his attention, Sterling looking to the west to see his glowing turquoise sickle-sword on the ground.

“Beep, here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to put you on my inventory list for a minute and investigate that sound. Consider it a timeout for scaring me back there. Yeah, I know you saved me,” Sterling told the floating monolith, which seemed to sink to some degree, “but I still don’t trust you.”

Sterling slapped his hand against the side of the Godwalker’s body, sending it to his inventory list. He waited for something to happen, and when it didn’t, he located his sword, which he quickly placed in its retractable sheath.

Sterling turned in the direction of the engine he’d heard just moments ago.

“Let’s figure out where the hell we are.”

.Chapter Two.

More dust, grit in his eyes, and confusion, Sterling’s attitude soured as he continued toward the engine sound. He knew not to get his hopes up. It was better not to.

Sterling squinted, as if this would somehow help him figure out where the sound had come from. He could have sworn it had come from the east just a few seconds back, but then he heard it from the west.

It was all around him, the same sensation he had felt with the amalgamation, which probably came with how perplexed he felt in his alien environment.

Whatever it was, Sterling was certain that it was the sound of a human vehicle, maybe not a car, but something with a combustion engine, and the tire marks he came across on the hard salt beneath him only made him more certain of this.

“You damn fool,” he mumbled as he went for the easier option to attract attention. Sterling pointed his revolver to the sky above and fired several shots. “That should do the trick.”

He braced himself for any number of things—a superpowered mancer, a caravan of doped up crazies, a lone wolf gunner joyriding on the salt flat—it could be anyone, but at least he was certain it was human-related. The sound he’d heard wasn’t one of an amalgamation, and Sterling had heard the Godwalkers enough to know that they didn’t make that kind of puttering rumble that a man-made vehicle did as they hovered along.

He fired his revolver again, ready for anything.

Soon enough, a vehicle pressed out of the dust that surrounded him, two riders inside, the craft leaving a thick blanket of black smoke in its wake. It wasn’t an ATV like the Killbillies used, and Sterling was forced to search for the word before it came to him.

A dune buggy, Sterling settled on as the vehicle slowed to a stop. That’s what it is…

He couldn’t quite make out the driver’s features, not with the thick smoke and the dust whipping about, so he just stood there for a moment. It was only when the smog cleared that Sterling noticed that the two in the dune buggy were acting just as cautiously as he was, both boys no older than the age of thirteen or so, the one in the passenger seat gripping a shotgun, the driver with goggles over his eyes, the lenses reflective and thick with soot.

“Mister,” the driver said after he killed the engine. Sterling kept his revolver at the ready. He wasn’t aiming it at them, but that could change if this little exchange headed south.

“What the hell are you boys doing all the way out here?” he asked the driver, whom he assumed was the older of the two. “Long ways away from anywhere, I reckon.”

“Driving.”

Sterling slowly nodded. “I can see that. It’s dangerous out here, you know. There are amalgamations.”

“Amalgamation? What’s that?” the driver asked.

“I killed one of them suckers not far from here.” Sterling tilted his head toward the left, not knowing quite where the amalgamation’s body was now. “Looked to be a buffalo with the head of some kind of a mountain lion.”

“Amalgamations?”

Sterling nodded. “That’s what they call them where I’m from, anyway.”

“Them beasts are good eating,” the driver said. “Where did you kill it?”

“I couldn’t tell you. Can’t see for shit in this dust storm. And by killed it, I mean…” Sterling remembered what Beep had done to the creature, pretty much eviscerating the amalgamation. He kept this detail to himself. “And I hate to break it to you, but ain’t none left of it to eat, no point in trying to scrape together some bits and pieces unless you’re looking to make jerky, and even then, most people I know don’t eat them things.”

“You blow it up or something?”

“Something like that,” Sterling told the driver. “Anyhow, now that I got your attention, what do you say your friend there lowers his shotgun, I put my revolver away, and we get to talking? Man-to-man. Might as well be sensible.”

“You put yours away first.”

“Heh. Y’all are a pair of smart boys,” Sterling said as he slowly placed his revolver in its holster.

“That’s some sword you got there,” said the driver.

“Ain’t she something?” Sterling asked as he looked down at his weapon, turquoise energy radiating around it. “A flectomancer made it; don’t pay it no mind. Now, I upheld my part of the bargain, now it’s your turn.”

The passenger lowered the shotgun.

“Much better. Now, I got me a bunch of questions,” Sterling told the two, once again sizing them up. They had all the telltale signs of adolescence, but there was something hardened about the pair, something that told him that they had seen more than their fair share. Everyone post-Reset looked that way, but there was something especially tough about these two.

“You got questions?”

“I do.”

“Ask away,” said the driver.

“For one, where the hell are we?”

“Salt flats,” he replied casually.

“I can damn well see that, but where? Which state? Are we in New Mexico?”

“What’s New Mexico?”

Sterling shook his head. “Arizona?”

“Nope, don’t know where that is,” said the driver. “This here is Deseret.”

“Deseret, huh?”

Both boys nodded.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of that place.”

“Welp, that’s where you are, mister.”

“The salt flats in Deseret,” Sterling said, mulling over the word. “In that case, what’s near here? Any cities?”

“We don’t go to no cities.”

“Must be something near.”

“Saltair is near enough,” said the driver. “Maybe you mean that. It’s where the Oracle is. Heard of it?”

“Nope. Saltair, Deseret, whereabouts unknown. Shee-it…” Sterling said under his breath. “You got a name, son?”

“Yankee Judd,” the driver said.

“You’re a Yankee?”

“I don’t know. That’s just what they started calling me after I found a Yankees ballcap. Lost it a few years back.”

“So you weren’t originally from the East Coast before the Reset?”

The boy shrugged. “What’s the Reset?”

“That’s what we call the moment that everything changed. You know, memories wiped, ninety percent of the world’s population dead in a flash, heads exploded, some people got superpowers, people called mancers. You know what I’m talking about, son. You know, the Reset. If we’re both alive, which I am pretty sure we are, you survived it as well based on your age.”

“Are you talking about the Rapture, mister?” he asked after a short pause.

“No, I don’t mean the Rapture, I mean the Reset. But maybe that’s what you call it here locally. So sure, the Rapture, let’s call it that. Do y’all have a name for yourselves? Those who survived the Rapture?”

“We call our tribe the Dejected; we’re part of the Serpents of Paradise, which is led by the Oracle.”

Sterling started to shake his head and stopped.

In a way, they were all dejected. It would have been much easier just to die during the Reset, even if the life he lived now had a few benefits, like his inventory list and his mancer power. The Serpents of Paradise part that Yankee Judd had mentioned sounded somewhat biblical. Combing through his thoughts didn’t help produce an origin of the phrase. Still, it sounded straight out of the Bible.

After a spell of silence, Sterling took his black cowboy hat off and ran his hands through his long hair. He felt like rolling up a cigarette, but decided to hold off on it for a moment as he switched up his line of questioning. “What about your little friend here? This little feller got a name?”

“White Eyed Anderson,” the other boy said, the one still holding the shotgun.

“You got a white eye?”

The other boy leaned forward, Sterling noticing that his right eye was indeed white. “Damn, son, whatever got you, got you good.”

“One of them there beasts did it,” said Yankee Judd.

“It sure did; but it don’t look so bad. Makes you look like a little bruiser.”

White Eyed Anderson seemed to appreciate this statement.

“Well, in case you are wondering, my name is Sterling and I’ll be honest with y’all: I don’t know exactly where I am. You say I’m in Deseret, which I ain’t doubting one bit, but I don’t know where that is. You boys got a camp or something around here, somewhere where I can talk to an adult?”

The two exchanged glances.

“You really don’t know where you are?” Yankee Judd asked.

“No earthly idea, honest to God. I was in New Mexico, which is a state in the United States, or was, and then suddenly I was standing here.”

“You think a goddamn mancer did it?” White Eyed Anderson asked, the first time he’d spoken.

“If one did, I ain’t never seen a mancer do something like this before. I got turquoise, a little bit of silver too. Plenty of peppers, if y’all are interested in trading. But to be quite frank with you, I’m just looking for some answers. I ain’t trying to stick around here…” Sterling shook his head. “Wherever this is. If anything, I’ll just get some answers and move on my way.”

“You need to talk to the Elder of Nauvoo,” Yankee Judd finally said, his counterpart nodding in agreement. “I reckon.”

“Elder of Nauvoo? That your tribe leader or something? The leader of the Dejected?”

“He’s our father.” Yankee Judd started up the dune buggy and stuck his head out the open window. “Hop in the back, mister. We’ll take you there.”

The backseat of the dune buggy was roomier than Sterling initially thought it would be, its cracked neon green roll cage adding a touch of color to the bleak, eggshell surroundings of Deseret. He couldn’t wear his cowboy hat inside it, the piece now resting on his lap, but he was able to sit there without having to curl his head forward too much. For a tall guy like him, this was a boon.

Yankee Judd might not have known where they were, but he sure seemed to know how to drive a dune buggy, the rail-thin youth speeding along like he was trying to get away from the scene of a crime, wisps of his long brown hair twisting in the wind like Medusa’s snakes.

“Whoo, boy! This thing sure got some get up and go,” Sterling said as they moved even faster, a long, black line appearing in the distance, signaling the start of a highway.

Yankee Judd gave the wheel a hard twist, the dune buggy sliding until it was on the highway proper. It was the first true glance that Sterling got of his environment, which confirmed that it was a barren place, mountains in the distance with snow pockets along their slopes, not much looking to be alive.

They started off toward the east, and it wasn’t long before they came to an abandoned rest stop of sorts with a large overhang to shield vehicles from the sun.

“Yankee,” Sterling said as he leaned forward, “pull over at that rest stop, son. I see something I want to check out.”

“You got it, mister.” Yankee Judd twisted down the steering wheel, the dune bug nearly skidding out as he came to a sudden stop, kicking up more white dust.

Sterling chuckled once he got out of the dune buggy, the butterflies in his stomach settling.

Boys will be boys, he thought as he began to investigate the old rest stop, hoping for some clue as to where he was. There were two abandoned cars that had been picked over, the glass broken, their roofs stomped in, their exteriors painted in a graffiti of rust. Sterling looked to their license plates only to see that they had been stripped off.

“Why does everything got to be so goddamn mysterious?” he mumbled to himself as he looped around the rusty old cars toward what looked to have once been a public bathroom. “The Reset? Mystery. Family? Mystery. Where the hell I am currently standing? Mystery. Where the others are? Mystery.”

He stopped before a placard that claimed to have been erected by the Goodyear Tire & Rubber Company in the year 1972. There was a United States government seal on it, but to Sterling’s dismay, any mention of where they were was scratched off. Sterling read the sign anyway, hoping for clues:

Welcome to the Bonneville Salt Flats, famed measured mile-site of world land-speed record runs, which is located approximately seven miles beyond this marker, in front of the mountains you see on the horizon. The elevation along the course is approximately 4,128 feet above sea level. The total length of the course that includes the measured mile varies from year to year, but for recent runs it has been laid out in an eighty-foot-wide path.

Sterling skimmed ahead.

The first world land-speed record on the Bonneville Salt Flats was set on September 3, 1935, by Sir Malcolm Campbell. His speed was 301 miles per hour. Greg Breedlove holds the honor of being the first man to go faster than 400, 500, and 600 mph. His record of 601 miles per hour, set on November 15, 1965, was finally broken on October 23, 1970 by Gary Gabelich. Gabelich’s new record is 622.407 miles per hour. Both Gabelich’s rocket engine “Blue Flame” and Breedlove’s jet-powered “Spirit of America” were equipped with specially designed inflatable tires, pretested to speeds in excess of 800 miles per hour.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sterling said as he summoned his bag of tobacco and his rolling papers. “Them folks really were going fast.” Once he had a couple cigarettes rolled up, he approached the dune buggy again and got back inside. “You boys don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

“Nope,” Yankee Judd said as he started up again.

“What about you, son?” Sterling asked White Eyed Anderson, the younger boy who still had the shotgun in his lap.

“Nope.”

“Good to know.”

They traveled even faster once they were on the highway proper, Yankee Judd acting as if he had memorized the road, the youth anticipating all of the cars that were abandoned and never having to swerve around them.

Sterling kept trying to catch a glimpse of a license plate, to get some sense of where he was, but the only thing he spotted was a billboard advertising a casino in Nevada. He also saw a few highway markers with beehives on them, which made little or no sense. What in the hell does a beehive have to do with the highway? he thought. Ain’t no bees dumb enough to try to survive out here.

“Say,” Sterling announced once he had finished his cigarette and flicked the butt out the window. “Am I the only one that y’all have heard about just appearing out of thin air?”

“What do you mean?” Yankee Judd shouted over the roar of the engine.

“You ain’t seen a girl riding a pronghorn surrounded by plants, have you?”

“What?”

“A girl riding a pronghorn, like a deer, possibly surrounded by plants. She may have had multicolored hair too. She sort of changes her hair color. I call her the Sunflower Kid because that’s what everyone calls her.”

“Sounds like a mancer. Ain’t heard of no Sunflower Kid,” Yankee Judd said as he slowed the dune buggy for a moment. “You can ask the Elder of Nauvoo.”

“I got a few other people I’m looking for. Going to be a long shot here, but I’ll go forward anyway: you boys ain’t seen or heard of a peyote-eating shaman moving around these parts, have you? Goes by the name Don Gasper. Real ornery old bastard.”

“What’s a shaman?” White Eyed Anderson asked.

“And what’s peyote?” asked Yankee Judd.

“Welp, that answers that, and both of them are things that two smart boys like yourself should avoid. How about this? What about a badass-looking chiquita probably decked out in body armor and strapped to the teeth with guns? A woman named Roxie. Ring any bells?”

“Nope,” Yankee Judd said. “Only women we know are sister-wives.”

“Shee-it, didn’t think so. I thought I’d check anyway.”

One of the main reasons Sterling had asked about the others was that he had been transported away from Las Cruces, New Mexico, at night, just as they were about to infiltrate the Killbillies’ compound. Yet it was sunny here, midday from what he could tell by the location of the sun, which meant some time had passed.

This must have meant that time had passed between when he was transferred, and when he had appeared, otherwise it would still be night. Even if he was in Canada, which he knew he wasn’t, it would still be night.

Always something, and that’s not mentioning that I got a pint-size Godwalker stuffed in my inventory, Sterling thought as he accessed his stats just to see if anything had changed there.

Name: Sterling Monedero

Race: Human

Mancer Class: Necromancer

Class Ranking: Bone Sculptor

Level: 62

Fortitude: 118

Strength: 45

Resolve: 156

Mana: 132/160

Current Armor Rating: 28

XP: 325,960

XP to Next Level:13,133

Stat Points Available: 0

Technique Points Available: 0

Killing the enormous Godwalker back at the military base in White Sand, and the battle between Commodore Bones’s Killbillies and the Texas Rangers had bumped Sterling up a level. He had already distributed his Stat and Technique Points the previous day, leaving both his balances at zero.

Combat:

Sword Expert Level 4 - 30 Technique Points to Level 5

Marksmanship Level 6 - 36 Technique Points to Level 7

Stealth:

Sneak Proficiency Level 3 - 14 Technique Points to Level 4

Assassination Level 3 - 12 Technique Points to Level 4

Cover of Night Level 2 - 7 Technique Points to Level 3

Disguise Level 1 - 4 Technique Points to Level 2

Perception:

Persuasion Level 4 - 13 Technique Points to Level 5

Awareness Level 2 - 10 Technique Points to Level 3

Even if he had been transported to Deseret, Sterling still had the same charms he had on back in New Mexico. There was the rattlesnake tail that hung from his belt which gave him an additional Stat Point per five levels gained; the leather bracelet that gave him an additional Technique Point per level gained; the topaz necklace that granted an additional Resolve Point; the arrowhead rattlesnake necklace that granted eight additional Technique Points per level; the dream catcher in his pocket that gave him a ten percent mana boost; an amber ring with a scorpion tail inside which he also wore on a necklace that gave him a Class Proficiency bonus per three levels gained; and his carved bone bracelet with a whopping thirty percent XP boost per kill.

Regarding his class proficiencies, nothing had changed in his last level up.

Necromancer Class Skills

Death Whisper: Class Proficiency Level 4

Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

Description: Can communicate with the deceased; blood needed to do so.

——

Resurrection: Class Proficiency Level 3

Casting Cost: 5 Mana Points

Description: Can summon at will, but doing so takes a cut of MP until the animate is relinquished.

——

Enhanced Durability: Class Proficiency Level 3

Grafting Casting Cost: 15 Mana Points

Description: Enhanced durability and grafting.

——

Death Sense: Class Proficiency Level 2

Description: Able to sense the bodies of the dead around you. Higher levels allow for wider ranges, including remote animating.

——

Mold Manipulation: Class Proficiency Level 1

Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

Description: Able to manipulate and conjure mold. Higher levels allow for stronger and further reaching creations.

“Nope,” Sterling said under his breath, “ain’t nothing out of the ordinary far as I can tell.”

The cowboy necromancer couldn’t help but raise both eyebrows at that last statement, considering the desolate landscape that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, streamers of wind-whipped clouds above, somewhere in America.

Sure, he thought, nothing out of the ordinary. Keep telling yourself that.

Sterling had grown accustomed to utilizing his powers in New Mexico, riding up on his bone horse or animating something if it was necessary. Back home, it was no secret what he was, but along the ride to whatever compound Yankee Judd and White Eyed Anderson were staying at, a notion came to him to keep this power of his secret. At least for now. The people here were different, hardened in the same way as they were in the southwest.

He sensed something was off about them.

Better to hold your cards close, amigo, he thought, which for some reason reminded him of Kip back in Truth or Consequences, the rambunctious town drunk fond of gambling, circulating rumors, and challenging anyone who took a detour off of the highway to a fistfight.

“Always hold your cards flat against your chest,” Kip had said multiple times between belches. “Or just shoot the son of a bitch if you lose.”

A crooked grin traced across Sterling’s face, perhaps the first one he’d had all day, a day which should have been night considering when he was seemingly teleported to his current location.

It was another twenty minutes before they pulled to a stop, White Eyed Anderson hopping out of the dune buggy and going for a red gas canister that had been tied to the neon green frame of the dune buggy with a bungee cord. While the boy refilled the tank, Sterling smoked a cigarette about forty paces away, just staring off at the horizon for a little bit, starting to feel tired.

They continued on.

Once he figured out where he was, he would need to start back to New Mexico.

Sterling didn’t know if he was the only one who had been transported to Deseret, and maybe that would be an angle as well, maybe someone at the Dejected’s camp would know about his companions. If he was lucky, maybe one of them was already there.

But that was where he needed to go, home sweet home.

He imagined riding up on their encampment to find Don Gasper passing around a joint, a dazed look on his face as he explained everything in a mix of English and Spanish; Roxie being as standoffish as ever, maybe leaning against the rock with her arms crossed over her chest; or the Sunflower Kid, the teenage girl in a radical new hairstyle standing in front of an overgrown leaf that had created a shadow for her pronghorn, Watermelon, to rest under.

Fat chance, Sterling thought as Yankee Judd veered off the highway. Life usually ain’t that easy, and these boys already said they didn’t know them.

Sterling took in the start of a mountain range in the distance, the dune buggy now racing toward the pass, the air howling around them like a long-winded banshee. He wondered for a moment if they were going to have to climb one of the slopes, but then he began to notice signs of civilization surrounding a mesa that was maybe a hundred feet across.

“That’s it?” Sterling asked aloud.

Yankee Judd merely nodded.

Several shipping containers sitting on top of the mesa had been fashioned into a home of sorts. Surrounding it, about thirty feet down, was a ramshackle collection of campers and tents protected from the elements by eighteen-wheeler trailers missing their tractors. To further protect from the elements, thick tarps crossed over the gaps, connected by just about anything people could wrap them around, creating a fairly tight enclosure around the entire site.

Yankee Judd drove the dune buggy toward the back of the compound, where he parked it under a structure built from what looked to be the aluminum poles and other metal stripped from billboards. There were other dune buggies parked here, three in total, all in fairly good condition.

“Ain’t so bad,” Sterling said as he got out and stretched his back for a moment.

His hat back on his head, Sterling checked the two cigarettes he still had tucked behind his ears. He didn’t yet know what kind of situation he was about to get in, friendly or hostile, and he wanted to be prepared for a smoke either way.

The scent of cooked meat met his nostrils, which triggered a deep sense of hunger.

When was the last time he had eaten? He recalled sharing a meal with Don Gasper, the Sunflower Kid, and Roxie, somewhere between White Sands and Las Cruces, all of them throwing down items they had in their inventory lists aside from the Sunflower Kid, who’d just raised some fruit from the desert.

It felt like days ago now.

“What’s that smell?” he asked, even though he knew it was meat. Sterling wanted to know what kind of meat it was.

“Buffalo. We eat a lot of buffalo around here, get it from Saltair. We’re like scavengers,” Yankee Judd said as he motioned for Sterling to follow, White Eyed Anderson taking up the rear. “We bring things to Saltair, trade them there for meat and fuel.”

“Makes sense,” Sterling said as he was led through a slot between the eighteen-wheeler trailers.

“You can eat at our mess hall while I talk to the Elder.” Yankee Judd stepped around a crate full of odds and ends. It looked to be things that they had collected from abandoned homes in the area, everything from the blades of a ceiling fan to picture frames that would later be stripped of their wood. There were soiled pillows, electrical outlets, a broken printer, a keyboard missing some of its keys, and even a cast iron pan.

A smorgasbord of the Before People’s waste.

The mess hall had been carved into the side of one of the trailers and featured a wood-fire stove among kitchen items. A woman, her face red from tears, stood as soon as Sterling and the two boys approached. Her stringy brown hair was pulled back into a bun and covered by a crocheted bonnet, and the woman had an overbite of sorts that gave her a constant frown.

“Sister-wife Lily will make you something,” Yankee Judd said as he motioned for Sterling to take a seat at one of the picnic benches.

Sister-wife? Sterling thought, now realizing he had heard that term twice.

“Make him a big ol’ plate,” Yankee Judd told the woman, who merely nodded at him and went to work in the small kitchen area. “Don’t worry about her,” the boy told Sterling once he had found a stool to sit on, “she’s always having them mood swings. Miserly and such.”

Sterling tipped his hat at the two boys as they left, not sure what to make of that last statement.

Got to be a cult.

He’d only seen another woman or two, plus a few children, on his brief walk to the mess hall. Everyone seemed to shy away from him to some degree, and he couldn’t blame them for that considering his overall look, the lanky, cowboy necromancer in all black, at odds with those he had seen in their puffy down jackets that’d been patched up, jeans, crocheted bonnets, and whatever else they could get their hands on.

Compared to them, Sterling had pizzazz.

It wasn’t much longer before Lily showed up at the front of his table with a plate full of some kind of stew, a layer of oily fat on top.

“You won’t be offended if I add some peppers to this, will you?” Sterling asked her.

She paused, giving him a funny look. “Peppers?”

“Peppers. I got me some Chimayós and some NuMex Heritage Big Jims that would be mighty nice in something like this. Just making sure I ain’t offending the chef, if you get my drift.”

“I ain’t the chef; I’m just one of the sister-wives that has been stationed here for the day,” she said as she dropped the plate on the table. “Do whatever you want with your food.”

“Now, hold on a moment,” Sterling said as she turned away. “The boy said your name was Lily.”

“That’s right.”

“You care to join me, Ms. Lily? I don’t mind eating alone, but you look like you got something on your mind,” Sterling said as he summoned one of his Big Jims, “and I could use the company.”

Lily approached the table, her eyes falling onto the green pepper he had produced. “That’s a big pepper.”

“Got a nice spice to it too.” Sterling placed it on the plate. Rather than cut it up, he figured he would alternate between bites of stew and bites of pepper. Make it easy. He was hungry.

“You ain’t from around here, are you?” she finally asked.

“I don’t even know where here is, so no, I ain’t.”

“Deseret,” she said.

“That name doesn’t mean anything to me, no offense. Never heard the word in my life.”

“How did you get here then?”

“I wish I knew.” He took his first spoonful of stew, appreciating its heartiness. The stew didn’t have spice, but it definitely had flavor. “Could have been one of them Godwalkers transported me.”

“Godwalker?”

“Yeah…” Sterling accessed his book of desert haiku. He flipped to the page that he had sketched of a Godwalker, done up in a way that resembled some of the Virgin Mary murals he’d seen back in New Mexico. He turned the leather-bound book in Lily’s direction.

“Abaddon. That’s an Abaddon,” she said matter-of-factly.

“A what now?”

“That’s what we call them things. Terrible things.”

“Now that is something we can agree on.”

“You got a name?” she asked.

“Sterling Monedero, at least that is what it said on my driver’s license,” he told her as he took a bite of his pepper and then a spoonful of stew. He sent his book of desert haiku back to his inventory list. “You?”

“Lily Gray.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Lily.” Sterling placed his spoon down and presented his hand to the woman, as if he were going to shake it. She looked at it suspiciously, and Sterling eventually returned to his meal. “So, what has you down? Seems like something is bothering you. Don’t mind me asking, just curious.”

Lily puffed her cheeks out. “Sister-wife Donna took my sleeping bag last night. It was my sleeping bag. I found it on our last outing. It was mine. She took it, and the Elder of Nauvoo said that she could keep it. That’s what I’m mad about. I found it fair and square.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“But maybe I’m overreacting,” she said with a huff. “I don’t know. I think I’m just stressed from some of the things that have been going on around here…”

“Sometimes you got to overreact, it’s the only way to get your point across with certain kinds of people. Believe me, sometimes you just got to put your damn foot down. I only wish I had done a little bit more of that back where I’m from.”

“Where are you from exactly?”

“New Mexico.”

“Don’t know it. I’ve seen the word Mexico before. Heche in Mexico,” she said, mispronouncing ‘heche.’

“¿Nuevo México, no?” he asked almost playfully.

“Is that a different language? Dang, Mr. Sterling, you really speak another language?”

“Got to where I’m from.” Sterling took a bite of the stew and washed it down with a bite of the pepper. “Like I said, I’m from New Mexico. What y’all call the Rapture, I call the Reset. Three years ago, I tried to bring me down one of them Godwalkers.”

“Abaddon.”

“Exactly,” Sterling said. “I failed, and decided to retire to a nice little town known as Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, to lick my wounds. Real quaint, not quite paradise but not far off, got a little downtown and some nice hot springs too.”

“Truth or Consequences? That’s a long name.”

“Locals just call it T or C. In any event, everything was hunky-dory until one of them Godwalkers showed up at my property and destroyed my pepper farm. Not only that, some bandits were trying to get me too.”

“Angels of Woe?” she asked, a hint of fear in her eyes.

“No, Killbillies.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Consider yourself lucky. After they destroyed my farm, I figured I would not only deal with the bandits, I would try to deal with the Godwalkers too. But to do so, I had put together my team, the same people I had worked with three years ago. Only thing was, of that team, two of them were already dead, and the others were scattered across what was once the state of New Mexico. So what did I have to do? I had to find out where they were, and to do that I needed to talk to this shaman named Don Gasper.”

“Like an Oracle?”

“You say tomato, I say tomatillo,” Sterling told her, which was a joke that she didn’t pick up on. “This shaman told me where my people were, or at least he pointed me in the right direction of one of them. Long story longer, I found that person, a teenage girl named the Sunflower Kid. Speaking of which, you ain’t heard of anyone named that around here, have you?”

Lily Gray shook her head.

“Figured as much. To continue, while searching for her, I met some other folks along the way, and started to put my team together. The plan was to rescue one of my former teammates, a gun wielding badass—pardon my French—named Roxie. I actually managed to do that, and it was looking like we were going to be able to get a new guy we need for our team, as well as search for the final member, a woman named Zephyr in Albuquerque. But then, all of a sudden, I appeared here. Well, not here, but at the Bonneville Salt Flats.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Just like that. So I have no idea where I am, no idea where my friends are, and no idea how to get back to where I need to go, which is definitely not here, as far as I can tell.”

“No offense, Mr. Sterling,” Lily said, her cheeks lifting as she smiled, “but that sounds like some shit.”

Sterling laughed. “It is shit, believe you me.”

“That sounds worse than having my sleeping bag taken away from me.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Sterling with a wave of his hand. “It’s all relative. Everything is. Thanks for the stew. It was nice talking to you.”

Sterling was just finishing up his meal and wiping his lips with a cloth napkin when Yankee Judd approached the picnic table. A wind whipped up at that moment, rattling the canopy above, the sound of chains striking chains making enough noise to prevent the two from speaking for about thirty seconds. Once it settled down, the boy spoke. “The Elder of Nauvoo will see you now.”

“I’m sure he will. Where’s your little buddy?” Sterling asked, referring to White Eyed Anderson.

“With his mother.”

“Makes sense.”

Sterling stood, adjusted his black cowboy hat, and followed Yankee Judd through the campsite, the boy occasionally touching a rope running along the concourse of the main pathway, which Sterling assumed was to make it easier to get around in the dark. He saw candles, and even a few gas lanterns which would have to be lit soon, but it probably wasn’t enough to make the cluttered campsite easier to navigate.

There was another thing Sterling confirmed as they approached a ramp leading upward, the tarps and canvas above protecting the ramp as well. There were no men here, just women and children, a couple boys about the same age as Yankee Judd, but no one older than that.

The compound was much nicer at the top of the mesa, the Elder of Nauvoo’s camper protected by a chain link fence and sheltered by coverings that looked much better than the ones used below. There was furniture strewn about and other curios collected from what Sterling assumed were abandoned homes in the area. Looking to the other side of the space, on the opposite end of the mesa, Sterling spotted another trailer that was much smaller than the main one. It even had a generator.

As he approached the larger trailer, a middle-aged man stepped out with the cloak made of various fabrics draped over his shoulders. His clothing seemed acid stained, bleach-white, and there was a collar around his thick neck, some abomination of what a Catholic priest might have worn.

Each of the Elder’s fingers had a sandstone ring on it which matched his belt, one clearly of native design, at least from what Sterling had seen back in New Mexico. There was nothing remarkable about the man’s face aside from the fact that he was balding, his beard long and held tight by a hair tie, swaying against the front of his white shirt like the tail of a donkey.

“Ah, you must be the newcomer,” the Elder of Nauvoo said as he motioned for Yankee Judd to step away. The man had no discernible accent, which made him seem smarter than the people he’d surrounded himself with.

“I wouldn’t say I’m new by any stretch of the word, but new to these parts, sure,” Sterling told the man as he respectfully took off his hat. “I’m new. The name is Sterling Monedero.”

“Sterling Monedero.” The man repeated the name a few times to himself. “That is a unique name.”

“So is the Elder of Nauvoo.”

“Please,” said the Elder as he motioned toward a seating area to the left of his trailer. “Join me.”

Two children stood near the seating area, both with automatic weapons, Sterling wondering why he hadn’t spotted them before. They must have been hiding behind it or something, he thought as he approached a wrought iron seat surrounded by other patio furniture once used by the Before People.

“I see you got yourself some child soldiers here,” Sterling said as he casually gestured toward the two child guards, both males, skinny, no older than ten, the one on the left with a bridge of acne over his eyebrows. They stood at attention, neither making eye contact with Sterling. Clearly trained.

“Yes, yes, my children,” the Elder of Nauvoo said as he took a seat across from Sterling. He positioned his legs under the chair and draped his multifarious cloak over his knees.

“These boys look about ten years old,” Sterling observed. “The Reset was five years ago; are you saying you have been able to locate your kin?”

“The Reset? Is that what you call the Rapture?”

“It is. Seems like we got different words for some of the same things. Either way, it was five years ago for us. For me, anyway. What about you there, compadre?”

The Elder slowly nodded. “Five years ago, yes. What can I say? I’m a charitable man and I have adopted many children since. I’ve also had just as many of my own. My wives have been very fruitful.”

“Yeah, I saw that. I also noticed you haven’t adopted any men,” Sterling said just about as frankly as he could. “Unless they are hiding somewhere. Which leads me to wonder what happens when these boys hit puberty?”

“I find it strange that the first thing you would do upon meeting me would be to accuse me of something, then start asking questions about my children and puberty,” the Elder of Nauvoo said in a very calm way. “But maybe I’ve misread you. I am the person that would likely be most helpful to you right now, considering you are a stranger in an unknown land. Perhaps you haven’t quite come to understand this yet.”

“Deseret, right? Care to tell me where I am exactly? I mean the real name.”

“You are in Deseret.”

“The United States of America? Everything seems to be in English, and I haven’t seen any Spanish.”

“No one speaks Spanish here, at least in this part of Deseret. The United States of America no longer exists. All is Deseret.”

“Ha! I hate to burst your bubble there, compadre, but all definitely ain’t Deseret. And I don’t mean no offense in that,” Sterling told him. Without asking permission, he lit one of his cigarettes and took a long drag off it, deciding not to offer the Elder the other one he’d rolled. Sterling didn’t like him. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“By all means…”

“You still didn’t tell me what happened to all the men around here. Where did they go? Why is it just you? Seems like you got yourself a fine little harem going on around here.”

“It is not as complicated as you have made it out to be. Once the Dejected boys reach maturity, they must find their own tribe. There’s nothing nefarious about that. This is the tribe that I’ve put together, a branch of the Serpents of Paradise, and they are taught to do the same. Not all of them survive out there,” he said as he looked toward one of the fences, a hint of sadness in the Elder of Nauvoo’s eyes that Sterling didn’t trust, “but some do, and others end up banding together in the end. Survival is important, is it not?”

“Shee-it. I got a friend back in T or C who is fond of saying, ‘if you ain’t living life on the edge, you’re taking up too much space.’ But I don’t agree with him exactly. I don’t live life on the edge by choice, I live life on the edge by circumstance, and it seems to me that y’all would have a much better chance of surviving together with your menfolk than simply sending all the boys of age to fend for themselves. But that’s just me.” He puffed on a cigarette for a moment. “You know what? I’ll put my judgments aside. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I ain’t here to question your way of life, even if it is curious to me. I’m here to figure out where I am, and hopefully find my companions, if they too were transported here.”

“You have companions?”

“There are three people who may or may not have been sent here with me. One is named Don Gasper, you’d know him if you saw him because he is like you in some ways, and I don’t think that old fool would say no to a group of women all worshiping the ground he walks upon while he gets to sit up on the hill and prophesize. No offense,” Sterling said.

“How do you know I prophesize?”

“Your name is the Elder of Nauvoo and you sit on the hill and wear robes. Am I wrong in my assumption?”

“I have had visions, all of which have come true.”

“See, amigo?” Sterling offered him a grin. “This is what it is like to talk to an adult. We know things.”

“My wives are adults.”

“Speaking of which; I met one of them, Lily Gray. You should give that woman her sleeping bag back.”

“Who else are you looking for?” the Elder of Nauvoo asked, still maintaining his mysterious demeanor.

Sterling had purposely been pushing buttons to see if he could get the man to either open up a bit, or at least get pissed, with the hopes that it would reveal what was really going on around here. But this strategy had yet to pan out.

“The Sunflower Kid. She’s a teenage girl who rides a pronghorn.”

“I would have noticed a new teenage girl.”

“I don’t like the way you said that,” Sterling said as he ashed his cigarette. He took another drag off it and purposely blew his cloud of smoke in the direction of the Elder. “And if you do encounter her, I would advise that you keep your grubby paws to yourself. Once again, no offense. That one don’t play nice.”

“Who else are you looking for?”

“A woman named Roxie. Another one you would know if you met, because by this point she would have probably shot you in your pecker.”

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” the Elder of Nauvoo asked, his grin matching Sterling’s.

“I’m going to level with you.”

“By all means, cowboy.”

“I got this feeling that you know exactly where we are, where I am, and what it used to be called, which would help me get to where I need to go. That’s a lot of ‘wheres,’ but you get my point. I’m fairly certain that you could help me. So rather than me sitting here telling you about people I’m looking for, how about you tell me what I need to know, and I’ll be on my way. No harm, no foul.”

“In exchange, yes?” He took a deep breath in through his nostrils. “Deseret is a land of incredible mystery, one that the Raptured bequeathed to those like myself, the Elders of the Serpents of Paradise, who are responsible for shepherding the people during this transitional period. You do realize that is what this is, do you not? This is merely a transitional period, one which will pass in time, once the other two Nephites return.”

“Nephites?”

“They are the true disciples, and one has already made their appearance here in Deseret in the form of a powerful person we call the Oracle.”

Sterling tried not to shake his head. So far, the Elder of Nauvoo had been cordial enough to him, but he had been around long enough to know bullshit when he smelled it.

“We have ways that we operate here in Deseret,” the Elder continued, “and one of those ways is through bartering. There are savages out there, to be sure, groups like the Angels of Woe, but civilized folks such as myself and my wives, and for that matter our beautiful children, work on a trading system. This is why we have such a good relationship with the Great Saltair, with the Oracle.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard of this Saltair. What is the place exactly?”

“It is the center of true civilization in Northern Deseret. I would gladly have some of my children lead you there if you would be able to help me. Unfortunately, I do not personally have the answers you seek, but you would find them there. I’m certain of it. That is where the Oracle calls home. She would know.”

“So you’re proposing a ‘you scratch my back, I scratch yours’ situation here, right?”

“Is that what you would call it where you come from?”

“I would call it a number of things where I’m from.”

“And where is that exactly, your home?”

“New Mexico.”

The Elder’s eyes lit up with wonder. “Ah, yes, New Mexico. Yet another pocket of Deseret, a small corner of its beauty. Alas, it is too late to leave tonight, but tomorrow I would ask that you perform a task that would greatly help my family, in exchange for the information that I have.”

“What kind of task?”

“A day ago, one of the women was out on a walk with her child when my dear baby Jessica was abducted by bandits. I would like you to track and find these bandits, and I don’t think it will be very hard. They are a group that we have been at odds with for a while, several miles south of here. Bring me the infant child, and I will help you in any way that I can.”

“So you want me to kill some bandits and rescue a baby?” Sterling asked.

“You don’t need to kill them; what you do to them is between your fate and theirs.”

“Right.” Sterling dropped his cigarette to the ground. He made a show of putting it out with his boot. “Then I guess all is said and done here.”

“Judd,” the Elder of Nauvoo called out. The boy approached a few moments later. “Show him to my guest quarters. You have eaten, have you not?” the Elder asked Sterling.

“I have.”

“Would you like to eat anything else?”

“I’m good,” Sterling said.

“Would you like any company for tonight?” the Elder of Nauvoo asked, the man yet again with that creepy soft smile on his face. “I have a number of my lesser wives that would surely please you.”

Lesser wives? Sterling shook his head, barely able to hide his disdain for the Elder. “I’m good.”

.Chapter Three.

None of it. Sterling Monedero didn’t like none of it. Not the vibes that everyone at the Dejected compound was putting off, not the way the Elder of Nauvoo acted around him, the child soldiers standing behind him, or the lack of men and male children over a certain age.

None of it.

The sooner I get the hell out of here, the better, Sterling thought as he closed the door of the trailer that had been given to him for the night. The space inside was clean enough, the floors practically spit shined, the walls bare aside from a yellowed calendar that read Proxima Galaxy. Even more surprising was an orange light that flickered on once he reached for the switch. Had his action been out of habit? Some instinct left over from the Before Times?

See a switch, press it.

He had figured upon entering the trailer that he was going to have to light a candle or something, but nope, there was actual electricity, even a little fan in the window that kicked on and blew in a gust of cold air from outside.

Sterling dropped down on the bed and smoothed his hands over the pale blue linens, noticing that they were crisp, ironed cotton. He removed his cowboy hat and bent over to smell the fabric. Definitely fresh. He still had a cigarette rolled up and ready to go, but he figured he’d smoke one later, maybe once the Elder of Nauvoo went back into his trailer.

Sterling didn’t want to hang out with the man if he didn’t have to.

“Damn fool, giving me a quest,” he said as he ran his hand along the contours of his beard.

Then again, if the crazy prophetic bastard with all his wives would point Sterling in the right direction of civilization, where he could hopefully figure out where he was and how far he would have to travel to find the others, it would all be worth it. And it wasn’t like he was opposed to killing a few bandits along the way. After all, the world had too many bandits, not enough saviors.

Finally alone, Sterling decided to do something he’d been meaning to do since appearing in the salt flats. After making sure that there was enough space for it to float, he accessed his inventory list and summoned the miniature Godwalker.

“Beep,” he said as the small monolith appeared before him. “Don’t say nothing.”

<Beep?>

“What did I just tell you?” Sterling said as he knocked his fist along the side of the Godwalker. He expected a panel to open on the front of the monolith and blast him as it had the amalgamation back in the salt flats.

But instead, Beep made yet another noise that sounded as if it were asking a question.

<Beep?>

“Do you understand me?” Sterling asked as he peered at the alien creation. He could actually see his reflection in the Godwalker’s smooth surface, his haggard features, dirty black hair, and bags under his eyes, making Sterling feel dirty, like he could use a good bath or two.

<Beep.>

“I’m going to try again,” Sterling said in a low voice, “make sure you ain’t pulling my leg. Beep, can you understand me?”

<Beep.>

“Okay, okay, do you know where I am?”

<Beep.>

“Ha! I guess that makes one of us,” Sterling joked as he fought the urge to smoke a cigarette. Maybe he’d been smoking too much lately, the stress of it all, simply being alive. Focusing on Beep, he stared at his own muddled reflection as he tried to think of something that it wouldn’t be able to answer with an affirmative sound.

“¿Cada loco con su tema, no?” Sterling said, which was a Spanish saying akin to ‘different strokes for different folks,’ but actually translated to something more along the lines of ‘every crazy person has their issues.’

<Beep?>

“So you can’t speak Spanish, good to know. That, or maybe you don’t agree with the statement. I don’t know what you agree with because I don’t know what you are.”

There was a knock at the trailer door, and Beep immediately turned to it. Sterling reached forward and grabbed the monolith with one hand to bring it closer, pointing at it with the other: “Don’t you say a damn word.”

He reached for a tattered blanket featuring a southwestern print and tossed it over Beep. Once he was back on his feet, Sterling guided the miniature Godwalker into the corner of the small trailer, near what was once the fridge.

“Stay here, don’t say nothing, and definitely don’t shoot no one.” After clearing his throat, Sterling answered the door to find Yankee Judd standing there, a curious look on the boy’s face.

“Who was you talking to, mister?” he asked, bits of food at the corners of his mouth indicating he’d been eating.

“Shee-it, I was talking to myself. You don’t do that?”

“Talk to myself?” Yankee Judd gave him a funny look. “Hell no. According to Father, that’s a sign that someone done lost their mind.”

“Well, if the shoe fits… Heh, what can I help you with?” Sterling took a quick glance over to Beep, the small monolith still hovering in the air with the blanket draped over it. It seemed to have moved closer to the door.

“I know you already ate,” said Yankee Judd, “but some of the sister-wives wanted to meet you. They made more food.”

“I ain’t in a sister-wife meeting sort of mood,” Sterling said, suspecting that the Elder had something to do with this. “No offense to them ladies.”

“That’s what I told them, but they wanted to send me up here anyway.”

“Good,” Sterling said, once again catching Beep scooting closer to the open doorway. He slowly began to position himself between Yankee Judd and the tiny Godwalker. “Best to listen to the womenfolk, especially if that’s all that there seems to be around here, well, them, kids, and your Elder. Say, what happened to the other men? They really run off?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That all you’re going to tell me?”

Yankee Judd nodded this time.

Sterling snorted. “You sure got a poker face on you, son, you and your little buddy, White Eyed Anderson. Hell, I don’t know what’s going on in Vegas any longer or if it’s even a place, but if it is, that’s where you and Anderson should go. Y’all would be the talk of the town. Ever heard of Las Vegas? I read a book about Nevada two years back. All about that place, lots of gambling and debauchery.”

“I ain’t never heard of Vegas. Is it in Deseret?”

“I don’t know where Deseret is, but Vegas, and hell, where I’m from, sort of looks like this place. So you may be closer than you think. Hell, we may even be neighbors.” Sterling bent just a bit closer to the boy. “Look here, son. I don’t know what your plans are for the future, but if I were you, and I had a sweet dune buggy like you done got, I’d hit the open road and see what’s out there. It’s a big world, believe you me. There has to be more than this place; in fact, I can tell you there is.”

“One day, I’ll have my own compound with my own sister-wives,” came Yankee Judd’s reply.

“Is that what you really want?” Sterling asked as he suppressed the urge to tell Beep to scoot away from the door.

“Yep.”

“Well, to each their own, I suppose. The way I see it, you got two male role models at the moment. One owns all of this, and has plenty of women to please him, enough that he feels the urge to offer…” Sterling didn’t finish that sentence, instead switching to himself. “Then you got me, an outsider in all black that appears with a strange glowing sword and a gun, no friends in the vicinity, no family,” he said, truly feeling these words as he thought of the picture in his wallet, the photo of his wife and son.

No family.

Sterling blinked a few times and started up again: “So hell, now that I say it out loud, I don’t blame you. Maybe trying to become an Elder in the Serpents of Paradise is the best way forward for someone like you, for anyone with any sense. I’ll stop my jabbering. You tell them sister-wives that I got a baby to rescue mañana, tomorrow, and I plan to set out early in the morning to see to this. In other words: I need to count plenty of sheep tonight.”

“Count sheep?”

“Get me some good rest. Don’t need no womenfolk bothering me. Are you a man of your word, Yankee Judd?”

The youth nodded.

“Good, if anything, always be a man of your word. There ain’t much left for any of us aside from what we can say, and how it affects what we do, and the choices we make. Now git; I’m getting tired and ornery.”

Sterling shut the door and turned back to Beep.

<Beep?>

“You need to listen to me, damn it,” he scolded the baby Godwalker. “I don’t know what’s up with these people, but I’ve got a feeling that they wouldn’t like to find out that I’m a necromancer, and they definitely wouldn’t like to find out I’m traveling with a little Godwalker like you, even if you seem relatively harmless. Should have just sent your ass to my inventory list, but here I thought we could come to a little understanding. I’ve already seen what you’re capable of, and I’m probably just about the biggest fool in all of Deseret for keeping you around, not leaving you back at the salt flats. But I got a hunch about you…”

<Beep?>

“Yeah, yeah,” Sterling said as he returned to the bed and plopped down onto it. “Don’t get ahead of yourself now. Just because you saved me back there, and you ain’t tried to kill me yet, don’t mean that you aren’t going to try at some point in the future. But maybe I want you to. Maybe when that time comes, I’ll wait for your laser blast with open arms,” he said with a hint of dramatic flair.

<Beep. Beep.>

“Don’t talk back to me, not after your little show back there. Shut your yapper, and don’t bother me.” Sterling removed his boots. He got comfortable on the bed, still with his revolver nearby, his sword on the floor in front of the bed. “The sooner I get to sleep, the sooner we can get this journey on the road. Now keep quiet.”

<Beep?>

Sterling laughed. “You sure are a little son of a bitch, ain’t you?”

Cracks in the desert

Birds calling for their mothers

Cliffs separated

Sterling reread the desert haiku he’d written just about a year ago and sighed. A sense of longing had come over him that morning, one that he couldn’t quite place. He figured that some of his previous words would do it justice, lift his spirits. It didn’t work, the haiku reminding him that everything would one day come to pass.

Daylight, however bleak it was at the moment, had come faster than he would have liked, Sterling still in the trailer adjacent to the Elder of Nauvoo.

A tingling sensation in his arm led to a spark of inspiration, and over the next fifteen minutes or so, Sterling penned a desert haiku about his arm.

He had been attacked by a bounty hunter named Ram back in Madrid, New Mexico, a man who was still on Sterling’s shitlist, and a man whom he would go out of his way to kill once he figured out where he was. An ice-wielding cryomancer, Ram had cut Sterling’s arm off at about the elbow, and to fix it, Sterling had grafted an arm and a hand from a local cemetery, the Sunflower Kid doing the rest by repairing his flesh.

He’d grown used to the new arm by now, but now that Sterling finally had a moment of respite, he was finally able to put his thoughts to paper, for whatever that was worth.

New bones, same old man

Blue skies seem a bit darker

Death underrated

Sterling smoked a cigarette as he reread the haiku, especially that last line. Death really was underrated as long as it wasn’t too painful, and those who had died at the start of the Reset were lucky to some degree. Sure, they’d had their heads blown off. But the world after? The things that were to come?

Them fools got lucky.

The cowboy necromancer looked at the glowing embers of the cigarette, remembering a comment that the Sunflower Kid had made to him about smoking too much, that it was bad for his health.

“What else is there to do?” he asked aloud as he took another puff off the cancer stick and finally put it out in a ceramic mug that he was using as an ashtray, one missing its handle and which read YOLO, an acronym he was unfamiliar with.

Once his boots were on, Sterling stepped out of the trailer, the sky blotted out by the thick blue tarp above. He spotted the Elder of Nauvoo seated in his courtyard amidst child soldiers and cracked garden statues. To say that Sterling didn’t like the Elder was an understatement, but he tipped his hat at the bald man anyway, and the robe-clad Elder gestured for Sterling to join him.

“Please, sit. Breakfast will be ready soon,” he said. “I hope you like the bulbs of sego lilies.”

“The what?” Sterling asked.

The Elder of Nauvoo motioned to the chair in front of him, but Sterling didn’t sit. Both child soldiers, who couldn’t have been older than eleven years old, motioned with their assault rifles toward the chair.

Sterling remained standing.

“Centuries ago,” the Elder began, “the Shoshone saved the pioneers who had reached this area broken and starving, the travelers poor from such a strenuous journey. They taught the settlers to eat the bulbs of sego lilies. The bulbs are considered a delicacy now, and these ones came directly from Saltair.”

“Yeah?”

Once again, the two child soldiers motioned Sterling toward the chair.

“Your defiance is commendable,” the Elder of Nauvoo told him, a twinkle in his eye. “I wish more of the people here were freethinkers such as yourself, but I’m also glad that they aren’t.”

Sterling laughed at how blatant the man was being. “I bet you are, with all these wives you have, and the fact that there ain’t no kid older than about the age of thirteen around here. You’re the alpha male, and to be an alpha male takes more dumb betas than you could fit into an oversized fishbowl.”

“Or it just takes a vision,” the Elder told him, a hint of humor behind his eyes that made Sterling feel like the man actually liked him. “And the blessing of the Oracle, the first Nephite.”

“Yeah, something like that. Look,” Sterling said, “you have information I want, and that’s all I’m focused on right now. Your lifestyle is your lifestyle.”

“As I said earlier, if you head south of here a few miles, you will find the bandits and then you’ll have your information.”

“That easy, huh? Just head that way and, boom, there they are.”

“That’s right. Just due south. I could get one of my boys to take you in a dune buggy, but they won’t be able to get too far without needing to cut the engine, otherwise someone may hear you.”

“I can make my own way there.”

The Elder of Nauvoo nodded. “I figured as much. You won’t be able to miss them. There’s an escarpment that you will come to; you’ll be able to easily see them from there. Keep to the shadows or keep a low profile, however you intend to do it. I’m sure they won’t create much of a problem for you, not with those remarkable weapons you have,” the Elder of Nauvoo said as he looked from Sterling’s sickle-sword to the revolver on his waist. “Never seen weapons like that before, not going to lie.”

“Most people haven’t.”

“The work of a flectomancer.”

“Yup.”

“The only useful kind of mancer.”

“If you say so.”

Two of the sister-wives brought food, Sterling recognizing Lily Gray, whom he had spoken to the previous day about one of the other wives stealing her sleeping bag.

Lily set the food down and made prolonged eye contact with him, neither sister-wife saying anything as they quickly slipped away.

“Lily catch your eye, eh?” the Elder asked.

“Shee-it,” Sterling said with a shake of his head. “It ain’t like that, not with none of yours. I’ve got ninety-nine problems and a sister-wife ain’t one.”

Sterling examined the food on his plate. He had never eaten flower bulbs before. Even if they were cooked up with some beef-looking meat and had eggs cracked over it, the dish was missing a very important part of a balanced diet, at least for someone who hailed from New Mexico.

Red, green, or Christmas? Sterling thought as he added some peppers to the top of the food, using a knife provided to cut them on the plate first.

“I’d offer you one of these here peppers,” he told the Elder as he started mixing the mush together, “but they’re quite potent, and I don’t think it’s something that someone from here could handle. Unless you know something about Scovilles…”

“Never heard of it,” the Elder of Nauvoo said as he ate his food, no indication on his face that he had been offended by Sterling’s statement. “And I don’t like spicy food.”

“Heh. Probably best you don’t try the peppers then.”

“Probably best.”

The two ate their meal in silence, Sterling getting this strange feeling that the Elder of Nauvoo was continually on the cusp of explaining his philosophy to him, what it meant to be the Dejected, part of the Serpents of Paradise and overseen by the Oracle, the first Nephite, and how he and whoever was an Elder alongside him had reinterpreted what was once some form of Christianity, at least from what Sterling could tell by the language he’d used thus far. Sterling had seen a few crosses in his walk through the compound yesterday, but not more than some of the old Catholic churches back in New Mexico. Yet again, he could tell there was something different about it here, something much more on the cult side of things.

Hogwash, all of it, Sterling thought, the flower bulb just about as good as he expected a flower bulb to taste, earthy and slightly sweet.

The Elder of Nauvoo never launched into his ecclesiastical spiel, the man smart enough to pick up on the not-so-friendly vibe that Sterling was giving off.

Sterling was glad for it, and even if he had to eat with child soldiers standing guard, it was a relatively peaceful meal.

After breakfast, Sterling immediately set out on his quest, glad to leave the compound.

White Eyed Anderson and Yankee Judd followed him out, the two boys pointing him in the right direction, reminding Sterling of the escarpment where he would be able to see the bandits’ camp, and wishing him luck.

“Y’all behave yourselves today,” Sterling said as he turned away from them, a freshly rolled cigarette tucked between his fingers. “I’ll be back later.”

He was greeted once again by a landscape that was both mystifying and ancient, mountains to the east with dark clouds over them, the ground brittle and cracked, small shrubs hanging on for dear life, Sterling passing everything from dried creek beds to debris so rusted that he didn’t know what it used to be.

Signs of the Before People barely held on in such a harsh environment.

He summoned Manchester once he was about half a mile away from the encampment, the horse bones appearing on the ground in front of Sterling. Soon, they were clinking together as the skeletal steed took shape, Sterling hopping on after he set up his saddle.

“Might as well,” he said as he also conjured Beep, the miniature Godwalker appearing next to him. “Don’t say nothing,” Sterling told the alien craft. “I know you’re happy to see me.”

<Beep.>

Sterling snorted. “You really don’t listen, do you?”

He took off, Beep gliding alongside him and casting a square shadow onto the hardened soil.

Arid tablelands in the distance looked like a great place for giants to play chess, the clouds pressing away as the sun bore down on the landscape like an inquisitor. A sea of desert, the start of epic canyonlands, stretched to infinity beneath a distended belly of clouds casting fantastic shapes over the horizon. It was an unlikely landscape, one tested by time and demarcated by passageways and fissures, hidden grottoes and fertile glens slathered in dry wash, vertical canyon walls seemingly propped up by talus slopes.

Geological chaos.

“Geological chaos,” Sterling mumbled. “Seven syllables.”

He stopped and equipped his leather notebook, turning to the haiku he had written about his arm back at the encampment.

“One of them days when inspiration just can’t seem to mind its own business,” he told Manchester as he penned another desert haiku about the landscape set before him.

Petrified sand dunes

Geological chaos

Snakes twist together

“Yup.” Sterling read the desert haiku a few more times and made sure it was exactly how he wanted it to flow. Once he was finished, he sent the book back to his inventory list, grabbed the reins of his skeletal steed, and hunched forward. “Vamos!”

The pale sun above seemed almost alien around the time that midday came, the land set before him a moonscape, silent like the inside of a black hole, igneous rock no more than a texture marking the passage of time.

<Beep.>

“I damn well heard you,” Sterling said as he continued in a direction given to him by the Elder of Nauvoo, his eyes locking on a bird circling above, something big, some kind of vulture.

Sterling flicked his cigarette to the dust beneath Manchester’s hooves. He summoned some of the water from his inventory list and took a big sip.

Got to stay hydrated, he thought, glad he had filled up back at the camp of the Dejected. Them brainwashed fools…

But even if he didn’t like what was going on there, part of him couldn’t blame the group.

After the Reset, you did what you had to do to survive, including joining up with some delusional leader spitting a mix of cherry-picked Bible verses and watered-down sagacious wisdom. It all depended on setting and circumstance, Sterling once again wondering how the other parts of what was once United States of America, and for that matter, the world, had fared.

Damn Godwalkers, he thought as the miniature version sped ahead, Beep always a few paces ahead of Manchester.

“Never thought I would need me a damn pet,” he mumbled. “Whoa, Pingo!”

Manchester leaped over a sudden crack in the dirt that he had spotted. The landing kicked up yellow dust, the vulture that had been making its rounds slowly moving away.

It wasn’t long before he came to a camper seemingly in the middle of nowhere, all the paint on the side of the RV bubbled and split, now the color of sediment, signs of life including the black markings of a recent fire, animal bones, and clothes hanging out to dry.

Someone was home.

Sterling wasn’t of the mind to disturb anybody unless he had to, so he gave the camper a wide berth, continuing on his way when something struck him from behind.

Ka-bam!

Sterling went straight over the side of Manchester, his skeletal steed rearing up as he tried to figure out where the buckshot had come from. He reached for his mana-powered revolver as he turned to the side, Sterling’s eyes landing on a hillbilly in tattered overalls and nothing else, a shotgun pointed right at him.

The man’s next shot was reflected by Beep as the miniature Godwalker zipped in front of Sterling.

“Quit your damn shooting!” Sterling shouted as he aimed his weapon at the man.

“Damn mancers! Y’all the ones that did this! Y’all are!” the man shouted. “Worse than the hell pigs!”

Beep started to vibrate.

A flash of light; Sterling had to look away as the man was vaporized into pulp.

He had been warned.

“Talk about a way to go,” Sterling mumbled as he slowly sat up, wincing as the wound on his back began to heal. The buckshot had ruined the back shoulder of his duster to some degree, which annoyed him, especially because the small holes weren’t going to be easy to stitch up, not without a patch. While he could wash his clothing by cycling it through his inventory list, this wasn’t the same for actual damage.

Sterling approached the small Godwalker and knocked his fist against the side of Beep’s body, the tiny monolith cool to the touch even though it should have absorbed quite a bit of sun by now. “Look, amigo, you can’t just go around vaporizing people,” he said as he mounted back up and continued on his way. “It ain’t right.”

<Beep.>

“Yeah, I know he was going to shoot me,” Sterling said, “but it ain’t the first time I’ve been shot, and most certainly won’t be the last. Comes with the territory. Unfortunately for me, these fools keep missing.”

<Beep.>

“I’m just teasing you. I ain’t suicidal or nothing. But I do got a policy: if you’re going to take a shot, you may as well take it. Don’t need no warning, not nowadays. Lizard eat lizard.” Sterling dipped his head slightly, his black cowboy hat adding a hint of reprieve from the sun, the beacon of hope reminding him of a cliff rose in that moment, white surrounding a burst of yellow, ever present.

It was another fifteen minutes or so of riding before Sterling spotted something else, the great expanse of the land making it much easier to see long distances.

A couple years back, he had found a book by an author interested in the ancient Anasazi, a semi-controversial term generally used for the Puebloans who lived on the Colorado Plateau and its surrounding areas, all the way down to Chaco Canyon, the site of one of their many great houses. The clever Puebloans were able to communicate upwards of thirty miles using man-made mounds and torches, polished rocks as well. All because of the cut of the land.

It felt the same here, Sterling finding it hard not to be spotted in an overbearing landscape like this, one with few trees, one that was all-encompassing and redefined the concept of where a horizon could start and stop.

Before he continued this time, Sterling accessed his inventory list, his monocular appearing in his hand. He had traded some peppers for it years back in Hatch, on his way to visit his buddy Judge. He didn’t get a chance to use the monocular as much in his neck of the woods, mostly because of his familiarity with his surroundings and the shape of the earth, but now he was glad he had made that trade.

“And it only cost me a handful of sweet, sweet Chimayó peppers.”

He adjusted the monocular, an escarpment off to the left coming into view.

“Yup…”

There was a campsite all right, and from what he could tell, it was one that had already been picked through.

Even more intriguing, there were a few dead bodies lying about.

At least he now had a direction, a crime scene to investigate using his Death Whisper ability. The bandits who had kidnapped the infant child were likely the same ones that had gone through the campsite, Sterling was sure of it.

He just needed to find out what had happened to them, and if the baby was still alive.

.Chapter Four.

Sterling stopped about fifty yards out from the campsite and dismounted, just in case there was going to be an unwelcome surprise. He had already been bucked off his bone horse once, and knew he was lucky that his collarbone was intact.

Dang, Sterling thought as he spotted the dead bodies.

Whoever had killed this group had done it quickly, Sterling estimating that they had been dead about a day. Vultures and other critters had already started to pick at their carcasses, yet their tents remained intact, which was impressive.

“Might need to get me one of them there tents,” he told the small alien monolith floating beside him, Sterling now with a cigarette in his mouth.

<Beep.>

“Stop your yapping and stand guard.”

Sterling produced a small knife from his inventory list and approached one of the bodies.

“Clean headshot,” he mumbled. “Sniper, likely.”

He crouched in front of a woman and lifted her arm, a quick count telling him that there were five others dead alongside her, their bodies scattered about, all in poses that told him their deaths had come suddenly.

“Yep.”

Sterling brought his blade against her wrist and drew a bit of blood, not much considering her heart had stopped beating. He ended up having to angle her arm down to get enough for what he needed to do next. Using Death Whisper took six mana points, and it was one of the most effective techniques he had for investigating something like this. He felt a faint tug at his core when calling upon the power, a face beginning to take shape on the surface of the blood.

The apparition opened her eyes; she leaned her bloodied chin back, her face twitching with fear. “Where… where am I?”

“Lady, I’ve been asking that same damn question for over a day now. Deseret. Heard of it?”

“Everything is… dark…”

“That ain’t the first time I’ve heard that neither. Listen,” Sterling said as he took a drag off a cigarette, “we don’t have much time for our little conversation here; I’ve just got a few questions, and then you can be on your merry way.”

“Who are you?” the bloody apparition asked.

“Me? The name is Sterling Monedero, and in case you’re wondering, I’m not from here.”

“Where am I?”

“Can’t answer that, but maybe you can answer this: what happened here? Everyone is dead, all your amigos here. Looks to be clean headshots. What the hell happened to y’all? Remember anything?”

“Everyone is dead?” she asked, choking back a sob. Her crimson form began to flicker. “Two of them fell. And now… darkness.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sterling took a quick look at the bodies again. “I guess that checks out. Are you the ones who took the baby?” he asked, forgetting the child’s name at that moment.

“Yes, we had her.”

“In that case, any idea where it would be? Listen to me, asking a puddle of blood if it knows where a baby is. But that’s what this shit has come to. I’m here to collect, lady. Where’s the kid?”

Her face contorted. “They were going to kill the child…”

“Come again?”

“That’s what they do with mancers,” she hissed. “The baby was a mancer, an abomination, according to them, according to the Elder of Nauvoo.”

“That… sort of checks out, too,” he said, recalling the Elder’s comments on mancers. “Who are you people, anyway? He claims that y’all were bandits.”

“Bandits? We were once part of his camp, Sally and I were his wives. Jimmy and Brandon over there were teens when the Rapture took place, but as soon as they got old enough, the elder sent them away. Gary and Todd came later. They were from the big city; they challenged the Elder of Nauvoo because he was sending all the boys out once they reached puberty. We sort of formed a little family, the six of us. We heard from Lily…”

“Lily Gray. Good woman.”

“She got word to us that a baby had been born, a mancer. It’s the Elder’s policy to kill mancers right around their first birthday,” she said, her bloody form starting to waver. “So we got the baby back.”

“And you got no idea where this baby is now?”

“I don’t know, mister.”

“Sterling. My name is Sterling.”

<Beep.>

“That’s Beep, and he, it, she—hell I don’t know—is supposed to be standing guard. It don’t seem like there’s a baby around here, but I suppose an animal could have taken it,” Sterling said as he looked at the big tents once again. He could have sworn that he had just seen some movement. “A fox or a coyote, that sort of thing. I’ll see if I can’t track it, and don’t you go worrying about those Dejected or that Elder of Nauvoo. Once I get back to the camp, I’ll have a word with that bald bastard.”

“What will happen to me now?” the woman asked as her face started to melt back into the puddle of blood.

But she was gone before Sterling could respond.

The cowboy necromancer slowly stood and flicked his cigarette to the dirt, running his tongue along the outside of his teeth. It was hot and he could feel it, especially with his black clothing, but he had grown used to the sun long ago, and if he could find some shade or just wait for a cloud to pass, the temperature would be bearable once again.

He was taken off guard when one of the tents collapsed, a great beast tearing out of it. Sterling managed to get out of the way, but Beep didn’t, the bin-sized monolith knocked off to the side, cracking into the face of a large rock.

The creature turned to Sterling just about the time he pulled out his sickle-sword.

Whatever it was, it was big and it was nasty, its body that of a boar, its skeletal head reptilian, big bone spikes lining its spine. Rather than charge at Sterling, the amalgamation threw its skull back and made a noise that came deep from within its gut, a call of some kind.

Sterling looked up to the ridge not far from the encampment to find that there were more of the hellacious pigs gathering, a stampede set to take place.

Hell pigs, he thought as he sheathed his blade and went for his revolver. “Shee-it…”

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The bullets weren’t going to stop the hell pigs, but perhaps they would scare them. Sterling took a few more shots at the hogs on the ridgeline in the hopes that this would force them to scatter.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

There were more pressing matters with the one closest to him. The cowboy necromancer changed his trajectory, attempting to put a bullet right between the eyes of the hell pig now just a few feet away from him, but the amalgamation didn’t technically have eyes, considering its face was a skull, and its bone was thick enough to repel his magical bullet.

Whoompf!

The demon hog sent him up and over, Sterling somehow managing to land on his feet, the heels of his black boots digging into the parched soil.

“Come on!” he shouted, mostly to psych himself up.

Back in the swing of things, Sterling holstered his revolver and went for his sickle-sword, turquoise energy radiating off its curved blade as he drew the weapon out of his breakaway sheath.

The closest pig charged at him again; Sterling jumped to the side and brought his arm across his chest, drawing a deep slice against the side of the hell pig’s body.

The beast squealed, and as it did, Sterling looked to one of the corpses, realizing he was going to have a lot more company soon if he didn’t do something to even the odds.

The corpses around him began to twitch, six in total, each getting to their feet. Their bodies were unstable as they shifted their shoulders back, their heads hung in grotesque ways, the bullet wounds in their foreheads now pointed downward and reminding Sterling of wilted roses.

The demon swine closest to him turned back, snorting and seething.

“Get them pigs!” he hollered. Upon his command, Sterling’s animates scrambled towards the pigs that had now made it down the ridge line, a few even larger than the one he was still trying to kill.

He took another swipe at the nearest hell pig, sheer blood loss starting to slow the monstrous boar down, an arc of ichor painting the air.

“Beep, where the hell are you!?” Sterling took a quick look around to see the small Godwalker on the ground and still lying on its side, as if it were short-circuiting. “Ah, hell! Hell!”

He sidestepped the hog once again; the amalgamation burst through the ends of Sterling’s black duster, the cowboy necromancer just a step or two away from being pulverized. His animates weren’t doing a great job fighting off the hell pigs, the boars having a field day with them as they tore the bodies apart, limbs flying, the shuffling of feet on coarse gravel the only other noise aside from pig squeals.

It was unworldly in that way, his animates looking human enough but not reacting in the ways a human would. No terror in their eyes, no backpedaling, no shrieking, no fear whatsoever. Mindless zombies, and because they were mindless, they weren’t that great of fighters.

Sterling was struck once again by the demon swine closest to him, the beast bringing him to the ground, pain rippling through him. His hand went up to stop the pig from driving its skull into his side, Sterling summoning his Mold Manipulation power as his hand grazed the pig’s body. The sudden spread of mold slowed the creature down enough for Sterling to push it off.

He sheathed his sickle-sword and went for his revolver, firing a few shots point-blank into one of its side wounds.

Sterling had never dissected an amalgamation, but shooting at its internal organs seemed to do the trick, the man finally able to kill the monster off just as several more started to approach.

“Y’all done pissed me off now,” he said as he went for his weapons. “Pissed me off!” He whirled back into action, relying on the enhanced speed and strength that had come after the Reset.

Sterling had been forced into this newfangled post-Reset world without any support, Don Gasper and the Sunflower Kid only joining him a bit later. But in the end it was just him, no miniature Godwalker, no support from other mancers, or the people he had befriended.

When he said ‘lizard eat lizard,’ he meant it.

With this in mind, and the hopes of surviving long enough to see the people he cared for again and not die out here in remote Deseret under a hazy sun, the victim of a sounder of ravenous hell pigs, Sterling hit a strong second wind.

“Damn swine!” he bellowed as he hacked and fired indiscriminately, bloodlust setting in, Sterling’s brazen display of wildness actually sending a few of them scattering. “Damn y’all to hell!”

Sterling whistled, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before Manchester came charging in, which would at least give him some height.

He jumped back as a pig twisted toward him.

Bam!

His shot ricocheted off its rigid spine and ended up hitting a metal toolbox, which had been perched on a cooler. The tools fell out, adding a clatter of sound to a fight already taking a turn for the worst as one of the hell pigs rammed into him again, Sterling sent several feet backward from the impact.

He heard the gallop of Manchester’s hooves and reached up as he had done several times before, back in New Mexico, when he had been forced to make a quick getaway.

And just like that he was back on his bone horse, ducking down as he fired at the swine.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

He kept shooting as he led Manchester back around, headfirst into the fight.

Another pig went down, Sterling scooping the hell pig into the air once he’d hooked his sickle-sword beneath its spine.

Another one bites the dust, he thought, not knowing where the phrase had come from.

The final demon swine started to turn. It tripped on its own feet, and once it was back on its hooves, it bolted toward the south.

“Hell no, you don’t!” Sterling said as he took off after it.

He reached the hell pig in a matter of seconds, Manchester galloping right beside it.

Sterling used his bone horse to knock the pig to the side.

He brought his leg around and jumped off his skeletal steed, avoiding the ridges on the pig’s upper back as he threw his full weight into the beast, Sterling with one arm looped around the pig’s neck, his revolver flush with the side of its body.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

He fired a few more shots and killed the pig, the two of them skidding out into the sand together, the swine letting out a final grunt.

It took a moment for him to get to his feet, but once he did, Sterling looked back to Manchester and then to Beep, which was floating in his direction.

Sterling kicked the hell pig’s carcass. “Scared me half to death, shoot. Ruining a perfectly bad day like that.” He laughed at his own joke. “Wish someone had been around to hear that one.”

<Beep.>

“Oh, I see how it is, now you got something to say,” he told the hovering monolith as he dusted himself off, his breath stabilizing. “Earlier, you decided to take yourself a nap while leaving me high and dry. Now, you are right back in the thick of it. I see how you are. You’re about as useless as a Tuesday afternoon yard sale.”

<Beep.>

“Shut up for a minute, will you?” He released his control over his animates, mana returning to him. As he stood there catching his breath for a moment, the cowboy necromancer accessed his stats:

You have received 3,975 EXP!

Name: Sterling Monedero

Race: Human

Mancer Class: Necromancer

Class Ranking: Bone Sculptor

Level: 62

Fortitude: 118

Strength: 45

Resolve: 156

Mana: 134/160

Current Armor Rating: 28

XP: 329,935

XP to Next Level:9,158

Stat Points Available: 0

Technique Points Available: 0

“Dang. Turns out them hell pigs were worth a good chunk of XP.” He turned back to the campsite, only then remembering the bone charm he wore that gave him an additional thirty percent XP bonus. Sterling made a clicking noise and Manchester started to follow him.

It was only once he was about ten paces away that he sensed that Beep had stayed behind.

Sterling turned to see the floating monolith bent forward just a bit, as if it were sorry.

I must be imagining things, he thought as he licked his lips.

Sterling equipped his bag of tobacco and rolled himself a tightly packed cigarette. He lit it, watching as the baby Godwalker continued to mope.

“Beep, get your ass over here, and quit your damn bellyaching, if that is what you’re doing.”

Sterling waited; the Godwalker kept its distance.

“Fine,” he said, finally throwing his hands up. “I didn’t ask for your company anyhow.” Sterling placed his hand on Manchester’s side and patted his bone shoulder blade. “That’s a good Pingo, not like that shiny little bastard Beep.”

He waited for Beep to join them, but it never did.

“Who am I kidding? Ain’t like I got any other friends out here aside from a bone horse and a floating trash can. Beep,” he called over to the Godwalker. “I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear me say?”

The Godwalker shifted its position, as if it were looking over at him.

“There we go. Let’s keep things copacetic, you and me. Ain’t no sense in arguing,” he said as Beep approached. “As it stands, you’re the only friend I got out here. Yeah, I know that pig got you pretty good. And in the end, I got them pretty good. Damn things.”

<Beep.>

“Yup, that’s your name,” Sterling said, catching a muddled glimpse of his own reflection in the Godwalker’s obsidian surface before turning away, his eyes tracing across what was left of the campsite. “Now, before we have to fight off any more of them demonic pigs, let’s see if we can’t find us a lead. We’re looking for signs of where someone or something may have taken a baby, because I don’t see no baby bodies around here, as gruesome as that would be.”

<Beep.>

Sterling turned to find the Godwalker facing southeast, toward something he hadn’t seen about twenty feet away and hanging off a branch.

“Say, you might be onto something.” He walked over to the object, realizing it was a swaddle. Sterling looked up at a series of mountains ahead, maybe three or four miles out. “I guess it is as good a direction as any. Yup, let’s see if we can’t find ourselves a baby mancer.”

A wind came coupled with a glimpse of the nighttime desert cold, grains of sand spinning like whirling dervishes, wild dancers of the Southwest, if that was where Sterling actually was. It looked like Southwest, felt like it too, and the thinness of the air matched what he experienced in northern New Mexico, outside Santa Fe on the road to Taos.

But he could have been anywhere.

Snow shuffled around the peaks of the mountain as if they had been dipped in foam, broken slabs of fallen boulders making the terrain increasingly harder to navigate—the word ‘moonscape’ came to him once again. A desolate, alien environment.

By this point, Sterling had sent Manchester back to his inventory list, going on foot now as he tracked what he hoped was the infant mancer and whoever had taken the child. Aside from the swaddle, he hadn’t found much to indicate that someone had headed in this direction, and he was just about to turn back and revisit the campsite again when he noticed a single footprint, one that looked fresh enough.

Sterling turned to the west, able to see a steep scarp in the distance, the sun figuring it had had enough of the day and setting behind it. The temperature had already dropped again, and if he didn’t find what he was looking for in the next few hours, he would need to figure out a place to hunker down for the night.

“Where are you?” he asked, Sterling’s shadow extending into the scree, little shrubs dragging against his pant legs as he moved along.

Beep was quiet for once, Sterling glad for a little peace and quiet. Occasionally, he would forget that the miniature Godwalker was traveling with him and then he would spot its shadow, which always threw him off. One time he almost drew his weapon.

And so it went.

A hunger pang clawed at the inside of his belly, but he decided he would eat later, opting for a cigarette over sustenance. Something about the landscape made him want to jot down a note in his book of desert haiku, or maybe go for a sketch. Of all places to end up, two hundred miles beyond the grid seemed apropos in a way, yet another hardship tossed at Sterling like a horseshoe.

The flash of something metallic caught his attention; Sterling ducked behind a dark brown rock.

He grabbed the Godwalker, pulling it back with him. “Stay here, and don’t say nothing.”

<Beep?>

“Dammit, you,” he said as he flicked the side of Beep’s strange metal surface with his finger. “Quiet.”

Sterling waited a moment with his back against the rock before finally taking a peek at what he’d seen.

A hooded figure had cleared the top of an escarpment beyond, the flare of the sun making it difficult to track the person’s movements or make out their details.

Is he carrying a baby? Sterling thought as he took another look. He equipped his monocular, and licked his chapped lips.

Bang!

It was that fast, a bullet nearly taking Sterling’s head off. Beep started to move, but he stopped the tiny Godwalker, holding it back with one of his arms as he drew his pistol with the other.

“I don’t need you vaporizing a baby,” he told Beep, the monolith struggling to free itself from his grasp. “I’m serious, dammit. Stay here.”

Bang!

Another bullet, and for some reason Sterling had a feeling that this was a warning shot, that had this person wanted, they could have shot him. It was only after he realized that his shoulder was exposed that he came to this conclusion, Sterling wondering if there was another angle here, if perhaps a conversation could be had.

And maybe an exchange could be made if they had the baby…

He was no fan of the Elder of Nauvoo; if this person was trying to rescue the child, Sterling was all for it. But they would need to reach a point where he could speak to the baby’s kidnapper first. Maybe, he thought. Hell, I was planning to go back to the Elder of Nauvoo anyway and give him an ass whooping the likes of which he probably has never experienced before… Maybe there’s an angle here…

Sterling didn’t have a white flag in his inventory list, no indication that he was willing to concede. If this person was bent on shooting him, Sterling was going to have to shoot back. A distraction was in order, and there was literally one tucked under his arm in the form of the miniature Godwalker, but he didn’t want to release Beep. Instead of unleashing the big guns, Sterling pointed his magical revolver up in the air and fired a single shot.

Bam!

“I ain’t trying to fight you!” he called out, summoning as much volume as he could, yet making sure he was well protected by the rock before doing so.

No response.

Since the surface of the miniature Godwalker was somewhat reflective, Sterling tried to angle it in a way that he would be able to see what was happening over on the escarpment, to use it as a lackluster mirror of sorts.

Bang!

The bullet struck Beep, both of them spilling forward.

Sterling braced himself, knowing by the time he turned around that the person would be able to shoot him before he could get back to cover. But they never fired, Sterling able to get his weapon up and point it at his attacker, who was about one hundred and twenty yards away.

The person paused, and as they pushed their hood back, Sterling instantly recognized the outline of her face.

“No way…” he said, feeling a twist in his heart.

It hadn’t been that long ago that saving Roxie from the Texas Rangers was his number one mission.

How had she ended up here?

Did this mean the entire team…?

Beep started to zip forward, Sterling having to take a running leap to bring the Godwalker down before it could attack her.

“No,” he said as they once again hit the ground and tumbled partially down a slope, pebbles and fist-sized stones smacking into both of them. “She’s a friend of mine!”

Sterling couldn’t help but smile as he got to his feet, Beep behaving itself for once.

At one point over the past five years, Roxie had been more than a friend. But she was also hyper-aggressive, a quick and accurate shooter, and Sterling already understood what had happened to the bandits who had kidnapped the baby mancer. It had been Roxie, likely with one of the modified sniper rifles she kept in her inventory list.

Roxie always was packing heat.

.Chapter Five.

Roxie was her nickname, her real name being Rowayton Lamont, or Rowayton the Indestructible, as she had come to be known in some circles. She wasn’t a mancer, but she had leveled up to the point that she was able to increase her stats to a level the likes of which Sterling had never seen in a normal person, the woman an absolute powerhouse.

As far as Sterling could tell, she no longer felt pain.

Roxie was as tall as Sterling, lean, her skin dark and her hair almost chestnut. She generally wore gray military fatigues and a bulletproof vest, usually sleeveless. But now, as she approached, Sterling found her in a patchwork poncho, one of her arms inside, the head of the infant poking out of the opening in the front of the fabric.

He had to smile. She had been shooting at him with one hand while holding a baby and had nearly landed her mark.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, instantly regretting that he had gone for snark over a more traditional greeting. But that was who he was, especially around Roxie, her seriousness and competitiveness dampened to some degree with a little teasing.

“What the hell are you doing here? And what the hell is that thing?” Roxie pointed her weapon at the miniature Godwalker. As if it could sense trouble, the baby started to cry. “Shhhh… shhhh…” she said as she bounced the child a little, still with her weapon trained on Beep.

“Don’t let this one here get to you.” Sterling placed a hand on Beep’s smooth surface, noticing that the Godwalker was vibrating to some degree, perhaps agitated. “Y’all two need to get along, hopefully become best friends.”

“Get along?” The disgusted look on Roxie’s face morphed into one of casual acceptance. “I guess it makes sense…”

“Wait… what? What makes sense?” Sterling asked. He took a look at the horizon and shook his head. “This right here is Deseret. Place makes no sense whatsoever, if you ask me. The people that I have met are cult-like and delusional as hell. It’s not quite a barren wasteland, but it’s not far off. Ain’t no sense to be made of it.”

A softness came across her eyes, and Sterling noticed that Roxie looked a bit more gaunt than she had the last time he’d seen her, which shouldn’t have been possible considering that was only a day or so ago. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“Since I last saw you, yes.”

The baby quieted down, Roxie doing just about the most motherly thing Sterling had ever seen her do as she kissed the child’s forehead.

“It’s been a day since I arrived, somewhere over yonder,” Sterling said, pointing to the north west. “At the salt flats.”

“Only a day?” She shook her head.

“Everything is off, this whole damn world is topsy turvy.” Sterling went for his bag of tobacco and began rolling up a cigarette. “So you’ve been here two weeks, and I’ve been here a day. You sure about that?”

“Of course I am. I’ve counted the sunsets, been marking them down.”

“Shee-it,” Sterling said.

“And if we’re both here…”

<Beep.>

The sound startled Roxie, the woman training her weapon on the miniature Godwalker yet again.

“I would be careful if I were you,” Sterling told her as he coolly lit his cigarette. “Beep here has been known to vaporize things from time to time for just looking at it funny.”

“You… named it?”

“Damn Godwalker practically named itself. It was there from the start, back at the salt flats, and it has been following me around ever since. I can put Beep in my inventory list too, done that a couple times now. Not going to lie: ol’ Beep here has saved my ass two times now, so as much as I don’t like traveling around with it floating around all ominous and such, Beep here ain’t as bad as it looks.”

<Beep?>

“Yeah, don’t get too comfortable,” Sterling told the Godwalker.

“So… it’s your pet?”

“Shee-it. Ain’t nothing like a pet, if you ask me. Barely listens to me, talks when I don’t want it to talk, seems to have a mind of its own. Scratch that. I guess you could say Beep is my pet. Yup, you could say that.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I guess. Sort of like how you got yourself a baby now.”

“This is a child, not a pet.”

“I didn’t stutter,” he told her, not able to hide his grin. A wind whipped up yet again, this time carrying a few snow flurries with it, the weather seeming to be changing rapidly.

“I should have guessed you’d be the first one I ran into…”

“Lucky you,” Sterling said.

<Beep.>

“Yep, she’s happy to see us. I’m guessing you don’t know anything about that there child, do you?” he asked Roxie. “Like the fact that a compound of women and children overseen by a man calling himself the Elder of Nauvoo is looking for the little rascal as we speak? There’s more. Them the bandits that you so graciously killed weren’t actually bandits. They were just people that had been rejected by the compound and were trying to rescue the kid. So good job there. Cold-blooded as hell, Rox, I’ll tell you what.”

Her throat constricted just a hair, but then the look on her face hardened as always.

“Not to mention that the people at the compound are scared of mancers, and if you haven’t figured out already, that there child is a mancer. So put one and two together and you get yourself an upcoming sacrifice for this little anklebiter.”

“The baby?”

“From what I’ve been told, yup, that’s what’s in store. They basically wanted me to go and get this kid and bring it back to them so they could kill it. Or something like that from what I’ve been able to surmise. You wouldn’t know these things without being able to talk to one of your victims, which I happened to do back there. Clean shots, by the way.” He formed his hand into a gun and pointed it at her. “Real clean.”

“You agreed to get the child, even though you knew they would sacrifice it?”

“Hell no,” said Sterling, growing offended that she would even think something like that.

“What kind of no good bastard do you think I am, Rox? I didn’t find that second detail out until I did me some investigating, you know, a little blood magic. Originally, I was just trading the child for information, like where the hell we are, that sort of thing. How to get home. But now…”

“And you intend to deliver the child back to them?”

“I was just getting to that.” Sterling took a drag off the cigarette and nodded. “That demented Elder of theirs has information that I need, well, that we need. Somewhere around here, there’s a place where people gather called Saltair. Don’t know much about it, nor do I know its direction. I’m figuring we go there, and not only try to understand where we currently are, but how we get back to pinche Nuevo México as soon as humanly possible. That’s the plan, anyway. And I ain’t about to play nice with the Elder of Nauvoo, no siree. Some weird shit happening back there, let me tell you; seems like he’s been grooming a group of women for a number of years, and killing off any of the mancers, and banishing the males once they reach puberty. Got himself a little harem going.”

“Every man’s dream, right?”

“Shee-it, I plead the Fifth, there,” he said, not quite certain of what this phrase actually meant. “But in all honesty, I can barely take care of myself, let alone a group of needy ass women,” he told her, joking once again. “So we bring the little mancer back, but we don’t let them have the kid, hell no, we get the information we need and then we skedaddle.”

“And we keep the child with us?”

“I haven’t really thought that part out, but temporarily, sure. We keep the kid.”

Roxie turned away from him and motioned for Sterling to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you where I’m staying. And as for that Godwalker, if that thing so much as twitches in my direction, I’m going to duct tape some C4 to it and use it as target practice.”

“This here Godwalker has a name, and that name is Beep.”

<Beep.>

“See?” Sterling asked as he caught up to her.

After sending her weapon back to her inventory list, Roxie adjusted the hood of her poncho over her head and huffed. “You would adopt a Godwalker.”

“Heh. Looks like we got ourselves two babies to take care of. At least mine don’t shit its pants, although, as I said, it has been known to vaporize things from time to time.”

It was only about half a mile before they reached the shelter that Roxie had discovered. During the walk, the two tried to get their stories straight, Sterling insisting that it had only been a day, Roxie sure that it had been two weeks. In the end they agreed that whatever had transported them to Deseret had somehow warped the space-time continuum, which meant that the others—Sterling assuming Don Gasper and the Sunflower Kid—were somewhere out there.

Time would tell, literally.

The shelter Roxie had procured wasn’t too shabby. Built into an overhang, the people had constructed its walls to be as thick as those of a pueblo and had also used tarp as insulation, at least from what Sterling could tell based on random pieces jutting out of the hardened material. There was even a door that looked to have been stripped from a trailer, one that actually shut tight.

Someone had been a carpenter.

It really wasn’t a bad little set-up aside from its location, a good forty or fifty feet above the ground like a cliff dwelling, and only accessible by either hopping down from the ledge above it, or traversing a narrow path no wider than a foot. Defensive, sure, but one false move could send someone plummeting to their death.

Roxie closed the door of the shelter, the wind already whipping up outside to the point that it sounded like an angry band of coyotes.

Angry coyote, Sterling thought. Five syllables. Maybe I will write a desert haiku about this place…

Finally removing her poncho, Roxie showed Sterling the baby girl, who wasn’t plump like the pictures of babies that he had seen in magazines. No, this was a Reset baby, one that was underfed but healthy enough, one that would turn out to be tough as nails if she reached adulthood, a trait that the Before People seemed to have lost, based on some of the things he had uncovered over the years.

The Before People had had it good, and from what he could tell, they had taken it for granted.

“You look after her while I cook something to eat.”

“Dang, Rox, you got actual food? I mean, I have some odds and ends. Lots of peppers. You want some peppers?”

One of her eyebrows lifted. “Peppers give me indigestion, you know that.”

“What? Oh, come off it. That’s just the Española and Chimayó peppers. Actually, I picked up some mighty fine Jalmundo peppers back in Las Cruces. You never met my buddy, Judge, but his wife was running his shop, and these peppers ain’t half bad.”

“The people here had some canned foods. Freshly canned, I should say. Wherever we are, someone has an operation going.”

“Wouldn’t mind me some canned goodness,” Sterling said as she handed him the child. The baby girl took one look at him and began to cry. “Hey there, partner, it’s just your Uncle Sterling. Is that what I should call myself?”

“Do you have any other nicknames?”

“The Hopi called me Skeleton Man.”

“You have gotten thinner…” said Roxie.

“Yeah, probably. Shhhh,” Sterling said as he began rocking the baby in his arms. “I ain’t going to bite you. Shhhh. Who is your favorite necromancer? Huh? Who?”

<Beep.>

The baby looked at the miniature Godwalker and started to giggle.

“Cousin Beep? You like Cousin Beep?”

“I swear, I still can’t believe you are traveling with that damn thing,” Roxie said as she opened one of the cans of beans using a combat knife. “How do you know it isn’t spying on us?”

“I don’t. But it hasn’t tried to kill me, and like I keep telling you, ol’ Beep here has saved me twice now. I figure we’ll see what happens once we encounter one of the big sons of bitches. Beep has a wicked laser it can produce; it may come in handy in ways we don’t yet know. Shoot, I’ve already come across hell pigs, damn swine, and an amalgamation, some sort of buffalo hybrid. Big ol’ bastard. I want to say we ain’t in Kansas anymore, but I’ve never been to Kansas, so maybe that’s where we’re at. Saw some pictures though, and Kansas don’t look like this.”

“It looked very yellow,” Roxie said as she poured one of the cans into a pot. She turned on a generator, which started a small stove, the baby’s eyes seeming to spark just a bit as electricity entered into the equation. Roxie had already turned on two lamps, both gas-powered, which told Sterling that Deseret had access to resources that were a bit harder to get in New Mexico.

Just need to get to Saltair, he thought as he continued to rock the child.

“New Mexico ain’t exactly green,” he reminded her, moving back into their conversation. “Hell, the whole Southwest seems to be the victim of an eternal drought.” Sterling summoned a few of the Big Jim peppers, the baby’s eyes lighting up as she saw them. “I think she likes peppers.”

“Don’t you dare give that child a pepper,” Roxie said.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch; I ain’t giving this kid a pepper. Them peppers are for me. And you, if you want one. These are the mild ones, Rox, trust me. Toss them in the beans. You’ll thank me later.”

Roxie begrudgingly procured a cutting board and began chopping up the peppers.

“They have coffee too, believe it or not,” she said as she went about her work.

“Shee-it, these fools were practically living like royalty up in this cave,” Sterling said as the baby laughed once again at Beep. “I can’t remember the kid’s name. The Elder said it, something real American sounding. You been calling it anything?”

“I didn’t want to name it,” Roxie said, a dark look coming across her face. “I didn’t know who it belongs to, or how long I was going to be taking care of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that, but the kid still needs a name.”

“Any suggestions?”

Sterling recalled the woman that he had befriended at the Tiwa trading post near Socorro, the place that the bounty hunter named Ram had later attacked. That damn cryomancer, Sterling thought as he remembered the man and how he had taken his arm. There was no way in hell he was going to let him get away with not only murder, but insult to injury on Sterling’s part.

“Maria,” Sterling said, bottling his thirst for revenge for the time being. “Let’s call her Maria until we are told otherwise.”

“Works for me. It’s a much better name than Beep.”

“What else would you call this thing?” Sterling asked as he bounced from foot to foot, the baby giggling once again. “I’m a godfather, you know,” he told Roxie. “Things have changed over the last three years. That’s the truth of the matter.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I swear on my mother’s grave, even though I don’t know who my mother is. There’s a kid in New Mexico named after me, believe it or not. Belongs to my buddy, Judge. Same one whose wife sold me the Jalmundo peppers I was telling you about. Little baby Sterling. He’s a cutie too, like his godfather.”

A rare smile took shape on Roxie’s face, a genuine one, as she looked up at the cowboy necromancer. She was currently crouched by the pot, stirring it, the normal harsh focus in her eyes softening to some degree. “Look at you hopping around like a daddy.”

“Don’t get no ideas, Maria,” he told the baby in a playful way. “Even though you are a technomancer and we need one of them in our crew, there ain’t no room for a child on a journey like this. Speaking of which, are there any more of those hell pigs around here?”

“I know which ones you’re talking about,” said Roxie. “Took out a couple of them myself.”

“They aren’t as hard to kill as I thought they would be,” he said, skipping over the fact that he had been nearly plowed through by the giant hogs more than once. “And if I could kill a few more, I might be able to get me a level.”

Roxie continued to stir the beans. “We will deal with the swine tomorrow on our way back to the compound you were talking about.”

“Speaking of levels and killing things. How many people have you killed since you arrived here in Deseret?”

“I don’t keep count,” Roxie told him in an offhand way.

“But you must have an estimate.”

“A couple dozen, maybe less.”

Sterling tutted in a teasing way. “You’re practically the Grim Reaper, ain’t you?”

“No more than you. And you know I have a policy of shooting first and asking questions later; I’ll keep that policy until the Godwalkers screw off to whatever hellhole they came from.”

“I don’t think there are hellholes in outer space. Black holes, maybe, but not hellholes.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“This is why I think you and Beep are going to be fast friends,” Sterling said as he used the baby to motion toward the tiny Godwalker. “Both of y’all are trigger happy.”

“Don’t use Maria to point at things.”

<Beep.>

“Damn, now both of y’all are on my ass?” Sterling started to dance around with the baby, the child cooing at his movements. “Don’t listen to them, Maria. Don’t listen to them none.”

The smell of coffee the next morning was just about the most inviting thing Sterling could imagine, especially with his current unknown location, holed up in a hollow like an Apache pocket mouse, Deseret a mystery he hoped he’d be able to crack sooner rather than later.

He awoke feeling cold, and Sterling remembered that he had removed his duster last night so Roxie could patch up the buckshot. She was good at things like that.

“Can’t believe Maria was so quiet,” he mumbled as he sat up and went for his black cowboy hat. He summoned his tobacco and rolling papers, noting that he still had a few days’ supply left, and began crafting yet another cancer stick.

“Don’t smoke that in here,” Roxie said as she stirred the pot of coffee she was boiling. Maria was awake, and to prevent the baby from crawling around too much, Roxie had used a rope to tie the child to something at the back of the space.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Sterling said, even though he had actually been planning on it. He went ahead and rolled up another one for the road.

<Beep.>

Sterling tipped his hat to the small Godwalker, who floated near Maria. “Good on you for being quiet last night too. Got me a good night’s rest, believe it or not.”

“You and Maria, apparently,” said Roxie, agitation in her voice. “Not so much for me. I kept waking up ready to kill the Godwalker. That is, after all, why we were together in the first place, then and now.”

This statement hurt Sterling in a way he wasn’t expecting; he’d once had a relationship with the scrappy woman currently cooking up a pot of coffee, and while they were often disagreeable, he didn’t like the way it had ended. He liked to think they’d gotten together for other reasons, aside from a thirst for revenge. But the way things had shaken out three years ago…

All Sterling needed to do at that time was tell them what had happened, that he’d been transported away from their campsite by a Godwalker, that he would have been there fighting alongside his former teammates, Liam and Carina, willing to die with them as well.

Instead, he simply took his licks, which in his case turned out to be a fist straight to the kisser from Roxie. The group parted ways after that, Zephyr and the Sunflower Kid heading to Albuquerque, ol’ Duke City, Sterling gravitating toward Truth or Consequences like he was a space-bound billionaire looking for an escape and a tax cut.

He’d seen the launch sites and whatnot outside of T or C, the infrastructure that would have kickstarted the space tourism industry of New Mexico. It was hard to imagine now as he looked up at the sky at night that the Before People had gotten themselves to the point that they could simply get the hell off the planet if they wanted. Spoil one planet and move on to the next, a blueprint for how those who had survived the Reset often lived their lives, moving from one location to the next once the population of an area was no longer sustainable, ripped to shreds by violence, or simply exploited to the point that it no longer made sense to live there.

Move on or get mauled.

But there was a culprit for a lot of what had happened over the last five years, aside from humanity being humanity. The Godwalkers had kept people from working together again, building communities, once again taking hold of the land and forcing it to bend the knee, to better serve humans.

So two were at fault in Sterling’s book for how things played out after the Reset: humanity itself and aliens.

“Heh.”

“What are you snarking about over there?” Roxie asked as she looked up at him.

“I get philosophical in the morning, you know that,” he told her, a twinkle in his eye as he looked up at the woman. “Usually one of my better times to write desert haiku.”

Roxie poured the coffee out into a mug and handed it to him. “Drink your coffee and we’ll get to killing hell pigs. How’s that for a desert haiku?”

“Let me see…” Sterling brought the coffee to his lips, the smell invigorating him. “I think I could make it work. But I’d need to add some syllables.”

“I’m sure you would,” she said as she opened a can of beans.

“We got anything else to go with them beans? I got more peppers.”

“Then get your peppers. Why are you asking me?”

Sterling winked at her. “Thought you might have some eggs stashed away for a rainy day. Make us a Deseret huevos ranchero or something. Wouldn’t mind me a pancake neither. Been ages since I had one of them. Sure Maria would like one too.”

A thin smile formed on Roxie’s face. “Does this look like a diner to you?”

“Wish it was…”

“You know I only carry essential rations in my inventory list.”

“Mostly guns in that ol’ list of yours, from what I recall.”

Roxie nodded. “Used to be guns and ammo, now just mostly guns and other supplies. Last time I saw Raylan, I had him hook me up.”

“Did you now?” he asked as he took a sip of the coffee. It was bitter, but he expected that.

“Sure did. Was actually on my way back from Madrid when those goddamn Killbillies ambushed me.” Roxie stirred the beans. “Bastards. They got very lucky.”

Sterling’s deposition soured. “That good-for-nothing Commodore Bones. Betraying sons of bitches. I ain’t done with him or the Killbillies. Soon as I get back to New Mexico, I got me some scores to settle.”

“You aren’t the only one.”

“At least we can agree on something. Once we get home, aside from dealing with Godwalkers, we’ve got to rid the Land of Enchantment of its Killbilly roaches once and for all. There’s also this bounty hunter named Ram out in Duke City that I need to play the reaper for, if you get my drift.”

“Yeah?”

“Let me get them peppers; I’ll tell you all about that sack of shit over breakfast.”

As they ate the beans and sipped their coffee, Sterling detailed his trek toward Madrid, New Mexico, and what Ram had done, from killing off a group of kind Tiwa natives to eventually taking his arm. He left out the part about Maria, figuring that part of the story wasn’t any of Roxie’s business.

“You had me at killing Tiwas,” she said once he’d finished. “Those are good people. You’ve got backup whenever you do want to go after him.”

“Appreciate that,” he told her. “But when the time comes, it’ll be my shot to take. I know you could split his head in two from a mile away. Nah. That ain’t how it’s going to go when I see that illiterate cryomancer. Thinks he’s slicker than owl shit. He’ll find out soon enough…”

“I’ll let you get final kill, if that’s what you’re asking for,” Roxie assured him. “But I have ways to make someone suffer in the meantime.”

“Shee-it, I don’t mind an assist. And speaking of ol’ Duke City, we need to fish Zephyr out of there anyway at some point. Always good to have an aeromancer around.”

Roxie’s smile thinned. “I don’t know why we need her. The Sunflower Kid, I get, but Zephyr?”

“She can be a bit much at times, a little airy, pun intended. But we all got our strengths and weaknesses.”

Maria started to cry.

“Shoot, better feed the baby too,” Roxie said. “Then it’s hell pig time.”

“Indeed,” Sterling said as he ate a spoonful of beans. “Indeed it is.”

Roxie had a plan for the hell pigs that involved trapping them in a narrow canyon via explosives. It sounded crazy enough to work, and this turned out to be the case as Sterling did the corralling part—feeling just about as close to the word ‘cowboy’ as he’d felt in ages—while Roxie dealt with the explosives part, Maria strapped to the front of her chest because this was life after the Reset, this was Deseret, and explosives around babies weren’t anything too out of the ordinary in a post-apocalyptic world.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Sterling did his best to kick up a ruckus, the sounder of hell pigs instantly taking charge.

“¡Vamos!” he shouted as Manchester galloped toward the trap they’d set out, the hazy Deseret sun bearing witness to an oncoming massacre. Sterling buckled down as a shadow reached toward him, Beep right behind him, the miniature Godwalker actually following his directions for once.

“Don’t shoot at them!” he yelled to Beep as he grew closer to the canyon, Sterling spotting a cloaked figure up on the ridge, Roxie with her explosives wired up and a modified assault rifle in her hands.

Buckling down, the dirt whipping past him, a half-extinguished cigarette in his mouth, Sterling fired his magic revolver a few more times, stirring up the pigs even more as he neared the choke point.

He passed through it, the ground quaking as an explosion rippled through the canyon.

Boom!

The debris that followed forced Sterling to hold on to his cowboy hat as he charged away. He eventually circled back around, up to the ledge where Roxie was currently perched with her weapon trained on the swine below.

“Go on,” she said, the pigs whipped up into a frenzy below. “Get to killing.”

“Beep, stay here.”

<Beep?>

“Do what I say, dammit,” Sterling told the Godwalker. He hopped off Manchester, his bone horse settling immediately, obedient as always.

Maria stifled a cry.

“Shhhh… shhhh…” Roxie said, not changing her position, her weapon at the ready and aimed at the increasingly frantic sounder of hell pigs below. Sterling counted eight of them, which would be enough for him to reach his next level.

“You want me to make this easy for you?” she asked.

“Hell nah, Rox,” Sterling said as he approached the ledge, his black duster picking up in the wind, yellow dirt settling below.

“You sure about that? No shame in it.”

Sterling remembered his last encounter with the hell pigs. “I… I’ve got this.”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you hop down there, and if one of the hell pigs overwhelms you, I’ll start making it easier. Will that satisfy your ego?”

“You know what?” Sterling said. “Sure. Make it a little easier for me. No need for an ego at the moment. Just trying to get me a level so I can get some points.”

A surprised look stretched across Roxie’s face. “That doesn’t sound like the Sterling I used to know.”

“Shit has changed.”

“It’s like you’ve gotten wiser over the last few years.”

The hell pigs squealed below; Roxie fired her weapon, three quick shots, which made them even wilder.

“Maybe I just don’t feel like having my ass handed to me by a bunch of bone-headed prehistoric swine this early in the morning. Call me crazy.” He looked back to the Godwalker. “Beep, stay your ass here. Listen to Roxie too.”

Beep didn’t respond.

“That a yes or no?” Sterling asked as he raised an eyebrow at the floating monolith.

<Beep…>

“Good enough for me. Here we go!”

Sterling drew his revolver and his sickle-sword. He hopped down into the canyon, ignoring his fear of heights, and the way his limbs tingled as he lowered to the bottom.

Rapid bursts of gunfire accompanied him, the cowboy necromancer launching into action with his blade, turquoise energy crackling all around it, pigs dying, blood splattering into the air, grunts, and dust, and grime, and hooves digging into the parched soil as the demon swine coughed up their last breaths.

Like pigs to the slaughter, it was over just about as soon as it had started, Sterling finally getting a much-coveted level.

You have received 10,600 XP!

You have gained a level!

You have received seven Stat Points!

You have received four Technique Points!

You have received nine bonus Technique Points!

You have received a Class Proficiency bonus!

Do you want to assign your Class Proficiency, Stat, and Technique Points now?

Sterling wiped the pig blood from his face as he read through the prompts, ignoring the stink.

“Well?” Roxie called down to him, Beep also peering over the ledge above. “You get your level?”

“You bet your ass I did.”

.Chapter Six.

Sterling knew better than to ask Roxie if she wanted to ride his bone horse with him, not that she hadn’t done so before. Complicating matters would be the baby, and while he had thought of suggesting that they strap little Maria to Beep, he had a feeling Roxie wouldn’t be a big fan of that idea.

So they walked, Sterling well aware that they weren’t going to make it to the compound until nightfall, maybe even later. Still, they had a plan, and it was a good one, Sterling and Roxie both mature enough to know that traveling with a baby wasn’t in their future long term, even if Maria was a fledging technomancer.

A child would only get in their way.

Sterling decided to bank his Technique Points rather than assign them, but he did assign his Stat Points, and went ahead and upgraded one of his Class Proficiencies. Since he sometimes needed to summon the dead at random, he had upgraded his Death Sense power, which now netted him a thirty-foot animation radius.

Name: Sterling Monedero

Race: Human

Mancer Class: Necromancer

Class Ranking: Bone Sculptor

Level: 63

Fortitude: 120

Strength: 48

Resolve: 158

Mana: 146/160

Current Armor Rating: 28

XP: 340,535

XP to Next Level: 15,320

Stat Points Available: 0

Technique Points Available: 13

Necromancer Class Skills

Death Whisper: Class Proficiency Level 4

Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

Description: Can communicate with the deceased; blood needed to do so.

——

Resurrection: Class Proficiency Level 3

Casting Cost: 5 Mana Points

Description: Can summon at will, but doing so takes a cut of MP until the animate is relinquished.

——

Enhanced Durability: Class Proficiency Level 3

Grafting Casting Cost: 15 Mana Points

Description: Enhanced durability and grafting.

——

Death Sense: Class Proficiency Level 3

Description: Able to sense the bodies of the dead around you. Higher levels allow for wider ranges, including remote animating.

——

Mold Manipulation: Class Proficiency Level 1

Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

Description: Able to manipulate and conjure mold. Higher levels allow for strong and further reaching creations.

Sterling felt proud of himself for once. He remembered the Sunflower Kid telling him at one point that he should do something she called ‘farming XP,’ a term that apparently meant killing indiscriminately for the sole purpose of gaining a level.

He’d done just that, and it felt good. And that wasn’t all: he could see himself doing some more farming in the future if the opportunity presented itself. It was a much better strategy than what he had been doing over the years, which usually revolved around getting levels when they came to him.

Now, Sterling would seek them out.

Roxie kept quiet for long stretches of their walk, the woman laser-tuned to their surroundings, to the point that she was a bit jumpy. She was a quick draw, much faster than Sterling. The way she handled weapons was both one of the reasons he was attracted to her and also one of the reasons she scared him. For all he could tell, the woman had been born with a thousand yard stare, the Reset bringing out her base nature, igniting the reptilian part of her brain. If ever there had been a person born for the Reset, it was Roxie, Rowayton the Indestructible. No hardship seemed too much for her to handle.

It was a wonder to him that Commodore Bones and his tatted up and clearly bottom-fed Killbillies had been able to capture her back in New Mexico. The only way they must have been able to do this was through an ambush. She still hadn’t given him all the details about the capture and he doubted she ever would—Roxie definitely wasn’t proud of it.

“I still don’t trust that thing,” she said at one point, the two stopping beneath a boulder that had slipped off the side of a cliff long ago, the stone large enough to cast a shadow on the ground to cool them off.

“Beep will grow on you,” he told her as he wiped a bit of sweat off his brow. “I guarantee it.”

“Have you tried blowing it up?” she asked. Even if her suggestion sounded funny, there was nothing in the timbre of her voice that indicated she was joking.

“I tried shooting at it; that’s about it. Ain’t that right?” Sterling ashed his cigarette and looked over to Beep, which was floating just a few feet away from him and glistening in the late afternoon sun.

<Beep.>

“We should try and see what happens.”

“Now why would I go and do something like that, Rox?”

Maria started to fuss, sparking a look of disgust on Roxie’s face. Without a word, she removed her poncho and held the baby out, Sterling getting a whiff of what was bothering her just a few seconds later.

“Beep, you’re on diaper duty.”

“No, you are,” she told him. “I changed her last time.”

“Not my kid,” he said, showing Roxie his hands.

“You may be a daddy someday; you should learn how to do this.”

“A kid is the last thing I want to bring into this godforsaken world, the last thing. Shee-it, I can’t even imagine…”

“A little baby Sterling? You can’t imagine something like that?” She placed Maria on the ground. Roxie equipped some items she’d picked up from the bandits she’d killed, including a blanket for the baby to lay on and a smaller cloth that would act as a diaper.

“Already told you there was a baby Sterling,” he reminded her, “in Hatch. Real cutie too.”

“Nothing much in Hatch.”

“You take that back,” he said, acting as if he were offended. “There are good peppers in Hatch, and don’t you forget that.”

“Ugh. You and your peppers.”

Sterling laughed. “It’s a sickness, I’ll admit that. Eat enough of the hot ones and you’ll feel drunk, believe you me.”

“Drink some tequila and I’ll feel drunk,” Roxie said as she began changing Maria, the woman staring daggers at the child.

“If looks could kill…”

<Beep.>

“See? Beep gets my sense of humor. Real clever, this one is.”

Roxie continued to frown as she dealt with the soiled diaper. “Keep it up, and I’ll strap you to that goddamn Godwalker and blow you both up, along with this shitty diaper.”

“Duly noted.”

Sterling knew better than to press Roxie too much. There was an art to dealing with the female gunner. Tease her too much and she’d become nasty. “Beep, you keep quiet too,” he said, hoping the Godwalker would respond in a way that would be comical.

It didn’t.

They moved on, dusk settling in, Sterling seeing hints of the Elder’s compound as they traveled over a rocky hill covered in a layer of yolk-colored dust. He also spotted something else on one of the peaks that surrounded the Elder’s post-Reset abode, a faint glow that he hadn’t noticed before.

Either way, it didn’t look threatening; Sterling figured they could investigate it later, after they dealt with the Elder.

“You got enough light to do your thing?” Sterling asked Roxie.

“Light isn’t a problem.” Roxie handed Sterling the baby. “She’s all yours.” Maria made a noise of surprise, but then she was smiling again once she was squarely in Sterling’s arms.

“Little thing,” he said as he smiled down at the child. “I’ve got to be honest,” he told Roxie, “I don’t know if we’re doing this here child a service or a disservice in keeping her alive. If I just return the baby, they’ll do whatever pseudo bullshit sacrificial ritual their pervert of an Elder has conjured up, and Maria won’t have to grow up in a world like this, you know what I mean. We do what we’re planning to do here, and she will be forced to grow up. I’m not saying that this should be my choice to make or nothing, I’m just saying. Life could get tougher.”

“You don’t know that,” Roxie said, an unexpected softness flashing across her eyes. “Once she gets older, she’ll have real power, one that people may find useful. At the very least, it’ll keep her safe.”

“Since when were you an optimist?”

“It’s a baby…”

“Yeah, yeah it is. Then I’ll think of it like that. Who knows what the future brings.” Sterling swallowed as he remembered his own child, one he’d likely never see again aside from the single photo in his old wallet. The boy was likely dead. He could sense it in his gut. “I just wonder if it’s worth it, that’s all.”

“Then kill the baby,” Roxie said in a sudden, offhand way. “If those are your thoughts.”

“What? Hell no. That’s not what I’m trying to say here.” He got this weird sense by the way Beep approached that the Godwalker didn’t want him to do that either. What is it with this dang thing? Sterling thought as he returned his attention to Maria.

“Then stop getting philosophical, or whatever the hell it is you’re hinting at, and let’s get on with it. We’re running out of light.”

“I thought you don’t need light,” he told her.

“I don’t, but you might…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sterling said as he turned in the direction of the compound. “Let’s deal with your kinfolk, Maria.”

“Stick to the plan,” Roxie reminded him.

“I always do.”

Roxie took off, running much faster than he could as she moved into position. He watched her scurry away like a jackrabbit, wishing he had rolled up a cigarette before taking the baby from her.

“You’ve got to go too, Beep.” He placed his hand on the smooth surface of the Godwalker, sending it to his inventory list, which caused Maria to start to cry. “Don’t cry, kiddo; Beep didn’t go nowhere. I promise ol’ Beep will be back in no time, you’ll see. Shee-it. Maria, please. Fine, fine. Look.”

Sterling summoned Beep again, the Godwalker materializing out of thin air. This caused Maria to giggle through her tears.

“See? Now I’m going to send Beep away again because we don’t want to spook your people, not yet anyway.” He placed his hand on Beep, the Godwalker disappearing once again.

Maria didn’t cry this time.

“See? You always were a smart-looking little tyke, weren’t you?” Sterling asked. “What’s a smart baby supposed to look like anyway? I’ve seen some dumb looking ones in my day,” he told her as he started off toward the compound. “Some real toothless little monsters. But not you, Maria, not you. You’re special.”

It took him another thirty minutes or so to reach the compound, the sun officially set, the landscape cast in swaths of burgundy, the temperature beginning its nightly plummet. Sterling could hear the rumble of generators at the top of the little mesa where the Elder of Nauvoo lived like a king, the rest of the compound lit by candles.

“Damn bastard,” Sterling said, “making everyone else huddle in the dark.”

This wasn’t exactly the case. He recalled clay chimeneas in his brief walk through the compound, and could both see and smell the smoke now. Whatever they were burning was earthy, and Sterling was not quite certain what it was. It didn’t quite smell like dung, but it could have been.

“Got your baby!” Sterling called out as he approached the barricaded entrance.

A slot opened. “Sterling?” a voice asked, one that he recognized instantly as belonging to Yankee Judd, one of the kids who had found him out at the salt flat.

“You on guard duty tonight, son?”

“Yup.”

“Shee-it, in that case, I’ll make this easy for you. Get your dear leader, and tell him I’m waiting for him out here with the child, that I’d like a word.”

This took Yankee Judd off guard. “You don’t… want to come in?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Sterling slowly transferred Maria to the crook of his left arm so he could get his revolver. It was going to be a balancing act, but that was what Roxie was for. “Got a bone to pick with the Elder. Go get him.”

“The Elder doesn’t come down here unless it is to see one of the sister-wives.”

“Figures,” Sterling said with a snort. “Tell him I’m his newest sister-wife.”

“But… but you’re a man.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m a man. Dammit, Yankee, I don’t got time for this shit right now. Get that Elder of yours, and let him know I need to have a word with him. Otherwise, I’ll take the baby with me. He wants this baby, right?”

“Yes…”

“Judd, who is it?” came a female voice.

“Sister Lily…”

“Is that you?” Lily Gray asked as she shoved Judd aside. “You got Jessica!? Jessica!”

Sterling remembered the woman who had cooked for him and her general melancholic tone. Is it her child? He took a quick glance at Maria, who hadn’t started to cry yet, but didn’t seem far off.

“Lily, fetch the Elder, and tell that sagely son of a bitch to get his ass down here. I want to talk to him mano y mano, man to man. This doesn’t concern the rest of y’all.”

“That’s my… that’s my sister’s child!” Lily said. “Don’t hurt her, mister. My sister-wife died giving birth to her. She’s the only family I got… Jessica! Please, mister, don’t do nothing!”

“Hurt her? Shoot, I ain’t going to hurt her, Lily. You’ve got my word,” he said, noticing that there was now more activity on the other side of the fence they’d erected, the sound of scampering feet reaching his ears. “Now get the Elder, and tell him I’m out here with Jessica.”

The baby started crying; Sterling pointed his sidearm up and began bouncing the baby with the other arm. “Shhhh… shhhh… Maria, Jessica, whatever your name is, it’ll be okay.”

Spotlights flashed on, temporarily blinding Sterling. He dropped his head to some degree, his black cowboy hat casting a shadow over his eyes. The lights made him feel even worse for the child, whose face was now wet with tears.

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Nothing to be afraid of. I ain’t going to let these bastards hurt you none.”

The gates popped open and armed children scattered out, their assortment of weapons all trained on Sterling. The Elder of Nauvoo came out after they had gotten in formation, Sterling seeing all the womenfolk behind him.

“Ah, Sterling Monedero,” he said in a jovial way, the man in flowing patchwork robes with his chin pointed up, holier-than-thou. “I see you have returned our dear Jessica. Great. I’ll just send one of mine over to take the child from you and then, as promised, I’ll point you in the direction of Saltair.”

“Nope, that ain’t how this here is about to play out, pendejo, and you know it. I’ve got questions first, and then we can get down to which direction I should be heading next.”

“Questions?” the Elder asked, tilting his head slightly.

“What’s your policy on mancers? Let’s start there.”

The Elder of Nauvoo’s tone thinned. “You mean the abominations that were born from the Rapture?”

“I wouldn’t call people like me an abomination any more than I’d call a goddamn moronic hijo de puta who has somehow brainwashed a group of lovely enough women to all have sex with him and subsequently kill their offspring an abomination. But that’s just me, pendejo, that’s just how I see it.”

“So you are one of them,” the man said, menace growing in his voice.

Sterling spat. “You bet your ass I am, and I’m the kind of mancer that don’t take kindly to senseless acts of bullshit, the kind that you seem to have drummed up here.”

“Then you deserve to die. Children.”

The kids all raised their weapons to the ready.

Sterling started to laugh. “Shee-it, you think you’re going to be able to kill me with a platoon of goddamn kindergartners?”

“Please, please stop this!” Lily Gray burst forward and tugged on the Elder’s arm, who reached his hand back and struck her to the ground.

That was the last straw.

Sterling didn’t know exactly how this was going to play out once it started, but after seeing the Elder’s action, he knew that the man wasn’t going to live much longer. The shots came fast enough that Sterling had to take a step back, everyone in the vicinity shocked at the sudden impact.

Zipff! Zipff! Zipff!

The Elder of Nauvoo fell; the women began to scramble behind him, shrieking.

The kids with their guns trained on Sterling hesitated until one of the women ordered them into action. “Kill him, children! Kill the mancer!” she cried. “And kill yourselves after! It was the Elder’s orders!”

Sterling summoned Beep, ducking behind the floating monolith just in time to avoid being shot to death by a bunch of armed adolescents.

Zipff! Zipff! Zipff! Zipff!

Even with all the commotion, he could have sworn he heard Roxie’s gunfire, Sterling’s mind kicking into overdrive as she provided cover fire.

Lily, need to save Lily…

At least with Lily, there’d be someone to take care of Maria once all this was over, someone who also knew what was going on here. Plus, she was family. His hopes were potentially squashed once Beep fired its first shot, a laser cutting into the compound and igniting anything it touched. This sent the women and children scattering, Sterling glancing around the floating monolith to see the flames accentuating the women’s forms as they…

“What in the hell?” he whispered, a new wave of shock rolling over him.

He watched in horror as one of the women killed the nearest child, then turned her own blade on herself. She wasn’t the only one; the others seemed less interested in dealing with the flames than they were in taking their own lives and the lives of anyone around them.

“Beep, guard the child!” Sterling said hurriedly. “I’ve got to find Lily.”

<Beep.>

“Beep twice if you understand me!”

<Beep. Beep.>

Sterling paused for all of a second, shocked that this had actually worked. But he could address it later. Removing his duster, he quickly wrapped it around Maria, set her on the ground, and took off toward the fire, his weapon drawn yet again.

“Lily!” he cried as he shouldered through one of the smoldering outer walls of the compound. “Lily Gray! Where the hell are you?”

“Mister!”

He recognized Yankee Judd’s voice almost immediately. He turned to find the youth bleeding at the neck, his rifle pointed at Sterling.

“Judd, son, you put that weapon away; I ain’t your enemy. You put that weapon away, son!”

“You are the enemy,” the kid said, something in his eyes telling Sterling that there was no reaching him. “Everyone like you is the enemy.”

Zipff!

Yankee Judd fell forward, victim of Roxie’s precise marksmanship.

“Damn it all to hell,” he mumbled as he tried to make it to where he’d last heard Lily’s voice. “Lily!” he shouted, fires starting to pick up around him, the heat growing in intensity by the second. “Lily Gray!”

A woman who had stabbed herself in the stomach lunged for him, but Sterling brushed her off.

She was already too weak to do anything.

“Mister…!”

Sterling shoved a table aside and found Lily crouched beneath it. He scooped the woman into his arms and charged out of the compound, debris and bullets zipping all around him. He reached a safe enough distance and took shelter once again behind Beep.

“Take care of the baby,” he told Lily, who immediately scooped the child into her arms.

Beep struck the compound again with another blast, causing Lily to scream.

“Don’t worry about the, shee-it, whatever y’all call it. The little Godwalker,” Sterling said. “It’s on our side and I have no idea why. What… what the hell happened here?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer to this tragic question. It was clear as day, even though it was night.

The cult had done what so many cults had done in the past—suicided after the loss of their leader.

Whoosh!

An explosion in the compound sent a plume of fire into the air that petered out relatively quickly, as if the oxygen were thinner here. Sterling was just turning to the horizon, expecting to see some sign of Roxie heading in his direction, when Lily choked up again.

“Anderson, no!”

Bang!

The shot took Sterling off guard.

Not only that, it hurt like hell, the bullet tearing through his body, just over his clavicle. He gasped, and as he started to fall, Sterling swiveled and fired a shot that took White Eyed Anderson down for good—Bam!—the youth hitting the ground just a few seconds after Sterling.

“Dammit,” he said as he rolled onto his back, hating himself in that moment for what he had done. “Dammit all to hell.”

“Mister!” Lily started to panic.

“I’ll be fine,” Sterling told her. “Stop your fussing. It will all be fine until it ain’t no more.” He exhaled audibly. “Dammit, Beep, you should have warned me! And… just hell, hell to all of it. Why were the women killing everyone and the kids shooting guns?”

Sterling felt like punching the ground, but he refrained from moving as he settled onto his back, his cowboy hat pressing off his head. It was a better view here, the night sky a beautiful field of jewels compared to the calamity all around him.

“Dang it, Anderson, why’d you have to…?” Sterling’s brow lowered as a distraught feeling came over him. “You and Judd. Just don’t make no sense. Young’uns… y’all didn’t deserve…”

“It’s what the Elder told us to do,” said Lily, confirming what he already knew to be true. “All of us have been told to do that for years. It was even rehearsed. Without our Elder, our tribe is nothing. At least… at least that’s what we were taught. I never believed it.”

“You’re telling me there’s nothing I could have done, right?” he asked, needing an answer right then and there. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s… that’s right.”

“What about your kids?”

“Mine died already,” she said, choking back tears. “A mancer, pyromancer.”

“Where the hell are we, anyway?” he asked, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. “Not that the location matters, I just need to know. I need to get my bearings.”

“Deseret,” Lily Gray said in a way that told Sterling she wasn’t a fan. He couldn’t blame her. Post-apocalyptic New Mexico was tough enough, but there was something about this place that made it seem as if it would chew you up and spit you out quicker than not.

“Figured you’d say something like that…”

“I’m sorry, mister. I’m sorry…”

“Ain’t nothing, Lily. At least tell me that you know how to get to Saltair. You can get us there, right?”

“We?”

“Them bullets.” Sterling lifted a finger and wiggled it back and forth. “Who’d you think was shooting them?”

“You’re a mancer?”

“I am.”

“I thought it was you.”

“Heh. Never heard of no bulletmancer.”

“I don’t know; I don’t know these things,” Lily said as she switched Maria—who Sterling probably should have started referring to as ‘Jessica’ in his head but hadn’t gotten there yet—to her other shoulder. “Y’all mancers can be anything.”

“Not true. There are twelve classes of mancers,” Sterling told her through gritted teeth. “And I’m one of them. I suppose a telemancer could use bullets like that, but why would they? It’d be easier to give all your kin aneurysms instead. An aeromancer can do something like that, and I ain’t that. Nope, I’m a necromancer. Yeah, yeah, it’s gruesome to think about, but I’m about as close to a good guy as they come. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“Then who was it?” she asked. “Who was doing the shooting?”

“Her name is Roxie, and she’s probably making her way over here right now. Don’t let her scare you; she’s a little rough around the edges.”

“Like you?” Lily asked.

“Heh…” He winced at the pain. If White Eyed Anderson had aimed a little higher and a bit more to the right, he might have actually killed Sterling. He’d never tried to recover from a throat wound before. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“She’s a mancer?”

“Nope, but she might as well be one.”

“Just one person?” Lily Gray asked.

“Just one. She’s a quick shooter. If this were the Wild West, which it sort of is, she’d have a lot of people wanting to duel with her. Roxie is one badass chica.”

“And the Abaddon?”

“Beep?” Sterling asked. “Ol’ Beep here is with us. Believe it or not, this thing here has saved my life… What is it? Three times now.”

<Beep.>

“Seems to be able to communicate… to some degree too. Look, Roxie will be here any moment now; we just need to sit tight and—”

“Hands where I can see them!” Roxie announced as she came on the scene, her poncho hanging from her shoulders, hood covering her head as she pointed her weapon at them.

“Lily is with me,” he told her, “with us, I guess I should say. She’s Maria’s aunt.”

“Maria?” Lily asked.

“We renamed her. Name is Jessica, right?”

“That’s right,” Lily said, the woman nearly breathless at the sight of Roxie.

“She’s Jessica’s aunt, maybe by blood, maybe not. Shit don’t matter.”

“We can’t take her with us,” Roxie said coldly.

“Like hell we can’t. We definitely ain’t leaving her out here.”

“Sterling—”

“—Rox, Lily here is going to take us to Saltair. We can part ways there.” He started to press himself up, his wound burning.

“You got shot,” Roxie said, coming to him immediately.

“Why did you think I was lying here on the ground, huh? Taking the night off or something? One of them damn kids shot me; I’ll be fine, just…” Sterling sighed miserably. “I’ve seen some shit since the Reset, things I can’t unsee. Then there’s what just happened here. Damn shame. Damn crying shame, all of it. Not enough tequila in the world to make me forget that scene.”

“Cults are going to do what cults are going to do,” Roxie said as she crouched next to him and produced a small flashlight so she could observe his wound.

“We weren’t a cult…”

“Like hell you weren’t,” Roxie snapped at Lily. “Look, we need to move. Anyone in the area either heard the explosion, or can see the fire, even if it is dying down. Is there a place near here where we can go?”

“We got a place up in the hills.” Lily Gray pointed toward the east. “We go there during the hottest months.”

“Are there supplies there?” Roxie asked.

“Yep, it’s good and locked up.”

Sterling glanced in the direction that Lily had pointed, noticing a faint glow near one of the peaks once again. “Any idea what that is?”

“Just started up a few days ago,” Lily said. “One of the kids pointed it out. We haven’t had a chance to investigate it yet. Sort of looks like a firefly or something.”

“We’ll investigate it in the morning, and then head to Saltair,” Sterling told them. “Don’t know about y’all, but I’ve had enough goddamn surprises for one night.”

.Chapter Seven.

Lily Gray led them to the location as she promised, the Elder of Nauvoo’s summer abode several miles from the compound. To make things easier, they took one of the dune buggies for most of the way, Lily looping an extra canister of fuel to the back even though she claimed to have one in her inventory list.

Thinking about those murderous cult members as Roxie headed in the direction of the summer house had Sterling shaking his head. To see the children and women behaving like that only made him feel worse. At least they were put to rest, and at least a few of their corpses would potentially prove useful yet again in the form of animates. But for it to end like that?

A damn shame.

That was another thing he had opted for, something he had never really toyed with previously. Sterling figured it was about time that he added an element of surprise to whatever they encountered next, be it the glowing light on the opposite mountain, or any of the things they could potentially run into in the post-apocalyptic world, from amalgamations to enemy mancers, and everything violent and sudden in between.

There were now three animates in his inventory list alongside Beep, Sterling a bit surprised that they actually fit. The inventory list seemed expandable to some degree, and he never really pushed it to its limits.

If Lily Gray thought that adding some of her least favorite sister-wives to his list was unsettling, she didn’t say anything. She seemed relieved that she was now free of the Elder of Nauvoo’s hold, but Sterling could sense that she was worried about the future. And who could blame her? What was she going to do when they finally got to Saltair? How was she going to take care of herself, let alone baby Jessica?

From where they parked the dune buggy, it was about a fifteen-minute walk up to the summer house, which was tucked away along the side of the mountain. The place was crafted from oak and pine, clearly something that was once treasured by the Before People, a lodge to escape it all.

“The Elder said that Indians used to live in these parts,” Lily Gray said as she procured a key from her inventory list. “Crazy that they came out this far, if you ask me. Then again, I guess we’re out this far. So go figure.”

“That we are,” said Sterling.

“Don’t know how long these Indians lived here, but we’ve found lots of things in these hills. Granaries that look like stacks of rocks; a great big room carved into a hole over yonder; feathers of birds I ain’t never seen before; a bunch of drawings. You name it. Some shield etchings too, which the Elder said were drawn for protection. Other glyphs.”

“Yep, seen similar things in New Mexico.”

“Y’all had Indians too?”

“Still do.” Sterling turned to the other mountain, yet again spotting the faint glow. “You ladies head inside. I think I’ll smoke a cigarette before I head in.”

“You’re always smoking something,” Roxie said as she stepped up to him. “Go on ahead, Lily. We will be there in a minute.”

The woman nodded and quickly moved away with the baby.

Sterling rolled up a cigarette as casually as ever, ignoring the continual drop in temperature. He didn’t feel cold, but Roxie looked as if she would be shivering soon, her arms crossed over her chest, hood pulled tight to her head.

Once it was ready, Sterling lit his cigarette and immediately handed it to Roxie, who took a quick drag and returned it to him.

“You should cut back,” she said as she exhaled smoke.

“Probably the least concerning of my demons, I reckon.”

She elbowed him. “What demons? You’re a standup guy to me.”

“Am I now?” he asked as he removed his hat and turned to her, wishing he was more presentable in that moment. “I guess I am standing up.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Shee-it, I don’t recall you ever calling me nothing like that before. Nothing.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Roxie nodded toward the glow on the distant slope. “What do you think it is, over there?”

“Pull out one of your weapons and find out. Don’t you have a scope?”

“I do, but the glow is coming from the other side. If it’s there in the morning, we’ll either kill it, or see what it wants.”

“Listen to you,” Sterling told her. “Always wanting to shoot something.”

“And?”

“I got a phrase for the way you behave, trying to get it to take off over here.”

“What phrase?”

“Lizard eat lizard.”

Roxie rolled her eyes. “That sounds so stupid.”

“Yeah, well.”

“And what do you mean by ‘take off’? You got a fanbase or something?”

“People know me in T or C,” he told her as he ashed his cigarette. “I wouldn’t call them fans, but I’m known in them parts, up to Hatch.”

“I can imagine the guy riding into town on a bone horse wearing all black would be known.”

Sterling grinned at her. “Heh. I guess I do stand out in a crowd.”

“You know, I thought about stopping by T or C,” she said as she turned to the shelter. “But it looked like a boring place.”

“I’m not going to say it’s as hopping as Albuquerque, but if you ever decide to head south, I’ll show you the best time of your life.”

“Are you really going back to Truth or Consequences after all this?”

Sterling laughed. “Where else would I have my pepper farm? I don’t like Hatch, and it gets too cold up near Madrid, although I do like that area.”

“I guess I never thought of it like that,” Roxie finally said. “But really? Truth or Consequences.”

“That’s the plan. Home is where the peppers are.”

Once he was finished with his cigarette, the two headed into the vacation home.

Candles lit the space, Sterling assuming the Elder had likely kept the generator in his inventory list, especially with how desirable a good generator could be. The lodge had an upstairs, but it seemed to be blocked off, and Sterling didn’t bother to ask why. Instead, they kept to the front parlor of sorts, where Lily had prepared sleeping supplies and set them out on the ground. She’d even started a fire using dried greasewood, the iron stove glowing hot in the corner.

Lily slept closest to the fire with Jessica, leaving the other side of the space for Sterling and Roxie. The two were only separated by a yard or so, yet Sterling felt as if they were practically in different rooms. There was a part of him that wished he could roll over and place an arm around her, but Roxie wasn’t really the cuddling type, and even when they’d had a relationship, the two generally slept back to back, both lost in their own worlds, in dreams of the past.

A smell woke Sterling in the morning, and as he came awake he found Lily Gray cooking biscuits on the iron stove in the corner.

“I’ve got some peppers we can add to that,” he said as he went for his cowboy hat. He smoothed his hand through his hair and placed his hat on his head. Roxie was already gone by this point, Sterling assuming she was outside either exploring the property, or seeing if she could get a bead on the faint beacon they had seen last night.

Lily gave him a troubled look. “I don’t like spicy things.”

“Suit yourself.”

It was as perfect a time as any to write a desert haiku, Sterling nice and warm in the corner of the lodge. He went for his leather book and tried to get into the mood, the cowboy necromancer eventually casting his eyes over the stone shelf yet again and coming to a series of plastic canisters. Clorox, he thought as he read one of the canisters. Clorox wipes.

There was nothing inside the container except for a few rocks, so Sterling read the Clorox canister itself, how the wet napkins inside could kill just about anything, and how they smelled like a tropical breeze. He sniffed the inside of the canister, getting a faint hint of something sweet.

So that’s what a tropical breeze smells like. Wonder how them island folks is doing nowadays…

“The kids used to play with them things,” Lily told him from the other side of the room. Jessica cooed as she locked eyes with Sterling, the baby seated on a pillow and wearing a bonnet that matched Lily’s headpiece.

“I can see that.” Sterling went for another plastic canister, this one claiming it was supposed to resemble the scent of lavender. He took a sniff of the canister, and didn’t pick up anything discernible.

“All that stuff they had back then,” Lily said as she worked on her biscuits. “Hard to believe them people were capable of all that while we can barely get our acts together.”

“Those Godwalkers ain’t helping.” Sterling opened his book of desert haiku and found a blank spot on the pages. He tried to recall the idea that came to him the other day, a good opening line.

What was it?

“Yeah, we got them Abaddons,” said Lily Gray, “but we also have people like you that are able to do crazy things, could do good things. How come we can’t all get together and give the Abaddons a real whooping?”

“Shee-it,” Sterling said, not able to hide his snort. “You ever seen one of them things?”

“I’ve seen them,” she said defiantly.

“I’ve been inside one,” he told her, remembering what it had been like, how he had been able to destroy it by getting to the Godwalker’s fuel cells. “Brought two of them down thus far. A smaller one, and a large one. Ever seen a small one?”

“You mean like that little guy you have?”

“No, bigger than that. Speaking of ol’ Beep…” Sterling summoned the miniature Godwalker.

<Beep.>

“Morning to you, too,” he said as he caught a hazy glimpse of his own reflection in its dark surface.

Beep floated out the open doorway, Sterling and Jessica watching it go.

“Real strange that you travel with that thing,” Lily Gray said. “Real strange. But it seems peaceful enough, personable, even. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just crazy. The others always said I had a screw loose.”

“You ain’t crazy, Lily. And as far as I can tell, you’re the only of one them who was, and still is, playing with a fifty-two card deck. You’re alive; you’re a survivor. Don’t you forget that. Now about them biscuits, I got me some peppers that ain’t as hot as some of the others, not as much spice, a good amount of bite though. Ever heard of Big Jims?”

“No.”

“You want to try something new?”

Lily Gray shrugged. “I guess.”

“Heh, that’s the spirit.”

Sterling never told Roxie that he had written a desert haiku about her, one based on an idea he’d had a day or so ago:

Angry coyote

Stalking her prey day and night

No kill, no release

He probably never would either.

Wind whipped past him as Rowayton the Indestructible gripped the steering wheel of the dune buggy, her knuckles white, sand and dust kicking up all around them as they veered up a slope, swerving around scree that had chipped off the side of the mountain over the years.

How many people had walked here before Sterling? The natives that once inhabited this land, what had they thought of such a barren environment? Why had they pressed on rather than heading to a more comfortable environment?

The porcelain-colored clouds above resembled a fleet of ships, each with a base that looked like fresh cotton, the cool blue skies at odds with the stark landscape they held court over. A slickrock desert, one that had yet to really grow on Sterling, but stunning nonetheless. It might have resembled New Mexico, Land of Entrapment, but something was off about it, as mystical as Deseret was with its crevices, grabens, and scarps.

“This is about as far as we’re going to get,” Roxie said as the terrain became too steep for the dune buggy.

He looked in the backseat at Lily Gray, who held baby Jessica in her arms, a bottle in the child’s mouth. “Stay here; we’re going to investigate.”

They left the dune buggy in the shade of a boulder shaped like a tombstone, Sterling wondering for a moment if it had been carved out by natives. But there was no time to investigate, not rock formations, anyway, the cowboy necromancer following close behind Roxie as she instantly transitioned from reckless driver to merciless predator.

Judging by the path that they were taking, Sterling quickly came to the conclusion that they could have driven a bit further, that Roxie had parked where she had for a cover.

She’s a maneater, Sterling thought, although he didn’t quite know where this phrase came from. Something told him that it had once been a song, but he couldn’t be sure of it. And in any event, Roxie didn’t just kill men, she killed any target that presented itself as hostile.

It was best not to cross her.

Sterling drew his revolver and kept it at the ready as they weaved their way along the mountain pass twisting beneath a sandstone arch the color of mustard, a piece not like the surfaces all around them, textured gneiss with its foliated structure of feldspar and mica, bits of quartz adding a twinkle to an otherwise unremarkable surface.

“Hold,” Roxie whispered, tensing up, the woman with the hood of her poncho over her head, weapon at the ready. Sterling did as instructed, waiting for her to creep down a pathway and up another until they were now about ten yards apart.

Once she was in position, Roxie motioned for Sterling to follow her. She moved forward with her weapon drawn, Sterling doing the same until something flared up. It felt as if his clothes were on fire, the sensation spreading so quickly that he never had a chance to fire his weapon.

Roxie did, but by the sound of it, she had missed her target, bullets ricocheting off stone, everything around them with a glazed look to it as Sterling dropped his revolver and began to pull off his clothing instinctually.

He was on fire…

He had to get out of his clothing…

Paco.

Sterling knew the sensation of being boiled alive.

“Paco!” he shouted, and as soon as the name left his lips, the heat ceased to exist. “Roxie, don’t shoot! It’s me, Paco. Dammit, son, it’s Skeleton Man!”

The haze that Sterling had just seen began to clear, his internal temperature returning to normal, his pounding temples slowly started to relax some.

He instinctively equipped one of the water bottles he had filled up back at the home they’d stayed at last night. His cowboy hat came off and Sterling poured some on his head, the water dripping down his chin and cooling him to some degree. It was then that he looked over to Roxie to find her still with her weapon trained on a figure.

“Paco,” Sterling said after taking a long drag off his jug of water. “You all right, son?”

Paco looked just as Sterling had remembered him, the Hopi youth with his broad shoulders and his long black hair in a topknot. He was shirtless, and a white clay triangle had been painted starting from the tip of his forehead, down past his jawline. The paint continued on to his chest, symbols written out across his darkened skin.

“Water…” he said as his eyes locked on the jug that Sterling had half-emptied onto his head. “Please…”

“We’ve got water,” Sterling said.

“You know him?” Roxie finally asked.

“I told you about this one here.” Sterling took a few steps closer to Paco, one hand out, his magical revolver still on the ground, the muzzle facing in the opposite direction. “And this just confirms what I’ve been suspecting, that somehow my people, the people that I would put on a team to take on them Godwalkers, have all been transported here to Deseret.”

“I was at a… it was a ceremony…” Paco said as he took the jug of water from Sterling.

“Don’t you keep things in your inventory list, son?”

“We emptied them…” he said after a big pull of water, his eyes bloodshot. “Part of the ritual. Fasting. I thought… Maybe I was hallucinating. Where are we?” Paco took another swig of the water, finishing it, a look of discomfort immediately coming across his face.

“How long have you been up here?” asked Roxie.

“Maybe two days. I thought… Abuela said the Hopi used to fly. I thought I had flown somewhere, that my people were coming for me. I didn’t want to leave. I don’t know where we are.”

“You ain’t the only one,” Sterling told the bewildered youth. “You’re dehydrated, and just about starved to death. We’ll go slow, nurse you back to health, kickstart your resolve. I got a few things you can eat, but you should take it nice and easy.”

“If you give him peppers…” Roxie said, which caused Sterling to smirk.

“Not all of my peppers are hot. If you want me to get into Scovilles, I will, Rox. But I got a few other odds and ends. I’d bet all the turquoise in my pocket that you do as well.”

“I took pretty much everything I could back there.” Roxie gestured in the direction of the Elder’s summer estate. She still gripped her weapon, but at least the muzzle was pointed at the ground now.

“So that’s what you were up to this morning…” Sterling led Paco out of the sun, the two of them stepping over to some shade, where he encouraged the young man to take a seat.

“Did… did you say Deseret earlier?” Paco asked.

“Yup.”

He shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“Yup,” Sterling told him.

“They were here, you know.”

“Who was here?” Sterling asked.

“My ancestors. The Hisatsinom, ancestral Puebloans. Maybe you know them as the Anasazi.”

“That…” Sterling thought back to what Lily Gray had said earlier about Indians. “That checks out. It would also put us in a part of New Mexico I’ve never been to before; that, or Arizona, Colorado, or Utah.”

“That makes sense,” Paco said as he took a deep breath. “I saw markings… found an old kiva not too far out. Nothing like the great houses of Chaco, or what I’ve seen near the Mogollon Rim. Wherever we are, it’s north. Very north.”

“I read a book about the Anasazi,” Sterling said. “Wish that the old bookseller in Truth or Consequences had more of them. Not a lot written about them people, you know. And that name always struck me.”

“Why?” Roxie asked Sterling.

“The translation comes from the Navajo, and it means something like ‘ancestors of our enemies,’” he told her as he handed Paco a jug of water. “Puebloans used to object to the name, because, well, you get it.”

“Sí,” Paco said. “Our word is Hisatsinom.”

“Yep. Who wants their ancestors to be named after what their enemies used to call them?”

“The Navajo are nothing to worry about now,” Paco said as he licked his lips. “But the Comanche…”

“Comanche?” Sterling asked.

“They’ve reformed Comancheria,” Paco said with a nod, his lips wet, throat still quivering to some degree. “It cuts through northern New Mexico, north of Santa Fe, north of Taos, across to… I don’t know where. That was what some traders told us.”

“Comancheria, huh?” Sterling asked, familiar with the term.

From what he could recall from his book, Comancheria was the old name for the tribal grounds of the various Comanche bands, all of which were either forced onto reservations or wiped out during the nineteenth century in America’s push toward Manifest Destiny. At its peak, Comancheria encompassed well over two hundred thousand square miles, giving them plenty of space to roam.

The names of their various Comanche bands had been interesting to Sterling at the time, to the point that he’d written them down somewhere. The Yamparika, or Yap Eaters; The Kotsoteka, Buffalo Eaters; Penateka, Honey Eaters; the Nokoni, Wanderers; and the Quahadis, Antelopes, which became arguably the most famous band due to being led by the half-native, half-white Quanah Parker.

If the Comanche had somehow reformed, then whoever lived within their territory was in trouble. At least if this new group, this post-apocalyptic Comanche, had anything in common with their ancestors. The Comanche were a remarkable tribe, but brutal, perhaps the most dangerous that the United States government had ever faced.

Equally fascinating to him had been their sudden rise to power. Had Sterling had a time machine that simply deposited him in the area around the year 1600, he would have found the Comanche roaming around without horses, a scavenger people who were as desolate as they came, easily exploitable by the surrounding tribes. Had that same time machine dropped him just one hundred years later, the Comanche would have been mounted warriors, the various bands adopting horses in less than a century and becoming an utter menace to not only the white settlers, but to Mexicans and their native peers.

Sterling shook his head. Probably best for us to stay in southern New Mexico…

“The two of you can have this conversation in the dune buggy. We have places to go.” Roxie turned away, prepared to head back down.

“You got a hot date in Saltair or something?” he called after her.

“Hardly. This conversation can just happen somewhere else.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll wrap it up. I got something else to show you,” he told Paco, “and I’m thinking…”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“This might be a little unsettling, but I’ll show you anyway. I think it’s time we get some answers.”

“Answers?” Paco asked.

“Wait. Are you talking about the Godwalker?” asked Roxie.

“Paco, let me introduce you to a—well, I wouldn’t call it a friend, but it’s certainly a companion. The name is Beep.”

Sterling summoned Beep. Paco initially pressed back as if he were going to spring to his feet. But once Beep didn’t do anything, the Hopi youth relaxed to some degree, although he was still on alert.

“This thing…” Sterling nodded as he looked at Beep. “I’m pretty sure this is the thing that got us here. It was the first thing that appeared when I appeared. And speaking of time differences, the three of us all came here at different times. Roxie says she’s been here for two weeks, I’ve been here for a handful of days, and you just came two days ago.”

<Beep.>

“See? That’s why I named it that.”

Paco shook his head. “I… I don’t understand…”

Sterling laughed. “Shee-it, you ain’t the only one. But I discovered something about this here thing,” Sterling said as he knocked his fist against the top of Beep’s body.

<Beep.>

“Beep is smarter than it looks.”

<Beep.>

“What’s your point in all of this?” Roxie asked. “Lily and the child are waiting…”

“Lily? Is that who we were trying to save from the Culto Demente Sagrado?” Paco asked, referring to how he had helped Sterling while rescuing the Sunflower Kid from the cult that had formed a settlement in the Abó Ruins outside of Mountainair.

“Nope, that was the Sunflower Kid. It’s a long story, but we’ll get to it later. Basically, Lily is someone from here, Deseret; she’s going to take us where we need to go next. The child she is with is a technomancer, but a young one, a baby named Jessica. But that will all make sense once we get back to the dune buggy. I’m talking about this thing,” he said as he once again patted Beep on the head. “I discovered something. Beep here understands us.”

“It does?” Paco asked.

“I already figured that out,” said Roxie. “Otherwise, it wouldn’t have listened to you last night.”

“That may be true, but watch this. Beep, is the sky blue?”

<Beep.>

“Is the sky black?”

<Beep.>

“I mean right now, not at night. Is the sky black right now?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“So… in this instance, two beeps mean ‘no,’” said Sterling.

Roxie bumped her shoulder into him. “In that case, let me try. Beep, do you like me?”

<Beep. Beep.>

Sterling laughed at the answer.

“Stupid Godwalker,” she mumbled.

“That’s too good, that’s too damn funny. Ha! Beep, you sweet little mechanical critter. How about me? Do you like me?”

<Beep.>

“Of course it likes you,” said Roxie, barely able to wash the distaste from her voice. “It keeps following you around.”

“Now here’s the question I’ve been wanting to ask,” Sterling said, growing serious as he looked at the smooth black surface of the Godwalker. “Do you know why we were brought here?”

<Beep.>

“Yep, figured.”

“Do you plan to kill us?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“Good to know, good to know,” Sterling said, wishing he had a cigarette rolled up at that moment. “This next one is important, so listen up: Beep, are you the one that brought us here?”

The tiny Godwalker seemed to hesitate.

“Well?”

<Beep.>

Roxie threw her hands up in the air, startling Beep, who seemed to float up a foot or so before settling.

“Yup, making even more sense now. I see that you’ve also brought Paco and Roxie. Did you bring anyone else?”

<Beep.>

“The Sunflower Kid?”

<Beep.>

“Good, good. Don Gasper?”

<Beep.>

“Oh, great,” Roxie moaned. “The last person I want to find.”

Sterling looked long and hard at Beep. “Anyone else? Be honest, now.”

<Beep.>

“Let me see…” He nodded. “Zephyr?”

<Beep.>

Roxie sighed audibly at this answer as well, the female gunner not too fond of the aeromancer.

“Anyone else?” asked Sterling.

<Beep.>

“Who else could it possibly bring?” Roxie asked.

“Raylan. Did you bring Raylan?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“Then who?”

<Beep.>

“That don’t mean nothing to me,” Sterling reminded the Godwalker. He searched his thoughts for a moment, trying to figure out who Beep could have brought, let alone why. This was something he wasn’t going to be able to get out of the little monolith, not until they found…

“Maron? You got Maron?” he asked, referring to the technomancer that he had rescued from the White Sands military base, the one who had been captured by the Texas Rangers. Maron was the main reason Sterling and his companions had been heading to Las Cruces when they were transported. Commodore Bones and Magdalena, Don Gasper’s demented telepathic lover, had taken Maron for themselves.

<Beep.>

“Shee-it, that’ll do then. You brought Maron.” Sterling nodded at the Godwalker. “Hell, anyone else?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“You sure?” Once again, Sterling racked his brain, a name coming to him. “What about Sierra?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“Who is Sierra?” asked Roxie, raising an eyebrow at him.

“She’s… she’s a pyromancer that was friends with Raylan. I met her back in Madrid. I thought she may play a part in this, but apparently, Beep here thinks otherwise.”

“Interesting,” was all she said in the end.

“Anyone else?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“Do you know where you deposited these people? Where we can find them?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“Of course the Godwalker doesn’t know. In any case, we should probably head out if we’re going to make it to Saltair today, considering we don’t know how far away it is.” Roxie turned back the way that they’d just come. “Try to keep up; otherwise, I’ll see the two of you down there.”

<Beep.>

“Three of you,” she said as she dismissed the Godwalker with a casual wave. “I can’t believe I’m now at the point that I’m considering you part of this operation…”

.Chapter Eight.

It was certainly a revelation, one that Sterling Monedero thought deeply about as they rode alongside the highway, which was too cracked in parts for the dune buggy to drive on. Better to keep to the side of the road, where the heat of the day and the cool temperatures of the night had caused a series of zigzag fissures on the asphalt.

Beep brought us here, Sterling thought, the Godwalker back in his inventory list so it wouldn’t bring any unwanted attention. Beep did. For some reason or another, not only had the tiny Godwalker brought Sterling, but it had transported the entire crew, his dream team, as it were.

And it made little sense, which was par for the course for Sterling by this point. Most of the things that happened to him made little sense, some seemingly random, others becoming more random as the situation pressed on. It came with the territory of being a post-apocalyptic necromancing pepper farmer. Just about the only thing that had made sense over the last five years was the time he’d spent in Truth or Consequences, just living to live, not having to deal with anything aside from the riffraff that occasionally rolled into town, which he generally rolled right back out with his buddy Kip.

Blazing through Deseret, Sterling was hunkered down in the passenger seat, Roxie manning the wheel, the female gunner glaring at the path that lay ahead as if it had been talking smack behind her back.

Behind Sterling sat a wild-eyed Paco, still shirtless and in his ceremonial paint, looking a little better after nibbling on some dried meat that Roxie had given him. Next to Paco was Lily Gray and the child, who was asleep in her arms, none of them wearing seatbelts.

Sterling kept his hand on the side of the dune buggy, a cigarette snugly tucked between two fingers of his other hand, the end just about ashed. His eyes trained on the horizon, Sterling noticed as Roxie started to veer toward the highway proper.

They came across what resembled a marsh, ankle-high water along the sides of the highway seemingly at odds with the remote and barren scenery. For a moment, it looked as if they were driving on a bridge that had nearly been submerged, Roxie twisting around the larger potholes, cursing under her breath.

She sure is something, Sterling thought as he took a look over at her, the determination in her brown eyes, a bead of sweat on the side of her forehead, the hood of her poncho casting a shadow across her face.

He recalled Don Gasper trying to get her stoned a couple of times, hoping it would loosen her up. No such luck, but it was a funny memory, one in which Roxie had threatened to kill the man.

Heh.

If anyone needed a puff of mota it was Roxie, who was high-strung, the type that would take a bazooka to a knife fight after sniping her opponent’s legs out from a distance. He’d seen her do crazy things, like punching her fist through someone’s body, or tossing an opponent twenty or thirty feet up into the air. Roxie didn’t often utilize this aspect of her power, preferring to simply take her opponents out long range. A real firecracker, Sterling thought as he flicked his cigarette out the large, open window of the dune buggy. A damn good woman.

His thoughts moved from what had just occurred to what Paco had told him about Comancheria.

This revelation worried him. The Comanche were going to be a different kind of trouble than the one that Commodore Bones and the Killbillies presented, especially if they were anything like their ancestors. He also found it ironic that there was a very good chance that the post-apocalyptic Comanche would, or perhaps already were, face off against the post-apocalyptic Texas Rangers in the Panhandle of what was once the Lone Star State. The original Texas Rangers were, after all, created specifically to rid Texas of the Comanche.

If only historians could see what was happening now, Sterling thought with a shake of his head. Them fools would be shitting bricks.

“What are you shaking your head about over there?” Roxie asked him over the roar of the dune buggy’s 1600cc engine.

“I’ll get into it later,” he assured her. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“You think there are fish in this water?” she asked as she tilted her head toward the marsh on either side of the road. It appeared as if they were coming to the end of it, the water thinning as they continued.

“Only one way to tell. Pull over here for a second and let’s check it out.”

“Fine, but make it quick.”

“You still got that date in Saltair, don’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Well, he can wait. If he’s a gentleman, he won’t mind waiting. I’d wait if I knew you was coming.”

Roxie yanked the wheel and killed the ignition, dust rising in the air and settling around them.

Once Sterling was out, he dropped to investigate the roadside water, which had tufts of some yellow plant sticking out of it. He stuck a finger in and brought the liquid to his lips.

“It’s salty,” he called over to the dune buggy. No surprise there, he thought. All of Deseret seems to be one giant salt lick.

“I could have told you that, mister,” Lily Gray said from the backseat. “Only way it’s drinkable is if you boil it. With some of this muck, I would boil it twice.”

“What kind of place is this?” Paco said, his bewildered visage amplified by the paint on his face.

“Shee-it, I keep asking myself the same question, amigo,” Sterling said as he hopped back in the buggy.

“What about where y’all are from?” asked Lily Gray as Roxie started the dune buggy up again. Baby Jessica was awake now, a glow to her eyes as she stared up at the woman. “What about New Mexico? I noticed all of y’all have darker skin. Don’t see that as much up here. Well, you may at Saltair.”

“What about New Mexico?” Sterling asked her, barely noticing her skin comment.

Racism had apparently been a real thing for the Before People, but there were so few left after the Reset that humanity had bigger things to deal with. Namely, staying alive. The Reset truly was the great equalizer.

“What’s this New Mexico of yours like?” asked Lily.

“Sort of like this, but a different color,” he called back to her. “More orange, yellow, and red. Better spice. Ain’t half bad.”

“Like Southern Deseret,” she said. “That’s what people say, anyway, down near the canyons, those colors you mentioned.”

“Maybe so. Also, peppers, and corn, and those sorts of foods, the ones that also grow in Mexico.”

“Mexico?”

“You really think this whole world is Deseret?” he called back to Lily Gray.

“The Elder didn’t allow no books except the Bible. No maps neither. I don’t really know what this world is,” she said honestly. “And I wasn’t even allowed to look at the Bible. That was for the Elder and his favorite sister-wives. He would read us Scripture, though, his favorite passages. Real nice, some of those stories. Makes you think.”

“I’m sure,” Sterling said. “This place we’re going, are these people friendly?”

“It’s the biggest place around here,” she said, “Saltair is. I’ve only been a few times. Best times of my life, if you ask me. I always wanted to escape there.”

“You had a life before all of this,” Paco reminded her. “I can almost guarantee it.”

“That’s what people say, but I don’t know if it’s the case or not. How am I supposed to know if I can’t remember? Any old pictures or evidence I had of who I used to be were confiscated long ago by the Elder.”

“Damn shame,” Sterling said.

“Sure is, but it don’t matter now. What’s the point in keeping track of time if you got nothing really to look forward to? I will miss some of my fellow sister-wives, though. Too bad they had to do that in the end.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t,” Sterling told her, remembering the murderous, suicidal women, including the three animates he currently had in his inventory list.

“It just didn’t seem right. You were trying to look after my niece here. If I am allowed to speak my truth…”

“Go on,” Sterling told her with a nod. He was now looking ahead, Lily’s voice loud enough to reach him over the hum of the engine.

“If I’m allowed to speak my truth, then… then I must admit: I didn’t like the Elder of Nauvoo. He was a nasty man and he did some terrible things. I may have never read a copy of the Bible, but I sure know that it wouldn’t allow something like that. Some of the things he done, I can’t never forget.”

“And what about when we get there, to Saltair? You got a plan?” Roxie asked her, clearly not wanting to prod any further into the Elder’s actions.

“I got an idea, a friend, I think. There are a lot of people that call Saltair and the area around it home. It’s a last refuge for many. Loads safer than Salt Lake City.”

Roxie almost screeched the dune buggy to a halt. “Did… did you say Salt Lake City?”

“I sure did. It’s along the same road if you keep heading to the east. But Saltair is about twenty miles away. Good thing too, cause the big city is run by the Angels of Woe.”

“We’re in Utah,” Sterling said, all of it coming to him at once. “We’re in goddamn Utah! How the hell… Yes… Yes… It makes sense. Saltair, Salt Lake City, the landscape. I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots.”

“It all makes sense now,” Roxie said.

“I had a feeling we were a bit further north, but…” Sterling ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Salt Lake City. Now at least I got me an idea of where we are.”

Roxie had just reached the end of the saltmarsh when their vehicle was hit by a dust devil, the engine screaming as the dune buggy was flipped into the air and deposited a good forty feet away, surprisingly landing on its tires.

“Let’s go!” Roxie shouted as she kicked out the door, one of her assault rifles already drawn.

“Hell!” Sterling scrambled out of the vehicle after her, Paco instinctively going for Lily and the child, trying to shield them from the impact.

What in the ever-loving…? Sterling thought as he tried to get his bearings, the cowboy necromancer good and pissed by the time he drew his weapons, his black clothing layered with white dust.

Standing on the cracked pavement before them were three assailants, one of them clearly a mancer, all decked out in flectomancer-modified sports equipment, goggles over their eyes, and enough attitude to make anyone who came across them second-guess pursuing an encounter.

But Sterling wasn’t anyone, and these three had just kicked over the wrong anthill.

There was a time not too long ago, perhaps even just a few days ago, when Sterling would have cut into the three that attacked them before they could blink twice, but the sound of a stifled cry from baby Jessica reminded him of the responsibility he felt for Lily Gray and the child.

His heart racing, Sterling turned back toward the dune buggy, already hearing Roxie move into action, bullets zipping through the air and striking…

Stone?

A quick glance back told Sterling that their attackers had an aeromancer and a gaiamancer, the road tearing into shreds as shards of bedrock lifted like a crumpled up blanket.

To add to the confusion, and potentially put the fear of whatever God these three worshipped here in Deseret, Sterling summoned his animates. The women from the compound appeared before him. Their throats were sliced up on their own accord, but other body parts were still in working order, the three with bloodied necks and terrible faces from years of abuse by both the weather and the oppressive Elder of Nauvoo.

“Get them!” Sterling shouted, feeling a tug in his core from the absence of mana. His animates took off toward their three assailants, the women running with their arms at their sides, an absolutely horrifying image.

Sterling reached the dune buggy, where he found Lily Gray and the baby ducked behind it. He crouched down next to them and placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Where’s Paco?” he asked.

“Already fighting…”

“Shee-it, good. Didn’t expect that in his condition. Lily, I need you to try to get away from here,” he said, locking eyes with her. “A little bit further. This shouldn’t take as long…”

“The roads are dangerous,” Lily said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I should have warned y’all better. This is my fault. I didn’t think… I didn’t think we would get their attention.”

“Who are they?”

“The Angels of Woe. They have been warring with the Serpents of Paradise over the roads here in Deseret ever since I can remember. They always got mancers. The good-for-nothings!”

“We’ve got mancers, too,” Sterling assured her.

Brrrrat! Brrrrat! Brrrrat!

Sterling smirked. He knew the sound of Roxie once she brought out the big guns.

“Don’t worry about us none,” he told the woman. “This will be over soon enough.”

Lily nodded at him, her lips quivering. “Good luck!”

Sterling slipped around the dune buggy and began firing his revolver as he charged toward the action. A tornado of fire had already whipped up, which he assumed had come from Paco and the aeromancer squaring off.

Sterling used a wall of rock that the gaiamancer had summoned as cover, and upon peeking around the corner, he got a look at the fight as it was playing out, one of his animates already mutilated to the point that it could no longer fight, the other two engaging a…

Biomancer, Sterling thought as he saw vines lift from the man’s back.

The vine struck another of Sterling’s animates and ripped her in half, which ticked him off even though she was already dead.

The way the biomancer used his power was akin to something Sterling had seen the Sunflower Kid do before, the biomancer with incredibly thick wooden armor painted over parts of his body, antlers pressed out of the top of his head. He knew from the Sunflower Kid that anything biological in nature could be modified or produced by a biomancer. He had never seen her grow horns, but he had seen the Sunflower Kid change her pronghorn Watermelon’s sex and increase the size of its antlers to the point that she could use them as handles.

It seemed as if Roxie had drawn the gaiamancer away, which Sterling took to mean that she was likely in the process of setting up a trap. This was generally her style when dealing with mancers—hit them with everything she had as a form of distraction, only to bring the pain once they thought they had gotten the upper hand.

That gaiamancer was in for a rough time.

Sterling’s last animate was ripped to shreds by the biomancer, just about the time he appeared on the scene, his magic revolver pointed at the towering brute of a man.

The biomancer had clearly used his power over organic matter to grow in size, the brute easily eight feet tall, with shoulders as wide as a park bench.

“These ones yours?” The biomancer motioned toward Sterling’s creations, which were all still alive and slowly crawling toward the biomancer, dragging their entrails.

Sterling stripped what was left of their lives, the mana returning to him as he sized his opponent up.

“Put your weapons away and face me, death,” the man said. He punched his two fists together—Smack!—and snorted, his eyes narrowing on Sterling.

“Shee-it…” Sterling holstered his revolver and removed his cowboy hat, which he sent to his inventory list alongside his sickle-sword. He then took off his duster and his pearl snap button up, down to his bulletproof vest, which he also sent to his list, leaving him in the sleeveless top he wore beneath all of his clothing.

Sterling slicked his long dark hair back and loosened up his shoulders.

What was happening around him no longer mattered, Sterling completely oblivious to the fact that Roxie had already won her fight, and that she was now helping Paco win his, her bullets whizzing in the air seemingly a mile away as he stared his giant of an opponent down, his fists at the ready.

The brute approached, his organic armor melting away.

“Mano y mano,” Sterling said, spitting. “Bring it on, muchacho.”

Sterling flew forward with a fist that he knew would connect. Only it didn’t, his opponent fast enough to sidestep and throw Sterling off balance. Also, the fact that he was punching up was going to force him to change his strategy.

Wham!

The man’s first punch nearly knocked Sterling’s head off, blood bubbling out of his mouth and onto the cracked asphalt just about as soon as he hit the ground.

Sterling wiped his mouth and ran his hand along his jawline. He cursed, and slowly got to his feet.

His opponent brought his fists up once again.

Sterling got the sense that he was being watched now, and he knew that Roxie and Paco were probably either heading in his direction, or viewing his little display of masculinity from afar, likely with a bit of disgust.

Roxie would give him hell later for going this route, but he’d just tease her until she stopped. She never approved of fights like this when things could be settled in much quicker ways. “There’s an art to it,” he remembered telling her once after nearly having his ass handed to him at a bar on the outskirts of Albuquerque.

“There’s an art to everything,” came her reply. “That doesn’t make it useful.”

Sterling looked back up at his opponent, the memory filtering away. “Heh,” he said as he brought his fists to the ready, once again tasting blood.

“Want more, old man?”

Sterling would have come up with a pithy response had his jaw not been shrieking in pain, his natural healing power, his Resolve, already kicking into high gear.

He came forward again, this time feigning a left and going with his right instead, Sterling slugging the man in the side.

He tried to follow this up with a left hook, but was struck in the chest instead, the man just missing his face by a hair. This caused Sterling to take a step back, almost sensing that he should have been punched, and wondering if the man had purposefully missed.

Zippf!

The biomancer fell forward, Sterling noticing a wound in the back of the biomancer’s thick skull bloom as he hit the ground.

Roxie had shot him from behind.

“Damn,” Sterling managed to say even though his jaw was still hanging funny. “Dammit, Roxie! Why’d… why’d you have to go and do that?” He spat blood. “Damn!”

“Saved you the trouble,” Roxie called over to him as she lowered her weapon.

Paco was the first to approach, the Hopi youth a bit haggard, but not showing any signs of injury. “I tried to tell her not to, Skeleton Man.”

“Dagnabbit…” Sterling looked down at his dead opponent, feeling utter shame at how he had died. It took another moment for Roxie to approach, but by the time she did, whatever was bleeding in his mouth had healed up. “Why’d you go and do a thing like that?” he asked, throwing his hands up at her. “Damn cheap move, Roxie, and you know it.”

She shrugged. “We’re not out here to go toe to toe with every asshole mancer we encounter. Plus, they attacked our dune buggy, and anyone who messes with my ride gets a headshot. Speaking of where we are, now that we know its name, what are we going to call it? I’m used to hearing it as Deseret now.”

“Deseret is fine with me. But… but I ain’t done airing my grievances.” Sterling motioned to the man, adrenaline still coursing through him. His cowboy hat appeared in his hand and he placed it on his head. He equipped his clothing and weapons after that, searching for the right words and finally finding them once he was dressed again. “What you just did was disrespectful, Rox. That man purposely removed his armor to have a fair fight with me, and you had to go and shoot him in the back of the head like a chickenshit coward. What the hell is wrong with you?” Sterling kicked at the dust.

“We don’t have time for this,” Roxie said in a dismissive way. “We’re here on a mission, although that mission has become a bit befuddled now that we know where we actually are. Still, if we get to Saltair, we can find out if this person claiming to be the Oracle, or Nephite, or whatever, is anyone of actual importance. And maybe we will hear rumors about the others. I’m sure someone like the Sunflower Kid or Don Gasper has already caused a stir wherever they may be. And who knows where they may be. Not to mention Zephyr, or the technomancer.”

“We ain’t done with this conversation yet.” Sterling turned back in the direction of the dune buggy. “What you did was not only disrespectful, but it was an insult.”

Roxie caught up with him, Paco a few steps behind the two of them and still dragging his feet to some degree. “Insult or not, I don’t want to see you get your head punched off by an amped up biomancer,” she said so only he could hear. “You’ve come too far… we’ve come too far for you to get in a fistfight that leaves you mentally incapacitated. I saw that punch.”

“It was just a punch.” Sterling ran his hand along his jawline again and spat once again. “Hurt like hell, but sometimes that’s not a bad thing.”

“Stop the macho man bullshit. You’re lucky to be standing.”

“I can hold my own.” Sterling turned and pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you forget that I’ve been on my own for the last couple years, getting into plenty of fistfights. Hell, getting into more than that. I’ve won every one of them…”

Eventually, he thought, recalling some of the fights he’d gotten into with Kip, the ones where he had been knocked out and Kip had won the fight for him.

“You’re so damn stubborn.”

“And you’re so damn ready to kill anything that even looks at you funny. What we were having was a respectable fight. And another thing…” Sterling stopped.

“What now?”

“I need to get his body,” he said. “Sounds weird, I get it. But a big ol’ bastard like that would serve as a good animate to keep in my list, especially since he shredded the three I’d packed away.”

“I don’t disagree. That was a…” Roxie offered him a firm nod. “Your zombies were a useful distraction, a good tactic. See? That’s a good tactic. Trying to fight some asshole just to show him you have a bigger dick? Bad tactic. Good tactic, bad tactic. I can think of numerous ways we could use your animates, as you call them, to our advantage.”

“What we should have done is unleash Beep on the three of them fools. That would have been the end of it. Not going to lie, Beep might have even spotted them before they could surprise attack us like that.”

“I already told you how I feel about this. Having a mini Godwalker floating next to the dune buggy seems like it’s going to lead to more questions that we don’t have answers to, if we come across anyone else.”

“We’ll just say a technomancer did it.”

“But these people don’t like mancers,” Roxie reminded him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Still. Kind of like having that thing around. Extra protection and whatnot. Plus, it brought us all together.”

“I haven’t decided how I feel about that,” Roxie said with a tone of finality. “Now, before any more of these mancers show up, go get your zombie man, and I’ll deal with the dune buggy.”

“I hope it isn’t broken.”

“If it is, I’ll fix it.”

Sterling smiled at the woman, the sun bearing down on the both of them, adding a flash to her dark eyes. “You always were pretty handy, with an emphasis on that ‘pretty’ part.”

“Because you always were pretty useless, with an emphasis on that ‘useless’ part,” she told him, the ends of her lips lifting into a crooked smile. “Now git, as you say. And if you’re still feeling sour about what happened back there, you can animate the biomancer and let him punch you a few more times.”

Sterling snorted. “I just might do that. I just might.”

.Chapter Nine.

It was unlike anything Sterling had seen before, a great white building with six copper domes on its roof that made it look almost as if they sat on top of thick candlesticks, the blue sky beyond separating Saltair and its surrounding village from the Great Salt Lake with its murky, almost emerald water combed with layers of cream-colored foam, snow-tipped mountains beyond.

In what used to be a parking lot was an entire civilization grown anew. Tents and structures connected by narrow alleyways jutted off a main thoroughfare and led straight up to the main building, its entrance lined by berry trees that were still somewhat in their infancy, Sterling taking this to mean that they had been planted within the last several years.

Someone had actually put time into this place, the main structure practically a castle with the glistening lake behind it, the sun reflecting off its domes and reminding Sterling of a picture he’d seen of the Taj Mahal in one of the books back in Truth or Consequences. He’d wondered at the time how the country of India had fared after the Reset. He suspected it wasn’t great, which was generally how he felt about every location he read about.

But every now and then, he would come across something like what he saw now, or what he had witnessed back in Alamogordo, the grocery store that had been converted into a swanky hotel, at least in post-apocalyptic terms.

There was still wonder in the world, but it wasn’t easy to find.

Saltair’s population had surged to the point that it now reached the highway, with dwellings and construction starting on the other side and going about an eighth of a mile out. Everything seemed organized, the roads kept clean and actually maintained. Even with the way that the people had all clustered together, seemingly on top of one another, there weren’t piles of garbage lining the roads, nor did the air smell all that bad, which told Sterling that they had somehow managed sanitation.

“Why haven’t the Godwalkers come after this place?” he asked as he stood by their dune buggy, puffing on a cigarette. The vehicles weren’t allowed in the village, but there was a space for parking, plenty of other vehicles parked there as well, a man in off-white clothing and modified athletic gear that doubled as body armor patrolling the area with a baton. There was also the option of putting the vehicle in one’s inventory list.

Paco approached, the young man clearly in awe of the village they’d seemingly uncovered. “Nothing like this in New Mexico…”

“Think of it as a giant pueblo. Only way this will work is if everyone works together to some degree, which these people clearly do.”

“And they all believe in Lily’s religion?” Paco asked.

“Hell if I know.” Sterling tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and put it out with the heel of his boot. “But I know a way to find out.”

“I hope she is still there,” Lily Gray said as she came to Sterling and Paco, baby Jessica clutched tightly to her chest. He fell in line behind the bonneted woman, figuring if anyone knew the way, it would be the slightly less brainwashed cult member. “Put all your weapons away,” she said, turning back to the three of them. “All of them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sterling placed his hand on his revolver and sent it to his inventory list, doing the same with his sickle-sword.

If it helped get into the establishment without drawing any additional scrutiny—especially considering he was dressed in all black and everyone he’d seen thus far was dressed in white; Roxie looked like some sort of Bedouin sniper with a nasty chip on her shoulder; and Paco was still done up in ceremonial paint—Sterling was willing to compromise.

“All of your weapons,” he told the female gunner, knowing full well that Roxie would have something hidden somewhere. She made a disappointed noise with her throat but begrudgingly obliged.

The damn woman, Sterling thought, remembering now that she could be so disagreeable.

It was funny what time could do. The two had always been at odds with one another, which had added a flare of drama that came out in their sex life, one that could be quite enticing. Dealing with her now reminded Sterling of the other side of that coin, how their two personalities often clashed.

There were just a few people in line at the proper entrance to Saltair, which was manned by men and women in white clothing draped over armor. Where did they get all the white? Sterling wondered, assuming that it had something to do with the Great Salt Lake. It seemed that everyone who lived in and around the village wore white, which meant that the fabric was in abundance.

Maybe I need to get myself a white outfit, he thought, a smirk taking shape on his face. The black suited him, his boots, jeans, pearl snap shirt, duster, and cowboy hat now ingrained in his personality, a capsule wardrobe if ever there was one.

As Lily Gray spoke to the guards, Sterling took a big step back, trying not to look suspicious and probably failing. But the guards didn’t say anything, and soon they were let inside, heading along one of the narrow lanes that branched off the main road.

Saltair’s setup reminded him more and more of the great houses of New Mexico, most notably the Acoma Pueblo, protected from the masses due to its location on the top of a mesa. He had visited once and saw similar things, children playing, the atmosphere with less tension than it would be in what remained of any larger city, from Albuquerque to Santa Fe, or places mired in sectarian warfare like Las Cruces. People were even working together, Sterling seeing a group of men laboring on what looked like it would become a new sewer line.

It was remarkable. It was the first time in five years that he truly understood what the world would look like after the Godwalkers left, as it rebuilt itself.

The building Lily came to looked to have been constructed of cement, which told Sterling that they had a process for this around here too, its surface much stronger than the adobe homes he had come across in his home state, a thickness to it. Lily knocked on the door and peeked her head inside, Sterling not able to catch her conversation due to the lively sounds of the village.

“Ever seen anything like this?” he asked Roxie.

“No, and I don’t like it.”

Sterling shook his head. “What the hell’s wrong with you? How would you not like a place like this? Downright comfortable, if you ask me.”

“Why is everyone being so obedient? How is this order enforced?”

“You know, not everyone needs an overlord to tell them how to behave themselves.”

“What do you think the Oracle is?” she asked him.

“I don’t know. I haven’t met the person yet,” Sterling said.

“Just be ready for anything.”

“Always am,” he said as Lily moved aside, the door opening wide. A portly woman stepped out, her hair strawberry blonde and tucked under a bonnet, her cheeks flushed, her eyes a pale sapphire.

“I’m so glad you made it,” she said, her voice a bit hoarse. “And you know you’re welcome here, Lily Gray.”

“Howdy,” Sterling said as he tipped his cowboy hat to the woman.

“And your friends. We have a place for them as well.”

“What’s going on here exactly?” Roxie asked, cutting to the chase as always.

“I should have explained,” Lily said as she turned to her. “Rhonda here used to live at the Elder’s compound. She was one of my sister-wives, but she escaped, and made her way here. The Elder of Nauvoo assumed she died, but she never did. I told you I visited Saltair before. On the way out, she managed to slip me a note.”

“I sure did,” Rhonda said as she took the baby from Lily. She instantly began rocking the child, smiling at it. “Let’s get you all settled, and I’ll answer any questions you may have. I’m guessing you want to have an audience with the Oracle, or something of the sort.”

“Something of the sort,” Sterling grunted. “But I have this feeling that one doesn’t simply walk into Saltair and get an audience.”

“People do actually do that from time to time,” Rhonda said, much to his surprise. “At least during business hours.”

“Business hours?” Sterling chuckled. “I ain’t never seen or heard of a place like this, let me tell you.”

“The Serpents of Paradise like to maintain open societies.”

“If you say so.” Sterling motioned for Roxie to step inside before him. “Ladies first.”

The room they were given was much larger than Sterling had anticipated, two twin beds next to one another and a cot erected in one of the corners, something akin to crown molding tracing around the upper square of the room. Sterling had opted for the cot, but was blocked by Roxie, who equipped a thick cotton knapsack and tossed it onto the cot before stepping out.

“I’m going to explore; you do what you want,” was all she said before she left. “But the cot is mine.”

“Shee-it…” he mumbled in response.

“Is she always that way?” Paco asked after he had settled on one of the beds. He looked exhausted.

“Sí,” Sterling told him. “But she’s good to have in a fight, when she’s not shooting your opponent before y’all can throw down.”

“I told her not to,” said Paco, referring to the biomancer that Roxie had killed.

“She’s got a screw loose that can’t be fixed, and don’t forget that,” he said, growing serious. “We all do, but hers is…” Sterling bit his lip. “That’s her story to tell, and she may, or she may not. Point is, she’s seen some shit.”

“It seems like it.”

“You get some rest for today; tomorrow, we’ll see about having an audience with the Oracle and finding the rest of the group. Ol’ Beep brought us all here for a reason, and from what I’ve been told, there is a terminal in southern Utah or something of the sort that the Godwalkers use. So maybe we can find out some information about that. But I would like to at least figure out where the others are first, and scoop them up.”

“Do you think they have extra clothing here?” Paco asked.

“That’s right, you cleared out your inventory list.” Sterling looked to the open doorway. Lily was conversing with Rhonda somewhere on the other side of the home. “I’ll ask, but it will probably be white.”

“The color doesn’t matter to me.”

Sterling tipped his hat to the Hopi native. “Get some rest, son, and I will be around a bit later. I want to talk to you more about your power too, what you’re able to do exactly. As you can already see, Roxie has her own way of operating, but it’s helpful, and in the future you and I may be the ones that go ahead while she hangs back…”

“Hangs back?”

“I’ve seen her get someone from damn near a mile away. She’s not like us, you know. She ain’t no mancer. So she had to make up for that in her weapon skills, strength, and stamina. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was somewhere near Level 200 with all the kills under her belt. But she won’t talk about it. Believe me, I’ve tried to get the details from her. That’s our Roxie…”

“She seems complicated.”

Sterling snorted. “That ain’t even the half of it. You get some rest, and if you want some food, just holler. I’m sure these women got something for you.”

Sterling entered the other room and found Rhonda seated on a chair, still with the baby in her arms, Lily preparing something in the kitchen. The place wasn’t lit with electricity, but there was enough natural light coming in through open windows that they didn’t seem cavernous.

“Paco’s going to rest. If y’all can, please give him some food later on, and I was wondering if you might have some clothing for him. Long story short, he came here just like Roxie and me, out of the blue. He was doing some ritual back in New Mexico when he came,” he told Rhonda. “And didn’t have nothing in his inventory list.”

“Certainly,” she said. “And you will be stepping out as well?”

“Not like the other one,” Sterling said as he aimed his chin at the door. “I’m just looking for a place to hunker down for a minute, maybe get a fine, adult beverage.”

“Only thing we have around here is Deseret hooch, which some of the more religious folks frown upon.”

“They can keep frowning then.”

Rhonda cracked a grin. “There is a place that serves it a few doors down. Just tell him Rhonda sent you because it’s not exactly on the menu.”

Sterling tipped his hat to her. “Sounds like a plan.”

He followed the woman’s direction and found a tavern constructed of concrete, one with a bleached canvas awning covering the entrance and two rocking chairs out front, both of which were empty.

“Don’t mind if I do…” He took a seat in one of the chairs and rolled up a cigarette. He smoked it slowly, watching the people go by in their white clothing, an occasional patrol by local law enforcement catching his eyes.

A flectomancer must have been involved in their clothing, that and a master seamstress. It was clear they wore armor, but the way that the white fabric was stitched over it made most of them look as if they were just naturally muscular. He saw two with batons, and another pair that had weapons strapped across their chests and tucked under their arms.

“Looking real tough,” Sterling thought as he finished his cancer stick. He flicked it to the ground, and put it out with his boot.

He entered the tavern to find an older man behind the counter, one with a limp to his step, the end of his gray apron tattered yet the man’s collar shirt beneath nicely pressed, crisp even.

“Hey there, stranger,” he said as Sterling gravitated toward a seat in the corner.

There were only a few other people in the tavern, all gathered around the bar and looking suspiciously at the man in black who had entered seemingly out of the blue. The bartender approached and gave Sterling a cold look, one that he gladly returned.

“Rhonda told me that I could get myself a glass of Deseret hooch around here,” he said, glaring at the bartender. “Is that the case?”

“Rhonda, huh?”

“I don’t know how many there are around these parts, but she lives just a few doors down.”

The stern look on the bartender’s face cracked and he began laughing. “Everyone around here knows Rhonda. She’ll give you the shirt off her back if you need it. I got what you’re looking for,” said the bartender. “I’ll tell you what, this first one will be on me on account of my own behavior.”

“Come again?”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” the bartender said as he stepped away. He returned a few moments later with a glass of thick, yellow liquid the color of brittle paper. “Enjoy yourself, cowboy.”

“Is it strong?” Sterling asked, eyeing the brew suspiciously.

“It has been known to knock outsiders on their asses from time to time. How’s that?”

“Shee-it, I’ll be the judge of that.” He brought the beverage to his lips and gave it a sniff, taking in an alcoholic aroma. There was something sweet to it, and also something that kinda reminded him of medicine.

“You’ve got to drink it to get drunk,” the bartender said.

“Heh.” Sterling took a sip of the alcohol, the sting of the liquor hitting him like a brick. It was strong, it was damn strong, and it burned on the way down.

“Well?” the bartender asked.

“It’ll do,” Sterling told him.

The older man laughed again and stepped away. Once he was gone, and Sterling had officially nursed about half the glass of strong, local hooch, he began thinking about some of the things he had learned over the last few days, his thoughts returning to a subject that always interested him: natives.

If they were near Salt Lake City, the petroglyphs and other ruins that Lily Gray and Paco had seen likely didn’t belong to the Anasazi. They probably belonged to the Fremont people, Sterling remembering a map he’d seen of their ancestral grounds that extended past the lake. Of course, he could be wrong, and it wasn’t really the Puebloans who worried him anyway, it was Paco’s statement about the Comanche. He couldn’t shake this feeling that they were going to make getting back to New Mexico a bit tricky. Perhaps they would need to move at night, and befriend any of the locals that were nice enough to provide them with directions and shelter.

Then again, maybe what Paco had heard was hyperbole. Even if there were men and women claiming to be the Comanche and roaming around their old stomping grounds on horseback, this didn’t mean that they were necessarily a threat. And it wasn’t like Sterling and his group were trying to create a settlement or something, not like the white settlers did back in Texas in the nineteenth century. They would just be passing through Comancheria, and they would be well-armed at that.

Maybe I’m overthinking it…

An image appeared in his mind’s eye, his whole crew together at once, Don Gasper just about the only one not able to pull his weight in the fight, and that wasn’t discrediting the older man’s abilities. Sterling had seen what he could do back in Las Cruces; Gasper was no pushover, a hallucinatory fool at times, yes, but he wasn’t afraid to trade blows with anyone.

And this wasn’t to mention Sterling’s entire crew, his dream team, as it were. The Sunflower Kid, Zephyr, Roxie, Maron, Paco, and now Beep.

“Nope,” he mumbled to himself, a bit drunkenly. “Ain’t no Comanche going to be giving us no trouble. That’s for damn sure.”

“Do you mind if I sit?”

Sterling looked up to see a man wearing a wool poncho, the thread bleached, a bandanna pulled tight around his head and a bit of silver dangling from his ear. Gray hairs crisscrossed his arms, which were thick with muscle, and decked out in various jewelries, from beaded bracelets to strips of leather with pottery tied into them.

“You going to buy us another round?” Sterling asked.

“No,” the man said as he sat anyway. He had a squirrely voice, a bit of an edge to it in that tone of a salesman that Sterling had heard plenty of times before. “I’m going to sell you something.”

“Is that right?”

The man produced a leather pouch, which he unfolded across the table to reveal a variety of charms. “You interested?”

“You should have asked me before you sat.” Sterling went ahead and threw back the rest of the Deseret hooch, wincing as it seared its way down his throat. “I’d be a better customer if you bought me a drink.”

“Heh. Wouldn’t we all?”

“What made you think I want a charm anyway?”

“I recognize a connoisseur when I see one,” the man told Sterling. “From what’s visible, I see a carved bone bracelet, a necklace, and there was a rattlesnake tail hanging from your belt, if I’m not mistaken. I know what all them things are.”

“You got something good for me?” Sterling asked.

“See for yourself.”

He hovered his hand over the first item, a bracelet featuring a bison carved of stone. Its information appeared:

Item: Bison Bracelet

Item Type: Uncommon

Description: +2 Resolve

“Doesn’t look like it. Plus two Resolve? That ain’t that hard to come by,” Sterling said.

“Ha!”

“Something funny?” Sterling asked, noticing his vision waver just a hair.

“I knew you wouldn’t be interested. That laugh was for me, to remind myself to trust my damn instincts.” The man rolled his things back up. “I’ll tell you what, cowboy. I won’t bore you with trinkets and whatnot, things you can find anywhere. I got one charm worth more than anything in all of Saltair.”

“It’s a pretty big place…”

“Been here enough times to know where to get the good stuff, and I can tell you right now, this very moment in time,” the salesman said, his eyes twitching, “all the good stuff is gone. Except for this thing.”

“I’m listening.”

The man started to press away from the table. “I don’t think it’s right for you.”

Now it was Sterling’s turn to laugh. “Shee-it, you calling the shots now? Ha!”

“Someone has to, am I right?” The man grinned and sat back down.

“I know a salesman when I see one.”

“And I could say the same for a customer. You want to see this or not?”

“I done told you I was listening,” Sterling said.

“Maybe it would be nice for us to have a little of that there hooch, soften our attitudes a bit.” The salesman motioned for the bartender to bring over another round. Once the two glasses arrived, the charms salesman paid for them and quickly threw his back, drinking the entire contents of the glass.

“Is that how we’re doing it?” Sterling asked as he did the same, the immediate effects of the alcohol making him feel a hint of nausea.

“It sure is.” The charms salesman reached his hand under his poncho and came back with a copper ring. “Ever heard of Brigham Young?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Sterling told him as he looked at the ring. It was big, and featured the letters BYU etched onto its surface, little gemstones on the side.

“All these people around here, lots of them anyway, they’re what’s left of the Mormons.”

“Now, I’ve heard of them folks.”

“I’ll bet you have. Brigham Young was the man who brought them here in the first place, to Utah. Back in the 1800s. This here ring is from the university over in Salt Lake City, his namesake.”

“A college ring, huh?”

The salesman placed it in his palm and extended his hand to Sterling. “See what it does; I guarantee you’ll want it.”

Item: Copper BYU Ring

Item Type: Legendary

Description: Additional ten Technique Points per level gained.

“Ain’t bad,” Sterling said, trying to play it cool. In actuality, it was one of the best charms he’d yet come across.

The charm salesman laughed. “Ain’t bad? This is one the best items you’ll find in Deseret.”

“Deseret seems pretty big…”

“You interested or not, cowboy?”

“I’ve got turquoise; I’ve got silver.”

“Turquoise?” The salesman snorted. “Nobody around here wants turquoise, but the silver will do.”

“Nobody wants turquoise?”

“We don’t trade in turquoise, we trade in jewels and sandstone, gold and silver too.”

“I don’t got a lot of silver,” Sterling said. “But I can give you what I have.”

“Let’s see what you have.”

Sterling equipped the leather bag that he kept his money in and dumped it onto the table.

“Nope, that ain’t enough.”

“I got a bottle of tequila…”

“Why do I want tequila when I can have this?” the salesman asked as he lifted his empty glass.

“Good point. Tell you what, I got something that you ain’t never going to find here. I don’t know if that makes it valuable, but hear me out…” Sterling pulled out the chair next to him and summoned the box of Big Jim peppers he’d taken off the Killbillies outside of Los Lunas. “Ever seen peppers this big?”

“I… I don’t believe I have…” said the salesman, his eyes wide with delight upon seeing the peppers.

“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m from somewhere else, and that somewhere else is called New Mexico. These peppers are a staple down there. Not too hot, a Scoville rating of about three thousand, if that means anything to you northerners. All of them are between ten and twelve inches long,” Sterling said as he produced a pepper. “Half seem to be mature, or red, the other are green. Both are equally good. Got a bit of heat, like I said, but boy if they ain’t fine eating. If you must know—and I’ve already said this much, so I’m going to tell you anyway—they were genetically engineered by New Mexico State University in the 1970s, them scientists crossing a local chili with a Peruvian chili.”

“Peruvian chili?”

Sterling handed the salesman one of the peppers. The man sniffed it and nodded.

“How about this: you take all the silver, which I know ain’t worth much, and this box of Big Jims. There’s a lot you can do with it, but the first thing I would do is find the best chef in the area and have them whip you up something. Put a little kick to whatever you want to eat. Or you could trade them. Or you could tell these clueless locals that they’re magical and from a faraway land. You can grind them up and use the powder; you could boil them; you could eat them raw like I do from time to time; you could also dry them out and use them that way. I think you want them, to be quite honest with you,” Sterling said, turning on his own charm, one amplified by the Tech Points he’d put into persuasion. “Ain’t nothing like that around here. It’s a big box too, a crate, really.”

The salesman nodded. “There’s a lot I could do with these…”

“Then I believe we have ourselves a deal, partner.”

Sterling reached his hand across the table and the salesman shook it.

.Chapter Ten.

It was a miracle that Sterling made it back to the home they were staying in. The Deseret hooch really was that strong, and he hadn’t drunk any alcohol over the last few days which, mixed with his empty stomach, led to quite the spell of intoxication.

Yet he’d made it, he always did, the cowboy necromancer cozying up to a corner and falling into a deep sleep, no dreams, no nightmares, and certainly no flashbacks. A good drunken rest, well-deserved.

He woke up the next morning to find Paco still asleep in the cot next to him, and Roxie crouched on the ground, going over a map she had drawn of Saltair.

“Mornin’,” Sterling said in a cheerful way, only to remember that he was supposed to be angry at her.

“Looks like you found alcohol.”

“Yup.” He ran his hand through his stringy black hair and felt dirty, realizing it had been several days since he had taken a shower. “Do they got a place to wash up around here?”

She pointed toward a wall. “Out back.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Roxie asked, still crouched, her poncho over her shoulders.

Sterling noticed that she was already wearing her custom-made body armor, and her almost auburn hair was swept behind both of her ears, pulled into a short ponytail at the back that looked like it needed adjusting. This brought a smile to his grizzled face. Upon waking, she immediately equipped her armor, yet she had paid little attention to her personal appearance before she went over what she had discovered the previous day.

Typical Roxie, he thought with a subtle shake of his head. Typical.

“If you are waiting for an apology, you’re not going to get one.”

“Apology? Shee-it, I know you better than to expect an apology,” he said, his voice thinning. “Don’t forget that.”

“And it looks like you are up to your old ways, just going around getting drunk. Hope you had fun.”

“It’s been a rough few days,” he admitted. “I needed a drink. And that ain’t the only thing…”

He reached into the front of his shirt and retrieved his topaz necklace, which granted him an additional Resolve Point. Sterling now had two rings attached to the necklace: the amber ring with the scorpion tail inside that gave him a Class Proficiency bonus every three levels and the piece he had gotten last night, the copper BYU ring netting him an additional ten Technique Points per level gained.

“You have more jewelry than a whore.”

Sterling snorted. “Last I checked, they don’t got much jewelry.”

“I didn’t know what else to say,” she admitted with a playful shrug. “Fine, I’ll bite. What are you trying to show me?”

“Get your ass over here and see for yourself, Rox. It’s a good piece.”

“You could just tell me,” she said, not budging.

Damn stubborn woman, Sterling thought, yet again not able to hide the smile on his face. That was why he liked her. She really was something else.

“The ring gives me an additional ten Technique Points per level gained,” he said, giving in. “It’s a legendary item. What can I say? There are other ways to skin a cat.”

“What cat are you trying to skin exactly…?”

“While you went out gathering information, I went out shopping and I got me some information in the process.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of information?”

Sterling squinted at her as he tried to remember what the charms salesman had told him after they’d had made their transaction.

“Ha! To be honest, I can’t remember,” he said. “But it was a good deal of info, I know that. Only thing is I’m broke now, aside from some turquoise, but all it really cost me was a crate of Big Jim peppers. I can get silver anywhere. Just takes a bit of searching. Heh… you should have seen me, Rox. Heh! I had that fool eating out of the palm of my hand. Telling him all about these magical peppers, and how they were going to make him so much money around here. Little does he know that these northern folk don’t seem to like spice.”

“Are you sure he was the one eating out of your hand?”

“No,” he said, suddenly feeling deflated.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, cowboy.” Roxie picked up a tactical knife and pointed at something on her map. “This here is called the Gauntlet. It would be a good place for you to test out your new charm.”

“The Gauntlet, huh?”

“I scoped it out,” she said. “They have a biomancer there that heals the hell pigs. They may have other amalgamations, but I didn’t see them if they did.”

“Heals the hell pigs?” He gave her an incredulous look. “What are you going on about now?”

“You might have noticed that the people patrolling were a cut above some of the locals, which looks like a necessity for keeping a civilization like this from being overrun by the Angels of Woe in Salt Lake City. Remember those ones from the road?”

“Yeah, I remember them fools, and they weren’t angels,” said Sterling, a bit annoyed at the way she had brought it up. “I also seem to recall you taking my kill.”

“Whatever. The Angels of Woe are a big deal around here. The guards need to be equally matched, and most, as far as I can tell, are not mancers.”

“These people don’t seem to like mancers. At least, the Elder of Nauvoo’s little crew didn’t.”

“We will learn more about that, I believe,” she said in a flat tone. “Anyway, back to the Gauntlet. This is how these people have been able to level up so quickly. The biomancer is able to heal the pigs the moment they are killed. I watched one of the matches.”

“Is this biomancer stronger than the Sunflower Kid?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen the Kid in a good while. You know how we have techniques we can focus on? Maybe this is one on a biomancer skill tree. In any event, the gauntlet allows people to kill hell pigs and quickly farm experience. They even have a vest that they make the person wear that is covered in charms and gives bonus XP with each kill. Then the biomancer comes out, heals the pig, and it starts all over.”

“Damn, that’s genius.”

“It is. But I don’t think we’re just going to be able to waltz in there and start killing swine.”

“Aw, shucks. We could try to get the Oracle’s permission.”

Roxie nodded. “We could. I wasn’t able to get into the Saltair building itself, but it should be open this morning.”

“We can talk to Rhonda about it. Perhaps there could be a way to persuade the Oracle to scratch our back if we’ll scratch theirs, let us get some levels, do something she needs.”

“If you’re talking about bringing in bounties or killing some of the members of the Angels of Woe, you know I’m game.” Roxie finally looked up at him. “It’s going to be an interesting day; you should make yourself presentable. Head out back and clean up. I’ll talk to the ladies and get more details about the Oracle.”

“I’m going to need breakfast too,” he said, yawning again.

“I figured as much.”

“What about Paco?”

“He was up when I came in last night and said he wanted to come; we shouldn’t leave him.” She gestured with the tip of her knife toward a chair in the opposite corner of the room, which had folded white clothing on it. Paco was still asleep across from it, the blanket pulled over his head. “The clothing is for him.”

“A bath and a ciggy…” Sterling winked at Roxie. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“It’s an outside shower, but if you’re careful, you can probably smoke a cigarette while you bathe.”

“You know, I miss Truth or Consequences for that very reason. All them hot springs around there? Whoo-eee, talk about a great way to unwind after a heavy night of drinking. You’d like them, believe me.”

Roxie smirked. “There’s nothing you are going to be able to say or do that’s going to convince me that Truth or Consequences is a place that I would like to visit. Not in a million years,” she told him as he got out of his bed, everything a bit wobbly at first.

“I aim to change that. T or C is one hell of a place, mighty fine folk there, nice enough country surrounding it. Real good people, just ask me.” He ignored his throbbing head as he stepped into his boots and headed out of the room. “Anyhow, it’s going to be a good day; I can feel it.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You’ve got to believe, Rox, you’ve got to believe.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

The outdoor shower worked well enough, Lily Gray feeding lukewarm water through a series of pipes while Sterling quickly washed off below. According to Rhonda, they were going to have a better system installed in the future; they were just saving polished sandstone for it at the moment.

It was nice to wash all the grime and dirt off, dried blood, Sterling feeling absolutely refreshed by the time he toweled off, the morning sun already bearing down on him. He sensed it would be a hot day followed by a cool night, which was something he had learned to sense coming from the desert and all.

Once he was dry, he went for his black clothing. Even though it was bulky, Sterling equipped his bulletproof vest as well, just in case things got out of hand. No telling… There’s really no telling.

Sterling slicked his hair back and placed his black cowboy hat on, the one that Raylan had made him to protect against telemancers. He headed inside feeling absolutely refreshed. Lily Gray came down from the second floor as Rhonda brought food to a wooden table where Roxie and Paco sat, baby Jessica in Roxie’s arms.

It was eternally strange to see the stone-cold killer in her motherly mode, Roxie even letting her guard down as she rocked the baby.

“I already checked,” their host Rhonda announced, restarting a conversation she’d clearly been having with Roxie. “The Oracle is seeing people today. Just got to get in line and get her blessings. You may need to make an offering as well.”

“I’ve got peppers,” Sterling said.

“You’ve made that clear,” said Roxie. “I have jewelry. We can use that for an offering.”

“There will be some attendants there, and guards,” Rhonda explained. “Once you are let onto the back deck, they’ll come around with a silver box. Just place what you can in there. There is no required amount, but each of you should give something.”

Roxie set her hand on the table and moved it away, a pile of jewelry forming. “Take your pick,” she told Sterling and Paco, the Hopi native now wearing the bleached white clothing that everyone seemed to wear in Saltair.

Sterling grabbed a handful of cheap silver jewelry, Paco doing the same, the items disappearing to their inventory lists. Both left a little for Rhonda as well, payment for the room and board.

They headed out after breakfast, the Saltair building seeming to loom over the parking lot that had been converted into a village, Sterling not sure of what would happen once they got inside.

The three followed Rhonda’s instructions, no weapons visible, jewelry ready to offer to the Oracle. As usual when it came to religious things, Sterling was skeptical about the whole affair, but he didn’t voice his concerns as he followed Roxie to the large building, the cigarette perched on the end of his lip hanging on for dear life.

Better just to get this done with, he thought. And get on with it.

After all, they had come here for a reason. Not only did they want to find where the others may be and if the Oracle had heard anything, Sterling was also interested in the Godwalker terminal that was rumored to be in Utah, the one mentioned to them by Raylan back in Madrid.

While his journey could be meandering at points, there was a reason behind it, a reason why he had left his pepper farm outside of Truth or Consequences—Sterling was going to do what he could to bring down the Godwalkers. He didn’t know what effect this would have, or if it would reset the Reset, but he damn sure was sick of the alien monoliths destroying just about anything they wanted to, and he was eternally pissed that their arrival had come with the death of ninety percent of the population, Sterling’s family included.

At least as far as he knew.

Once he got back to New Mexico, he planned to go to Albuquerque to seek out the lone piece of information he had regarding his family. Maybe the insurance card would lead to something, an address, or some other place that he could investigate. It was a longshot, but it was worth it. Besides, the bounty hunter named Ram was holed up in ol’ Duke City, and Sterling was not one to forgive and forget. Two birds with one stone.

Hell of a life, he thought as they came to Saltair’s grand entrance, the three passing through a procession of trees and stopping at an enormous doorway, the building easily the length of a city block, three stories tall, its copper minarets on top glinting in the sun. A line had already formed, Saltair’s ubiquitous white-armored guards standing around it, some with clubs that had glowing tetrahedron tips, a few with modified assault weapons.

“I need to get me one of them there clubs,” Sterling told Roxie, who shushed him. “What? I’m just saying. Does someone know a flectomancer around here? That shit would be real good for whacking a Killbilly across the back of the head.”

They waited in line for a good hour before they were led behind the building, onto a deck overlooking the Great Salt Lake. Sterling got his first glimpse of the Oracle, the woman in a white veil that draped from the top of her head all the way to her feet, nude underneath. She was short, and couldn’t have been older than the Sunflower Kid, the Oracle standing on a carpeted crate accented by golden features, a guard on either side of her also with their faces covered with white fabric.

The wind picked up and settled, and as it did the people in front of Sterling placed their offerings in the silver container. They got on their knees, bowing to the Oracle, the guards following suit.

Much to his surprise, Roxie and Paco got on their knees and bowed as well. This left Sterling standing there, the Oracle tilting her veiled head as she took him in.

Sterling summoned his magic revolver from his inventory list. He pointed the weapon at the Oracle, thanking his lucky stars that Raylan had created a cowboy hat for him that prevented telepathic influence.

“Telemancer,” he said with a hint of disdain. “Keep your guards down and let’s have us a little conversation. You and me. I ain’t here to kill you, but I will if you try anything funny.”

The breeze blowing over the lake picked up once again. Sterling felt at odds with how serene it was, especially how this juxtaposed to his current situation, his revolver trained on the Oracle, her telepathic powers clearly not working on him.

“You and your friends have come a long way,” she finally said, her voice soft and hypnotic.

“You bet your ass we did; I’m sorry that this is the way that you and I have to meet, but I’ve had trouble with your kind in the past. So here we are.”

The Oracle lowered her shoulders to some degree, completely relaxed now. “The three of you are from New Mexico, yes?”

Sterling nodded. “Born and raised. Well, I think Paco was actually born in Arizona, out at the Hopi reservation. But that ain’t why I’m here. I’ve got questions, and from what I can tell, especially with the power you possess over these here sheeple as a telepath, you’ve got answers. So how about we make a little exchange, Ms. Nephite. I don’t put a bullet between your eyes, you give me the answers I need, and we’ll be on our way. No harm done. You know what? We could also make this thing fair,” he said, “you give us something to do and we’ll do it. An exchange of sorts. I know I’m standing here dressed in all black, but I ain’t no bandit. That said, I know what you’re capable of, and that’s why we have to have this conversation like we’re having it.”

“You talk too much,” she told him after an uncomfortable pause.

“Shee-it, sometimes I just got shit to say. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. Now, do we have ourselves an agreement, or are things about to turn dark out here?”

“I could alert my guards in the hallway; I could alert everyone in the vicinity. You think you could kill them all?”

“By myself? Hell no. But I’ve got a little backup plan that might could work,” he said, referring to Beep. “Like I said, I know it’s not so polite of me to show up here with my gun drawn, threatening you and whatnot. But I’ve already had run-ins with the Elder of Nauvoo, and his kin, and I ain’t trying to get into a situation like that, if I can help it. Enough people have already died.”

The Oracle slowly nodded. “I see. There are various sects of the Serpents of Paradise that are more extreme than the others, ones that we aren’t able to discipline from our position here, once they are outside of my sphere of influence. It takes a lot of work, you know, to build a place like this in such a short amount of time.”

“Kind of funny how you hold on to power here just like the Elder. Real funny, if you ask me,” Sterling said. “But that’s beside the point. The way I see it, he didn’t want no boys of age, and you don’t want no mancers.”

The Oracle shook her head. “Not true; I have no problem with mancers.”

“Maybe, but I need to know that we have an agreement before I lower my weapon. You have no power over me, and I’m holding all the cards right now,” he said, bluffing to some degree. While he had Beep as a backup plan, as well as the dead biomancer in his inventory list, if the Oracle did turn the entire village against him, it was going to be one hell of a fight. Not to mention what would happen if he somehow lost his cowboy hat…

“Yes, you are. Sure, let’s talk.” The young woman stepped down from the carpeted crate and motioned toward a seating area off to the side. “Please, join me.”

“What about these folks?” Sterling asked, referring to her guards and his companions, as well as a few of the locals, all of whom were still motionless and in prone positions.

“Leave them where they are for the time being.”

Sterling wouldn’t have called it peaceful even though it was, the waters of the Great Salt Lake less choppy now that the wind had died down, the air cool and comfortable, melancholic clouds with slight gray undertones above stopping the sun from bearing down on them.

He sat in a wicker chair next to the Oracle, a circular table between them with a crystal carafe of water and two wine glasses.

She’s fancy, I’ll give her that, he thought as he poured himself a wine glass full of water. Sterling then did the same for the Oracle. She never touched it, the veil covering her from head to toe remaining on her body.

He brought the wine glass of water to his lips and smelled it, as if he would have been able to detect poison.

“It’s filtered,” she said. “We have two pyromancers and a hydromancer in our employ. They’ve been able to work within the ecosystem here as well. How did you get here, cowboy?”

“First, I’m not a cowboy. If anything, I’m a pepper farmer, or at least I was. But for some reason, some people like to call me a cowboy just because I ride a horse and have a cowboy hat. I’ve accepted this fact; the name is Sterling, Sterling Monedero.”

“How did you get here, Sterling Monedero?” the Oracle asked in a way that made him feel she was growing more and more amused with him by the minute.

“If I show you something, do you promise not to react in a way that would, I don’t know, filet those people’s brains over there or something?”

He tilted the rim of his glass toward Roxie and the others, all of whom were still bowing forward in some way, frozen in time.

“It takes a lot to surprise me.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Sterling said as he summoned Beep.

The miniature Godwalker trembled for a moment as it took in its surroundings.

<Beep.>

“That’s what brought you here?” the Oracle asked, not skipping a beat, which impressed Sterling.

“How did you…?” He remembered that she still had Roxie and Paco under her spell, which meant she could have lifted the info from their minds. “Yeah, yeah, that’s the one.”

“That’s not the only one of those that exists, you know.”

“Come again? First time I’ve seen a Godwalker this small.” He placed a hand on the top of Beep’s body, as if to indicate that the monolith was friendly. “It communicates in its own way, too. Ain’t that right, Beep?”

<Beep.>

The Oracle nodded, Sterling not able to tell if she was impressed or not.

“That’s how I figured out that it transported me, all of us,” he said. “Which is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you, about the others. Surely you know what I’m talking about now that you’ve taken a look en mis amigos’ minds.”

The Oracle nodded, the breeze picking up again and tracing over her flowing veil. “There is someone you will need to meet soon, but he isn’t here just yet. We call him the Chronicler.”

“Is that right?” Sterling asked, still not trusting her. “What were you saying about there being more of these here things? These little Godwalkers?”

“Abbadons is how they are referred to around here, but you are from a different area, and it makes sense that you would have different terms for them.”

“We have a different name for the Rapture as well,” he said. “We call it the Reset. But I digress. Ol’ Beep is the one who brought us here, depositing me in the Bonneville Salt Flats. Read the name on a sign. Then I met two boys who are now dead, two of the Elder of Nauvoo’s tribe.”

“A tragedy,” she said, no emotion in her voice.

“You don’t know the half of it…” Sterling summarized what had happened, from being tasked to find the baby, to what he had learned about what the Elder of Nauvoo planned to do to the child, and how he had tried to reason with him only to get shot at by a bunch of children, the women of the compound launching into action and killing one another once Roxie put one between the Elder’s eyes.

“She’s good at that, you know,” he said, motioning over to his counterpart. “Shooting shit.”

“She is violent and skilled, yes,” said the telemancer. “You two have quite the past.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be looking at some of them memories.” Sterling set the wineglass down and started rolling up a cigarette. After he lit it, he gestured toward the cancer stick. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

“Most people don’t nowadays, but it seems like they used to back when we were alive. I’ve seen the ‘no smoking’ signs.”

“Back when we were alive,” she said with a hint of admiration for this comment. “I haven’t heard it put this way before.”

“I can be clever when I want to. Anyway…” Sterling detailed the rest of what had happened up until the point that they had met the Oracle, including their encounter with the Angels of Woe. The only part he left out was the one in his inventory list.

“It sounds like it has been quite a journey,” the Oracle told him after a long pause, the young woman clearly used to asking questions and expecting long-winded answers. “And I do appreciate you dealing with the Angels of Woe. They keep trying to take Saltair, but they never will.”

“What about you?” Sterling didn’t know if this was the direction that the conversation needed to go, but he was curious, and he felt like he just spent the last five minutes talking about himself. “You clearly aren’t like some of those that have found their own group in your little network of cults or whatever. I don’t know what to call it.”

“Network is a good term. We do not have the capacity as of yet to enforce the rules that we have here in Saltair, and even if we did, I don’t know we would ever do this. But I do agree that some of the smaller groups have gotten out of hand, like the one you have mentioned. There is a lot going on here, as you can see.”

“I can see that,” he told her. “Never expected to find a place like this out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“We also have to keep our defenses up due to our proximity to Salt Lake City. The Angels of Woe have run rampant there.”

“So I’ve heard. Seems like the way of the world, really. We got the same problem down south. Them big cities are a breeding ground for assholes.”

“Yes, yes they can be. You asked me earlier if there is something that you could do for me, in exchange for information,” the Oracle said, apparently not willing to reveal too much about who she was before, or how she had set up such a tight-knit society. “I do believe I have something, and if I’m not mistaken, it relates to someone you are looking for. This man that I want you to meet, the Chronicler, he’s coming back from an area known as Nomadland, which used to be a series of national parks down by Moab. Regarding the people you’re looking for, if anyone has heard of mancers appearing out of thin air and stirring up trouble, it would be him.”

“Who said anything about stirring up trouble?” Sterling asked with a snort. “And you skipped something: what do you want me to do for you in exchange?”

“There is one of yours that I’ve already heard of. At least, I think she may be yours. There’s a place called Antelope Island northeast of here. It used to be another national park, one where wild buffalo roamed, and still is. We have a barge that goes to hunt the buffalo and return with meat, fur, and other parts necessary for operations here. Recently, a young female biomancer has prevented us from doing so.”

“A female?”

“A female.”

“That sounds like someone I know,” Sterling said, referring to the Sunflower Kid. “We can get her off your back, sure. Just point me in the right direction.”

“It would be much easier for you to take the barge to the park, which should be back in the next several days, likely empty-handed. Stop this biomancer from preventing our winter preparations,” she told him, “and we will consider it even. The Chronicler should be here by that time as well, and he will likely join you, based on his choices in the past. I have one more thing that may entice you. You’ve heard of the Gauntlet, yes?”

“I sure have. Seems mighty interesting, and I could use me a few levels, if we’re being honest.”

“I will set up a time for you and whomever you’d like to gain some levels there, which is something that is normally only reserved for my guards.”

“That would be nice,” he admitted. “Mighty kind of you.”

“Then that settles it. Once the barge returns, you can take it to Antelope Island to deal with the biomancer, and perhaps go on from there, because it might be a better way for you to travel toward the southwest. The Chronicler will know.”

“How did you know that was the direction I wanted to go?”

“Aside from it being where you are from, it’s where the Terminal is, and others like your small Abaddon. I sent the Chronicler down there to gather information, and hopefully, that will help us going forward; hopefully, it will help you.”

“So you know the ultimate reason why I’m doing what I’m doing then, don’t you?”

“I do,” she told him. The Oracle finally turned to him, her eyes shining beneath the veil over her face. “And I don’t know how lucky you will be. But there is something different about your spirit, something that tells me that you will sacrifice it all when the time comes, if that is indeed necessary. And the others that are with you feel the same. The Hopi man is an interesting choice, especially with his blood.”

“His blood?”

“We aren’t the first people to combat these Abaddon,” she told him, which was the first time he’d ever heard such a revelation. “But that is all I will say about that for now. The Chronicler will explain more. Come, let’s return to the others.”

The Oracle gracefully walked back to the carpeted crate that she had been perched on. She took her position on it, Sterling sensing that he should bow before her like the others. As soon as he was next to Roxie, he lowered his head, keeping his cowboy hat on.

Everyone around them came awake, as if someone had hit an invisible play button.

“Something… something happened,” Roxie whispered to him, her head slightly tilted in his direction. “I can sense it.”

“I’ll tell you more later; trust me, you’re going to want to hear this.” He placed his hand on Roxie’s elbow and made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Come on, let’s git.”

Part Two

The Chronicler, Antelope Island and the White Buffalo, Ancient Messages of the Anasazi, Dos Nigromantes, the Tree People, Lizard Eat Lizard

.Chapter One.

The Great Saltair, Deseret.

Not too distant future.

Sweat dripped from Sterling Monedero’s chin, the cowboy necromancer in a gaudy vest covered in threadbare Utah patches and trinkets that had been sewn onto it, his duster currently being held by Paco, black cowboy hat squarely on Sterling’s head.

He spat blood and wiped his mouth, the sun practically maddogging him, everything with an eggshell haze to it. Sterling’s dark clothing was now a powdery gray, the dust in his nostrils, and his eyes, never quite settling.

He spat again and lifted his sickle-sword, vibrant turquoise energy swirling around its tip, Sterling giving the man guarding an iron gate a quick nod.

He was ready.

A loud crack and the hell pigs came charging out, seven in total, all with streaked blood on their bodies, their tusks brittle and broken, the devil swine snorting and squealing, giddy with bloodlust as they kept up their pace.

Sterling threw himself into the air to avoid the initial collision, recalling the lessons he’d already learned in fighting the demon swine. He could fly, but he hated heights, and while flying may have given him a better perspective a few days back when he didn’t know where he was, it wasn’t something that he had even considered. No way, no how, not unless it was absolutely necessary, like this very moment, Sterling hovering for just a moment above the ravenous hell pigs as he planned his next attack.

Whoosh!

He came down hard with his blade, killing one of them instantly and launching his body into another. Sterling wrangled an arm around its neck and pulled his hooked blade across the pig’s throat. He dove just in time to avoid a single, gnarled tusk with his name on it, slamming his shoulder against the ground. For a moment he thought he might have dislocated it, but no such misfortune.

Back up on his feet, and wincing at the pain that seemed to throb on the right side of his body, Sterling kicked off the side wall to put a little distance between himself and the hell pigs.

He floated there for a split second, the demonic hogs with their oversized bodies trying to jump at him. The first one to botch its landing was met by Sterling as he spiraled down to the pig and killed it.

One of the larger pigs was close enough to him to butt the side of its body into Sterling, which threw him off balance and caused him to collide with the fissured hardtop. Before he could hit the air again, he was clobbered by another of the hell pigs and sent in a horizontal arc, straight into the outer wall protecting all the action from the spectators.

The impact had him seeing stars for a moment; Sterling managed to get to his feet just as another hell pig reached him. He hooked his arm around its neck and pulled it back with all of his might, his sickle-sword going into its throat, Sterling once again spilling blood on the arena floor.

Damn bastards, he thought as two of the pigs held back, allowing one to charge forward, the three trying to corner him.

Firearms weren’t allowed in the Gauntlet, same with mancer powers. This was mostly to prevent shrapnel, but the biomancer also had a much easier time repairing the pigs if they weren’t filled with bullet holes.

It would be a cheap move to fly again, and this was his last scheduled match anyway, Sterling netting a solid ten levels after he slayed these final pigs.

Ten levels.

He had never moved up this many levels in such a short amount of time. The people of Saltair had truly figured out the best way to not only farm XP and amplify the points given through the vest that he wore, which more than doubled the XP he got with each kill. It was going to be like Christmas once he finished up with the pigs, and was finally able to assign some things and work out his stats.

The mere thought of finishing the Gauntlet ignited his step as he exploded forward to address the lead pig.

As he had done previous times, he slipped around the swine and brought his sword into its side, hooking it into one of its ribs, which gave him the leverage he needed to take the pig to the ground, its leathery skin and general stink both things he’d learned to contend with. With all the strength he could muster, Sterling pulled the sword out and finished slaughtering the pig.

Faced with such a swift slaying, the second pig tried to stop its charge, but momentum had taken over by this point, causing its front two legs to buckle. Fast, as if he were Roxie stalking her prey, Sterling zipped forward and killed this hog as well, leaving just one.

The final swine snorted, smart enough to know that its days were numbered.

Sterling took off after it; rather than try to attack him, the swine attempted to flee, slamming its body into the outer wall. Squealing with true fear in its eyes, the hell pig attempted to use its hooves to scale the wall, the people that were watching cheering for Sterling to finish the job.

Approaching it from behind, Sterling hooked his sickle-sword into its back and dragged it to the ground. He got on top and killed it, sure not to do too much damage.

By the time he relaxed his guard to some degree, the biomancer who was able to heal all the devil pigs had already entered the arena, a disturbed look on his face. He crouched before the first pig and started the healing process before returning them to their pens, the man also having some sort of power over their minds.

It had been a hell of a run.

Sterling was ready to reap the rewards.

There were too many prompts, Sterling’s eyes twitching a bit as he scrolled through them, stopping on the most important things. For one, he had surpassed Level 70, which meant he had received a class change.

“Corpse Curator, huh?” he mumbled as he took his hat off and ran his hands over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had picked up a towel on the way back to a locker room of sorts, and Sterling was now seated on a wooden bench, the towel around his neck. He wiped some of the sweat and grime away, glad that they’d had a flectomancer install a rudimentary shower. There were all sorts of contraptions around Saltair that Sterling had never seen before, ones that didn’t require electricity, everyone knowing the cardinal rule of not getting on the Godwalkers’ radar especially with a population this large.

Sterling sighed, still feeling a little pain where the demon swine had struck him. As he glanced over all the prompts, his eyes finally came to a stop on the phrase he was looking for:

Do you want to assign your Stat and Technique Points now?

“You bet your ass I do.” Sterling had received a whopping seventy-four Stat Points, which he ended up mostly dividing between Strength, Resolve, and Mana, with the smallest amount put into Fortitude, which he had been steadily improving upon over the last several years.

With all his charms, he had received a huge number of Technique Points, over two hundred, which he planned to deal with after he assigned the four Class Proficiency Points he had been awarded, two coming from the bonus tied to his amber ring with the scorpion tail inside, and two from reaching the coveted Level 70 milestone.

“I still can’t believe they call this farming…” he said. “What I used to do was real farming, all them peppers.” The tainted memory of his destroyed ranch house outside of T or C had a way of making him feel sour. “Damn Godwalkers; damn Killbillies.”

As it stood, Sterling had five Class Proficiencies that he had earned and improved upon. These were Death Whisper, Resurrection, Enhanced Durability, Death Sense, and Mold Manipulation. Mold Manipulation was currently at Level 1; Death Sense and Enhanced Durability were at Level 2; Resurrection was at Level 3; and Death Whisper was at Level 4.

He had never been given so many Class Proficiency points to assign at one time, and as he thought about where he wanted to put most of his focus, Sterling remembered the animate he already had in his inventory list, how his creations weren’t that smart yet.

Worth a shot, he thought as he sent three points into Resurrection, and the final point into Enhanced Durability. Without his grafting power, which was tied to Enhanced Durability, he would be missing an arm. Sterling figured it was probably best to be as durable as possible for whatever happened next. There was no telling what heading south would bring, into the heart of Nomadland and toward the Terminal.

He took a quick gander at his Class Proficiencies before moving on.

Necromancer Class Skills

Death Whisper: Class Proficiency Level 4

Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

Description: Can communicate with the deceased; blood needed to do so.

——

Resurrection: Class Proficiency Level 6

Casting Cost: 5 Mana Points

Description: Can summon at will, but doing so takes a cut of MP until the animate is relinquished.

——

Enhanced Durability: Class Proficiency Level 4

Grafting Casting Cost: 15 Mana Points

Description: Enhanced durability and grafting.

——

Death Sense: Class Proficiency Level 3

Description: Able to sense the bodies of the dead around you. Higher levels allow for wider ranges, including remote animating.

——

Mold Manipulation: Class Proficiency Level 1

Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

Description: Able to manipulate and conjure mold. Higher levels allow for strong and further reaching creations.

Everything looked to be in order, and the next time he got a Class Proficiency bonus, he’d likely focus it on Death Sense so he could eventually reach a level at which he could do remote animating, Sterling figuring that would come in handy at some point.

I’ll also need to test what improving my Resurrection ability actually means… he thought as he moved on to his Technique Points.

Techniques could be purchased in what was known, at least in New Mexico, as the ‘Buy Store,’ which simply appeared if Sterling wanted to summon it. They probably had a different name for it here in Deseret. There were three main options available when it was accessed—Combat, Stealth, Perception—and Sterling had dabbled in all three.

He put seventy-two Technique Points into his Sword skills, and decided to really double down on his Perception powers, Awareness and Persuasion, where he spent another hundred points or so. He then circled back to his Marksmanship skill and went ahead and leveled that up as well. In the end, he still had fifteen Technique Points to bank until he got his next level.

“Looking good, amigo, looking good,” he said as he took another look at his stats.

Name: Sterling Monedero

Race: Human

Mancer Class: Necromancer

Class Ranking: Corpse Curator

Level: 73

Fortitude: 130

Strength: 70

Resolve: 180

Mana: 180/180

Current Armor Rating: 28

XP: 665,761

XP to Next Level: 56,963

Stat Points Available: 0

Technique Points Available: 15

Combat:

Sword Expert Level 6 - 47 Technique Points to Level 7

Marksmanship Level 7 - 48 Technique Points to Level 8

Stealth:

Sneak Proficiency Level 3 - 14 Technique Points to Level 4

Assassination Level 2 - 9 Technique Points to Level 3

Cover of Night Level 2 - 7 Technique Points to Level 3

Disguise Level 1 - 4 Technique Points to Level 2

Perception:

Persuasion Level 6 - 46 Technique Points to Level 7

Awareness Level 5 - 39 Technique Points to Level 6

“Ain’t too shabby at all.” Sterling got to his feet, wishing that he could do the Gauntlet again. But ten levels was all that was allowed at any given time, mostly because constantly reviving the hell pigs took its toll on the biomancer, and he was still happy with what he got. He already felt stronger, and it was going to make things easier in the future.

Sterling, Paco, and Roxie were set to head to Antelope Island the following morning. But there were still things that needed to happen before then, including a meeting scheduled for a few hours from now between Sterling and this Chronicler, the man who had, according to the Oracle, been all around the Southwest.

Sterling had questions.

Sterling approached the large Saltair building that towered over the community, the Oracle somewhere inside doing whatever supposed Nephites did. He was joined by Roxie and Paco, the Hopi youth also ten levels stronger than he had been before, and once again wearing the white clothing given to him. Roxie hadn’t opted to farm XP; not only had she not really needed levels, but she didn’t agree with the weapon stipulation, the female gunner a fan of shooting over physically fighting, even though she excelled at both.

Rather than being led by one of the oracle’s guards to the balcony that overlooked the Great Salt Lake as they had been last time, the three were escorted up a flight of stairs accented by a thickly woven carpet. Sterling recognized native thread work when he saw it, and a not so insignificant part of him wanted to crouch down and actually touch the carpet, to see if it was as good as the ones they made on the high road to Taos, near what once was Chimayó.

It was hard to tell what the space used to be, Sterling seeing no signs in the large interior of what the Before People did in the building. Everything had been converted and reworked by expert craftsmen and clever flectomancers. The interior would have been cavernous had it not been for the large stained-glass windows on the back wall, which brought in light from the lake, off-white drapes hanging from the ceiling all the way down to the ground and drawn back, an almost elegant affair. Everything was clean, polished, and Sterling spotted a number of the Oracle’s followers going about daily tasks, from sweeping with short brooms to buffing the floors or running rags along the wooden railings, a few dusting hard to reach corners.

Must be nice to have help, Sterling thought as they were guided by two guards into a large room that overlooked the front parking lot village, clearly a room dedicated to research with the numerous books on custom-made, repurposed oak shelves and maps spread out on a table that appeared to be crafted from more scavenged wood, each plank a different color, each telling its own story.

There was something inviting about the room, the earthy smell of a sweet tobacco hitting Sterling’s nostrils just as he caught sight of a short man seated in auburn papasan chair, wearing a pair of khaki shorts with high socks and hiking boots, his shirt tucked into the front, belly hanging over just a bit, his long beard reaching all the way past his belt buckle. The man puffed on a pipe, a bucket hat covering what Sterling assumed was a bald spot on his head as he leafed through a rough copy of a book called House of Rain.

“Please, sit,” the man said without looking up at them. He motioned toward the table.

Sterling and his group did as instructed, the guards that had escorted them in promptly leaving the room, the door shutting behind the pair.

The man, who must have been the Chronicler, took another minute or so to finish what he was reading, which Sterling actually appreciated. That was the kind of guy he was once he got started on something, not really wanting any distractions.

Once he finished, the Chronicler placed the book on the circular side table next to him and rocked himself up to his feet. Still puffing on the pipe, he approached the table and sat across from the three of them.

“I take it you are the Chronicler,” Roxie said, not at all amused by his scholarly antics thus far.

“That’s what they call me, yes, but I do have a name. It’s Dusty Hill. You may call me both.” He coughed, and slapped his fist against his chest. “Had a cold not too long ago. Should have recovered by now, but I haven’t put much effort, if any, into building up my Resolve. I’m more interested in figuring out a technique or some way to increase this,” he said as he tapped his finger against the side of his head. He took another puff of his pipe. “But I digress, and I will be better tomorrow I’m sure of it. The Oracle said you would have questions.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Sterling admitted. “I guess introductions might help. This is Paco, Roxie, and I’m Sterling. We’re all from New Mexico, well, sort of.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said, indicating that the Oracle had caught him up as to how they arrived. “Quite the journey; a strange one indeed. And the Godwalker, as you call it, is here with you?”

“In my inventory list. You… want to see it?”

“I do, yes, if only to confirm something.”

Sterling summoned Beep. The alien monolith seemed to tilt forward for a moment before righting itself, its sleek black surface barely reflecting any of the light in the room.

<Beep.>

“Yes, I’ve seen these ones before,” the Chronicler said, not at all surprised by Beep’s appearance. “Are you familiar with Monument Valley?”

“Vaguely.” Sterling recalled that this was where Raylan the flectomancer had said the Terminal might be.

“I am,” Paco said. “Tse’Bii’Ndzisgaii.”

“You’re Navajo?” The Chronicler turned his focus to Paco. “That’s the Navajo name.”

“Hopi, but I was born in Arizona on the reservation, which was surrounded by Navajo country.”

“Yes, a pueblo oasis, it seems. And you speak the Navajo language?”

“I just know some of the words,” Paco said, “enough to get around and ask questions. I don’t know how or when I learned them. Same with Spanish, English, and the Hopi languages, for that matter.”

This made the Chronicler smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet someone I can relate to.”

“You’re Hopi?”

“No,” the bearded man said. “But I’ve spent a lot of time in those parts over the last five years.”

What followed was a quick discussion between Paco and the Chronicler as to why his small group of Hopi natives had moved to New Mexico in the first place, the Chronicler asking questions and nodding as Paco gave his explanation.

“Never heard anything like that before,” he said once Paco finished. “The Hopi’s native lands would be closer to the four corners, the Colorado Plateau, where the Hisatsinom once lived before the droughts.”

“Hisatsinom?” asked Sterling, forgetting where he had heard the word before and likely mispronouncing it.

“Why would the Hopi call themselves Anasazi?” the Chronicler asked him. He puffed on his pipe for a moment before continuing. “Why would they call themselves enemies?”

“That’s right,” Sterling said, remembering now that the Navajo word ‘Anasazi’ roughly translated to ‘enemies of our ancients.’

“We can just call them that,” said Paco. “Easier to pronounce.”

“That it is, and…” The Chronicler carefully considered his next sentence. “This group of indigenous people all had different names, all the subsets of Puebloans who came down from the Colorado Plateau, thought to have seemingly disappeared. But that’s not what happened, you know that.”

“What?” Paco asked, going pale to some degree.

“You know the old stories as well as I do.”

“How… how would you know the stories?” Paco asked, growing a bit defensive. “It would take you a year to understand them.”

This statement made the Chronicler laugh. “What else was I supposed to do after the Reset, sit around and twiddle my thumbs?”

Sterling noticed yet again that the Chronicler was using their terms for what happened after the Godwalkers had shown up, which told him that he was as well-traveled as the Oracle had suggested.

“You were in the area at that time?” Paco asked.

“Believe it or not, in my previous life, I was an archaeoastronomer. I was actually on a dig near Teec Nos Pos, Arizona, around the Pasatora Peak, when the event took place. It killed all of my colleagues. A very…” He swallowed. “A very hard thing to see. The dig site was out there, in the middle of what some would call nowhere, but what I would call the breeding grounds for an ancient civilization that thrived and prospered. I had a lot of my notes with me, as well as some of my books, as well as the books of my colleagues. I ended up wandering for quite some time, lucky that I had camping gear and supplies with me. Even a mule. I came across a Navajo farm, where they were kind enough to give me shelter. Eventually, I made my way to Hotevilla-Bacavi…”

“I know the place,” Paco said. “Near the Third Mesa.”

“Exactly. I ended up staying there for quite some time and was able to correlate some of the notes I’d taken, pictures and sketches, that sort of thing. I know that your people have been very secretive about certain events in the past, as well as the practices and rituals that take place in the underground kivas. But things changed after the Reset, which goes without saying. I guess they figured since most everyone died that it was time to share some of that information, and who better to share it with than me? Who better to share it with than someone who had already been studying it for the majority of my life?”

If Sterling were to guess, he would have placed Dusty Hill somewhere between the ages of fifty-five and sixty-five, but there really was no telling, his long beard making him look older than he was.

“What do these native people know?” Roxie asked, cutting to the point as always.

“It wasn’t the first time that these Godwalkers appeared,” the Chronicler said, answering for Paco, his statement eliciting a gasp from Sterling.

“You’re serious?”

He nodded. “For a long time, archaeologists puzzled over what happened to the Anasazi. It seemed like they were thriving there in the four corners region of Utah, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico. If you travel a bit to the south, you’d come across Chaco Canyon and the ruins there, a great house with hundreds of rooms, showcasing just how much they had advanced as a society. Then they all scattered.”

“They became my people and other groups, like the Zuni,” said Paco, confirming something Sterling had read.

“True, true, but there is more to it than that. There are numerous reasons that historians and the like thought they had scattered, most of them involving droughts, you know, population growth that they were unable to sustain. With drought came no water in the ground, and these were a farming people, mind you, corn being their primary food source. Heh. Some historians think that they ate so much corn that it drove them mad, which likely wasn’t the case. But if you asked the people actually excavating these sites like me—when we got permission, of course—we would tell you about strange bones we found, evidence of massacres and extreme violence. Grotesque things, skeletons without heads, skull fragments everywhere…”

Sterling and Roxie exchanged glances.

She didn’t seem too surprised by this revelation, but it was making Sterling’s skin crawl imagining what had been discovered, especially if there had been anything like what he had experienced back in Las Cruces, when everyone around him had died at the start of the Reset. From what the Chronicler was suggesting, these bones showed evidence of having their heads exploded.

“Everything we’ve seen now, including mancers like the two of you, existed then,” the Chronicler said matter-of-factly. “But only for a short amount of time, and only in this region. You see, it was a test. At least, that is my hypothesis. The Godwalkers came here to test us, and they lost.”

“They lost?” Sterling asked.

“I believe so, yes. We wouldn’t have had the centuries that followed if they had won. Those ancient peoples protected us, your people,” he told Paco. “But they have now come back again, stronger and with the intention of taking the entire world at once, rather than just the region. You have to remember that, at that time, we’re talking the eleventh through thirteenth centuries, things were much more scattered. Something like the event that we all experienced could happen here, but it didn’t necessarily mean that it happened in, say, China. It was a test, and the Anasazi, all the Puebloans who were left, put up a serious fight. And they won. They saved humanity with little fanfare.”

“You should have said something to us,” Roxie scolded Paco.

“I never heard it put together that way,” he said. “Even in the Hopi community, there are various dialects, and different interpretations. It is spoken more of as a myth, if anything. A reason for why we later settled where we did in Arizona, and why some of our ancient ancestors continue to branch out in other parts of the Southwest. I never… It was never put to me that way.”

“Likely not,” the Chronicler surmised. “Not only is it a highly guarded secret, but it takes some piecing together of other bits of information including petroglyphs to really interpret, and the elders closely guard the truth so as not to bring fear into the community. I was halfway there when I met the people that took me in there at the Hopi Reservation. Like you, most of them wouldn’t have known anything about it, only the legends. But one of their men, a medicine man who miraculously remembered everything before the Reset, did remember. We put it all together privately.”

“It makes sense,” said Paco. “Now that you’ve laid it out like that, it makes sense.”

“I knew something off had happened after I helped excavate some of the sites in my twenties, before I shifted more to the astronomy part of archaeological research. Sometimes debatable in terms of its scientific merit, but I preferred it. What had happened in these places? Why were there indications that bones had been frozen, or that someone had been swept all the way up the side of a slot canyon, and slammed so hard into it that some of the ribs were lodged into the rock? What about the exploded skulls? Bones burnt to a crisp that were nowhere near fire, fire marks and other areas that seemed almost spontaneous. No, something was off, it was only after truly studying the marks that I felt I was getting close. And then it happened, and lucky for me, I still had my research with me.”

“Why Monument Valley?” Sterling asked. “We’ve heard that this area is called the Terminal. Why there? Do you know?”

“It is a meeting ground for Godwalkers then and now, where they go to recharge. That is all I know based on some of the petroglyphs I have uncovered. I’m hoping to find the answer on my next trip toward Nomadland. I believe it is an important place for the Godwalkers.”

<Beep.>

Dusty motioned toward Beep with his pipe. “It is agreeing with me, yes?”

“Yeah, Beep does that.”

“Fascinating. That’s something I would like to better understand over the coming week.”

“Week?” Sterling asked.

“I’m going with you; I’m sure the Oracle has already told you this. We’ll set off to Antelope Island in the morning and continue south from there, toward Moab. There are other things I would like to look into there, and the Oracle has granted us her blessing.”

“Have you heard of any other mancers suddenly appearing in the region?” Roxie asked. “An aeromancer, for one. Also a technomancer.”

“Don’t forget a batty old shaman,” said Sterling.

“Hmmm… a batty old shaman sounds familiar,” the Chronicler said with a hint of disdain in his voice. “Past the Nomadland city of Moab, a shaman has taken up residence at a place called Hole ‘N’ the Rock. People have been wary of him. As for the others you’ve mentioned, I haven’t heard anything about their exact appearances, but I have heard rumors that some new ones have shown up, and not ones that behave like the Angels of Woe. All interesting things, to be sure. I’m guessing we will find out in due time.”

“How did they do it?” Sterling asked. “These ancient people, Anasazi, whatever you want to call them, how did they stop the Godwalkers then?”

The Chronicler looked him dead in the eye. “The same way that you’re going to stop them now. Come up with a strategy, attack them head-on, show no mercy, and be willing to lose your life in the process. At least that is what I can surmise based on petroglyphs. That’s another thing we will look for along the way, answers, messages from the Anasazi. I believe we may find something outside of Morgan, Utah, but that is just a guess, and we may come up empty-handed. Either way, our goal will be to get to Monument Valley, to the Terminal. Exciting, isn’t it?”

It was a lot to take in.

Even after the conversation with the Chronicler had ended, Sterling was left with a ton of questions. He had brought down a Godwalker before, but an entire group of them? And what if there were dozens of smaller ones, like Beep?

He was well past the point of knowing that he was going to need a technomancer, which was where Maron would come into play once they found him. But that was merely a piece of the puzzle, Sterling sensing that everything going forward would be easier said than done.

But they did it back then, he had to remind himself as the three of them headed back to Rhonda’s home. If the Anasazi were able to do it hundreds of years ago, we should be able to as well. Then again, the Godwalkers were only in this region at that time, at least according to what we were just told. If we bring them down here, what about the rest of the world? What then?

The answer came simply to Sterling, almost as if it were etched across his heart.

Then we keep fighting.

It was their final dinner in Saltair, and while Sterling didn’t want their host Rhonda to go out of her way to make it special, he was glad to see that they had roasted some buffalo and made bread to go with it, small potatoes as well that were seasoned with salt, the roast itself basted in the Deseret hooch that Sterling had had the previous night, a sweetness to it all.

“Damn fine food,” he said as he went for a second helping, baby Jessica making a cute sound and reaching her hands out to him. “See? She agrees. Ain’t that right, kiddo?”

“She wants you to hold her,” Lily told Sterling as baby Jessica blew snot bubbles in his direction, her tongue sticking out of her mouth.

“Shee-it, let me finish my plate first,” he told the child. “Then I’ll hold you all you want.”

After another helping, Sterling rocked the baby in his arms, getting lost in her innocent eyes. Eventually, as the child began to sleep, he carefully handed her back to Lily Gray.

With his belly full, Sterling went outside and sat on a stool in the small yard where they had the outdoor shower shielded from the public. The sun had set by this point, the day wasting away, a cool breeze blowing down from the surrounding peaks, a splattering of stars shining above.

Sterling rolled up a cigarette, and was just about at the point that he was lighting it when Roxie joined him.

“What do you think about what the Chronicler said?” she asked. “About these ancient peoples taking on the Godwalkers.”

“I’m still trying to figure out what I think,” he told her honestly after his first drag. “I’m sure we’re going to hear all about what happened back then, Ol’ Dusty’s theories and whatnot, over the coming days.”

“I don’t know if the Chronicler is physically strong enough to come with us,” Roxie said as she found a stool. The thin woman leaned forward, almost to the point that she would be able to wrap her arm around her knees.

“He has been through the region multiple times. I ain’t too worried.”

“I don’t know about any of what he said, none of it. It doesn’t seem real.”

“Paco seems to believe it.”

“I’m not a Hopi; I don’t know about their legends, but most legends are simply that, not based in fact.”

“I know a little, but not a lot,” Sterling admitted. “I have seen their petroglyphs; that spiral formation is pretty common, and there are all them glyphs surrounding Duke City. I remember someone telling me that this was part of their mythology, that they spread out across the land, leaving these markings until they found the perfect home.”

“And they chose the Southwest? I can think of so many better places.”

“Can you? Have you ever even been to a better place?”

“I don’t know the answer to that question.”

“Maybe they felt the same way. I think we just need to hear a little bit more of what this man has to say, and watch how Paco reacts, you know, see if it holds up. My bullshit meter didn’t even twitch when he started. In fact…” Sterling remembered the moment of revelation he’d had during the bearded man’s explanation. “I’ve done a little surgery on my perception skills, and I’ve got to tell you, I think it’s true. Everything the Chronicler said. And he gives me hope that if the Anasazi did it back then, we can do it too.”

“I just don’t know, but…” Roxie said, now bent forward, her arms on her knees, chin on her arms. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”

Sterling laughed long and hard at this. None of them really did, aside from survive. Then again, that was probably how most people felt if they really thought about it both before and after the Reset.

Nothing better to do so I might as well survive. Wish I could flip that into a desert haiku…

“What are you thinking about?” Roxie asked after he was quiet for a moment.

“It don’t matter. Back to what we are talking about: I’m sure we’ll learn more going forward here. You know I’ve got an interest in history, and to finally come across someone who seems to know what they’re talking about is mighty fine. Mighty fine,” he said, covering a burp. It’d been a while since he had such a hearty meal.

“It’s something,” she said. “I just don’t know if I buy it or not. Why would the Godwalkers only come here? Why would there be no written record about it, or…”

“There are written records carved across the landscape,” he told her once she trailed off. “When’s the last time you understood some of them petroglyphs? That rock art meant something to someone back then, a blueprint for something, even though we don’t entirely know what it means now. What I’m trying to say here is every carving has its story, and you’ve seen them as much as I have in New Mexico—the cliff dwellings, the great houses, steps that have been cut in the sandstone, making it easier to climb up the hill, pottery shards—little things like that. These people were up to something. Just because they didn’t put their experiences down in a book don’t mean they didn’t experience them.”

“Listen to you.”

“I’m serious, Roxie. I’ve always known there was something else out there, and not just whoever I was before all of this, even though I’m interested in that as well. You’ve seen the same things I have, the pueblos, the ruins, all of it. Them things are telling us something, and maybe this Chronicler has cracked that code. It seems to line up with what Paco has heard.”

“We’ll see,” she told him after a long pause. “What other techniques did you improve at the Gauntlet?”

“I improved my fighting skills, and my perception. As for Class Proficiencies…” Sterling ashed his cigarette. “Well, there’s one thing I’ve been wanting to test out. You don’t mind, do you?”

“By all means,” she said, motioning for him to do whatever he’d like.

“Shee-it, make sure that the backdoor is closed.”

Once Roxie returned, Sterling summoned the dead biomancer from his inventory list, the man’s muscled form taking shape. He stood there obediently, the bullet hole that Roxie had put through his head now dried up.

“Do you understand me?” Sterling asked his animate. “Speak up.”

The man’s jaw began to twitch. “I do.”

“They can talk?” Roxie asked, a hint of disgust in her voice.

“I think they can now.” Sterling looked back up at the man. “Do you have any memory of who you were before?”

“What?” the animate asked.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

“They really are zombies, aren’t they?” Roxie asked.

The man turned to her, and as he did, she drew a weapon from beneath her poncho, which she quickly placed across her lap.

“Do you know how to roll a cigarette?” Sterling asked the animate. He could already instruct them to do simple things like pick up something and move it, but he figured a task like rolling a cigarette would mean that the zombie needed to be more dexterous than the ones before.

The animate nodded. “I can.”

“I’m going to step inside for a moment, Rox. I want you to tell this man here something. Anything. Something wild, or something from our past that I don’t know about. It don’t matter. I want to see how good he is at gathering information.”

“Do it.”

Roxie stood and pointed her weapon at the animate.

“You don’t need to shoot him,” Sterling said.

“You don’t know that.”

He stepped inside, and as he did Lily Gray joined them at the back door.

“Is everything all right out there?” she asked, the woman’s apron splashed with water from cleaning up.

“Everything is bueno,” Sterling said as he shut the door behind him. “Nothing to worry about. Where’s Paco?”

“Resting.”

“Not a bad idea, considering the trip we have planned for tomorrow…”

“I wish I could go with you,” said Lily Gray. “I know that I would be no use, but whatever y’all are doing is interesting to me.”

“Nonsense, you’d be useful. Without you, we wouldn’t know what to do with this baby. You got a responsibility for that child…”

“Jessica likes you.”

“If she knew me, she wouldn’t,” Sterling said with a sly grin. “But I’m glad to hear that, and I appreciate the hospitality that you and Rhonda have shown us here. Without y’all, I don’t know where we would stay.”

“You have made friends with the Oracle. Maybe you would be staying in the Saltair.”

“Shoot, maybe,” Sterling said. He hadn’t considered this. The rooms there were probably much better than the one here, but the food at Rhonda’s was top-notch, and as far as he could tell, it couldn’t be beaten. “Anyhow, I best get back out there. Roxie is waiting for me.”

Sterling stepped outside to find Roxie seated again, her weapon in her lap, his animate standing as obediently as ever.

“What did she tell you?” he asked the zombified man.

The animate’s cheeks twitched and he spoke. “She said that she had tamales in Cloudcroft that didn’t have any peppers in them.”

“What?” He almost barked out a laugh. “What a damn crying shame. Is that what you told him?”

“That’s right.”

“Anything else?”

Both Roxie and the animate answered at the same time. “No.”

“In that case, for now, your work here is done,” Sterling said as he placed his hand on the man’s muscled shoulder, his animate disappearing in an instant.

“I can see how that could be useful,” Roxie said carefully. “But I don’t like it.”

“Hell, I don’t like it either, but I have a feeling where we’re going, we’re going to need to fight fire with fire. Imagine if my animates were smarter, that they could do things like gather intelligence or we could send one ahead to tell us what to expect. Nomadland might as well be no man’s country; we’ve got to adjust accordingly.”

“That’s the thing though, your animate may be able to get information, but we don’t know if he can actually gather it, make educated choices. Sure, if someone tells him something he’ll remember it, but can he observe and understand? I think not.”

“He didn’t ask any questions?”

“No, he just stood there. And he could have asked me questions. Ample time. So there is still room for improvement. What took you so long in there? It was creepy being out here with that thing.”

“Lily Gray wanted to shoot the shit for a minute. Good woman, good people. Well, not her people, but her and Rhonda. So I guess her people. I see what you’re saying, though,” he said, moving back into the conversation on his animate. “That doesn’t mean that we can’t use them to test things out or as decoys. Before…” He nodded. “You remember what they were like before.”

“Much more savage.”

“Real monsters, my animates. They could take simple commands, but that was about it. This one seemed downright civilized. I just wish that I had another go at that Gauntlet. I don’t know what ten more levels would bring, but I’m assuming I would get a few more Class Proficiency points.”

“And the Oracle won’t let you do it tomorrow before we leave?”

“On our way out of Saltair, I peeked into one of her throne rooms—that place was crazy, let me tell you—and asked her about it. She said the biomancer was exhausted. Maybe next time. Damn weak ass biomancer.”

“Can’t we replicate the same thing with the Sunflower Kid?”

Sterling nodded as he considered this suggestion. “That remains to be seen. I know she’s high level, but I don’t know how much she’s put into reviving things. She did fix my arm, but it wasn’t dead. Well, in a way it was because it was missing, but you get the picture. We’ll have to ask her.”

“Hopefully we’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Yeah, hopefully.” Sterling patted Roxie on the arm. “We should probably get some rest, Rox. Paco has the right idea in there already counting sheep.”

“I think I’ll sit out here for just a little bit longer by myself,” she said, returning her gaze to the fence, a solemn expression on her face. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“You want me to bring your buddy the biomancer back to keep you company?”

Roxie smirked. “Get the hell out of here.”

.Chapter Two.

It was a typical morning for Sterling Monedero, the cowboy necromancer starting his day with a sketch of the Saltair building while sitting on a rocking chair in front of Rhonda’s home. From there it was a desert haiku, then a cigarette, then he worked on another haiku, only to finally be called in for a morning meal of biscuits and a thick gravy made from buffalo bones.

“I’m going to miss this here food,” he told their host Rhonda. “¿Panza llena, corazón contento, no? Stay here any longer, and I might put on a few pounds.”

“You could use a few pounds,” she told him. “You’re practically a skeleton.”

“Sí, Skeleton Man,” said Paco, who sat across from Sterling, once again in the white clothing they had given him.

“Ain’t going to lie, I’ve been called worse,” he said, a phrase that he had certainly used before. Roxie wasn’t at the table, and once Sterling inquired as to where she was, Lily told him that she had already headed out.

“She has a mind of her own, that dang woman,” Sterling said. “I guess we all do, but hers…” He whistled. “Let’s just say I’d hate to be a telemancer taking a gander at her thoughts. Did she say where we would meet her?”

“The dock is on the other side of Saltair,” Rhonda explained. “Just head in that direction. Honestly, unless you’re some kind of idiot, you can’t miss it.”

“Last I checked, we weren’t that dumb,” Sterling said. “I’m sure we’ll find it.”

“And be sure to tell Roxie thank you again, she may have a mind of her own, as you say, but she has a good heart.”

“Thank you?” Sterling asked. “What are you thanking her for? She kill someone for you?”

Rhonda started to laugh. “No, nothing like that. She gave Lily the keys to the dune buggy. She’s going to use it for a bit, maybe sell it.”

“Not a bad idea. They may be stolen by now, but if you head back to the Elder’s compound, I know he had a few others there as well.”

Rhonda nodded. “We may just do that.”

After breakfast, they said their goodbyes to Rhonda, Lily Gray, and baby Jessica, Sterling promising that if they ever returned to Saltair they would visit. He didn’t think this would ever happen, but at least the offer of housing was there, and he could always hit up the Gauntlet again and do some XP farming.

Hell, I may even take that dune buggy for a spin if they still got it.

The streets of the village were mostly quiet, everyone that was out moving with purpose, either working to build something or returning with food, nothing like the drunken meandering that Sterling had seen back in Truth or Consequences. Children would emerge later in the day, their laughter filling the street, evidence that civilization wasn’t as bad as some thought it was.

Sterling could go either way.

He liked the sanctity of his pepper farm on the outskirts of T or C, the quiet, and the frontier edge that the nearby town provided. But he didn’t mind being around folks either, and that was usually the best place to drink some beers and share a few laughs.

They reached the lane that led to the Saltair building, Sterling watching the manicured trees waver in the wind as he headed in the direction that Rhonda had given them. The dock wasn’t anything fancy, but there were a few smaller boats there. Sterling wondered if the Great Salt Lake had fish in it.

He understood now why they called the boat they were set to take a barge, the flat bottom design used for carrying heavy freight, which by the way it was set up, seemed as if it would be the easiest way for them to transport buffalo carcasses. The side of the barge was marred by copper-colored rust, the patina not unlike a setting sun, yet seemed in good working order.

He spotted the Chronicler loading his pipe as he spoke to Roxie, who stood near the motor, which was manned by a fellow wearing an orange fishing bib, the color way too bright for Sterling’s taste.

There were a few men crouched around him, whom Sterling took to be the buffalo hunters, teenage boys as well, likely those responsible for dealing with the kill while the hunter moved on to his next target. All of them looked a bit disgruntled, their faces telling Sterling that they were upset that their hunt had been derailed by the Sunflower Kid.

At least Sterling hoped it was her…

Biomancers were a tricky bunch, and he had got lucky with the one he had fought a few days back. A biomancer at their peak, like the Sunflower Kid, wouldn’t go down so easily.

“Dusty, Roxie,” Sterling said as he came onto the barge and tipped his hat at them. He approached, Paco doing the same.

“This may help.” The Chronicler summoned several folding chairs made of cloth, which he set up away from the hunters, all of whom had yet to say anything to Sterling even after he tipped his hat at the men. “And be sure to divvy all the stuff up.” He motioned to the supplies at his feet, big containers of water and other rations, enough that they nearly dwarfed the man. “Nomadland is one of the harder areas to survive in Deseret, and it’s good that we all have backup items.”

Sterling started adding items to his inventory list, getting a snort from one of the hunters seated behind him.

Bastards, he thought as he set up the chair that the Chronicler had prepared for him.

It wasn’t long after the barge started off, Sterling noticing that the craft’s motor was powered by repurposed solar panels, which he assumed had been repurposed by flectomancers. It was a quiet ride, the saltwater waves not too choppy, the wind nice and cool to the point that Sterling removed his cowboy hat, just letting the breeze roll over his head.

Sterling recalled a time not so long ago that he had taken a rowboat out onto Elephant Butte Lake with his buddy Kip, the two drinking warm beer and fishing all day. They hadn’t caught much, but they did have a good time in the process. The lake, which was fed by the Rio Grande River, wasn’t always as high as it had been that summer, right before a drought took most of it away, exposing the cracked lakebed, reminding Sterling at the time that water giveth and water taketh away.

Always.

At some point during their journey to Antelope Island, he walked over to the edge of the barge and crouched, running his fingers through the waves, one of the hunters snorting at his behavior.

“If y’all knew what’s best for you, you’d keep your little giggles to yourself,” he said without looking up at them. “Don’t forget that I’m here to help because y’all are too chickenshit to tell a teenage biomancer to leave your hunting grounds.” To make sure his point was understood, Sterling stood and equipped his revolver and his sickle-sword, finally returning his weapons to their proper places at his sides rather than keeping them in his inventory list. “Anyone else got anything to say?” he asked, eyeing the hunters.

“That’s some sword you got, mister,” one of the older hunters told him, the man with a pearl-colored eye that reminded him of White Eyed Anderson. “I bet it’s good for cutting.”

“Shee-it, you don’t know the half of it,” he said as he turned to his seat, only realizing then that he wasn’t going to be able to sit in the foldable chair with the way his weapons were strapped to his body. Sterling suddenly felt foolish, but rather than return his weapons to his inventory list, he simply stood, his back to the hunters, daring one of them to say something.

“I would prefer if we didn’t go around challenging people,” the Chronicler said after a long pause in which he puffed on his pipe and observed the horizon, allowing everyone to cool down. “The people in Nomadland have seen a lot, and I would say they are some of the most hardened souls living in the Southwest, considering the conditions in which they live. I understand that you have somewhat of a, um, reputation to maintain, your dark cowboy outfit, your overall demeanor, but the people there may take you up on your challenge.”

“Not if I’m around, they won’t,” Roxie said point blank.

Once again, she had her hood over her head and a weapon in her lap, which looked to be a modified pistol with a sight on it that he hadn’t seen her equip before.

“Yes, but let’s try to walk carefully where we go. My suggestion is that we maintain a more equanimous demeanor. Not saying that we won’t run into situations in which your brawns and bravado won’t be necessary, but it would be best for us not to create any where it would be required,” he said slowly, as if he were thinking out each word.

“You do you, and we’ll do us,” Sterling said. “I don’t know how much Nomadland is like New Mexico these days, but if someone looks at you funny there, and you don’t say nothing, there’s a good chance they’ll make their move when you turn your back to them.”

“I wouldn’t say it is like that there. The people in Nomadland are…” The Chronicler looked up at the sky for a moment, squinting as he licked his bottom lip. “They are quite hardy, used to the constant threat of the Angels of Woe. The conditions they live in, while equal to some parts of New Mexico, are made worse by the dryness of the region and what it takes to survive there. You’ll see what I mean. I wouldn’t suggest always following my lead, but it may save us some trouble from time to time.” He smiled at the two of them. “Just a word of advice.”

Antelope Island State Park was certainly beautiful from the water, scenic scraps of earth rising from the Great Salt Lake and pinching into a series of ridges running through the center of the island. There was a strip of water that separated it from the mainland which, according to the Chronicler, featured mud flats that led right up to the city of Syracuse, Utah.

It was a peninsula, and the barge had kept to its outer edges, where it eventually came to a long, partially collapsed road that passed over the water, creating what was known as Farmington Bay. The Great Salt Lake had receded quite a bit from the shoreline, Sterling recognizing the signs of a drought when he saw them, his eyes falling upon a set of skeletons from an enormous amalgamation that he didn’t recognize.

Yet there was still plenty of water, enough that a barge was required to make the trip faster.

“Ever heard of Kit Carson?” the Chronicler asked as they neared a bay at the mouth of the island.

“Damn right I have,” said Sterling. The famous explorer had popped up in some of the books he’d read back in T or C. Carson had done it all in the Southwest, from paving the way for other adventurers, to fighting in the Civil War, to carrying messages from California all the way to Washington, D.C. There were cities, counties, rivers and lakes named after him, and Sterling had once checked out what was left of the Kit Carson museum in Taos, which was where the man had called home.

“John Freemont and Kit Carson were the first Westerners to reach the Great Salt Lake. They shot a pronghorn antelope on the island, and that’s how it got its iconic name. Sometime at the end of the nineteenth century, the owner of the island brought a herd of twelve bison here, at a time when bison were pretty much extinct in America. The buffalo prospered, mostly due to the grasslands that run up and down those mountains.” The Chronicler motioned in the direction of the island. “Now there are hundreds if not thousands of them. When the water gets low, like it does every summer, more and more swim across. Who knows how far east they go.”

“They must go down to Comancheria,” Paco said.

“Yes, they certainly do,” the Chronicler told him, raising an eyebrow at the Hopi native. “We should talk more about that later.”

“You’ve been through Comancheria?” Sterling asked.

“I sure have. Multiple times. You have to be careful, and you have to be…” The Chronicler took one last puff off his pipe and sent it to his inventory list. “You have to be willing to fight or die if you go through those lands, or at least have your inventory list cleared out. They have ways, you know.”

“We’ll need to look at a map later,” Sterling said, recalling all the maps he’d seen in the Chronicler’s quarters. “I want to pick your brain a bit.”

The man tapped on the side of his head. “Ripe for the picking.”

Once they came ashore, Sterling’s group hopped off, the Chronicler, the captain, the hunters, and their assistants remaining on the barge.

“I leave it to you, then. Negotiate with the biomancer or do what you have to do,” the Chronicler told them. “Once that has been settled, come back here and we will start off. It’ll be easier to take the boat to the other shore, but we could always walk.”

“Y’all sit tight,” Sterling said to all of them, being sure to wave at the buffalo hunters, to rub it in a little.

“Let’s make this quick.” Roxie equipped a pair of binoculars, which she draped around her neck, the woman also going with one of her modified sniper rifles.

Sterling couldn’t help but offer her a toothy grin. “Shee-it, lead the way, amiga.”

Rather than respond, the female gunner headed toward the peaks, Sterling recognizing then that this could be something that took all day, or even all night. The island was much larger than he had anticipated, and he had yet to see any signs of buffalo aside from some droppings.

It only took wandering around for twenty minutes or so for Paco to take over with the tracking, the young man eventually surpassing Roxie as he kept his eyes to the ground and began looking for signs of wildlife.

The three came to a large boulder jutting out of the side of one of the mountains providing a vantage point, Paco the first to notice that there were signs that someone had been here.

“Now that’s a biomancer if I ever saw one,” Sterling said as he spotted a series of enormous vines that twisted down toward an open space, the grassland covered in small tufts of green. Roxie brought her binoculars to her face, Sterling going with his monocular just to see if he caught something that she didn’t.

“Follow the vines?” Sterling asked.

“I think this is to make it easier to get down to the grasslands, yes. Come on,” Paco said as he bravely stepped out onto one of the vines, which was as thick as a tree trunk. He started down it, Sterling and Roxie following suit, a light breeze blowing around them.

“Never thought I’d get to play in a jungle gym,” said Sterling as he descended toward the plains below. He definitely noticed that feeling in his chest that he associated with heights, his heart constricting for a moment, Sterling trying not to look down.

He knew if he slipped that he could simply float to the ground, but flying was never going to be part of his repertoire even if it was something that he was able to do. At some point, Roxie got tired of climbing and simply stepped off, the hooded woman slowly lowering and reaching the dry grass below at about the same time Paco did.

Both stood and looked up at Sterling.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he called down to them as he continued to climb. Sterling now had one eye closed, trying not to gauge how far he was from the ground. He knew what it would feel like to land on his back, the wind knocked out of him, a galaxy’s worth of stars dancing before him. It had happened before, and it wasn’t something he intended on repeating.

He took his sweet time making his way down, and eventually reached the other two. Roxie had her arms crossed over her chest.

“What? Not all of us are fans of floating around like a bunch of Tinkerbells,” he said, not quite sure of what a Tinkerbell even was. The Reset had done this to him, left him with his language and the words he had known over time, yet often he didn’t know the meaning behind them, or what they were in reference to.

“We should send Beep up to find her,” Roxie said. “I don’t know why we are doing this.”

“Because, if the Sunflower Kid sees Beep, she’s likely going to try something.” Sterling took off his cowboy hat and ran his hand through his long hair. “We don’t need her being vaporized.”

“I suppose you’re right. Well, where are they?” she asked Paco.

“You realize Hopi had practically nothing to do with buffalo, right? Aside from trading for their fur and bones, maybe meat, but that would’ve been very rare. And that wouldn’t have been us, but our ancestors,” he told her.

The three of them felt the ground rumble.

“I think that may answer your question, Rox,” Sterling said as he looked at the horizon, toward another set of peaks. The land seemed to curve, and whatever that rumble was, it was coming in their direction.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Roxie asked him.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“You are the one with a skeletal horse.”

“Good call.” Sterling summoned Manchester, the horse’s bones appearing in a pile on the ground. They clicked into shape, his skeletal steed lifting its neck up as if it were making a noise to acknowledge his presence. Soon, Sterling was saddled up and riding toward the noise.

It was a long stretch of grass, and as Sterling kicked up tufts of grass and dirt, he noticed a cloud of something take shape over the curve of the land.

“Dammit,” he mumbled to himself as he drew his revolver, finding a hint of irony in that moment.

He had seen people herd livestock outside Truth or Consequences, and had even helped once or twice, as any good neighbor would. But it was now, as he charged toward a herd of buffalo with his gun drawn, wind zipping around him, that Sterling finally came to peace with the term that Don Gasper had christened him.

Cowboy necromancer, he thought as he fired his gun into the air.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The buffalo were stampeding, dust blotting out the blue sky above, Sterling noticing as he rode toward the beasts that some of them weren’t like the others. He recognized the three amalgamations almost immediately, the monstrosities towering over the other buffalo, their skulls those of sabertooth tigers, the monsters whipped up into the same fervor that the others were.

“I’m going to need you,” Sterling said as he summoned Beep, the tiny Godwalker magically appearing next to him. “And if you see a young woman probably with strangely colored hair riding on one of them things, don’t kill her! Understand me?”

<Beep.>

“¡Vamos!”

Sterling buckled down and continued his suicide charge toward the bison, the herd growing closer to him just as he veered off to the side, skirting around them, and hoping to put an end to this quickly.

A laser cut into the soil behind him, Beep taking down one of the amalgamations only to be struck by another, the miniature Godwalker flipping up into the air and coming down like a cannonball.

“Beep!” Sterling shouted as he tried to circle back around. One of the buffalo amalgamations caught a whiff of him and turned in his direction, a few of the smaller bison between them plowed to the side as the gargantuan creature cut through its own ranks.

Are they its own ranks?

Sterling was starting to understand now that the amalgamations weren’t running with the herd of buffalo, they were pursuing them, hunting them. He started firing his revolver at the amalgamation as it chased him, Sterling not paying attention to where he was going now, his full trust in Manchester to get him where he needed to go.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Beep burst from its capsized position on the ground, one of the buffalo jumping over the Godwalker. The front of Beep’s body was open, the muzzle of a powerful weapon charging once again, the air crackling around the small Godwalker as it fired on another amalgamation.

Manchester leaped into the air, Sterling holding on for dear life with one hand as he continued to fire behind him at the amalgamation that was chasing him.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

He was nearly bucked off once he hit the ground, but Sterling continued on at a breakneck pace. He spotted something in the helter-skelter amidst the sea of bison bodies and amalgamations, a smile instantly cracking across his face. Charging with the herd was a white buffalo, and seated on the beast was a petite female with her braided platinum blonde hair beating in the wind behind her, arms covered in charms, a wild look on her face.

The Sunflower Kid.

Wham!

Manchester was struck head-on by one of the buffalo amalgamations, which had the aftereffect of crushing Sterling’s leg as he was thrown off. He hit the ground chin first, his mouth filling with blood as his teeth nearly severed his tongue.

The ground was suddenly lifting around him as if a gaiamancer had commanded it, Sterling only realizing once he finally was able to blink his eyes open that he was being cupped by an enormous tree trunk, something that would fit better alongside a California redwood than it would an isolated island on the Great Salt Lake.

He was being protected.

His head still spinning, leg broken in several pieces, Sterling ignored the pain as he crawled over to the side of the wooden platform and looked over its edge.

Beep killed an amalgamation, leaving just one left, which the Sunflower Kid finished off using an enormous spiked vine that lifted from the soil and wrapped around the monster, slamming it down several times.

The herd of buffalo seemed to calm as if someone had flipped a switch, all of them instantly stopping in their tracks and simply standing there, their tails beating away any flies that intended to gather around them, an absentminded look in their black eyes.

Beep turned to the Sunflower Kid, who was still mounted on her white bison.

“Don’t kill each other!” Sterling yelled from his suspended platform, which was now about fifteen feet up. The front of Beep’s body began to morph as its weapon was returned to its chest cavity. “And get me down from here,” he told the Sunflower Kid as he turned onto his back and reached his hand out to find his revolver.

He put it back in his holster, tipping his hat forward for a moment as the wooden platform began to lower, sucking a deep breath through his bloody teeth to combat the pain in his leg.

The platform grew level with the ground, and as it did the Sunflower Kid approached on her white buffalo, her shadow looming over Sterling.

“Howdy,” he told her.

“Vaquero nigromante.”

Sterling laughed. “Don’t you start calling me that. Look, I’m sure you’ve got questions and I got some answers. Not all of them, but some. But before we do that, I could use your help with this here leg. Also…” He grinned at the mysterious biomancer. “It’s damn good to see you, Kid. Damn good.”

The Sunflower Kid hopped down from her white buffalo and crouched before Sterling, her hands outstretched as she began healing his broken leg. He winced as his bones cracked back into place, something that would have happened on its own and was only sped up by the biomancer and her unique power, which was something he wanted to talk to her about later.

“How long have you been out here?” he asked, ignoring the throbbing sensation associated with her ability.

“Maybe five days. Six? It hasn’t been that long in the grand scheme of things.”

“That’s right around the time I came.”

“To this island? I don’t remember seeing you.” As if to make her point, her eyes darted left and right. “It’s pretty lonely out here.”

“Heh. Trust me, you would have known had I arrived on this here island. But that’s another story entirely. If you want to know why we’re here, look no further than ol’ Beep over there.” Sterling gestured toward the miniature Godwalker.

“I’ve never seen one that size.”

“You ain’t the only one.”

The ground began to morph, a dry branch twisting out of it and forming a seat for the Sunflower Kid. By this point, Sterling’s leg was completely healed, and as he pressed himself back, he found that the teenager had also conjured a seat for him. He took it graciously, his elbows on his knees for a moment as he looked over at her.

“Boy, am I happy to see you, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I’m happy.”

“You already said that,” she told him. “Tell me about this baby Godwalker.”

“Not too much to report aside from one key detail,” Sterling said. “Beep showed up right around the time I was brought here, and as it turns out, based on a way we have figured out how to talk to it, Beep is the one that apparently brought us here.”

“Us?”

He tilted his head in the general direction of Roxie and Paco. “I’ve got two more with me. You’ll recognize one of them. The others are here too.”

“Which others?”

“Maron, for one, the technomancer we ended up saving back down in White Sands. Don Gasper too which, if you ask me, we should probably just leave him here and not bother looking for him,” Sterling said with a chuckle. “But I’m just kidding, I got no grudge with that man. Zephyr is here as well. Beep brought all of us, and I’m not going to get all Einstein-y on you, but from what I can surmise, there is a quantum physics thing happening in our space-time continuum, or something of the sort. Listen to me getting all scientific and shit. Point is, some have been here longer than others, and Roxie has been here the longest thus far. Paco the shortest. Does that make any sense?”

“Paco?”

“You probably don’t remember him, but you actually saw Paco when I rescued you from that demented cult. He was there on the periphery. He’s Hopi, lived in a pueblo not far from the Abó Ruins. And here’s the kicker, something that we’ll be talking about as we get moving: Paco apparently knows more about these Godwalkers than we originally thought. I ain’t going to get into details here, but let’s just say this isn’t the first time they have attacked humans.”

“Interesting.”

The buffalo had gathered all around them now, the white one that she had been riding earlier next to the Sunflower Kid, grazing on a fresh patch of grass that she had conjured.

“It is interesting. Wait until you hear the rest of it.”

“It’s dry here.”

“Shee-it, you’re in Deseret; the place is more than dry. That’s what they call it, by the way. In case you didn’t run across a sign or something.”

“I did. We are in Utah.”

“That we are. Say, what happened to Watermelon?” he asked, referring to the pronghorn she was fond of riding.

“This is the new Watermelon.” The white buffalo approached her and lowered its head. Lifting her hand to its face, the Sunflower Kid lightly swirled her fingers through its coarse hair. “That’s what I named her.”

“You changed Watermelon into that?”

She shook her head. “Watermelon wasn’t in my inventory list when I was transported here. So he was left behind. But I found this one, and she will do.”

“I like her,” Sterling said as he looked into the buffalo’s deep black eyes. “At least I think I do. Watermelon here will definitely fit the landscape. Especially the salt flats.”

“Salt flats?”

“A ways west of here. Like I said, I’ll tell you all about it later, but let’s just say that as usual, my ass has been dealing with cults and fanatics, trying to figure out where the hell I am, and the fact that all my people are here, meaning I can’t just turn south and head home. Full plate.”

“It seems like a very rough landscape.”

“Understatement of the century. And I thought New Mexico was a harsh environment.” Sterling waved to Roxie and Paco, who were just beginning to approach. “Ain’t never seen nothing like this place, and from what I’ve heard, where we’re going next is even tougher. Nomadland.”

“Nomadland?”

“Southeast of here, toward the city of Moab, if that means anything to you, then down to Monument Valley on the border of what used to be Utah and Arizona, that’s where the Terminal is, where them Godwalkers will be. But before we do that, we have to head back to the group, on the barge on the other side of them there mountains. Those people need to be able to hunt these buffalo, and there is a man named the Chronicler who’s going to be joining us. His real name is Dusty Hill. Funny name if you think about it, but it fits this place.”

“They will start hunting them again?” she asked, exhibiting the first sign of emotion that Sterling had seen from her since their encounter, her eyes twitching to some degree.

“There’s a big group of people, hell, an entire village that relies on these bison for meat and fur. Good people, too, at least from what I could tell. I promised them that I would talk to you, convince you to allow them to hunt again without interfering. I don’t think that’s going to be too difficult, considering we got places to go and people to see.”

The Sunflower Kid lowered her head to some degree. “I suppose.”

“Shee-it, what were you doing out here anyway? Why didn’t you go looking for anyone?”

The teenager shrugged. “I had a feeling you would come; I figured it would be easier to find me if I stayed in place.”

“That’s mighty prescient of you.”

Roxie stepped up and offered the Sunflower Kid a short nod.

“Well, you already know this one,” said Sterling.

“Hi,” she told Roxie, who nodded a reply.

“Hi,” said Paco.

“Hello, Paco,” said the Sunflower Kid, oblivious to the look of shock on his face. It must have been strange for the Hopi youth to see them surrounded by bison, not to mention a great white buffalo standing next to a teen perched on a wooden chair that she had conjured.

“I’ll tell you what,” Sterling said, coming up with a temporary solution. “If you got a few favorite buffalo here, we could probably use them for transportation purposes. I don’t know if we’re going to come across any dune buggies where we’re going, but all of us are going to need something to ride, otherwise we will be going it on foot. Ain’t no way all of y’all are fitting on Manchester.”

“We can float,” Roxie said.

“Yeah, I guess you can. But I ain’t about to get into any of that. No, sir. Got me a bone horse for a reason.”

“We can bring several of them,” said the Sunflower Kid. “I’ll choose a few.”

“That’s going to make us stand out,” Roxie said.

Sterling started to laugh. “Like we aren’t already going to stand out? Look at us.” He motioned from the hooded female gunner to the Sunflower Kid in her hippyish get-up to Paco, who actually matched the way the Kid was dressed at the moment in his white clothing. “Not to mention Santa Claus back there dressed like he’s about to explore a pyramid. Pick out a couple buffalo, and we’ll head back. Once we find the others, we can refigure our modes of transportation. But it’s best we get off this island before sunset and start off toward Nomadland. Ain’t no sense in sticking around here.”

The buffalo hunters did little to hide their surprise upon seeing Sterling and his group reappear, the cowboy necromancer mounted on his bone horse, the rest on bison with an extra buffalo tagging along for the Chronicler. The bison were by no means slow, but Sterling could tell that he was always going to be a few steps ahead of them, which would allow him to do things like scout ahead, or simply ride alone for a spell to clear his head and smoke.

“I guess that settles it then. Gentlemen, good luck in your endeavors.” The Chronicler stood from his chair, which dematerialized back to his inventory list. The bucket-hatted archeoastrologist approached his mount and climbed up, the man much more nimble than Sterling had figured he would be with his distended belly. Without saying anything to the buffalo hunters, the group turned toward what was left of the park’s visitor center, the causeway that had been built over the Great Salt Lake quickly taking shape as they passed it.

“I was hoping you all would return sooner rather than later,” the Chronicler admitted once they started up a crumbled road, the group coming to a U.S. Army Ranger and Air Force Memorial positioned at an angle, as if it was secretly planning to cut into the cracked parking lot set before it.

“Couldn’t make friends?” Sterling asked him. “I recall you saying something about how we need to behave. Don’t work with all people, right?”

“No, not really. But that is behind us now, both figuratively and literally.” The Chronicler cleared his throat and forced a tight smile. “We’ll head toward Thurston Peak, and take some of the old mountain passes instead of the highway. It would be best to cut through Syracuse, which shouldn’t be too much trouble, but you never know. Then we’re going to come to the highway, Interstate 15, to be exact. Part of the overpass has fallen, of course, and it can get a little dangerous around that area as we move through the neighborhoods that surround it. Without showing you all a map, consider us traveling in a southeasterly direction, but before we do that, we need to get over a few mountains. We’ll be in Nomadland in no time.”

“Is that a saying around here or something?” Sterling asked, noticing it had a ring to it.

“It is, well, not here, but there, yes. And it’s mine, so maybe not there yet, but hopefully it’ll catch on.”

“I got a few phrases like that myself…”

“Very pithy, right? Also, I don’t believe we’ve officially met yet,” he said, looking over to the Sunflower Kid, who valiantly rode her white buffalo. “My name is Dusty Hill.”

“Nice to meet you,” she told him.

“So, you’re the biomancer that everyone has been raving about. What a fascinating mancer class. Although, necromancers are interesting as well, and solimancers don’t get enough credit in my humble opinion. I wish I had been reborn a mancer, perhaps an archeomancer, able to understand all archaeological sites they come across.”

A slight smile appeared on the Sunflower Kid’s face, indicating to Sterling that she liked the Chronicler. She always seemed smarter than she was putting on, mostly due to her quiet nature. It was clear that the Chronicler’s passion for both his surroundings and the past had interested her.

Sterling listened as he spoke of a biomancer he had come across who had sealed himself in what he had called a Garden of Eden, which wasn’t unheard of for that particular class. The Before People and those who had survived had taken the Bible and warped it in a number of ways, both good and bad. He also spoke of another biomancer who had used her power to grow extra limbs and how it had gotten out of hand.

“Best way to become a spider,” Sterling said as they approached what once was a golf course, a couple of golf carts tipped over, their parts removed, nothing left of the green except dry grass, patches of sand, and neon golf balls that had somehow turned up.

It seemed so very like the Before People to turn an area that clearly wasn’t destined for that much greenery into a lush place to hit a ball around.

No one nowadays would do something foolish like that, Sterling thought as he puffed on his cigarette.

The way that the Before People treated both their environment and their bodies was evident in what they left behind, and while Sterling had a keen interest in archeoastronomy, especially with how it could potentially help them understand the Godwalkers and what had been done to combat them in the past, he also found it fascinating to piece through the near past via discarded objects, advertisements, the things left in someone’s home after it had been looted.

The Before People had certainly lived high on the hog, but this came coupled with other concerns, a different kind of stress, one from sheer affluence and abundance, and a mentality to take more and more and hoard it away. In the end, most of them all died in the exact same way no matter what they had squirreled away in their bank accounts, their heads exploding as if a grenade had gone off inside their skulls, their bodies, photos, and material possessions all that was left of their lives. Call it the Rapture, call it the Reset, call it whatever people were calling it across the globe—the outcomes were all the same.

It was an awakening as much as it was a tragic restructuring, an event forcing humanity back into its most basic mode of survival, and adding to it the spice of mancers and unheard-of monstrosities in the form of amalgamations and alien monoliths willing and able to destroy anything they came in contact with.

This got Sterling thinking about Beep. The Godwalker was once again back in his inventory list on Roxie’s suggestion. He didn’t like keeping it there; it seemed like it was better for Beep to be out in the open, to be able to melt someone into a pile of steaming viscera if the opportunity presented itself. But keeping it in his list created an opportunity for an ambush, a proverbial trick up Sterling’s sleeve.

He became more aware of his surroundings as they approached an abandoned shopping plaza, yet another Walmart supercenter on his left, a Chinese take-out place and a few other restaurants on the right. There were a handful of people milling about, Sterling’s group getting a few side glances but not much else.

“We’ll be gone before they can alert someone of our presence,” the Chronicler assured them. “I’ve come through here before. They aren’t so bad.”

Regardless, Roxie had already checked her weapon and was prepared to fire, not taking any chances as usual, the female gunner always ready to strike.

Of the group, the Sunflower Kid seemed the most relaxed, which was likely because she was the most deadly if someone actually bothered them.

Trying to mirror her chill, Sterling casually rolled up another cigarette but didn’t light it. He tucked it behind his ear as he stared in the direction of the Walmart. He wondered what was inside this one, if it had been converted into some sort of trading post, or if it had simply been looted, nothing left aside from broken items, graffiti, and human feces, people always finding a way to muck up the place.

“It seriously looks like New Mexico,” Paco said as he joined Sterling at the front, the bison he was riding with a tuft of curly fur on its forehead that nearly covered its eyes. “Yet… There is still something missing.”

“The coloring is off,” said Sterling. “The buildings look a little different, but if you’re referring to some of the goods and services, yup, seems like the Before People all enjoyed the same things across the Southwest. Same basic restaurants, same shopping places, same entertainment. Who can blame them? It must have been comfortable as hell. But the coloring, that’s what you’re seeing. It ain’t the same as where we live.”

“We need to go over maps with the Chronicler later on,” Paco reminded him.

“I was thinking about that myself. With you around, we’ll have plenty of light, as long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves. Can’t do that.”

“If we can find a shelter in the mountains, I think it will be a perfect place to hunker down for the night.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something. People have lived in this part of the world long before there were supercenters and whatnot.” Sterling spotted a gas station with a pair of dune buggies parked near the pump, two men in modified athletic armor leaning against their crafts and watching them. “Keep an eye on them fellers,” he said, mostly for himself.

But aside from some maddogging, the men never made any indication that they were going to do something like follow Sterling and his group, which was probably a smart decision on their part.

It was another twenty minutes or so before they came to what was left of the overpass, pieces of it sticking out of the ground like the Kraken’s tentacles. Something had happened here, and it had likely involved a gaiamancer or three. Not only that, but there were also blackened spots on the ground, a few with boulders submerged in them that looked as if a meteor had landed.

Whatever had happened, it had been violent and likely sudden.

They weren’t going to be able to cross over the main section of the rubble, so they headed down a hill covered in small shrubs instead, past skeletal remains and an overturned vending machine that seemed out of place. They also circled around a washer and dryer unit, Sterling looking away once he saw that a severed head had been stuck inside the washer.

None of them said anything about it. They had all been desensitized to humanity’s depravity by this point.

Going around the collapsed overpass on their mounts was a bit tricky, especially with the larger hunks of road not unlike scree at the bottom of the gorge, the group forced to reassess the path the Chronicler had picked out a few times. As they came under an overhang of the road that had yet to crumble, Sterling noticed trashy graffiti, much of it featuring angel wings with skulls and sexual demonic images cast in red tones.

“Let me guess…”

“The Angels of Woe,” said the Chronicler who, even with the rough terrain, was perched on his bison with his pipe in his mouth as if it were nothing. “You’ll see markings like this all across the region.”

“And into Nomadland?” Paco asked.

“Not as much, no. It’s difficult to get a hold there, considering the environment, what one must endure to simply live. Plus the people out there…” He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “A different breed. Hardened to the point that these mancers generally don’t venture too far into their territory.”

“Are all of the Angels of Woe mancers?” Sterling asked.

“The scouting groups are usually mixed, as are the groups that live in the settlements they have formed, but the upper echelon, yes, all mancers. They’ve been terrorizing this region for a while now, and just about the only person that would be able to do something would be the Oracle, if she gathered all her various factions together at one time, the tribes.”

“I don’t quite understand how that one operates. I get it, there’s different little subsets of the cult spread out, but for all the order there was there in Saltair, it seems like the outer groups are a bit rambunctious, straying pretty far from the path she has set out.”

“A bit?” asked Roxie. “As soon as the Elder of Nauvoo was killed, the women went on a murdering spree.”

A troubled look spread across the Chronicler’s face. “Yes… I’ve heard of such things. You know, the Comanche were known to do something like that, well, not exactly, but the women would take it out on themselves if the men were killed in a fight. It could be quite a scene for anyone who witnessed it.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you more about the Comanche, but the more modern variation,” Sterling said. “Comancheria sounds like a place we will need to avoid, but I get this feeling that won’t be possible.”

“Unfortunately, depending on where we end up and how far their influence has spread, you are right, it may not be avoidable. You may have to pay a tithe of sorts or be prepared to fight for your lives once you head back toward New Mexico. That is where you will eventually go, right?”

A splash of red and yellow signaled more Angels of Woe graffiti, Sterling slowly nodding his head as he looked at it, the feeling that he was being watched ever-present. “If we survive all of this, yep, that’s the plan.”

“You may have to anyway to achieve your desired goal,” the Chronicler told them. “While Monument Valley has the Terminal, Chaco Canyon is also a place of interest, at least from some of the markings I’ve seen, and what I’ve heard from your people,” he said in Paco’s direction. “But I don’t know it’s significance yet.”

“Always something, ain’t it?” Sterling glanced at the Sunflower Kid and her platinum blonde hair, the big braid beating against the small of her back as her white buffalo shouldered forward. She turned her hand around and a plant stem took shape, berries appearing. She detached the stem from her palm and held it as she picked the berries, popping each one into her mouth individually.

Sterling always had this sense of familiarity around her that he couldn’t quite place, and as they continued along Antelope Drive, noted by a sign that had yet to be stripped for its parts or shot full of holes, he remembered their first encounter, in one of the neighborhoods of Las Cruces, both of them bewildered, the Sunflower Kid naked with plants all around her.

And here we are now in Deseret, he thought. Don’t make no sense, but it never really did.

The sheer number of restaurants had Sterling wondering what it really must have been like to live in Syracuse, Utah. The shells of the restaurants huddled around the main thoroughfare, Sonic, Cafe Rio Mexican Grill, Famous Dave’s Bar-B-Que, Panda Express, Mongolian Grill…

Mongolian Grill, he thought.

His eyes moved to another sign above one of the buildings, all the letters stripped away but the words seemingly burned into the outer wall. Kneaders Bakery & Cafe…

Seeing the restaurants triggered a sense of hunger. Sterling summoned some food from his inventory list, not yet touching the rations that the Chronicler had given him. Instead he ate a bit of deer jerky he had been saving, the meat coming off in spicy, dry strips of sinewy goodness. He didn’t know if it was like the food they must have had at the Mongolian Grill, and he suspected it wasn’t, but it hit the spot well enough, and he likely would have popped a pepper in too, had Roxie not pointed out a group of armed men standing on one of the rooftops.

“They’re going to wish they didn’t,” Sterling said as he unholstered his revolver. “Paco, heads up, son, we’ve got company.”

Not only were there armed men on the roof of a storage unit, they were also on the left side of the street, this group using a sideways eighteen-wheeler as a platform to give themselves the height advantage.

“Just keep moving,” the Chronicler said, raising both palms, his pipe in his left hand as he gestured toward the group seemingly holding sway over the road. “We’re just heading through toward Nomadland, at the direction of the Oracle,” he told them, his voice booming with confidence. “Won’t be sticking around.”

Once again, Sterling glanced at the Sunflower Kid, who seemed oblivious to the armed men, a few of whom were likely aiming their weapons at her. Her white buffalo moved in a way that made it look as if she were keeping herself afloat in a lake, left shoulder up first, rolling to the right, the Kid finishing the final berry she had spawned with little fanfare.

“They won’t do nothing,” she said.

“Sure are confident over there, Rox.”

“I think they’re just shocked to see us.”

“Yeah.” Sterling agreed with this assumption, considering he was a man in black perched on a skeletal horse amidst a group of travelers on bison, not to mention the new Watermelon, a head taller than the other buffalo with strikingly pale white fur. “Maybe Rox was right about keeping Beep in the old list.”

The Sunflower Kid smiled. “You really should have named it something else.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a bit on the head, isn’t it?”

“What would you have named it?” Sterling asked her. They had officially passed the chokepoint, yet he was still on edge, his chatter with a hint of nervousness to it.

“Something cuter.”

“Shee-it, ain’t too much cute about Beep.”

“Maybe something like… Strawberry. I would have named it Strawberry.”

Sterling snorted, which caused Roxie’s shoulders to tense. “Sorry about that. The Kid here is giving me the chuckles talking about renaming Beep. Say,” Sterling called over his shoulder to the Chronicler, “who were those men anyway? Any idea?”

“Likely a local militia. But if they are allowed to be that heavily armed, one would assume that they have made a deal with the Angels of Woe, yet they know better than to attack us because of the relationship they have with the Oracle and the Serpents of Paradise, many of the locals in these parts playing both sides.”

“Which puts us on their radar now, if we weren’t already,” said Roxie.

“And we should be considering our little fight outside of Saltair,” Sterling added.

“It might take time for news of that fight and your appearance here to reach central leadership, but yes…” The Chronicler took a puff of his pipe. “Yes, I would say that you are on their radar. And we will soon be off the radar. We’re almost halfway there, and the rest of the ride should be less eventful. Once we reach the mountains, keep an eye out for shelter. I don’t know how many of you have tents, but I only carry two with me. Perhaps if we come across a trading post in the future, it would be something good to trade for.”

“I’m all about them trading posts,” Sterling said. “Only thing is, they don’t seem to take the currency I have around here.”

“Turquoise?”

“That’s right,” he told the Chronicler. “And I traded all the jewelry I had, silver, back in Saltair for a charm. Traded a box of peppers too. That said, I do have a little jewelry given to me by Rox here, but that’s purty much it.”

“Do you have more peppers?”

“Shee-it, I always got peppers. Don’t leave home without them, even if…” Sterling cracked a grin. “Well, you know how I got here by now. I got one of them ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t’ kinds of lives, I’ll tell you what.”

“Don’t we all,” said the Chronicler as he exhaled a near perfect sphere of gray smoke. “Don’t we all.”

The situation felt a little less tense once they reached the outskirts of Syracuse, Utah, Sterling’s group heading south for a spell, keeping to a pathway carved out of the land, one meant for park vehicles clear by the tire tracks fossilized by the hardened soil.

A cloud sat heavy in the sky now, the sun’s rays reaching around it as if to embrace the visible mass of condensed water vapor, Sterling pausing just long enough to take in the beautiful scenery, the great expanse. Night would come soon, the landscape already blanketed in blue shadow, its natural sepia tones dulled and calming to some degree. Even better, he no longer felt like he was being watched. The cowboy necromancer was glad to be away from Syracuse, from people in general.

He let the group pass in front of him as he smoked, Sterling taking up the rear, the bison all obedient as they continued toward the west. It was best to stick to the trails that had been carved in the landscape, but at some point they were washed away by rainfall and lack of traffic, the Chronicler guiding them toward what eventually became a navigable mountain pass.

As they continued on, Sterling spotted cliff dwellings above.

He always found cliff dwellings interesting, and imagined ancient natives lithely climbing up and down the rockface, working for months to carve out a space only to move in less than a generation. He had discovered their potsherds and feathers back in New Mexico, bones as well. The feathers were evidence of just how far things had traveled back then, at a time when at first glance, the Southwest would have appeared completely devoid of humans.

These people had traded, and they had lived well enough.

There were petroglyphs and arrowheads aplenty, but it was when Sterling came across something more exotic, a bit of seashell in the corner kiva, or ritualistic parrot feathers lying on the ground, that he had a true appreciation of what had come before.

Granaries built on mesas, hand-cut stone used to form castle-like shelters, watchtowers, kivas carved deep into the earth, plazas, even hills from which they could have signal fires—all abandoned, not unlike most of the things Sterling encountered from the more recent Before People, those he stemmed from.

Everything repurposed.

Humanity recycled…

“I think we might be able to find something up there,” the Chronicler said after another twenty minutes of mostly silent travel. He gestured with his unlit pipe toward a series of caves, these ones not, at least at first glance, created by ancient peoples. Sterling assumed they were going to have to descend a narrow mineshaft, but it turned out there was a side entrance hidden by a boulder with lines of quartz twisting through it, seemingly out of place, especially with the color of the bedrock.

“I’ll check it,” Roxie said as she hopped off her buffalo. She moved forward swiftly after flicking on a light next to the scope of her weapon, the woman on point as usual.

The Sunflower Kid and Sterling watched Roxie in action, the Kid offering him a short smirk.

“What are you over there grinning about?”

She didn’t respond.

Roxie appeared a minute or so later and gave the go-ahead to start setting up camp inside the cave. “The cavern extends a little further back; I’ll keep checking, but the front is clear.”

“I can come with you,” Sterling offered.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself.”

Once Sterling had dismounted, he collapsed Manchester’s bones into a pile with the saddle sitting on top. Instead of sending it to his inventory list, he left the bones near the bison, just in case he needed to quickly summon his skeletal steed. While Paco and the Chronicler headed into the cave to set up camp, Sterling hung behind with the Sunflower Kid, who stood next to her white buffalo, petting its snout.

“Want a fruit?” she asked Sterling.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

She had already conjured grass for the buffalo to graze on, and as Sterling approached her, a branch began to grow from the soil, an apple forming.

“Might as well make some for the others too,” he said.

She did just that, Sterling using the end of his duster to collect them. He held the pouch he made in one hand and took his first bite of the apple, finding it sweet and crisp, at odds with the hard rock walls all around them.

“You doing all right?”

“That was a nice ride.”

“Don’t tell me you like Deseret,” said Sterling.

“It’s fine.”

“You know, rather than deal with trying to figure out whatever currency they’re using in the region we’re about to visit, we could just trade fruit. I’m not saying that you should conjure a bunch of fruit for us to trade, but it may be an option. That seller back in Saltair took to my peppers real quick. Between you and me, we could grow a lot of peppers.”

“So that’s why you have kept me around all these years,” she said. “Your scheme finally comes to the surface.”

“Kept you around? Shee-it, last I recall, you screwed off to ol’ Duke City with Zephyr, leaving me to head to Truth or Consequences. Just saying, that’s how it played out.”

“I was always there in spirit,” she said as she continued to pet her white buffalo.

“Yeah, I’ll give you that. Speaking of things you can and can’t do, this is going to be a weird question but hear me out.” Sterling explained how the biomancer back in Saltair had been able to heal hell pigs from the dead, but only if he got to them in a certain timeframe. “Have you ever tried anything like that? I mean, you can heal wounds, but have you ever tried that kind of resurrection? Is that one of your techniques?”

The Sunflower Kid considered this question as she ate her apple. “It isn’t something I’ve experienced, but my enhanced regeneration power does mention higher levels allowing for advanced healing techniques, and I’ve reached those levels. Maybe it has to do with that? We’ll have to try some time.”

“We will. It’d be a way to farm XP, that’s for sure,” said Sterling. “Maybe next time we come across an amalgamation, we’ll see if we can’t pull it off. It’d have to be in a controlled environment as well, and unless we had several amalgamations, gaining a level this way would be slow going. Plus we don’t have none of the XP boosting charms they had back in Saltair. Anyway, something to ponder.”

“I’ll ponder it.”

“Speaking of pondering, when we were riding back there, I couldn’t help but think how crazy it is that we’re here. I know, we figured out by now that we were transported by…” Sterling summoned Beep. “This little feller.”

<Beep.>

“Yeah, yeah,” he told the floating monolith. “As I was saying, I know by now we figured out why we were transported here, I’m just saying from where you and I come from, from Las Cruces, this is like a whole new world. It still blows my mind.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Five years? That wasn’t that long ago. You saw them cliff dwellings back there. That was a long time ago. And…” He took a bite of his apple and smiled at her. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Neither have you.”

Both of them laughed, knowing that this wasn’t the case. Sterling had seen his driver’s license photo. Not only had he lost a ton of weight, but he had aged considerably since the Reset, anyone in their right mind had, which told Sterling that perhaps the Sunflower Kid wasn’t in her right mind…

But that was what he liked about her presence, the woman adding a hint of tranquility everywhere she went, one that he knew was underpinned by the ability to grow violent very quickly.

After a cigarette, he followed the Sunflower Kid to the cave, where they found the Chronicler watching as Paco moved rocks around that he would be able to use for heat and light. Sterling had seen him do something similar back in his pueblo and it was rather remarkable, the Hopi youth looking much better than he had when they’d first come across him. Paco’s energy levels had clearly returned to normal, his Resolve likely enhanced by the ten levels he had gained in the gauntlet back in Saltair.

One of the rocks glowed, and as it did the Sunflower Kid approached, two plant stems twisting out of cracks in the ground.

“Rosemary?” Paco asked her.

“And lavender. Once your rocks heat them up, it will smell nice in here.”

“Heh!” Sterling slapped his thigh. “Will you look at that? We even got ourselves some potpourri up in this cave. Didn’t think we had potpourri with us, did you, Dusty?”

“You forget that I’ve traveled with mancers before, plenty of times,” the man told him, a twinkle in his eyes. “But no, maybe not potpourri, per se.”

“Oh yeah? Ever traveled with a necromancer?”

The Chronicler seemed to hesitate for a moment. “There is a pair to the north of here; I have seen what they are capable of doing and it is monstrous.”

“A pair of necromancers?” Sterling asked.

“That’s right.”

“They ain’t friendly?”

The Chronicler shook his head. “I’m afraid not. They have been a thorn in the side of both the Oracle and her Serpents of Paradise, as well as the Angels of Woe.”

“Hell, as long as they don’t bother us, we won’t bother them. You got a big bowl? I got smaller ones.”

“How’s this?” the Chronicler asked after he summoned a ceramic bowl with a crosshatched pattern etched into it, the base of which was yellow.

“Works for me.” Sterling placed the apples in the ceramic bowl. “We have fruit.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. Now, we need to…”

“—Keep moving.” Sterling heard Roxie’s voice echo through the cavern. “Don’t look back. Keep going.”

It wasn’t thirty seconds later that Roxie emerged from the back of the cave, her weapon aimed at a barefooted man in overalls, his beard even longer than the Chronicler’s. The man was bald on top with red blotches shaped like ink stains across the side of his neck, and had numerous scabbed-over wounds on his hairy forearms.

“I told yah, I ain’t trying to do nothing to y’all,” the man spat, his accent thick and Southern, a bit of syrup to it. “These here are my caves, lady! You ain’t got no right to point no gun at me, dammit! I’ve been here for—”

“—Put your weapon away,” the Chronicler told Roxie as he motioned for the man to approach. “You live in these hills?”

“Damn… damn!” The man spat as Roxie slowly lowered her weapon. “That was a tight situation right there. I thought that there woman was going to shoot me. She even took my gun!”

“I’ll give it back in a minute,” she told the red-faced man, who was still visibly upset.

The man showed the group the palms of his hands. “I… I’ve lived here ever since the Rapture, mister. To answer your question, this is my home, my home.”

A vine lifted from the ground and plucked one of the apples in the ceramic basket before twisting its way toward the bearded man. “Do you want an apple?” the Sunflower Kid asked, breaking all the tension in the cave with a single gesture.

“Don’t…” He swallowed hard and licked his lips. “Don’t mind if I do. I’m friendly, y’all, I promise, just a steward of this here mountain. And if you want to stay here for the night, by all means, help yourself. Plenty of space. Just don’t shoot me. I’ve been shot too many damn times and am sick of healing the wounds. I don’t got levels like some of them others…” He gestured toward his legs, his overalls rolled up to the knees, skin covered in rock scrapes, a few of which were bloody and infected. “Ain’t so easy to heal.”

“Eat the apple,” the Sunflower Kid said. “And we will see about your legs.”

The man took the apple from her vine and glanced around at them, his bushy eyebrows unkempt to the point that the ends nearly reached his beard. “Mighty kind of you,” he said as he took his first bite. “I can’t remember the last time I had fruit. Years, it seems like, just meat and vegetables when I can trade for them. Anyway…” He took a second bite of the apple. “Damn, that’s something! The name is Joel Seaburt, or Joel the Troll, considering I live in these here caves. Nice to meet y’all folks.”

Joel Seaburt turned on the southern hospitality just about as quickly as Sterling would have. It was only a minute or so later that he had procured a bunch of bison steaks from his inventory list that he had been saving for a special occasion.

“Put these bad boys on the grill,” he told anyone who would listen. “Just got the meat; went hunting with a buddy of mine who lives down the way in a different cave. Cave fellas, right? It takes one to know one. Good eating, though, really good. Used to be, the bison were only out toward the lake, on that island out there, but them big ol’ critters have spread west and now they’re running rampant. Glorious, right? Damn delicious, too. Them bison are considered some serious fine dining around these here parts. Love me some buffalo!”

“Don’t say nothing,” Sterling whispered to the Sunflower Kid, who had an uncertain look on her face. She nodded, and Joel the Troll continued.

“Boy, I tell you. Been so gosh darn long since I’ve had a visitor come that I’ve forgotten my manners. Hell, I’m downright chatty. Then there’s my appearance! Yeah, yeah,” he said as he stroked his long beard, “I could use me a good trim; probably could do to see a dentist as well.” He showed them his teeth; the ones that weren’t yellow were missing. “But I digress. None y’all told me your names. Y’all must got names.”

“Paco.”

“Now that’s a name! Rhymes with taco, I like that. Had me a taco the other day, but I didn’t have any tortillas or whatnot so I had to use a bit of cabbage I’ve been saving for a while in my list. Don’t you just love them invo lists? Keep things fresh too. What about you, young lady?”

“She’s the Sunflower Kid, and I’m Sterling. Roxie is the one who had the gun pointed at you earlier, and this is the Chronicler.”

“Please, call me Dusty.”

“The Chronicler…” Joel looked up at the ceiling of the cave for a moment, squinting. “Now wait a darn minute, I’ve actually heard about you. Man, you’re famous around some of these parts. Everyone is talking about you. Dang. It really is you, ain’t it? They said you was short—no offense—you smoke a pipe, and you look like a professor.”

“It seems my reputation precedes me…”

“That’s a funny way to put it, but dang if it ain’t the truth. Everyone knows who you are, working for the Oracle and the Serpents of Paradise, scouting out the area, assisting new groups when appropriate. I heard you were some sort of archaeologist, some kind of an explorer type.”

“Yes, you could say that.”

“You know, these here caves got some crazy drawings. I found them myself. Not easy to get to, you sort of have to spelunk through part of a collapsed mine shaft, and then it kind of snakes its way out,” Joel said, making a gesture with his hands, Sterling noticing that he had a bunch of old tattoos crisscrossing his arms featuring everything from snakes to swords, his skin pale from so much time underground. “Then you come out up at the top, way up there. That’s where the drawings are; something up there you might want to see.”

“Is that so?” the Chronicler asked, his interest sparking. “I am a simple man, and when it comes to discoveries…”

“Hell, I’d be honored to show you! After we have supper here, I’ll take you up there myself. Anyone who wants to come is welcome. Maybe not this one with the gun,” he said, trying to make a joke, “but definitely the rest of y’all. Not trying to have any bullets whizzing around in these here caves. This is my home, after all, my sweet abode.”

“Yes, we can tell,” the Chronicler said, humoring him.

“I got a couple chambers I keep things in. One of them chambers, well, that’s all the stuff I had with me when I woke up after the Rapture. Got another one where I collect things. Just collecting things, you know, sometimes scrounging around, all sorts of loose ends and knickknacks in there.” He snorted at a joke that only he found funny. “That’s what you do if you can survive something like what all of us survived. You just survive! Ha!”

“I get it, amigo. Best we get them steaks fired up,” Sterling said, hoping to move the introductions along. “I’ve got some nice peppers to go with them. Onions. We need onions. Kid…?”

Wild onions began to take shape out of a crack in the ground, growing in size until they resembled leeks.

“Dang! It looks like we got something good about to go down around here.” Joel licked his lips in an exaggerated way. It had become clearer and clearer by the way he spoke and his mannerisms that he truly was isolated in these caves, and rarely saw people. There was something both endearing and sad about it, making Sterling glad to have his companions in that moment as the cave dweller continued. “Too bad we don’t got no tortillas,” Joel said, pronouncing the word as ‘tor-till-ahs.’

“I can make fry bread if we have the right ingredients,” Paco offered. “Could use one of these flat rocks to do it. That could work as a tortilla.”

“Now that would be something,” said Sterling, suddenly growing excited about the potential meal. “What kind of ingredients do we need?”

“Flour, baking soda, salt, and hot water.”

“I have the three main ingredients,” the Chronicler told them, “as do all of you. Well, those who I gave rations to. They were in your ration boxes. All we need then is water.”

“Shoot, I got me plenty of that.” Joel procured an old jug of washing detergent full of liquid. “Cleanest water they got around here, mineral water. Can you believe they used to sell this stuff? Heh!”

“That will work. I will also need a bowl.”

“I have one,” Roxie said, finally letting her guard down to some degree.

While she did this, Joel pulled a cutting board out of his inventory list and crouched on the ground, slicing up the bison steak into thin strips. “I got a bunch of bison jerky in one of the rooms here. My secret stash for winter, boy, let me tell you. I try not to go down to town, but I have to go every three months or so just to get certain types of supplies, can’t go so easily during winter so I got to stock up. Just the way of a cave dweller. We all live like this; ain’t nothing new…”

“And I’m guessing you trade things,” Sterling said as he gathered the wild onions that the Sunflower Kid had summoned.

“I sure do. Ever heard of turkey fat?”

“Turkey fat…?” The Chronicler, who now sat in one of his foldable chairs, crossed his arms over his chest. His pipe was in his hand again, but he’d yet to light it. “You mean smithsonite?”

“Yeah, that’s the stuff.” Joel the Troll wiped his hands on the front of his overalls and procured a stone from his pocket that had a yellow hue to it, the rock almost reminding Sterling of a clump of popcorn. “People in town like this stuff for some reason or another; they trade it with some of the other areas of Deseret.”

“I thought they just traded in sandstone and jewelry,” Sterling said.

“That, too. There’s plenty of sandstone in these parts, Nomadland too, but you need to polish it and whatnot. Ain’t worth too much considering it’s everywhere, but something like this.” Joel kissed the hunk of smithsonite. “This here’s enough to buy me a little ammunition, some hooch, a good scrub-down, sundries, and hell, if I’m feeling frisky…” He winked at Sterling.

“I get you, I get you. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”

Soon, the smell of meat had filled the cavern, onions and peppers sizzling alongside it, Paco working on fry bread now with the Sunflower Kid while Roxie stood guard at the front of the cavern, the armed woman afraid that the smell and their chatter might draw attention.

“What about that hooch you were talking about?” Sterling said as he summoned his bottle of tequila. “I’m looking to throw down over here. Take a gander at this…”

Joel took the bottle from Sterling, uncorked it, and took a big sniff. “Hooo boy! That is one potent potable! This here is like that stuff they got down in Moab. Mind if I have a swig?”

“Only if you point me in the direction of that hooch.”

“The direction is right here,” Joel said as he dropped to a crouch and summoned a glass Mountain Dew bottle, which he subsequently handed off.

Sterling pulled a cork out of the bottle that had been wrapped in foil and brought it to his lips. “Strong,” he said after he’d taken a small taste, the alcohol scorching down his throat, a sweetsick flavor to it. “Really strong.”

“That there will put hair on your balls and then some. But before we get too rowdy, let’s set these aside for a moment and finish up the meat,” Joel said, returning to his duty station. “The celebration begins soon, folks. So glad to have y’all over for supper!”

It turned out to be an epic feast, fry bread tortillas stuffed full of meat and peppers and onions, washed back with shots of tequila and a few hits of the hooch, just about enough for everyone in attendance. All partook in the alcohol aside from the Sunflower Kid, who didn’t normally drink.

Once they were finished, and Sterling was relaxing against the cave wall with his hands on his belly drumming his fingers, Joel announced that it was about time they went spelunking.

“Better get going before I fall asleep,” Joel said as he got to his feet, the man’s oversized belly at odds with his muscular arms and thin legs. He had a permanent hunch to the way he stood from navigating caverns, something that made him resemble a picture of an orangutan Sterling had once seen.

“It will be good to walk off the food.” The Chronicler sent his pipe to his inventory list. He was respectful of the others and hadn’t lit it inside the cave, but like a cigar smoker, he seemed to have an oral fixation with it, simply wanting to chew on the stem.

“More crawling than walking,” said Joel, “but y’all got the right idea.”

“Paco? Sunflower Kid?” Sterling stood, a bit wobbly at first, his stomach feeling swollen. “Are y’all coming?”

“I think I will,” said Paco.

“I’ll stay here with Roxie,” the Sunflower Kid told the group. While everyone else had either found a rock to sit on, or had summoned their own chair, the Kid had formed a cushioned chair made of what resembled a lily pad, one that looked downright comfortable.

“In that case, see you ladies in a bit,” Sterling said as he tipped his hat in their direction.

They started off into a cavern, Joel leading the way. “You might as well lose that hat, cowboy. The passageway is about to get real narrow.”

“Good call,” Sterling said as he sent his hat to his inventory list.

Once again, the Chronicler, even though he was a bit older and not physically built for this kind of adventure, held his own, the only sign that he was having trouble keeping up with Joel the Troll being a few raspy breaths, especially once they dipped into a hole and began crawling forward, Joel leading the way as if it were just another day.

Because for the cave dweller, it was.

Joel truly knew the various passageways like the veins on the back of his own hand. He was spry, and as they moved deeper into the Earth, he seemed to pick up his pace, Sterling and the others barely able to keep up with him.

“Like a damn gopher,” Sterling mumbled once they began to climb, the passageway growing large enough that they could crouch-walk, the cowboy necromancer now feeling it in his lower back. Both of Paco’s hands were glowing, adding additional light, Sterling seeing all sorts of things sparkling around them, stones he would never know the names of, proof that the planet was beautiful inside and out, and while everything that glittered wasn’t gold, it still had a sparkle to it.

“Just about there,” Joel called back to them.

Sterling ducked under a series of stalactites, Joel pausing to explain that they were actually close to the surface now, and that these belonged to the roots of plants that had made it through and calcified eons ago.

“I wish them things were worth something, because there sure are a lot of them,” he said, sweating even though the passageway was cold. “But nope, turkey fat, that’s my bread-and-butter and I ain’t complaining. Funny to think I haven’t had an actual turkey in five years, but I’ve been knee-deep in its fat. Heh! Let’s go! Shoot, one day when all my teeth fall out, maybe I’ll get some flectomancer to custom make me a pair of teeth made out of turkey fat. Imagine the smile; I’d look like a damn schoolboy.”

Sterling chuckled at the statement. He liked Joel the Troll. The guy would fit in back in Truth or Consequences, and once they ran into Kip, he could only imagine the kind of shenanigans the three of them would get into once the alcohol was flowing.

Good ol’ Kip, Sterling thought. Someday in the future, I’m going to return to T or C, and that bastard ain’t gonna believe what I’ve been through. Might need to bring him some turkey fat as evidence…

The passageway opened up into the interior of a cliff dwelling hidden from view, the moonlight stretching into the space.

“Oh, wow.” The Chronicler removed his bucket hat and began fanning himself with it. “Wow.”

“Yup, the art is right up there.”

Joel beamed his headlamp up at the ceiling, where Sterling saw a number of petroglyphs, the outer corners of the piece with the familiar spiral symbol he’d seen in New Mexico. Next to the main piece was a scene featuring a pair of sheep standing next to one another, a human form with a bow and arrow pointed at them and a couple other silhouettes with elaborate headgear, indicating they were wearing feathers.

“Fascinating.” The Chronicler sent his bucket hat away, equipped a headlamp, and pressed the light on, the explorer now with a notebook in his hand. He began sketching the drawing. “One thing I find interesting is that symbol right there.” He pointed to a piece that looked like a picture of stacked bricks all connected by a single vertical line. “That’s the style of the Hohokam people of Central and Southern Arizona. But they wouldn’t have made it this far up. No point, really, they had everything they needed there. This tells me that whoever sketched this was well traveled.”

“Is that the symbol we’re looking for?” Sterling asked, referring to the Chronicler’s search for any indication of how the Anasazi had dealt with the Godwalkers.

“Unfortunately, no, no it isn’t. What do you think? Look familiar to you?” he asked Paco.

“Hisatsinom,” Paco mumbled as he observed the art.

“You got that right, otherwise known as the Fremont culture. I always loved the translation of the Hopi word for these ancient peoples, Hisatsinom, ‘People of Long Ago.’ Or the Paiute tribe’s name for them, Wee Noonts, or ‘People Who Lived the Old Ways.’”

“Wee Noonts, huh?” Joel asked as he observed the art. “That ain’t too hard to pronounce. And… and I’m sorry if I sound ignorant here, but is this not good? Ain’t this what you was looking for, Chronicler?”

“It’s great; it’s a wonderful example of Fremont art and proof of their movement through the region,” the Chronicler said as he swept his hand over it. “Notice the man with earrings and the shield with the swirls on it. That is something used to track the solstice. If I’m not mistaken…” He turned around and brought his hand in front of his eyes, and then aimed it at the opening of the cliff dwelling, as if he were gauging distance. “Yes, right there. The sun would come in and cut that shield in half, marking a turning point in the year.”

“They didn’t just know what time it was by sticking their heads out the nearest hole and seeing what the weather was like?” Joel asked. “That’s what I do. Hell, sometimes I only know what’s going on out there once the caves start to flood, or I’m forced to move locations because of a quake. Them things happen from time to time and boy if they ain’t scary.”

The Chronicler began sketching the main piece. “We have different concerns nowadays, mostly because we have the remnants of a previous civilization to gather objects from, and learn from with the books that are available. These ancient peoples didn’t have this luxury. They lived or died by being experts of their worlds and preparing for the seasons. They needed to know what to expect. Sure, you could make a scratch mark for every day that passed, but you could also become fluent in the language of the sky, and set up pieces like this where you could track the solstice, and know what to expect and when.”

“Dang,” Joel said.

Sterling nodded, and went ahead and equipped his desert haiku book and made a sketch of the art he was looking at, feeling like an academic in a way.

“How old do you think it is?” Paco asked.

“The Fremont people fizzled out around the 14th century, give or take.”

“Fizzled? Where did they go?” asked Joel as he scratched the back of his bald head.

“They moved to northwestern Utah, Deseret, not far from the Bonneville Salt Flats. You can find all sorts of things that they left behind, like their granaries, which locals used to call moki huts.”

“That’s the art we were seeing over there,” said Paco, referring to a conversation he’d had with Lily.

“If only those folks had inventory lists,” Joel said, his comment causing everyone to laugh. “They could have put as much water as they needed in them.”

“True, true,” said the Chronicler, his cheeks now red from laughter. “I’ve never thought of it that way. Great observation. Now, before it gets too late, let’s get our sketches and then head back down. Thanks for showing this to us, Joel. It’s beautiful.”

.Chapter Three.

Sterling went out to have a cigarette at some point in the middle of the night, the cowboy necromancer having been awoken by a dream likely sparked by the meat, at least that was what it seemed like. He didn’t often have vivid dreams, yet that was exactly what he’d had, Sterling finding himself back in Las Cruces just after the Reset had happened, bewildered, blood everywhere, the bartender’s neck a stub of blood before the man fell.

Everyone around him dead.

After a cigarette, he returned to where he had been sleeping, and was just about to get into a sleeping bag, when he noticed the dark depths of the cave, the area far beyond the soft glow of Paco’s heated rocks.

Something about the blackness reached out to him in a way, the mystery of it all.

Infinite Dark…

He remembered thinking the words one more time before finally falling asleep.

That next morning, he jotted down the phrase, figuring he would turn it into a desert haiku later on, once he finally got some peace and quiet. Everyone was up by this point, Joel the Troll seated before the grill and sizzling up a few strips of meat. The hairy, bearded cave dweller also had a pot of coffee going. “Been saving this here coffee for my first visitors. Not going to lie to y’all folks: it’s been in the inventory list for a few years now. Still fresh as the day I got it, though. Found it from an abandoned… well, can’t remember the name now. Star-something. Some coffee place. Always thought it was weird they used to have places just for coffee. Seemed nice enough, though.”

“Always a mystery, the past,” Sterling told him as Joel poured him up a metal mug of the thick brew.

Sterling took his first sip and winced, fighting an urge to head outside and smoke. He had procured more tobacco back in Saltair, several bags of it, enough to last him for a while. But even if he had an ample amount and wanted a smoke, he didn’t want to appear rude. After all, he was Joel’s guest, and by the way the cave dweller was looking at him, Sterling knew it was best to pretend like he liked it.

“Not… not bad.” After another sip of the bitter coffee, he started rolling up a cigarette, and offered it to Joel.

“Nope, I don’t smoke,” Joel said, a big smile forming on his face. “Always had a bit of a lung issue, but don’t know why. Maybe I was a factory worker or something back in the day. I think so.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I was at my apartment when it happened. Found my paycheck stub just sitting there on the couch. I mean, I think it was mine. Had the name Joel on it. I guess I don’t really know,” Joel said with a cackle. “What about you? You know what you did before all this madness?”

“No idea,” Sterling said.

“Heck, maybe it’s better that way. You know, there may be someone wandering around that was once President of the United States and they don’t even know it now. Can you imagine that?”

This thought caused Sterling to shrug. “I haven’t thought much about what happened to the old government. It’s clearly gone; by now they would’ve sent in the military or something.”

“Goes to show you what happens when you kill most of the population. People like us, the survivors, we are few and far between, let me tell you. And those that are alive now, five years later? Everyone seems even tougher, more violent. Anyway, listen to me rambling on. The Chronicler said that y’all were heading toward Nomadland.”

“That’s the plan.” Sterling took a look around, wondering where the Chronicler was. He heard a bit of chatter outside and assumed that he was with Roxie and the others.

“That’s some tough country to travel through, let me tell you. You got some real wicked mancers out there too. I hate to say it, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s best you know what you is getting into, you and yours. Hell, I’d want to know. Little warning ain’t never hurt no one.”

“Much obliged,” said Sterling as Joel returned his focus to the meat he was cooking.

“There we go, nice and rare,” he said as he distributed some of the strips of meat onto a plate.

“How about some peppers?”

“Shoot, I’m good,” Joel said, laughing once again. “Them peppers of yours are already twisting through my system. Let’s just say I can already tell it won’t be pleasant on the way out, and leave it at that.”

“Burns on the way in; burns you again on the way out, reminding you why you shouldn’t eat so many peppers,” Sterling said, also laughing. “It’s a rite of passage, amigo.”

“Yeah, I’ll pass. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Say, what was you writing over there? Saw you scribbling last night too.”

“Been writing these things called haiku, well, I call them desert haiku. Woke up in the middle of the night and saw just a black darkness by the other end of the cave there. An infinite dark. I’ll turn that one into something later on. Too many people around at the moment.”

“You like to write alone?”

“Sure do. Quieter that way. If you really want to know, my preferred place to write is in a sauna somewhere, overlooking a quaint horizon, a couple of cigarettes rolled up, maybe a beer or shot of tequila available. Get me a nice buzz going, get that feeling that you have something to say that’s worth a damn, whatever it was it made us humans before makes us humans now, that sort of thing,” Sterling said, growing passionate. “And once you got that swirling around in your head, you put it to paper.”

“Sounds really nice, a sauna, that is. There are some hot springs north of here, but they’re a bitch to get to. I try to go once a year if I can. Always a risk with these bandits.”

“Don’t doubt it. Any place worth going is usually a pain in the ass to reach.”

Joel lifted a strip of the bison steak and dropped it into his mouth. He pointed at Sterling with his greasy fingers. “You’re a clever man, far as I can tell. Good company, too. Whenever y’all are back in these hills, you stop on by. Don’t be a stranger; already know me too many of them.”

“Same goes for you. I don’t know if you’ll ever make your way down to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, but if you do, and if I’m still alive after all this, you be sure to stop by as well.” He heard laughter, and he would have thought nothing of it had it not come from Roxie. “I better see what’s going on out there.”

Once he had his boots on and his cigarette in his mouth, Sterling headed toward the exit of the cave, where he assumed he would find everyone including Beep, who he had conjured last night to stand guard.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Sterling stepped out of the cave to find the Sunflower Kid and Paco doubled over, the Kid laughing so hard that her face was red. It wasn’t the only thing that was red, the eternal teenager now with ruby-colored pigtails that had a zigzag of yellow hair along the part line.

“What do you think?” Roxie asked, a rare smile on her face as she gestured toward Beep.

Sterling glanced at the Chronicler, who was seated in the sun with his hands supporting his weight, a big smile on his face partially shaded by his bucket hat. He looked over at Sterling and nodded. “We’ve been having fun out here.”

“I can see that,” Sterling said.

<Beep.>

“I see you,” Sterling told the miniature Godwalker, which now had a white smiley face painted across its front surface. The paint had been crafted with a bit of water and clay, and had a bit of texture to it.

“We also decided to rename it,” the Sunflower Kid announced. “You can’t keep calling it Beep.”

“Like hell I can’t…”

“Strawberry.” She smiled at Sterling, his heart softening to some degree. “We want to name it Strawberry.”

“Strawberry?” Sterling looked to Paco. “You really agreed to this?”

“It’s a good name.”

“How about y’all call it Strawberry, and I’ll continue to call it Beep?”

“That’s not all…” Paco started laughing again, the Sunflower Kid smirking at him, her mouth open wide. “Strawberry, open up.”

The front of the Godwalker’s body began to collapse as a portion of the miniature monolith opened, revealing a weapon inside. The way they had arranged the eyes and the mouth made it look as if it were a nose of sorts. The two had also painted a white rim around the weapon’s muzzle.

<Beep.>

Sterling snorted. “That’s the dumbest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. Beep, Strawberry, whatever. Don’t you ever lose that smile. The rest of y’all: let’s get in there and eat before Joel wolfs down all the meat. Enough horsing around; we’ve got to get a move on.”

Before they set out, the sun providing an ample amount of light, the Chronicler opened up some of his maps, using rocks to keep them flat. One was a map of the United States, and another was a roadmap of the Southwest region. He pointed to their general vicinity.

“A couple of things,” the older man said as he put away his pipe. “Our goal today is to reach Highway 84, which we’ll take toward Park City, a city that we will avoid completely because it is a hotbed for the Angels of Woe. Once we reach it, it’s back to the mountains, where we will need to be extra careful.”

“More Angels?” Sterling asked.

“Nope. Those two necromancers, the ones that I mentioned previously, are pretty notorious here at the start of Nomadland. They change locations from time to time, but they have been known to call that area home. To circumvent them, we will try to do the best we can to keep to the tree cover around Midway, here. Last I heard, the two necromancers had moved from the Uinta-Wasatch-Cache National Forest, north of here, to Midway. I don’t know why exactly.”

“There’s a name,” Sterling said, Roxie nodding in agreement.

“The forest? Yes, yes it is. It all makes sense the closer you examine it,” said the Chronicler. “Uinta comes from the Ute word ‘yoov-we-teuh,’ pardon my pronunciation, which means ‘pine tree.’ Wasatch means ‘mountain pass.’ Put those two together and you get the basic layout of the region.”

“And cache?” Paco asked. “That’s not native, as far as I can tell.”

“No, it sure isn’t. It’s an old French word which has now taken on other meanings. Originally, it was used by trappers to refer to their fur stashes. You know about the fur of this region?”

“A little,” said the Hopi youth.

“Trappers were a big thing in this part of Utah, a real tough bunch of Frenchies, Brits, and Americans going after beavers and using their tails for fur hats. Whole industries were built on it, if you can imagine. Those hats were all the rage on the East Coast and into Europe. The only reason the trade stopped, the only reason that beavers didn’t go the way of the buffalo into damn near extinction, was that the hats became unfashionable. As simple as that.”

“Ain’t that something,” Sterling said with a shake of his head.

The Sunflower Kid, who stood in the corner, procured one of her apples and took a bite out of it, the sound seemingly kickstarting the Chronicler’s cartographic lesson once again.

“As you all know, our goal is to get to Moab. That’ll put us not far from the Arches, which used to be another National Park. Utah was famous for its parks, and while some of them are sights to behold, these things are incredibly difficult to cross. This is why we are going to have to keep to the highway in this region. While it could prove dangerous, considering we will be smack dab in the middle of Nomadland, it’s better than the alternative of going through these parks. Our travel has been relatively easy thus far, and there are other ways that we can move that the people before us couldn’t, like flying. But…” He shook his head. “It’s rough terrain down there toward Canyonlands.”

“So that’s where we’re going then, right?” Roxie asked. “That is where Monument Valley is, the Terminal, right?”

The Chronicler tapped on the map, his finger landing on an Arizona city known as Kayenta. “Actually, this is where Monument Valley is, on the border. And there are going to be a number of problems in getting there. For one, there will be Godwalkers. That’s the least of our concerns. Well, maybe I shouldn’t put it like that; it is simply one of many concerns. This region here,” he said, indicating a space between Moab and Monument Valley, in the Four Corners region where Utah, Arizona, Colorado, and New Mexico met, “is now Comancheria. The outskirts of it.”

“Where the Comanche are,” Paco told the Sunflower Kid.

“The Comanche have done pretty well in securing their turf, from patrolling the roads to even going deeper into the hills. They have mancers, and they have good numbers. Since they have moved to a nomadic lifestyle like their ancestors, they could be living anywhere in this region; it is one of the Oracle’s fears that they may move closer to Moab, which would put them into direct conflict with the Elder of Icaria. That remains to be seen. Without humans to kill them, a lot of the wildlife has returned, giving the Comanche plenty of food to hunt. I don’t yet know how they will interpret our appearance in their territory.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get down there.”

“Not so many bridges in this area, but you are right,” the Chronicler told Sterling. “But there’s no sense in worrying about it now. For now, we need to make our way south, and hopefully find the people you are looking for in the process.”

“I still don’t see what’s in this for you,” Roxie told the older man. “Why would you volunteer to come with us? This could be a suicide mission in every sense of the term.”

“For the same reason you are doing what you’re doing. If there’s a way to stop the Godwalkers, then I want to be part of it. I’m still missing a key piece, but I have this feeling that by sticking with your group, we will be able to uncover it. The elements are here. And there are a few places that I would like to check along the way, some cliff dwellings and old kivas seemingly abandoned by the Anasazi. Sometimes, the only way to discover something is to seek it out. Any questions?”

Joel the Troll, who had been curiously listening to the Chronicler’s explanation, cleared his throat. “I know I already said something, but I want to say it again. All y’all have a place here, if you ever want to visit. I could sure as hell use the company.”

“Yes,” the Chronicler told him. “I’m certain I will be through this region again, and I will stop by when I do. I’ll also bring something next time, something that could help you.”

“What’s that?”

“Rations, a new sleeping bag, I’ll figure it out. Thank you for hosting us.”

Sterling and his group left about thirty minutes later, the Chronicler taking the lead at the front of the group, leaving the middle to Sterling and the Sunflower Kid, the teenage girl seated on her white buffalo. All of the bison seemed well-fed, the Sunflower Kid providing them with plenty of grass to graze on.

The day grew longer as they carved their way toward the south, the rock around them cast in shades of brown that had an almost calming effect, the scenery tranquil and still. It seemed quiet along the mountain pass that they had chosen, the land’s hushed composure betraying its underbelly, Sterling imagining metric tons of pressure deep in the soil beneath him, lava flowing, the Earth constantly churning.

He had the notion to slow down a bit to join Roxie, who was at the back of the group, but he didn’t. Sterling continued on. Maybe later he could try to have a conversation with her, about anything, really, which was something he had felt before, this desire to break through to her. But some people kept their guard up no matter who was knocking at the door, be it a past lover, family member, or good friend. And sometimes, it was best to leave those people be.

“This altitude sure is something,” Sterling said as he sensed that the air was just a little thinner than normal. It was subtle, and while he had been in parts of New Mexico that had pretty high altitude, he could definitely feel a shift here.

“Drink some water,” the Sunflower Kid told him.

“I’ll be fine and dandy. Just saying it’s something. This whole place is something.”

A deep slot canyon seemingly rose out of the ground before them, providing a narrow passageway for the group to travel through, Sterling noticing some etchings near the top above the rim of a cliff dwelling.

“Should we check it out?” he asked the Chronicler.

“It’s always worth a shot…” The short, heavyset man got down from his bison and began to float. He was unsteady at first but it wasn’t long before he lifted himself all the way up to the top.

“Looks like someone got a few levels,” Sterling said as he watched the man settle onto an overhang.

“I sort of had to there in the beginning. I try not to fight when I can help it. Give me about five minutes to check this out, and we can move on.”

“Take your time, amigo.”

While they waited, Sterling went for a cigarette he’d rolled back at the cave.

He lit it and exhaled a puff of blue smoke, ignoring a slight sense of thirst he was feeling. The day had started to warm up considerably, but the slot canyon they were traveling through provided enough shade to keep the temperature cool, the canyon wall consisting of orange and yellow sandstone layers that seemed to swirl together, reminding Sterling of confectionery. Pillars of sun came through from the top, revealing dust floating in the air, mini spotlights illuminating the dry riverbed below.

Sterling traveled just a few paces ahead, noticing how the rim of the slot canyon above seemed to encapsulate the blue sky, making it look like a giant blue eyebrow, absent clouds strengthening the oceanic tone of the atmosphere.

Damn fine country, Sterling thought. Damn fine. He was just finishing his cigarette when the Chronicler returned to his bison, empty-handed judging by the look on his face.

“This kind of work can be hit or miss,” the older man said as they started up again. “While all the art is beautiful, only some of it contains information that I’m looking for, that we would benefit from. We will keep checking as we come across them.”

“Every cliff dwelling?” Paco asked.

“If we can see it and it is easily reachable, yes. If it’s not easily reachable, also yes. You know…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s not quite the direction we’re going.”

For a moment, Sterling worried that the slot canyon would become too tight for them to travel through, but this never came to pass, and soon they were traveling along yet another parched riverbed, this one with a slight trickle of water in it that their buffalo drank from. There was a notable change in color in the rocks from sandy tones to hues of gray, various flora peeking out where it could, all of it shrub-like and able to survive in desolate conditions.

They were just reaching a point where they could see the highway on the horizon when the ground began to rumble.

Roxie was the first off her bison, the woman bringing her weapon up and charging to the side just as a fault line traced across the ground in front of them, causing a huge fissure in the ground below.

An ambush took shape in a matter of seconds, as all ambushes do, men and women with assault rifles breaking from their cover, their beads trained on Sterling’s group.

A gaiamancer, a bunch of locals… Sterling gave the group a bold glare, practically daring them to open fire. “Let me guess,” he said, an edge to his voice, “this is one of them don’t cross this line sort of things, right?”

A few of the bandits seemed to bristle, but they kept their weapons pointed at Sterling and his group.

Sterling started to laugh, feeling stronger by the second. “I’m going to give all of y’all one chance to get the hell out of here before the killing starts. Ain’t no sense in dying today, amigos.”

The ground began to rumble again, spooking the buffalo.

“Tell your gaiamancer to come out, or I’ll have my friend back here equip her bazooka. That, or…” Sterling tilted his head to the Sunflower Kid, who was as collected as always, her head tilted ever-so-slightly as she looked at the group trying to hold them up. “Well, you’ll have to find out about this one.”

A small crater formed as a man pressed out of the cracked soil, just the top of his torso, almost as if he had lifted out of a body of water. The gaiamancer’s entire body was made of stone, a wicked look on his face, his teeth sharpened into points.

“Damn, son, you really took the whole gaiamancer thing to a demonic level, didn’t you?” Sterling asked. “Paco, are you familiar with what heat does to rock?”

“I am,” said the solimancer.

“Good. Go ahead and roast this one here alive, and the others, well, I guess Roxie could handle—”

Brrrrrrrat! Brrrrrrrat!

One of the more trigger-happy of the group fired his weapon so suddenly that the kickback disrupted his trajectory, bullets springing into the air just above Sterling’s head.

“Son of a bitch!”

Sterling drew his revolver and killed the guy in one shot as he threw himself off of Manchester.

A hail of bullets was matched by Roxie’s quick shots, their assailants falling like flies. Paco focused his heat on the ground, and as he did the bison began to take steps backward, smoke and steam boiling from the fault line.

The gaiamancer flew out of his hole in the ground, half on fire, his stone body red-hot. But he recovered quickly midair and dove back in, the ground shifting as a spike exploded from the earth, separating Sterling from the others.

“Kid, protect the Chronicler!” Sterling shouted at the top of his lungs. He bolted toward the local bandits that were still firing their weapons, the cowboy necromancer moving so quickly and so fueled by such a sudden surge in adrenaline that he failed to realize that he’d actually floated up into the air, to the ledge above them.

Bam!

He swiveled and fired a bullet into a man’s neck as soon as his boots reached the rock. Sterling turned in the opposite direction to cut a woman with a shotgun down using his sickle-sword, turquoise energy burning off the tip as he flourished his weapon and rammed his shoulder into another man, one that was trying to escape.

Sterling grabbed him by the back of his head and was just about to relieve the man of his throat using his sickle-sword when the brute cried out: “Someone tell Zee! Someone tell Zee!”

Hearing the name caused Sterling to pause.

Zee?

After two breaths, he went ahead and killed the man and tossed his body over the side, bits of gravel spraying into the air behind him as the gaiamancer continued his dolphin routine, the man lifting in and out of the ground, only to be heated up like a microwaved burrito every time he went under.

In the end, it was the Sunflower Kid who stopped him, the biomancer simply conjuring an enormous root that collided with the gaiamancer, the wooden plant construct swiftly wrapping around his body and squeezing him until he died.

After the ground stopped shaking, and as the dust cleared, Sterling did a quick head count.

He spotted Roxie, who had moved to higher ground to successfully snipe anyone trying to run away. The Sunflower Kid was still on her white buffalo, dealing with the barrier she had raised around the Chronicler to protect him from any shrapnel, the construct slowly lowering back to the ground. Paco stood next to his bison, a wild look on his face, his fists clenched at his sides.

“We have a problem,” Sterling told the group after he’d floated down from his ledge.

“What’s that?” The Chronicler was still a bit breathless, but otherwise showing no signs of bewilderment from the sudden attack. This clearly wasn’t his first rodeo.

Sterling came to a stop in front of his bone horse. “I heard one of them saying something of importance. Good, Pingo,” he told his skeletal steed, patting its bony neck. “Anyone make it out alive?” he called over to Roxie, who was just now rejoining the group.

She looked at him as if this question were an insult.

“Didn’t think so. Anyway, like I was saying, the man up there was trying to get the word out for one of them to ‘tell Zee.’ Only one Zee I’ve ever known.”

“Zephyr,” said the Sunflower Kid, Roxie nodding in agreement.

“Yup, and we all know how she is. I wouldn’t be surprised if she showed up here and joined the Angels of Woe. Say, that’s what they were, right?” he asked the Chronicler.

“Yes, you can tell by the armor they have. All of it has been modified by a flectomancer but resembles athletic gear. It’s a style around these parts.”

“I’ve noticed that. Looks kind of dumb, but I guess it gets the job done.” Sterling swept his hand toward the dead bodies. “Or it doesn’t. But we can have a conversation on practical post-apocalyptic fashion later. I reckon that Zephyr is somewhere in these parts, and that means we need to get her.”

“How do we even begin to…?”

Rather than answer the Chronicler’s question, Sterling headed back over to the man whose throat he had just slit. He crouched in front of the blood pooling around his head and lifted his hand.

The surface of the blood began to boil as the man’s face took shape, gasping awake.

“Where…?”

“I need to deliver a message to Zee,” Sterling said. “Where’s she at?”

“Zee…”

“That’s right, amigo.”

“It’s… it’s so dark here,” said the face, lips dipping into a frown. “Am I dead?”

“As a doorknob, but consider yourself lucky. There are worse ways to die, or you could be forced to live post Reset, which also has its drawbacks. I’ll make this quick, then I’ll let you get back to your eternal suffering. Where’s Zee?”

“Zee?”

“Zee. I didn’t stutter.”

“Zee is in Morgan.”

“The name Morgan ring a bell?” Sterling called over to the Chronicler.

“It’s a town past Peterson. I was planning for us to circle around it, but…”

“Thank you kindly,” Sterling told the blood apparition. “Rest in peace, amigo.”

The blood settled back into its puddle and Sterling returned to his group. “Just tell us which way to go, Dusty, and we’ll head that way. Zephyr is a friend of ours, an aeromancer, and sort of like the wind, she goes with the breeze. I guess that don’t make much sense until you meet her, but you get my drift. Damn, listen to me making puns over here.”

“If…” The Chronicler swallowed hard. “If they were calling for someone to tell her that we were strong, it means that she must have a force there. And since this group doesn’t normally ride horses, it would mean that there are dune buggies around here. Perhaps an easier way to travel?”

“You don’t like riding buffalo?” the Sunflower Kid asked.

“All I’m saying is that there are more comfortable modes of transportation. We can at least check. They may have dune buggies or ATVs; and there’s a small chance that they traded for motorcycles from the Comanche.”

“In that case, let’s take a look around and see what kind of vehicles we can procure then,” Sterling said with a shrug. “Not that I mind traveling on horseback, but if there’s a quicker way, I’ll take it.”

“The Angels of Woe generally have heavily guarded headquarters, at least from what I have experienced in the past. There will be more mancers.”

“Let me ask you,” Sterling said as he started rolling up a cigarette. “Did you happen to see what we did back there? How my team here works?”

The Chronicler nodded.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg. In case it ain’t clear yet, we’ve been dealing with assholes of all shapes and sizes for a number of years now, both as a group and alone. Don’t you worry about us. And I’m not trying to be overly confident over here, neither. I’m just saying, when I’m with my people, the people I trust, those who have fought alongside me before, I ain’t afraid of nothing. Just lead us to Morgan, we’ll do a little scouting, and we’ll get Zephyr back.”

“Are you certain she will want to come with you?”

“The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind,” Sterling told him, not certain where he picked up this quote. “We will find out soon enough, but I’m pretty sure Zee will be happy as hell to see us. Anyone got anything else to add? No? Then let’s git.”

.Chapter Four.

The highway was rough, the snowy, jagged mountains that surrounded it proof that the state of Utah had been known as a destination for skiing. There had been evidence of the sport already, and more of it was visible from the road, signs that hadn’t been shot through with bullet holes, even an abandoned ski lift in the middle of the highway at one point.

How had it gotten there?

It was questions like this that Sterling often pondered, as simple as they were. And how did it get moved? Why would someone go out of their way to move it so far from its original location?

Their group now traveled in a single dune buggy, Sterling taking the wheel this time so Roxie could sit shotgun with, well, a shotgun, the Sunflower Kid, Paco, and the Chronicler in the back. Once again, Beep was in his inventory list, even if it would have been somewhat of an added patrol element to have the miniature Godwalker zipping next to them.

Better to stay undercover for the time being; better to blend in.

Anyone watching from afar would assume they were part of the Angels of Woe, which carried some weight in these parts, the Chronicler announcing that they were officially in Nomadland at one point, giving Sterling a laugh.

“You mean we weren’t already?” Sterling called over the roar of their engine. He was hunched over a bit, the brim of his cowboy hat keeping the sun out of his eyes as he held his foot steady on the pedal.

“No, and things could get more complicated from here on out. At least in terms of who we may encounter on our way to Moab. Ironically, it’s a good thing we are going to Morgan.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“When I travel through this region, I generally take different paths on the way up and down. It makes me feel as if I’m less trackable, plus I’m able to see other locations and discover new things. Anyhow, there are mountains south of Morgan that have a series of cliff dwellings that are blocked off. I’d like to check along the way to see if there is anything in those dwellings that may help us. I have a hunch…”

“Sounds good to me, Dusty.”

Not so long ago, Sterling had traveled from what was left of his home in Truth or Consequences to Las Cruces in search of Don Gasper, who he knew could perform a shamanic ritual that would help him figure out where his people were. It had worked. And if he was going to trust a hallucinatory medicine man, he was damn sure going to trust the hunch of an archeoastrologist whose obsession just happened to be a group of people that had once beat the Godwalkers back.

Leaps of faith. This had been one of Sterling’s keys to survival thus far, going with his gut, not afraid to think outside the pueblo when it came to accomplishing a task.

And he had no intention of changing that.

As he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, swerving around potholes, the dune buggy scooting along somewhere in the desert, Sterling thanked his lucky stars that he had made it this far.

There were numerous times where he should have met his fate, yet here he was, still alive, and on the verge of attempting something that seemed damn near impossible. As his eyes traced over the horizon, the sky crisp and cast in strips of vaporous clouds, he wondered if there were others like him in the world in other countries, those who had banded together and decided to fight back, to sacrifice themselves no matter what it took to stop the Godwalkers.

He hoped there were.

The others had left their buffalo behind, all aside from the Sunflower Kid, who had miraculously sent the newest version of Watermelon to her inventory list. From here on out, they would likely take various modes of transport, and would seek out more vehicles in Morgan and beyond. If a bone horse or a muscled biomancer could fit in an inventory list, a dune buggy or an ATV could as well, something Roxie had readily proven.

They shifted off the highway, moving to higher ground so they could figure out what they were about to get into. While most of the land surrounding the highway had been cultivated, the farms in the region were no longer in existence, their fields were far from fallow.

Sterling saw what was left of granaries and barns, old turquoise and maroon pickup trucks rusted over, their wheels deflated and their windows smashed. He spotted trailers and other signs of human dwellings, most looking abandoned. Someone had gone out of their way to make sculptures out of hunks of metal, one that looked like the makings of a dinosaur, another that resembled a Godwalker.

Sterling felt like taking a shot at the Godwalker statue but refrained from doing so as he stepped out of the dune buggy, which Roxie swiftly sent to her inventory list. She was at a higher level than all of them, the female gunner with no need for the mana she had accumulated aside from flying and to increase the size of her inventory list, which was something that Sterling had yet to understand.

Sterling wasn’t great at the gaming mechanics that had been placed over his day-to-day affairs, which was one of the reasons he’d been so impressed with how they had started to farm XP back in Saltair. If there were ways to customize it, Sterling hadn’t paid much attention to it aside from increasing his Class Proficiencies, and strengthening his techniques. He had grown used to the system, sure, but he would likely never be the type to actually master it, or learn the intricacies of it, like Roxie or the Sunflower Kid had.

In the end, he was but a simple man, a pepper farmer who would prefer to have been left alone. But they had come for him, and not just the Godwalkers, Killbilly bandits too, which was something Sterling planned to see about once he got back to New Mexico…

“Don’t think I forgot,” he grumbled, remembering how Commodore Bones had once strung him up on a cross, and how he had betrayed him alongside Don Gasper’s crazed telemancing lover, Magdalena.

Damn peckerhead…

“Is something the matter?” the Sunflower Kid asked Sterling.

He had been standing there smoking and glaring at the ground, a darkness coming over his face that he was unaware of. Hearing her voice snapped him out of it. Sterling glanced over to the teenage girl, who was dressed in all white, a hippie child if there ever was one, with charmed bracelets on her wrists, jangling every time she lifted her hand.

“Just thinking about New Mexico,” he finally admitted. “I got some people I need to deal with there.”

“When we get back,” she assured him.

“You planning to tag along?”

The Sunflower Kid nodded.

“Roxie is too, and y’all don’t need to.”

“I want to help.”

“That’s mighty kind of you.”

“As long as Watermelon and Strawberry can come.”

Sterling shook his head, a smirk forming on his face. “Watermelon for sure; I don’t know about Strawberry. We’re going to see what happens here in Deseret. Strawberry may be in a heap of trouble once we reach the Terminal, considering it is technically selling its people out. Well, aliens, not people. But you know what I’m saying. What’s the plan?” he called over to the Chronicler. Sterling was enjoying his moment with the Sunflower Kid, but knew that they needed to move on, that Zephyr awaited them.

She was a unique woman, Zephyr, one that was well-versed in playing both sides. This was likely why she had headed to Albuquerque after their group had disbanded three years ago; Sterling wouldn’t put it past the aeromancer to have gotten involved in a number of things that were as shifty as a coyote once she had established herself in Duke City. It was her style, who she was, and as long as they kept an eye on her, having her around was useful. And not just for a good breeze once the day got hot.

Sterling had seen Zephyr send an opponent flying six or seven hundred feet up into the air. Her cyclone powers could whip a tree out of the ground, and he wondered if there were more ways that she could work with not only the Sunflower Kid, but Paco, some kind of heat tornado of sorts, an idea he had gathered from the fight with the aeromancer outside of Saltair.

But getting to her was going to be an issue.

Sterling had a feeling that they weren’t going to be able to just waltz right into Morgan and demand to see her. Likely, she was in some kind of compound living it up, probably with servants considering the way that she was able to manipulate people. While not quite like the Oracle—she wasn’t able to read anyone’s mind or control their thoughts—Zephyr did have a way about her, the aeromancer with a bubbly personality that hid her cunning nature.

“Well?” Sterling asked once the Chronicler didn’t respond, the man puffing his pipe for a moment as he observed the mountains. “Are we going to set up camp here, or are we moving on?”

“There.” The researcher pointed his pipe at a hillside crested with trees, Sterling making out the rooftops of a few homes, or perhaps a single home that had multiple buildings. “That’s where we will go.”

“Are they friendly?” Roxie asked. “Or should I trail the group so I have some range?”

“I have stayed there before. It must have been…” He nodded his head. “Yes, maybe two and a half years ago. A man named Joe Ray Bjurstrom owns the place, and a few families live in the surrounding buildings. Last I recall, the Angels of Woe don’t give them any trouble, mostly because of their goat products. The place looks different than it did a couple of years ago,” he said, his brows furrowing. “It took me a moment to place it. It’s like the trees have grown taller or something, or perhaps they have gotten better at hiding their location. Either way, that’s where we go. And let me do the talking. One other thing…”

“What’s that?” Sterling asked as he placed a hand on the grip of his magical revolver.

“Put your weapons away, and don’t threaten anyone, at least not initially. These are good enough people, and we should treat them as such.”

“And you think they will be okay with us just showing up and telling them we got plans for the Angels of Woe down in Morgan?” Sterling asked. “You said they were trading partners.”

“Perhaps,” said the Chronicler, “but no one in these parts likes being told what to do, and the Angels of Woe are the type of group that tells others what to do. They prefer the situation that many have with the Oracle and the Serpents of Paradise. It’s akin to the way the United States was originally set up, at least in a way, with each group holding jurisdiction over its own area.”

“So instead of a group of mancers ruling with an iron fist, they want some telemancer giving them quasi-Biblical visions and whatnot, is that what you’re telling me?” Sterling asked as they started toward the hill in question.

“Different strokes for different folks, but yes, and don’t forget that I also work with the Oracle.”

“But you don’t believe she’s actually a Nephite or anything, do you?”

“I don’t, no, but I have seen the best come from the way she has organized things, and by best I mean the least amount of killing and turf warfare. There’s not many people left,” the Chronicler said with a hint of sadness in his voice. “And many of those that are left seem hell-bent on killing one another. At least the Oracle and what she’s doing has a way of banding people together rather than turning them into enemies. In the future, when Comancheria grows its reach, something like that will come in handy, and I predict what’s left of the Angels of Woe will eventually come around and join the Oracle. But that’s just me. These are the hopes and dreams of an old man.”

For some reason, this made Sterling laugh. “Better than going around doomsdaying like I do half the time.”

“That’s because you’re Skeleton Man,” said Paco. “It’s who you are.”

It wasn’t pretty. Nothing about what Sterling and his group came across was what they had expected to find. What was once a simple goat farm had now become a slaughterhouse. The place had been picked over; it was clear from the way the bodies were arranged they had been killed execution style, likely after being forced to empty their inventory lists.

“Shee-it…” Sterling mumbled as he looked beyond toward the city of Morgan, already knowing who was responsible.

The goat farm, which was actually a collection of small homes with matching fire engine red paint and cast in a forest of pine, had a direct view of the city below. The people who had lived here had even arranged sets of tires for them to sit in so they could keep a watchful eye on Morgan, Sterling imagining them seeing mancers come and go in dune buggies and ATVs, the Angels of Woe on the move and fanning out, deeper into Nomadland.

And now, they were all dead.

Roxie had already moved from her position in the passenger seat to clear the area, the hooded woman known for her killer instinct cursing under her breath for not hopping out earlier. The Chronicler, who sat directly behind Sterling, let out a deep sigh.

“And so it goes…” he said as he chewed on his pipe. “And so it goes…”

“Look on the bright side, we ain’t going to have any trouble staying here for the night,” said Sterling, trying to make light of a very dark situation. “I will see what I can figure out from these here bodies. Do they look old?”

Paco shook his head “They look all ages.”

“No, I mean how long they’ve been lying there. If the blood is too congealed, my power won’t work.”

Sterling got out of the dune buggy and adjusted his black cowboy hat, anger yet again rising in him once he took in the senseless killing, a not insignificant part of him wishing that he could summon Manchester from his inventory list and ride on down to Morgan and handle whoever had done this.

But it was best to go with the plan.

As impulsive as he could be at times when it came to leveling the playing field, Sterling knew better than to go in guns-a-blazing, especially if there were mancers down there. Then again, the only reason they needed to go to the city in the first place was to locate Zephyr. Maybe if he started a loud enough ruckus, she would make her presence known without them having to do much else.

Then they could get on with it, heading further south into Nomadland.

“Y’all see if Roxie needs anything,” Sterling told Paco and the Sunflower Kid. “I’ll see what I can figure out here.” For extra security, he summoned Beep, the miniature Godwalker that the Sunflower Kid had named Strawberry still with a face painted across its smooth, front surface. “Beep, you keep an eye out too.”

<Beep.>

“Come on, Strawberry,” the Sunflower Kid told the bin-sized monolith. “You can stick with us.”

The Chronicler was the last to get out of the dune buggy, the bucket-hatted older man making a beeline over to the bodies that had been arranged, all facing down, the backs of their heads blown off. There were flies, there was viscera, something had been eating at any exposed flesh, not to mention all the other critters and creepy-crawlies, mosquitoes and whatever little carnivores they had in the mountains outside of Morgan.

It didn’t smell great, Sterling holding his breath a bit as he approached. “We’ll bury them after. It’s the proper thing to do.”

“Yes, I believe that would be…” The Chronicler sent his pipe away. “I can grab a shovel.”

“No, there’s no need for that. Once the Sunflower Kid returns, I’ll have her deal with it the easy way. What would take us a good hour will only take her a few minutes. Now…” Sterling waved some of the flies away, the smell overwhelming to the point that he pulled a bandanna out of his inventory list and tied it around his face. “Let’s see if we can’t find us a little blood and figure out what happened here.”

“Such a fascinating power,” the Chronicler told him, the man now covering his mouth and nostrils with the collar of his shirt.

“It’s helpful, I’ll give it that. But I need me some fresh blood to make it happen.” Sterling withdrew his sickle-sword and, as respectfully as he could, made a few cuts on the first body, a teenager no older than fifteen or sixteen. No blood. This one had been dead a while, which led him to believe that the killing had taken place over some time. “What’d you say the man’s name was? The one who lives here?”

“Joe Ray Bjurstrom.”

“Joe Ray. And that’s him? That big feller?” Sterling motioned toward the largest of the six bodies.

“That’s him.”

“I thought you said there were others living here too. There are a few more compounds…” Sterling gestured with his sword at the rest of the property.

“There were; maybe they all left.”

“Or maybe they were tipped off somehow. Who knows. Either way, it just seems to be this family. Let’s see if papa here gots a little blood left in him.”

Sterling made a few cut marks, focusing on the front of the body, which was pressed into the ground. He was finally able to get a small puddle that would do.

“Here goes nothing…” Sterling lifted his hand over the puddle of blood and slowly curled his fingers.

The surface began to boil as a face came together, the Chronicler moving just a bit closer to Sterling so he could observe his blood magic power in action.

“You Joe Ray?” Sterling asked the face that had finally formed, a jowly one, slick and wet.

“Hell yeah, I’m Joe goddamn Ray,” said the apparition. “And who the hell is asking? Why the hell are you on my property?”

Sterling smirked.

“Well?” Joe Ray asked.

“Usually, people I conjure are bewildered.”

“Conjure? Bewildered? You bet your ass I am bewildered!” said Joe Ray. “But I’m also pissed. Real dang pissed. Them sons of bitches came up here and killed all my goats for one, robbed us blind… And… who are you? What do you want? You’re one of them, ain’t you?”

“No, sir,” Sterling said as he respectfully removed his cowboy hat. “And I’m sorry to see what happened to you and your kin. Tell you what though, if you let me know who did this, and what they are capable of, I’ll make sure to send them to wherever you are, and you can give them the ass whooping they deserve once they get down there.”

“Bunch of no good mancers!”

“Angels of Woe?” Sterling asked. “Out of Morgan?”

“That’s right. And to think that we’ve been friendly with them folks for years now. They came here drunk and whatnot, the things they did to my… to my kids…”

“Must have been real tough, but don’t you worry about that. Let me know who they are, and what they are capable of, and I’ll do what needs to be done.” Sure, Sterling had other things he needed to do, like find the rest of his team, but if the people who did this were in the same direction as Zephyr, he would see to it that they were handled.

He only hoped that Zephyr wasn’t part of it.

“You’d really do that?”

“Sure would. Now that I have your attention,” he told the bloody apparition, “wasn’t no aeromancer with them, was there? No wind whipping around, right?”

“No, nothing like that. It was a gaiamancer…”

“Them people are all over these parts,” Sterling said. “What’s up with Deseret and all these dang gaiamancers?” he asked the Chronicler.

“They seem to thrive here because of the terrain, and the power that they are able to harness.”

“Makes sense…”

“A gaiamancer, a hydromancer, and two pyromancers. They had some locals with them as well, ones I didn’t recognize,” Joe Ray told him. “You give them hell for me. I’m serious, stranger. If you are really going to go down there, don’t forget what they did here.”

“Don’t you worry about that part, Joe Ray,” Sterling assured the apparition. “I’ve got other business in Morgan, but we will see to them folks as well, and put a hurting on them when we do. What else do I need to know? We don’t have much more time.”

“Best time to attack will be in the morning. All of them fools like to party hard at night, carting in people from the area for nefarious purposes and whatnot. They ain’t drunk every night, but most nights. Best time is morning.”

“Any idea where I can find the particular group that attacked you here?” Sterling asked as he caught a glimpse of Roxie heading back in his direction.

“That’s what makes it even worse. I know this group. All of them stay on the outside of town, taking shifts with the guards on the western side of the city. You can’t miss it if you go down there. I used to do business with them, you know; best place to trade my goat milk and cheese. Did they take everything?”

“As far as we can tell,” Sterling said as Roxie gave him a short nod.

“Well, I got me a stash of the good stuff behind the barn that has a red door. I’m sure they didn’t get that. Got some milk down there, some cheese, some meat in an old bunker built by the crazies that used to live here. Always wondered if those crazies were me! Just kidding, I picked this place up after the Rapture…” His form started to waver. “Hey! What’s happening…?”

“Our time here is up, unless there is something else you need to say,” Sterling told the man, realizing he could just conjure him again if need be.

“I’ve said my piece. Good luck, friend, and give them hell for me and mine.”

“Same to you once they get down there.”

As night spread over Deseret, Sterling hunkered down on a rocking chair in front of one of the main homesteads, the front porch recently built, plastic bottles filled with sweet syrup hanging from beams. The bottles were filled with dead wasps, the family having come up with a clever way to keep the stinging little bastards off their backs.

From what he could tell, everything in the little homestead had been repurposed in clever ways, including another seating area across from Sterling with upholstered chairs from what he believed was a minivan or an SUV. The candles that lit the place were made of shoestrings and animal fat, and a half-built deer blind about a quarter of a mile away told Sterling that the family had hunted relatively close to home.

The place was downright cozy, and he felt bad they were all dead now.

“Just don’t seem right,” he said as he smoked a cigarette an hour or so later, Beep floating around the property while the others rested. The plan was to head into town early in the morning and take care of business, a challenge of sorts.

Feeling melancholic, he gave his cancer stick a final puff before putting it out in an old glass beer bottle.

He ended up dozing off in the rocking chair, only to be awoken a few hours later when Roxie came and placed a quilt over him. The urge to reach out to her and bring the woman into his arms passed, Sterling not certain if they would ever have that kind of relationship again.

“I thought you would be up,” she said as she stared down at him, the hood of her poncho over her head and obscuring her troubled features.

“Wrong, I was fast asleep; just remembering what life used to be like before it all went to shit.”

“Is that so?” she asked as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

Sterling looked up at her. “At least from what I can remember. It’s nice out here; I didn’t have a rocking chair back at my place in T or C. I thought I’d gone country, but apparently not country enough. You know what? I think I’ll do it.”

“Do what?”

“I’m keeping this here rocking chair once we leave. Wherever we go now, you’re going to see my haggard ass rocking when I get a chance. My new thing.”

“We can strap you to the top of the dune buggy and you can ride up there with a gun in your lap. That would be a sight…”

“Heh. That would be something, wouldn’t it? Speaking of getting strapped up, what are you doing awake, Rox?”

“Checking my weapons, for one, and I was planning to go down there and have a look at the outer limits of Morgan, just to get the lay of the land.”

“You know I’m all for having a plan, but with Beep and this biomancer I have in my inventory list, and that’s not to mention the Sunflower Kid or Paco, them Angels are going to have one hell of a time trying to put us down.”

“It’s better to be prepared.” Roxie knocked her fist against his cowboy hat.

“Hey,” he called after her, but she was already gone, the woman disappearing into the night and now with a sniper rifle over her shoulder. He thought about going with her, but there was really no sense in it, not when he was nice and comfortable in his rocking chair.

He fell asleep once again, the wind whistling through the trees that surrounded the house, the air with that pretty scent it got when the temperature dropped, Sterling feeling warm under the quilt that Roxie had given him.

It was a few hours later that Sterling blinked his eyes open to find the Sunflower Kid standing before him, the teenager now with black hair that had been cut short across her eyes, the bangs framing her face. “Everyone is getting ready,” she said.

“Damn, you spooked me,” Sterling told her, even though he hadn’t really flinched. He’d figured someone would wake him up. “You sleep all right, Kid?”

“There was a tree house; I slept in there,” she said, referring to the deer blind.

“And Paco? He okay?”

“He slept in the living room inside; the Chronicler too. We are ready.”

“You told me that already,” Sterling said as he followed her down the steps of the porch. “And remember, we ain’t trying to kill everyone in town, just the mancers at the front gate.”

“Roxie already told us the plan.”

“Shee-it…” They reached the others. Roxie was standing next to Beep, who still had a face painted on its front surface. Paco was crouched and eating some of the goat cheese they had procured, the Chronicler smoking his pipe nearby, his eyes trained on Morgan in the distance.

“Let’s make this fast,” Sterling told the group. “It would be nice to be in and out before eight or nine rolls around. Wishful thinking on my part, maybe, but it would be nice…”

“And I will be staying back, as discussed,” the Chronicler said. “I’m not really the fighting type.”

“Didn’t figure as much, and I mean no offense by that, Dusty. We’ll handle it, and then grab you before we head toward whatever cliff dwellings you want to check out. Let’s move.”

As they came out of the trees, Sterling caught up with Roxie.

“Nothing to report back,” she said, anticipating what he wanted to ask about her trip last night to the town.

“See? I told you.”

“The entrance is as guarded as, say, Las Cruces. They’ve got a few buildings around the highway and a little fence line they’ve set up. I think much of their intimidation tactics come from who actually lives in the town, rather than the barriers erected.”

“You mean, the mancers?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Either way, them people are going to pay for what happened back there,” Sterling said. “I promised Joe Ray.”

“You promised a face made out of blood.”

“Nevertheless, that man still deserves to have his death wish honored. Let’s git!”

Sterling’s big biomancer animate shuffled toward the town’s checkpoint with a canvas sack thrown over his shoulder, an object inside. With his back against the cabin of an overturned eighteen-wheeler, Sterling waited for his animate to surprise the men standing guard. Perched in a tree about a quarter of a mile back was Roxie with her sniper weapon, Paco and the Sunflower Kid both joining Sterling near the front.

“I’ve never done something like this before,” Paco said, his throat tightening as nervousness set in.

“Just follow our lead,” Sterling told him coolly. “Ain’t nothing but a pair of pyromancers, a gaiamancer, and a hydromancer we need to be worried about. Obviously, don’t get shot by a local, but I’m pretty sure the Sunflower Kid here will be absorbing most bullets with some of her plant constructs.”

“This shouldn’t be too complicated,” she told Paco, an almost lackadaisical way to how she spoke.

“Nope, it shouldn’t be. I figured I would get to test out my new control over my animates a bit more, and we could give ol’ Beep a moment to shine. I mean, Strawberry.”

As predicted, the two men at the entrance began firing at Sterling’s animate shortly thereafter, an alarm sounding, which was loud enough to wake everyone in the vicinity. Filling with bullet holes, the biomancer animate eventually slowed and fell to his knees, and as it did it released the pack on its back.

Beep lifted into the air, weapon set to vaporize.

Surprise! Sterling thought as the Godwalker tore a huge gash into the landscape, taking with it one of the armed men, the support beams of the watchtower, and the fencing beyond.

Roxie’s first shot came next, killing the other guard as Sterling looked over to Paco and smiled.

“Get ready to see how the big dogs do it,” he said, a statement he would later decide had been a bit premature.

The fireball that exploded into their overturned eighteen-wheeler was enough to make Sterling feel as if his lungs had been ignited. The Sunflower Kid summoned a giant vine as thick as a California redwood, which lifted up and over the eighteen-wheeler and smashed down on the other side, kicking flaming debris and smoke up into the air.

“Come on!” Sterling told Paco as they headed out, leaving the Sunflower Kid to conjure more plant constructs. The cowboy necromancer slid behind another abandoned car, firing a few test shots over the rusted hood of the vehicle just to cause a bit of commotion.

Bam! Bam!

This brought the attention that he wanted, the pyromancer, a man with his body covered in rippling flames, landing on the cabin of the vehicle, a wave of energy rippling around him.

Bam!

It nearly burned his eyebrows off, not to mention temporarily blinded him, but Sterling managed to put a bullet right between the eyes of his fiery assailant, the man quickly falling to the side, his flames petering out.

“Hold on to me for a second.” He reached out to the spot where he’d last seen Paco, the Hopi youth coming to his aid and helping Sterling stand. As they made their way to cover, Sterling rubbed his eyes, trying to massage away the bright spots he was seeing.

“We shouldn’t have done it like this…” Paco mumbled.

“Right through the front door? Heh. Maybe you’re right,” he said, his vision slowly blurring back into focus once he opened his eyes again. “But it’s more fun that way. Now hold on to your ass, or get out of the way. Shit is about to get real.”

The ground shifted, and as it did a great white stone ripped out of the pavement, growing in size as it formed into an almost worm-like creature, jagged rocks covering its body, the pillar easily the length and size of two tour buses. Standing on top was a gaiamancer, the woman akin to the one that they had taken on the other day, her entire body glazed in stone, sharp stones lifting off her shoulders.

The behemoth twisted and giant slabs of rock spun toward them like arrows, Sterling diving out of the way and taking Paco with him.

“Careful!”

The second pyromancer landed near the gaiamancer, flames twisting around her as she flipped into the air again and exploded into the ground directly in front of Sterling, destroying what was left of the car that he had tried to hide behind, liquid metal hitting the airwaves.

Sterling shot at the woman, who had a big, fiery smile on her face as she zipped back into the air, leaving a trail of flames behind her that seared a pathway into the pavement, bringing it up to its boiling point.

The great wave of water that struck Sterling next was enough to sweep him up and over, the cowboy necromancer barely holding on to his revolver and his hat as he was deposited to the side, more water whipping around him.

It all came to a stop, Sterling just getting to his feet when he looked up to see that the hydromancer had been impaled by a series of sharp branches that had torn out of the soil.

Whishhh!

The branches all ripped out of the hydromancer’s body, guts and viscera spritzing the air.

“That’s one way to do it…” He looked back toward the fight to find Paco crouched to the ground, one hand behind his back, the other flush with the ground. His head was bowed forward, and Sterling wasn’t certain what he was doing for a moment until he noticed steam rising from the ground, the heat making a beeline toward the gaiamancer.

“I’m over here!” Sterling shouted as he began firing his revolver into the air, making the floating pyromancer look up at him. He knew that it wasn’t going to be as easy to kill her as he had the other, but at least he could provide a distraction.

He took off toward Roxie, and as he did, bullets of fire struck the soil all around him, burning what was left of the dry grass, Sterling feeling the heat, sweat dripping from his chin.

The pyromancer was toying with him.

She could have hit him with a fireball by this point, yet she hadn’t.

It would be her downfall.

The fire ceased, and Sterling stopped running. He turned to find the pyromancer’s body lying on the ground, twitching, flame still licking off of it, only the bottom portion of her head left.

Roxie had practically blown her head off.

Sterling swirled back toward the action, aware that Roxie was likely watching him through her scope at the moment. He gave her the thumbs up and charged in Paco’s direction. The young man was still heating the ground not far from the Sunflower Kid, who was combating the giant stone worm with an equally large vine, the two colliding with one another.

Beep sounded off, the miniature Godwalker cutting the stone worm in half with a solid blast of energy. The front came tumbling down, the female gaiamancer diving off it, only to be struck by a knotted up fist of wood, one large enough to double as a battering ram.

The gaiamancer hit the ground just about the moment that Sterling reached her, his revolver aimed at her stony face.

“You still alive?” Sterling asked.

She gasped.

“And don’t even think about doing nothing; otherwise, my friend here will turn you into lava.”

Steam was already rising off the gaiamancer’s body, the lady sucking in breath as if she were dehydrated.

“You the one that killed them people up there in the hills? The goat farmer and his family?”

“What does it matter to you?” she hissed.

Bam! Sterling shot the pavement right next to the gaiamancer’s shoulder.

“I’m the one asking the questions here, lady. Next time, I won’t miss.”

“Your bullet won’t get through my form…”

“Maybe. In that case, you’ll have a couple of options for how you want to die. I can let Paco here boil you to death; the Sunflower Kid over there can do a number of things, most of which are unpleasant. Then there’s Beep.”

<Beep.>

The Godwalker moved next to Sterling, the front of its form open, laser pointed at the woman.

“You have… you have an Abaddon?”

“Something like that. Like I was telling you, I’m the one asking the questions. So I’m going to ask again, real nice like: you the one that killed them people up there?”

“It wasn’t just me,” she admitted.

“I’m aware,” Sterling said as he sensed movement ahead. Members of the Angels of Woe began to appear on the periphery, weapons aimed, Sterling shaking his head just about the time that Roxie walked up.

“I can handle them.” Roxie turned to the first group, now holding a submachine gun that Sterling hadn’t seen before, one with various attachments on it. She brought it to the ready and stepped forward, just as the wind started to pick up.

“Ain’t no reason to get ballsy,” he told her. “I do believe Zephyr has arrived.”

“You know Zee?” the gaiamancer asked as the wind continued to pick up around them.

“Sure do, and…” He looked at the Sunflower Kid. “You take care of this one; make sure she feels it.”

Sterling stepped past the gaiamancer, joining Roxie as more Angels of Woe gathered, practically a platoon of men and women decked out in flectomancer-enhanced armor, all with weapons trained on them.

The gaiamancer’s screams were muffled almost immediately by a thick vine that had wrapped around her mouth.

The wind picked up in strength. “Paco, you can go ahead and join us. You too, Beep.”

<Beep.>

How Zephyr had convinced the group to take orders from her in such a relatively short amount of time was beyond Sterling, but no one shot at them as the female aeromancer circled in the air above. And if there were any mancers in their ranks, they had yet to reveal their powers, which was the only thing Sterling was worried about as the wind narrowed into a cyclone before them, Zephyr finally lowering.

Zephyr wore a frilly skirt over leggings with enhanced knee pads and combat boots, an acid wash hoodie with patches sewn into it for a top. She was petite, not much larger than the Sunflower Kid, her hair dark and pulled into a tight ponytail, her high cheekbones and almond eyes a sign of her Asian heritage.

A grin formed on Sterling’s face. “It’s about damn time you showed your ass up, Zee.”

“I could say the same for you,” Zephyr said in a bubbly way. “What took you guys so long?”

“How long has it been for you, Zee?” Roxie asked.

“A month?” Zephyr bobbed her head left and right. “Yes, a month.”

“Two weeks for me,” said Roxie.

“Not long for the rest of us,” Sterling added. “This here is Paco.”

“Hi…” Zephyr looked at the bandits gathered around her and puffed her cheeks out. “Well, I’ll handle this. You might want to get down,” she told Sterling and his crew.

Sterling hit the ground, his hands going over his cowboy hat, Roxie and the Sunflower Kid doing the same. Paco remained standing next to Beep, which Sterling handled by slapping his hand along the side of the Godwalker, sending it to his list while at the same time shouting at Paco: “Get down, son!”

“What’s she doing?” he asked Sterling as the wind began to lash over them, the sounds of garbled screams reaching Sterling’s ears.

He had seen Zephyr do something like this before. The woman had such precise control over the wind that she could utilize small debris as if it were bullets.

By the time she had finished, everyone that had been gathered around her was dead or dying, Zephyr standing on the balls of her feet, both hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth.

“What’s with the baby Godwalker?” she asked, not at all fazed by it.

“Shee-it, Zee…” Sterling got to his feet and dusted himself off. He adjusted his cowboy hat as he looked the aeromancer over. “You haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

“Like the wind,” she said.

“As for the Godwalker, that’s a bit of a story, but don’t you worry about ol’ Beep. It’s on our side.”

“Its name is Strawberry,” the Sunflower Kid told Zephyr. “It is what brought us here.”

“So I have to choose between the names Strawberry and Beep?” She let out a playful sigh. “That’s too confusing.”

“Did she really just kill all those people?” Paco asked, the Hopi youth a bit bewildered by Zephyr’s sudden actions.

“Welcome to the big leagues, son,” Sterling told him, feeling bold yet again now that all the mancers were dead. “Not the first time I’ve seen her do that, and definitely not the last. If she ever tells you to get down, you get down. Got it?”

“Understood.” Paco swallowed. “I guess… I guess we should alert the Chronicler and move on.”

“How long will it take for back-up to get here?” Sterling asked Zephyr.

“What are you talking about? That was back-up,” she said.

“I mean, the other groups, the other Angels of Woe.”

Zephyr shrugged. “We have plenty of time. But if you are wanting to leave now, I guess we can do that as well.” She smiled at the group. “Gosh, it’s so nice to see all of you! I really didn’t know when I would see you again.”

Roxie steered the dune buggy toward a mountain pass, Sterling in the passenger seat, the Chronicler, Paco, and the Sunflower Kid in the back. Beep sped alongside them, and Zephyr zipped through the air above, the aeromancer occasionally getting ahead and twirling as she circled back around.

Zephyr was as graceful as she was troublesome, Sterling not at all surprised to hear her explanation earlier of how she had been transported to this area seemingly out of the blue, and how she had quickly assimilated into the Angels of Woe. It was hard not to get along with the aeromancer, the woman personable and quirky in a way that made her interesting, instantly likable. She was a good listener too, the kind of person who joked when the time was right, kept things light.

But she was also ruthless, more so than Roxie.

While Roxie had a hardened outer layer, she was soft on the inside, evident recently in the way she’d taken care of the baby. She generally didn’t do something like play both sides, nor did she scheme up ways to take advantage of someone.

Zephyr was the exact opposite when it came to most of her interactions. Had she encountered a group of bandits with a child, she would have either moved on, figured out a way to use them as leverage, or killed them for challenging her. Human life meant little to the aeromancer, something that Sterling had warily learned long ago. But she was loyal to her companions, Zephyr the type to do something like kill thirty bandits in a matter of seconds just to be done with them once her true friends arrived.

Sterling glanced over to Roxie, who had one hand on the steering wheel, the other on a Glock in her lap. Look at you, he thought, not able to hide the juvenile grin taking shape on his face. Strands of her hair whipped in the wind, the hood of Roxie’s poncho currently pushed back, the female gunner laser-focused on the path that lay before them, watching for potholes.

Not surprisingly, she picked up on the fact he was staring at her and offered him a curt nod. She revved the engine, the dune buggy squealing ahead, Sterling nearly losing his hat as momentum sent them zooming forward.

Deseret, Deseret, he thought, the landscape with the power to instantly take his breath away, the sheer distance and size of it all, the cliffs and overhangs cast in umber tones like a movie stage backdrop for the planet Mars.

The mesas and buttes looked almost scalable from the distance, yet Sterling knew that this wasn’t the case, that there would be no way in hell he could simply climb his way to the top. It was a trick of the eyes, the bedrock utterly deceiving.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, amigo,” he whispered as they cut through another mountain pass. The Chronicler reached past him and pointed out something to Roxie. She nodded and twisted the wheel in the direction of his finger, Beep slowing to let her pass ahead, Sterling raising an eyebrow yet again at the face that Paco and the Sunflower Kid had painted on the surface of the Godwalker.

Looks real stupid, he thought, although he wouldn’t have had it any other way. It humanized the Godwalker to some strange degree, made it feel more like it was part of the team.

They came to a stop about five minutes later, Roxie parking in the shade of a boulder with a spiral design drawn on it.

“Here, it’s here!” the Chronicler said, growing excited. The researcher practically climbed over Paco’s lap as he got out of the dune buggy. As he peered up at the wall of rock, he sent his pipe to his inventory list and approached the petroglyph etched into the large boulder. “This is the spot, or should I say…” He pointed up, Sterling forced to crane his neck back to see an enormous hunk of rock with a line of quartz passing through it that reflected the sun.

“I don’t see shit, amigo.”

Zephyr landed, the air instantly swelling and then settling around her.

“What are we looking at?” she asked as she too tried craning her neck back, squinting.

“The cliff dwelling is up there. Can’t you see it?” the Chronicler asked. “It’s a bit hidden…”

“A bit? Wait… Is… Is that it? It looks to me like a big hunk of rock fell from that cliff right there and found itself a little nook.”

<Beep.>

“See? Beep agrees.”

“It’s behind the rock,” the Chronicler told them. “Behind it.”

Roxie equipped a pair of binoculars and took a few steps back, adjusting them as she stared up at it.

“Can confirm,” she said, the binoculars fizzling out of existence.

“How did you spot that?” Sterling asked the Chronicler.

“What can I say? I’ve got a fairly good eye for these sorts of things. Well, that’s not really the case. Truth be told, I was also aided by the glyph,” he said, motioning back toward the spiral carved into the giant boulder. Sterling examined it, not quite certain how he had gotten all that information from a picture of a swirl, a man standing near it, and a bird heading toward him.

“I see it now,” Paco said.

“It’s up there; we’ve just got to get that big stone blocking the passage out of the way. See these potsherds here?” The Chronicler swept his hand toward what Sterling had originally thought were tiny stones. Upon further examination, he saw that they were actually bits of ceramic. “Last time I was here, I put one of them back together and it had the same image as this petroglyph. The people were marking this area, maybe even for us, for the future. An earthquake probably caused that rock to fall and block the entrance to the cliff dwelling above, unless a gaiamancer did it back in the day. No telling, really, but there is something up there. I’m certain. Once I’m inside, I’ll see if it’s something of importance, but I believe it will be.”

Zephyr began to float again, the ends of her distressed skirt also lifting.

The Chronicler laughed nervously as he rubbed his hands together. “Let’s hope the missing piece of the puzzle is near. It would make all of this much easier.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Sterling said with a casual shrug. “Beep, how about you go ahead and blow that rock to smithereens?”

“Wait!” The Chronicler jumped in front of the Godwalker, his arms out wide. “Don’t… don’t blow it up. Are you mad? I’m sorry, we… we can’t go about things that way. You could ruin whatever is inside the dwelling. No, you need to treat this delicately, as if it were an archeological dig site. That is, after all, what it is.”

“I can handle it,” the Sunflower Kid said. “I’ll move the rock, and Zee can toss it somewhere else.”

“With pleasure!” Zephyr said.

A grimace took shape on the Chronicler’s face. “We need to be careful…”

“I can toss it too,” Roxie added, much to Sterling’s delight.

“Damn, ladies, y’all are really trying to show ol’ Paco and me up here, aren’t you?”

“Did you say you could toss the rock?” Paco asked, giving Roxie a funny look.

“Shee-it, he don’t know about you, does he?” Sterling tsked. “You may think she’s just a sharpshooter, but that ain’t the case. This here is Rowayton the Indestructible, and they call her that because she’s not only tougher than nails, she’s also strong as a bull.”

“Ugh, I hate when you say it like that,” Roxie said, a hint of paleness coming over her face. Sterling had embarrassed her to some degree, which made him want to dig in just a little deeper. He liked giving her trouble from time to time; it got the dynamics circulating between them, kept things fresh. But Sterling was a gentleman, and he also knew that it was best not to provoke her, so he bottled this approach and let it be as the Sunflower Kid began to grow a vine from the ground. Her plant construct thickened to the point that she was able to step on it, the piece rising into the air, Zephyr and Roxie floating after her.

“I suppose I will join them as well,” said the Chronicler, who began to hover, albeit a bit wobbly at first. “Sterling? Paco?”

“We’ll stay here,” Paco said.

<Beep.>

Sterling nodded. “What Beep said. Y’all take your time; the three of us will hold down the fort.”

Once the Chronicler was about halfway up, Sterling turned to Paco. “You afraid of heights too, son?”

The Hopi youth rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “I don’t like them.”

“Yup, neither do I,” he said as he began rolling a cigarette. “And trust me, there ain’t no shame in it.” By the time he had it in his mouth, the Sunflower Kid had begun to pry the rock away from the opening of the cliff dwelling, Roxie joining on one side and pulling. “We’ve got quite the crew, don’t we?”

“I don’t know what to make of any of this,” Paco said honestly.

“You’ll get used to it as we keep on keeping on. Damn!” Sterling said as the boulder above came loose and was tossed a good hundred feet away, as if someone had given it a solid kick. He felt a bolt of tenseness flash through him, and expected smaller rocks to come tumbling down the sides of the cliff. But they never did, and soon, the Chronicler looked down and gave Sterling the thumbs up.

“I hope he finds what he’s looking for,” Paco said.

“If he does, and it works, we may just have a chance against them Godwalkers.”

<Beep.>

“No offense,” Sterling told the floating monolith. “You ain’t like the others.”

They waited at the bottom of the cliff for a good hour, Sterling and Paco taking turns standing guard, Sterling also eating a dried pepper and smoking a cigarette. The two men and the miniature Godwalker kept to the shade, the heat of the day starting to waver when Zephyr landed.

“Well?” Sterling asked the aeromancer. “He find anything up there?”

She nodded. “It’s pretty interesting, at least according to him. Sure you don’t want to take a look?”

“He wants us to come up there, don’t he?”

Zephyr nodded, a big grin on her face. “It’s not that high…”

“Fine, fine,” he said, “but someone needs to guard the dune buggy.”

“I’ll stay,” Paco said.

“Like hell you will. These are your ancestors, son. Don’t you want to get up close and personal to whatever they were scheming back in the day? Beep here can stand guard.”

<Beep.>

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it short and sweet for both of you,” said Zephyr, “I promise. Please, let me fly you up there. Pleeeaaase?” she asked in a playful voice.

“I can fly my own damn self up, thank you very much.”

A gust of wind nearly shoved him aside. “Seriously? You fly now?”

“I…” Sterling cleared his throat. “I hover from time to time, sure. If I have to.”

Zephyr nearly fell over laughing. “I have to see you do that. Have to.”

Sterling opened his arms wide and lifted a few feet off the ground. “Happy? Entertained now?”

She laughed again. “I’ll get you up there faster. Ready?”

“Shee-it, as ready as I’ll ever be.” He turned to Paco. “Hold on to your ass; this is going to be a fast trip.”

Sterling touched down at the mouth of the cave, his nerves settling as the heels of his boots reached solid ground. He shook his head as he checked his person, everything still intact. A quick glance at Paco told him that the Hopi youth hadn’t liked the ride either.

“Nope, never going to get used to that,” Sterling said, feeling as if he had practically been teleported by Zephyr’s power. Before doing anything else, he summoned his cowboy hat from his inventory list, fixed his hair, and placed it back on his head. “Damn.”

Roxie and the Sunflower Kid stood by, the Kid with the leaf of a large plant acting as an umbrella over her head to shade herself from the sun. Sterling saw another vine, this one with a thicker leaf on it, which she used to fan herself.

“Look at you,” he said, giving the biomancer a wink.

“Unless we are going to sleep here tonight, we should get what we need and move on,” said Roxie, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

You always got somewhere to be, don’t you? Sterling thought as he looked her over, realizing, as he had in the past, that Roxie kept on the move for a reason—it was the best way to escape the past and avoid the present.

“Hold your horses; let’s see what ol’ Dusty has discovered.” Sterling stepped aside, letting Paco pass in front of him. He caught his first glimpse of the petroglyphs in question, which were much more expansive than he had originally anticipated. “Will you look at that…”

Paco approached the Chronicler, who was crouched before a series of petroglyphs, at least thirty in total. It was light enough from the entrance to make them out, but the older man had still equipped lanterns to give him just a bit more light while he scribbled something down in one of his field diaries.

“It’s a remarkable discovery, really. Remarkable. I only wish I had a camera, some better way to document them. But I have the most important parts copied down now.”

“So… this is what you were looking for?” Sterling asked as he removed his cowboy hat and scratched the back of his head.

The Chronicler glanced up at him, sheer joy in his eyes. “It is more than I imagined it would be. This tells the story of the Godwalkers’ arrival in the eleventh century.” He pointed to a series of carved images, Sterling recognizing them immediately.

“I’ll be damned.”

Sure enough, Godwalkers were carved into the upper right portion of the collection of images, rays of energy radiating around them. There was also a petroglyph that signaled destruction, then one defined by a downward spiral that seemed to twist around it and through it.

“This is the piece I was missing,” the Chronicler said, as if he had been reading the way that Sterling was interpreting the images. “Does that part right there look familiar to you?”

“I can’t say that it does.” Sterling continued to examine the strange carving, which featured a line with several large indentations on it, almost as if they were plateaus or large buttes, a picture of a horizon of sorts.

“That’s Monument Valley. Those are some of its famous buttes; West Mitten Butte looks like, well, a mitten; East Mitten Butte is there too, less mitten-like; and that one in the middle is Merrick Butte. They even got the stratification levels of the buttes. It’s not as noticeable now, but if you look at it…”

Sterling noticed a rock had been used to shade on each of the buttes.

“The lowest is Organ Rock Shale, the middle is de Chelly Sandstone, and they are capped by Shinarump Conglomerate. The Anasazi got all the details…”

“That’s nice and all,” Sterling told the Chronicler, “but what is it trying to tell us? I’m just as interested in geological formations as any other guy, but what are these here pictures trying to tell us, Dusty? Why does everything seem to be pointing to this valley, and… Wait a minute…” He took a closer look, noticing that there were Godwalkers seemingly underground, at least by the way the petroglyphs were arranged.

“Do you see now?” the Chronicler asked, wide-eyed at this point. “What we call the Terminal must be some sort of charging station for the Godwalkers, and if you follow me for just a moment…” He stood and brought his lantern with him, coming to the next series of petroglyphs. “There.”

Sterling recognized the image for fire. It was clear that the ground was burning, and the Godwalkers were suddenly turned upside down, which he surmised based on the way the Anasazi had shaped them meant their destruction.

“So… this here petroglyph is telling us that we need to blow up whatever’s in the ground, right?”

“Precisely,” said the Chronicler. “And that’s where you come into play.” He gestured toward Paco.

“Me?”

“Yes, your power to heat the stone, the Earth itself. How hot can you make it? You can make it melt, yes? I’m assuming it takes a concentrated amount of mana, but is this something you can do?”

“I… I can. Like you said, it takes a lot of energy.”

“Yes, it must be something like this…” The Chronicler shook his head. “We are close, gentlemen and… ladies, so very close. I can feel it. And you said that there is a technomancer that should be joining you, correct? That is, if we find him.”

“Maron, yes. Hopefully he is somewhere around Don Gasper. I got this feeling that he may be, that everything is pointing us in this direction, but I could be wrong. Won’t be the first time, heh, and certainly won’t be the last.”

“Have you tried asking your Godwalker again?” the Chronicler asked Sterling. “Beep? You mentioned you had some ways to communicate with it.”

“I haven’t really asked it anything like that, per se…”

“If it brought you here, maybe it can bring you to the technomancer.”

Sterling shrugged. “Worth a shot…”

“Either way, we will continue our direction south toward the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, where there were rumors of a shaman-like man appearing.”

“Come to think of it, in case Beep don’t work out, it was Gasper who pointed me in the right direction back in New Mexico. Maybe that’s the key to this whole puzzle here. Maybe he’s the one that points us toward the technomancer. To be honest, I don’t know if Beep is going to be able to find anyone. It seems like it would have done something by now, rather than just hang around like a bump on a log, assisting us when needed. To be honest, Beep—”

“—Strawberry,” said the Sunflower Kid.

“—Strawberry just got us here, and by ‘us,’ I mean the people that we need to make this happen. And as much as I hate to admit it, maybe Don Gasper is one of them people.”

“Right, then we will continue south, toward Midway, which we hopefully reach by nightfall. If we take the dune buggy, it’ll be a few hours’ drive. If we walk, maybe a day?”

“We’ll take the buggy,” Sterling told the man.

“It may be risky; we may run into patrols along the way.”

“Let’s hope for their sake that’s not the case.” Sterling turned back toward the entrance of the cave. “Get what you need from here, Dusty, and we’ll head out after that. Until then, I’ll do my best to keep the ladies entertained.”

The Chronicler laughed. “Whatever would they do without you?”

“Shee-it, I ask myself that same question from time to time.”

.Chapter Five.

Zephyr and Beep were able to keep guard relatively well as the dune buggy zipped along what was left of Interstate 84 heading south, the aeromancer above the vehicle, the tiny Godwalker bringing up the rear. Sterling sat in the passenger seat, his revolver in his lap, the sheer beauty of his surroundings impressing him to no end.

At some point along their trip, the Chronicler pointed out Lewis Peak on the right, which towered over the landscape, a splattering of snow along its slopes, majestic as ever. They passed by more of those beehive highway markers that had confused him earlier on, Sterling still not certain what they had to do with Utah. They also came to the occasional abandoned gas station, maybe a trading post, maybe not, most of the buildings done up with trashy Angels of Woe graffiti.

Mankind always got to leave his mark, don’t he? Sterling thought.

Even so, even with the Reset, this was the world as it had apparently been destined to be, one of dark fantastic shapes, leagues of cliffs marinated in the sere tones of auburn and crisp saffron, a thirsty landscape peppered by pinyon and juniper trees, oakbrush, dry lake beds evidence of what was and how far it had strayed.

A cigarette clamped between two fingers, Sterling once again thought about Deseret and how dark it could get at night when there was cloud coverage, an infinite dark.

Infinite dark…

He went ahead and saved those two words to whatever part of his brain stored ideas for future desert haiku, his hard drive of sorts.

Infinite dark…

They stopped along the highway for Sterling to relieve himself, the group taking this moment to share rations as well, from goat cheese to a piece of honeycomb and dried meat. The Chronicler equipped a map and placed it on the hood of the dune buggy, tracing his finger along the route they were taking as he spoke to Roxie, Zephyr floating overhead and looking down at the two of them.

They moved on.

Sterling had mistakenly started to think that they were in the clear, that there weren’t going to be any encounters, when Zephyr lowered onto the road ahead, giving Roxie plenty of time to slow the dune buggy to a crawl.

“Beep!” Sterling called out the window. The miniature Godwalker pulled up next to the vehicle so he could send it to his inventory list.

They came upon a roadblock made of construction barriers, one set up by the Angels of Woe, and by the time they reached it, Zephyr was already speaking to the men tasked with guarding the checkpoint.

Naturally, Sterling got out of the dune buggy and moseyed on over to the aeromancer, tipping his cowboy hat to the Angels of Woe guarding the checkpoint, who were all in their flashy flectomancer-enhanced athletic gear that would do little against what his team was able to deliver if things got out of hand.

“Howdy,” Sterling said just about the point that Zephyr started to laugh in a casual way at the guards.

“It’s been great in Morgan, really,” she told the men, turning on the charm as she always did. “It’s a nice location, and we’ve been able to stop a few bandits from passing through, mostly the Serpents of Paradise.”

“That’s right,” Sterling said. “That damn dirty Oracle.”

One of the guards gave him a funny look. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I could say the same, partner. Are we good here?” Sterling asked, motioning between the two of them. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Roxie had a weapon aimed in their direction, likely concealed in some way.

Letting Sterling and his group through would probably be the best move these men ever made; it would only get dicier from here.

“Just so you know, the road gets real bad outside of Midway, perhaps best to be avoided completely,” said the guard, who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, bucktoothed with feminine eyebrows. “Your best bet, unless you want to deal with ruining the tires on your doom buggy, would be to go through the woods there. People live out there, but they are friendly enough, and they trade with Midway from time to time.”

“Mighty kind of you,” Sterling said, tipping his hat once again.

“What did you say your name was?” the man asked Sterling.

“Commodore Bones, at least that’s what my friends call me.”

“The old Commodore is with me,” said Zephyr, still with a big smile on her face, barely skipping a beat at Sterling’s lie. “A new guy. You know how it goes. They show up and… he’s good people,” she said, offering Sterling a wink. “A little rough around the edges, but good people. Trust me.”

“Well, you’re clear to move on through,” said the guard.

Hell, I’m more than good people, Sterling thought as he approached the dune buggy. Once Roxie was given the sign to pass through, she keyed up the ignition.

“You wasn’t planning on shooting me in the back to shoot him, were you?” Sterling asked, noticing that she still had a gun on the dash.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

And so it went, the dune buggy once again barreling toward the south, an aeromancer overhead, Beep staying in the inventory list for now. They took the guard’s advice once they came to the edge of a forest, the road ahead cratered to the point that it wouldn’t be easy to navigate.

“The Provo River.” The Chronicler gestured with his pipe toward the sound of running water. “There are a good number of tributaries around here, mountain runoff and whatnot, which is why there’s a forest.”

Once he was out of the dune buggy, Sterling approached the river and removed his cowboy hat. He crouched on the riverbank and brought some of the cold water to his face, washing it. He then began to fill up one of his jugs, glad to come across a good water source.

A vine reached over his shoulder, the cowboy necromancer startled until he saw an orange start to take shape. He plucked the orange from the vine and peeled it with his fingernails, the citrus sweet and tart, Sterling feeling instantly rejuvenated after he finished it.

He turned to see the Sunflower Kid standing there next to Watermelon, her white buffalo slowly lumbering down to the water. It began drinking, and once it was done, she mounted up.

“Makes sense,” Sterling said as he went ahead and summoned Manchester, his skeletal steed clicking into place. He mounted up, and joined the rest of the group.

“Lead the way,” Sterling told the Chronicler, who gave him an almost apprehensive look.

“Yes, we will need to be careful in the forest. There may be traps, things like that. Some of these forests can be like that, you know.”

Paco readjusted his long hair and pulled it into a tight topknot. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“We’ll all be careful.” Roxie passed the Chronicler and slapped her hand against the top of his back, nearly causing him to stumble forward.

“Easy there, Rox,” Sterling said with a chuckle.

To prove she meant business, Roxie led the way, the woman showcasing her tracking skills as she located a pathway for them that was easy enough to navigate. The underbrush grew thicker and thornier. It wasn’t long before the Sunflower Kid was forced to send her buffalo back to her list, Sterling doing the same with Manchester.

“Hasta luego, Pingo.”

“Everyone stay still,” Roxie said once they reached an area dense with pine trees, the ground covered in needles and broken twigs. There was a Forest Service fire tower ahead, the steel lattice easily a hundred feet tall. The wind whistled through its crossbars at the top. A sign that read DO NOT ENTER hung from a cable above the entrance, directly to the left of the manufacturer’s name, Aeromotor, which had been etched into the steel and was still readable.

Roxie carefully picked up a stick and tossed it ahead, hitting a clump of leaves that caused a weapon to fire somewhere in the distance.

Sterling’s initial reaction was to place his hand on his cowboy hat and duck. But there were no other reports aside from that single shot.

“We could climb the watchtower there and see what’s around,” Paco suggested.

“I could just blow all the trees down.”

“No need to get that destructive, yet,” Roxie told Zephyr. “It was likely just a trap set out to scare people. Let’s keep moving.”

They reached a creek, where Paco pointed out another tripwire. Roxie triggered it, and a gun fired again somewhere in the forest, its sound echoing to some degree.

“Just come out already,” Zephyr said aloud, using a flash of wind to amplify her voice. “I know you’re watching us. We’re just passing through.”

Sterling realized that he had been looking in the wrong direction the entire time. Above him was a network of branches that had been strung together, and as his eyes shifted up, he spotted a pair with weapons trained on them, the people completely camouflaged in brown clothing and leaves.

“You’re getting rusty, Rox,” Sterling told the woman as he slowly placed his hand on the grip of his revolver. He noticed a bit more movement as more people appeared above them, a whole clan living above the forest floor.

“No one warned me that there would be people in the trees…”

Sterling cleared his throat, and addressed the people above: “Ain’t no sense in making this ugly. We are just passing through. On our way to Midway.”

While the tree people may have an advantageous spot, there were already vines slowly wrapping around the tree trunks, Sterling certain that the Sunflower Kid would reach the group in a matter of moments.

Then the odds would be squarely evened.

“If you could go ahead and point us in the right direction of Midway,” he said in his nicest voice, “we’ll get out of your forest. You can go back to living like squirrels and owls, whatever it is y’all are doing up there, and we can continue on south.”

“We live up here to avoid the bears,” said a man. “Among other things.”

“Bears? Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Amalgamations too, right? Don’t know what y’all call them.”

“Are you referring to grizzly beasts? I believe that’s what they call them around here.”

“That’s right,” came the man’s voice again, answering the Chronicler’s question. Sterling still wasn’t certain of which one was talking to them.

“Well, we certainly don’t want to bring any of them out either,” the Chronicler told him. “We’re just trying to get to Midway on behalf of the Oracle and the Serpents of Paradise.”

“Do you have anything to trade?”

“We’ve got peppers and some information,” said Sterling, figuring it was a good enough bartering point.

“Sandstone?”

“I do, yes,” said the Chronicler.

“Necromancers moved into Midway,” the man told them. “That’s another reason we are up here. Don’t want any of them to pick us off.”

“Necromancers? I thought the Angels of Woe were there,” said the Chronicler.

“That’s what they told us back at the checkpoint,” Sterling said.

“If they told you that, then they sent you to die. Are we talking about the checkpoint after Wanship?” asked the man.

“I believe so.”

“That was set up to keep those two necromancers in. It hasn’t been pretty.”

“Those sons of bitches…” Sterling glanced over to Zephyr. “These Angels known to do shit like that? Just lie to their own?”

She shrugged. “I never thought they were that trustworthy myself, but they are easily manipulated…”

The Chronicler adjusted his bucket hat. “I believe these are the necromancers I was telling you about,” he told Sterling. “The ones raising hell in these parts.”

“Do these two necromancers have a name?” Zephyr asked.

“We don’t know their names,” came the man’s response. “We’ve only seen their creations. They have started to roam through the forest at night.”

“In that case, I got a proposal for y’all kind folks,” Sterling began. “How about we do some trading and exchange some information? Maybe we can see about them necromancers stirring up trouble, the damn things. Never did like me a necromancer.”

Zephyr laughed. “Now that’s funny.” The aeromancer floated just a bit higher into the air, the wind swirling around her, her black hair lifting. “This negotiation is over. We are either going to pass through here, trade information with you, and perhaps stay for the night, or…” The wind began to whip through the trees, shaking up the leaves and twigs.

The leader pressed his hood off his head. “Stop! Geez, lady, are you crazy? We’ll throw a ladder down, just stop! No need to escalate things.”

The leader of the tree people was a sinewy man covered in old tattoos, who looked as if he could scale the trees as easily as an orangutan. His skin was a deep shade of orange, which told Sterling that he got plenty of sun even if their homes were covered by foliage. All of his people were fit, the leader explaining once they came into a larger room suspended by two enormous branches that they rarely went down to the forest floor these days.

“That’s where the danger is,” he said as he took a seat on the floor of the meeting room. The space was no larger than eight by eight feet, an old rug covering the ground, one that was threadbare and had been repaired multiple times. “Anything we can do from up here, we do. Including hunting. Too dangerous down there.”

“Are you referring to the necromancers?” Sterling asked as he remained standing. Paco and the Sunflower Kid sat on the old rug, the Chronicler summoning his own foldable chair while Roxie stood guard near the door. Some of the other tree people had gathered outside on the suspended platform, curious as to the conversation about to take place.

“Other things besides them. Grizzly beasts, for one. The Angels of Woe. Better to stay up here.”

“I thought you had a relationship with them Angels?” Sterling said.

“Yes, to some extent, but that doesn’t mean it is a good relationship. It is very one-sided with the Angels of Woe. I suppose I should introduce myself, my name is Devon, Devon Brown.”

“Sterling Monedero.”

He introduced the others, and Devon made sure to make eye contact with each of them. The leader of the tree people had wispy brown hair and striking blue eyes, something almost spiritual about his appearance, otherworldly even, which gave him somewhat of an elven appeal as he continued to greet everyone.

“Well, it’s nice to meet all of you,” he said once introductions were over. “We have extra quarters on the other side of our village; you may stay there for the night.”

“We ain’t planning on staying too long,” Sterling assured him. “So don’t worry about that none. Now, back to them necromancers; if they’re in Midway, then Midway is the direction that we need to go…” He glanced at the Chronicler, who offered Sterling a slow, calculated nod. “Let’s just say that they won’t be a problem anymore once we get through there. I guarantee it.”

“You’d be doing us a favor. They have been tormenting us for a little over a week now, sending zombie animals through the woods, causing general terror and mayhem. They haven’t come up here yet, at least not to my knowledge, but I know they can. Their… their zombies can talk.”

Sterling nodded. “Not surprised.”

“And they have made contact once or twice just to let us know that things will be changing around here. They’re running me and my people crazy with night patrols. We have four families living up here, and at this point, they are preventing us from getting ready for winter.”

“I get it,” Sterling told Devon.

“He’s a necromancer too,” Zephyr said, instantly ruining Sterling’s plan to keep this bit of information to himself.

“I ain’t like them,” he assured the leader of the tree people, who seemed a bit apprehensive at the announcement. “I don’t know if there is such a thing as a good necromancer, but if there is, I’m one of them.”

Devon grunted. “Not all mancers are bad. I’m not one of the people that believe anything like that. I guess I should’ve started by saying this: we don’t have much to offer. We do have some jewelry to pay for your help, some sandstone, but it’s not a lot.”

Sterling started to say that this wasn’t needed at all when Roxie interrupted him.

“We will take what you can offer us. Any other information that would help us with these necromancers?”

“I wish I could say that there was,” Devon told them. “But that is the gist of it. You know what?” He got to his feet. “Let me show you around, give you the lay of our little treehouse village here. And this goes without saying: if I were you, I wouldn’t go down to the forest floor once the sun sets, even if y’all are mancers. Everything you need is up here.”

Devon led them out of the meeting room that had been established, Sterling getting a better glimpse of the treehouse village they had built, everything from storage rooms to seating areas to outdoor toilets that were blocked off by cleverly placed partitions. It was quite the operation; whoever had constructed it had clearly tapped into a vein of architectural knowledge from their previous life.

From what Sterling could tell, it hadn’t been a flectomancer. Flectomancers could make things that were completely seamless, almost alien in their design. What he was looking at, a collection of salvaged parts roped together and tied to tree branches, was evidence of a local architect, someone who had made mistakes before, which Sterling noticed in a few of the collapsed buildings.

Real human ingenuity.

And it likely wasn’t just one person, but rather a collective of people who had built the village and continually maintained its unique structures.

As they were given their brief tour, the other inhabitants occasionally came out of the tiny buildings they were staying in to greet them, all of them keeping their distance, none really speaking to Sterling and his group.

“Here are our guest quarters,” Devon said as they reached the end of a row. “There are three rooms total, and plenty of sleeping supplies if you don’t have any.”

The Sunflower Kid stepped up. “Do you mind if I go around and help with some of your structures?” she asked Devon, the first she had spoken to him, or anyone for that matter over the last hour.

“Help?”

She turned her palm up, a twig growing from it. “I’m a biomancer.”

Once Devon saw what she could do he grew excited. “You… you would help us? With a power like that, you could strengthen everything. You could…” He nodded, tracing his hand over the front of his face, his blue eyes shining with delight. “I will collect payment, and payment for whatever you can do around here.”

“I want to help too,” said Paco.

“Are you a biomancer as well?”

“No, a solimancer, but I can help, or I can simply watch. It sounds interesting.”

“Y’all do what you need to do, and help these people out,” Sterling said as if he were their father. “Dusty here will probably go over some of his research; Roxie, Zephyr, and I will lay low. Ain’t that right, Rox? Zee?”

Zephyr gave him the thumbs up. Roxie didn’t like when Sterling spoke for her, but she nodded anyway.

“That is, unless you got something for a necromancer to do,” Sterling said. “Then I’ll help out.”

“I can’t think of anything right now…” said Devon, clearly trying to be polite.

“Heh. No sweat off my back, amigo.”

What followed was a relaxing afternoon, one in which Sterling leisurely flipped through his book of desert haiku, jotting down the idea he had earlier, something he could expand on later.

Infinite dark…

He ended up in the smallest room, but at least he was able to have the space to himself, the Chronicler and Paco planning to share the room across from him, Roxie, Zephyr, and the Sunflower Kid in a space that had been built on a thick branch above.

It wasn’t much larger than a broom closet, but it was clean, there was a carpet on the ground, and a chair in the corner, pillows from burlap sacks providing a perfect way to prop his body as he rested on the wooden floor, boots kicked up on the chair, smoking a cigarette as always. There was no glass over the windows, but they were able to batten down with pegs of wood, the opening allowing a breeze to enter into the space.

Supper was announced later on that evening, Sterling following a child who came to get him to an outdoor seating area covered by a pergola draped in gray tarps to protect against the water, runoff water funneled through a clever drainage system leading to a small sky garden filled with rosemary plants, basil, and other herbs.

“It’s venison,” Devon said as he motioned for Sterling to sit in front of him, steam rising off the meat. “We usually save it for celebrations, and…” He smiled over at the Sunflower Kid and Paco. “This is certainly a celebration.”

Sterling had seen what the Sunflower Kid had done on his way over to the dining area, including strengthening some of the branches, using wood to make the suspension bridges less wobbly, customizing everything with hardened vines, and even working on a space above, one that she would deal with after their meal.

Using Christmas lights and car headlamps, the tree people had come up with a way to light their homes at night, Sterling noticing a collection of scavenged solar panels suspended from the trees above them and facing various angles. Whereas before, they had been roped up through pulley systems, with the Sunflower Kid’s touch, the trees themselves were actually supporting the panels and setting them at the optimum position. She’d even pushed a few of them up even higher into the air, rearranging the foliage so it wouldn’t block the sun.

It was a mighty fine meal, Sterling going to town on the slab of venison that had been prepared for him alongside mushrooms and other vegetables grown in the treehouse village’s various sky gardens. There wasn’t enough space for all the families to sit while Sterling’s group was there, so they hung back, allowing them to truly enjoy the meal.

“Wonderful, simply wonderful,” the Chronicler said, once they had finished. “It has been ages since I ate something this delicious. Ages!”

“My wife was quite the chef back before the Rapture. She had a habit of writing down family recipes, and has been able to quickly learn some of the things she’d picked up. She has also adapted new recipes. Over on the other side,” Devon said, motioning toward the north, “we have our sky farm, where we have chickens and we used to have goats, but the beasts of the forest made that practice hard to sustain. Once you finish what you are working on above, perhaps we could have something like that again.”

“What exactly are you working on up there?” Sterling said.

He recalled passing under the Sunflower Kid’s construction along his way to the dining area, noticing that she had used her power to build a supported roof over a portion of the village. It was clear that she would be able to extend this, strengthen the roots, and give them a space that was even higher in the end.

“There will be gardens, better space for them to live, those sorts of things. And they’ll be further away from predators when I’m done,” she explained. “I will finish tomorrow and then…”

“That’s right,” Sterling said, growing serious. “We will deal with them two necromancers.”

“Your group is a true gift from… whatever is still up there,” Devon told them. “Truly, it is. Things were starting to look pretty bleak there before you showed up. And I can tell by just what you have done already that you are people of your word, the kind of people I don’t often meet, that we don’t meet too much around here.”

Sterling was going to explain that they weren’t from there, at least not all of them, but he never did. It was a long story now, and Devon hadn’t asked about their origins, nor did he feel like he needed to go into details. For all Devon and his people knew, they had been sent by the Oracle.

Sterling was fine with that.

After dinner, the cowboy necromancer retired to his room and found that a lantern had already been lit for him. He spent the rest of his night lying on the carpeted floor, full from his big meal.

It would be peaceful for the next few hours.

The treehouse village was quiet that night, Sterling falling into a deep sleep, no dreams, no nightmares. Most of the time, he slept with his revolver close enough that he could reach it if need be, but the village seemed so peaceful, the room so comfortable, that he had actually sent it to his inventory list for the night.

This turned out to be a mistake.

“Remuda and Matilda will see you now.”

Sterling came awake to find a woman crouched on one knee before him, the moonlight seeping through the open window lighting her pale face, her shoulder length dark hair swept behind her ears.

He sat up, the shock of her appearance not easy to swallow. “I don’t know who…” His eyes went wide. “The necromancers.”

“Remuda and Matilda will see you now,” the woman said in a cracked voice, just above a whisper, the hairs on the back of Sterling’s neck standing to attention until he realized what she was. The woman was an animate, one that seemed even more cognizant than the ones he had summoned in the past.

“Shee-it, and I’m supposed to just come with you?” he asked, growing annoyed at her appearance, and also noticing that there was someone else in the doorway directly behind the woman, a poncho covering this person’s head.

“You are a necromancer. You have been called upon.”

“Heh. Is that right?” Sterling equipped his rolling paper and tobacco. As casually as ever, he began rolling up a cigarette. “Well, for one, I don’t get ‘called upon,’ as you put it. If someone wants to invite me for a tea party, they damn well better send an invitation. You’re lucky I haven’t shot you already. But you know what? Maybe I will go see them two bosses of yours. Remuda and Matilda, right?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“But I’ve got a condition of my own.” Sterling ran his tongue along the edge of his rolling paper. “The woman standing behind you with the gun pointed at the back of your head? She gets to come with me.”

The animate’s eyes went wide.

“That’s right,” said Sterling, as casual as ever. He finished rolling the cigarette and placed it behind his ear. He then started to roll another. “If you think I’m going alone, well, you’re dead wrong. Made a pun there, in case you didn’t catch it. We could also roll into Midway with the whole team, if you want that, but for some reason I think your bosses wouldn’t like that.”

The animate bared her teeth. “If you do not come, we will destroy this village.”

Sterling shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not, but these ain’t my people,” he said, feeling a hint of appreciation at himself for the fact that he was calling a zombie’s bluff. “I couldn’t care less what happens to them.”

She hesitated.

“So this is how it’s going to play out, now that I’m in charge of this here situation: we are going to come with you, me and the woman standing behind you. We will hear what these two peckerhead necromancers of yours have to say. No one needs to get hurt, and no one needs to join you, if you get my drift.”

“We go now.”

“Not so fast,” Sterling said as he finished rolling up a second cigarette. “I need to roll up another one, and that’s going to take me a moment here. Hell, I could use a cup of coffee too. What about you, Rox?”

“I’m good,” she told him. “We don’t have time for coffee.”

“If you say so.”

Sterling got to his feet when he was good and ready, now with four cigarettes rolled up. After he pulled his boots on, Roxie stepped aside, her weapon trained on the animate as the woman passed in front of her.

“Mornin’,” Sterling told Roxie as he tipped his hat at her. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

The zombie woman hopped down to the forest floor as if it were nothing, quiet as ever.

“To make this quick,” said Roxie. She floated down to the forest floor, Sterling doing the same.

It was off to the races, the animate moving through the brush like the predator she was, Sterling relying on Roxie to keep up with her.

While he had put a little work into his Cover of Night technique, he hadn’t put enough to really allow for night vision. But Roxie had, and eventually, to make things easier for her, she reached back and grabbed Sterling’s hand.

“Been a while since we held hands,” he naturally commented.

“Just be ready,” Roxie said, the tone of her voice telling him that she was more frightened than he was, and rightfully so. The odds that they would be outnumbered by animates soon was pretty high, and not only that, they would be on the enemy’s turf. For someone like Roxie, who much preferred reconnaissance, this was just about the least ideal situation she could be forced into.

But Sterling didn’t feel the same way, even if he should have. He had a backup plan in the form of Beep, the great equalizer in his inventory list waiting to be called upon.

“How did you know I was a necromancer?” he asked the animate once they came to a stream, the woman quickly locating the pathway across.

“Bone horse. We have been watching the forest.”

“Makes sense. Say, let me ask you: why don’t y’all just leave the village alone? Them people don’t want nothing to do with you.”

“They will belong to us soon, to our army.”

Sterling shook his head. “We’ll see about that. Anything I should know about these pinche jefes of yours? Remuda and… what was the other one? Sounded French.”

The zombie woman never answered.

.Chapter Six.

There was something primal about the way the enemy animate moved, Sterling still not able to discern how she had originally been killed. He guessed by her wherewithal that at least one of the necromancers was at a much higher level than him, but this remained to be seen. Even though he had recently upped his levels, his animates still didn’t seem to have the same intelligence that this one did, the woman clearly able to make complicated decisions, evident in the fact that she had acquiesced to Sterling’s demand that Roxie tag along.

As they approached the highway, Sterling decided to test the animate a bit further. While he hadn’t been nervous earlier, he was starting to feel a hint of apprehension, especially once he saw Midway, and the way it was lit up like some sort of carnival.

“What’s your name?” he asked the zombie woman.

She didn’t answer as she moved quickly along the side of the highway, still a bit hunched over.

“I’m only going to ask you one more time,” he warned her.

“Melody.”

“Melody, huh? Y’all got power there in Midway?”

“We do. It is a town with residents. Everything is normal.”

Sterling exchanged glances with Roxie, who shook her head.

“Ain’t nothing normal about none of this.”

They circled around an RV that had been abandoned, Angels of Woe graffiti done up along the sides, its wheels and hubcaps missing, all the windows shattered. The lights of the town grew brighter, at odds with the dark night that had washed over the georitual landscape. “How are y’all getting electricity anyhow?”

“Generators.”

“And how are they powered?”

“Alternators.”

Sterling shook his head. “Think you’re real clever, don’t you, Melody? We talking solar, wind? What?”

“I’m not an electrician,” was all she said.

Things grew creepier as they came closer to town, Sterling and Roxie noticing that numerous animates were out, all of them moving about as if they were members of the living. There were couples holding hands, a man pushing a baby stroller, children playing, other domestic scenes that would have seemed normal had it not been for the pallor of their skin, the fact that all this was happening at night lit by scavenged lights in an abandoned town, not a single one of the souls alive.

A few of the zombies even turned to Sterling and waved to him in a friendly way, smiling, one of the men with his cheek open to the point that Sterling could see his rotting gums and yellow teeth. While they may have been acting like they were alive, the smells and various states of decay spoiled what the two necromancers had attempted. While some looked absolutely pristine, no different than a living person, others weren’t so lucky, and there were even a pair of skeletons moving through the streets. This wasn’t to mention the animals, mostly amalgamations, who seemed tamed, some being used to move supplies, others simply standing there, watching as Sterling and Roxie passed.

Midway wasn’t a large town, and from what Sterling could tell there wasn’t something like a town square, a location where people could gather. To the Before People, Midway was likely a single road type of place, one surrounded by homes and the occasional shops, Sterling spotting a donut place called Judy’s, a store known as Midway Mercantile, and unironically, the Probst Family Funeral Home.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mumbled as they turned in to the parking lot of the funeral home, which had been converted into an outdoor area not unlike something one would see at a popular restaurant.

The space was well-lit, and there were several tables with guests seated at them, an animate waiter serving food and beverages that none of them would be able to eat. A man and a woman sat at the center table, both human as far as Sterling could tell, both in the white clothing of Saltair. The man had dark skin and a shaved head, numerous charms draped around his neck, his nails painted and sharp. His counterpart had red hair and bleach-white skin, freckles stretching over the bridge of her nose, her dangly earrings reaching to her shoulders.

“That will be enough, Melody,” the man said as he turned to Sterling and Roxie, raising his glass to them. One of the animate waiters quickly brought two chairs over to the table and motioned for Sterling and Roxie to sit.

They remained standing, Sterling taking his sweet time to light a cigarette as Melody the zombie disappeared into the night. “You must be Remuda and Matilda,” he finally said after a long exhale of smoke.

“Why… why yes.” The man offered him a wicked smile. “It is so beautiful to finally meet another necromancer. How wonderful! We are rare, you know.”

“I reckon.”

“Our scouts have said that you ride a bone horse.”

Sterling nodded.

“And pardon my manners,” Remuda told Roxie, no indication on his face that he was upset that she had come along as well. “I didn’t get your name.”

“My name isn’t necessary.”

“You…” Remuda looked at Matilda, glee taking shape in his eyes. “You aren’t a mancer, are you?”

“What gave it away?”

“A hunch,” Remuda told her.

Matilda giggled with delight. “Can we keep her, Remy? Please?”

“Settle down, dear,” he told the redhead. “I haven’t decided yet. It really depends on what our necromancer friend here plans to do.”

Sterling ashed his cigarette. “First of all, I ain’t your friend, pendejo. And if you hadn’t figured it out already, I ain’t like the two of you. Y’all are out here giving necromancers a bad name. I mean, just look at yourselves, taking over a town and parading your animates around like this is some sort of make-believe world, some sort of zombie Disney park. This shit is pathetic. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my day, but this is downright pitiful.” He slowly shook his head as he continued to smoke. “Nah, don’t get confused. We ain’t nothing alike. Nothing.”

“A cowboy necromancer.” Remuda licked his teeth and continued to grin at Sterling. “I never thought I would encounter something like you before, a tough one at that. Just look at you, look at the persona you have built. How utterly fascinating, truly. And this woman, she’s your whore?”

Roxie pointed her weapon at Remuda, the zombie patrons all lifting firearms as well.

“Ha! An actual standoff!” Remuda set his wine glass down. He lifted his knife and fork and took a bite of whatever he was eating. “Have you ever tasted flesh?” he asked Sterling. “Human flesh, that is.”

“Y’all are cannibals too?” Sterling asked, trying to keep his cool. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Every now and then, when our meat supplies run low, yes. We do, after all, have all these zombies to choose from. And there’s always a new body around the corner, as you are probably very well aware of by now. You know, things didn’t have to be this way,” he said, the ends of his lips twitching. “If the Oracle had recognized Matilda as the second Nephite, we may have even joined her, isn’t that right, dear?”

Matilda began to pout. “I always wanted to be a Nephite, Remy.”

“I know, dear, and you will be. First, we will deal with the rest of the Angels of Woe, and then, with our glorious army of the undead, we will take Saltair. That’s where you come in,” he said, returning his focus to Sterling, a dark glee flashing over his eyes. “We could always use another necromancer. More necromancers mean a larger army. We are few and far between, if you haven’t already figured that out. Pyromancers, aeromancers, gaiamancers—there are plenty of them to go around. But us? We are a different breed. You are like us, cowboy necromancer, one who has complete control over life. We are the only mancers worth a damn.”

Sterling finished his cigarette and flicked it to the ground, his head slightly bent forward, the shadow of his hat covering his eyes. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, so I’ll do you the courtesy of telling you again: you and I, we ain’t nothing alike, pendejo.”

“That’s a pity.” Remuda wiped his mouth with a napkin and placed it on the table. Roxie was the first to sense movement behind them, the female gunner quickly turning.

“How many?” Sterling asked as he continued staring the two necromancers down.

“A couple dozen, amalgamations too…”

“I really didn’t want to have to do this,” Sterling told Remuda and Matilda. “I was hoping that we could come to some agreement here, keep things copacetic, y’all move along, and we do the same. But it don’t look like that’s going to be the case.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Remuda said. “A pity.”

“Your loss.” Sterling summoned Beep, the two necromancers both surprised to see the miniature Godwalker. “Kill them!” he shouted, and Beep whirred into action.

The inevitable had begun.

Sterling flipped over the nearest table and crouched behind it.

He didn’t need to communicate with Roxie to plan out what would happen next, Sterling interpreting in the way she instantly leaped to the rooftop of the funeral home that she was going to be taking care of the necromancers’ zombie foot soldiers, leaving him to deal with Remuda and Matilda, Beep doing what Beep did best.

Ka-whooooosh!

The miniature Godwalker cut an arc of energy through the parking lot, splitting the necromancers’ table in half and doing the same to a few of their animates. Remuda barked out orders, several of the enemy animates grunting as they threw themselves at Beep.

Bam! Bam!

Two headshots brought the zombies down just as a whip of energy struck Sterling’s table, inches away from lopping his arm off.

Back on his feet, and not looking to have to find another arm to graft to his body, Sterling began firing indiscriminately in the direction of the energy whip, Matilda now standing on a table with a maniacal look on her face, her red bangs in her eyes.

It was no ordinary weapon, her whip clearly crafted by a flectomancer and powered by her mana. She sent it toward him again, the tip gravitating like the head of a snake.

Sterling tried to fire his revolver at her, knowing that this would put a stop to the woman’s whip, yet his shot was destined to miss as his feet were whipped out from beneath him, Sterling cracking his back against the pavement. An animate leaped on top of him; he managed to beat it back with the grip of his revolver and scrambled out of the way just as Matilda’s whip struck the pavement.

Beep sounded off again, its laser cutting into the fence that surrounded the funeral home and bringing down a tree, which also sparked a fire.

Flying asphalt and debris forced Sterling to shield his eyes as he tried to get a better vantage point.

Dammit…

His heart constricted as his eyes fell upon a bison amalgamation, the same type he had fought in the salt flats.

“Beep, deal with it!”

<Beep!>

Bam! Bam! Bam!

He continued to fire his revolver in Matilda’s direction, trusting the Godwalker to deal with the incoming amalgamation.

Sterling was nearly struck by Matilda’s magical whip yet again, the end of her weapon breaking through the only table left and igniting the wooden surface. It was going to hurt if he got hit with that thing, but he was hell-bent on reaching her, knowing that it would be the easiest way to stop her attacks.

He also had his eye out for Remuda, who seemed to have disappeared. Damn chickenshit bastard, he thought as he holstered his revolver and went for his sickle-sword, retrieving it from the breakaway sheath that Raylan had made him.

Gritting his teeth, Sterling launched himself into the air, his hand coming up at the very last moment to grab the end of Matilda’s whip. He was able to do so, and it burned like hell, but with one quick swoop, Sterling cut through her weapon and tossed the end behind him, ignoring the throbbing pain in the palm of his hand.

Fire in her eyes, Matilda produced a tactical blade and lunged for him, Sterling not at all surprised to see that she had leveled up her combat abilities. She waved it through the air, still with that maniacal look on her face, Sterling just about to make his move when a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind.

A monster of a man lifted him and slammed him onto the ground.

He turned to cut the animate’s legs out when a bullet exploded the back of the muscled zombie’s head—Roxie’s doing.

Sterling glanced up to the rooftop to see that not only had she protected him, but she was also currently engaging a pair of teenage animates. The first one went down in a matter of seconds as she shot forward and brought her blade into his stomach, tossing him off the rooftop and onto a table below. The second one jumped for her; she punched him so hard in the stomach that he went sailing twenty feet back.

Y’all done pissed her off now, Sterling thought, secretly wishing he could watch her in action.

Inspired by the female gunner, Sterling once again went for Matilda, who had taken a step back for a moment, the woman clearly trying to gather her wits as the madness swelled around the two of them.

He wouldn’t give her that chance.

Swish!

Sterling brought his sickle-sword down just as she swiped her tactical knife forward, his weapon cutting her hand off. Matilda cried out as Sterling brought it around again, this time with a vertical cross slash that cut through a portion of her neck, taking off her ear as well.

She gasped; Sterling sent his blade across her skull, the tip of his weapon hooking into the side of her head, piercing her brain. He unceremoniously kicked her off the end of his weapon with his boot, withdrew his revolver with his free hand, and fired a few more shots just to make sure she was dead.

Brrrrrat! Brrrrat!

Sterling didn’t have time to look around for Remuda. The bullets that hit him next were magical, the cowboy necromancer cursing himself for not wearing his bulletproof vest, even if he didn’t know how much that would have helped.

Brrrrrat! Brrrrat!

He should have been dead. He took multiple shots in a matter of seconds, yet the person who had shot him had made sure that he didn’t kill Sterling.

Apparently, Remuda had other plans for the cowboy necromancer…

Lying on the pavement now, his shoulders bleeding out, biceps and thighs riddled with bullets, Sterling tried to press himself up but found that he couldn’t. He had been completely debilitated, and it would take some time for his Resolve to repair all his wounds.

Wincing through the pain, Sterling crawled his fingers forward and found his revolver just as Remuda approached him.

“Look what you’ve done…”

The dark-skinned necromancer lowered his modified submachine gun and gestured toward Matilda. The woman, who was missing a good chunk of her face and full of bullet holes, came alive, blood dripping from her chin.

“Look what you’ve done!” Remuda said, his voice with a sick edge to it now. “My Matilda. My poor… poor Matilda.”

“Remy…”

An amalgamation that Sterling had never seen before, one with the body of a cougar and the head of an antelope, jumped into the air behind Remuda and brought Beep down. More of his animates began to cover the Godwalker, who tried to fight them off, sending laser blasts into the air, only for the smothering to continue.

Roxie… Sterling thought, a feeling of panic rising in his chest.

Sterling tried to scoot away, but his legs were practically useless, his shoulders, arms, and thighs shot up to the point that he couldn’t move.

Roxie…

Remuda lifted Sterling by the front of his shirt. “I’m going to make you pay,” the man seethed, his teeth slightly sharpened. “You will suffer for this, and then you will become mine.”

Sterling spat in his face.

Incensed, the man brought his fist back and punched Sterling hard enough that it felt as if he had shattered all of his teeth. His cowboy hat went flying off his head, Sterling’s mouth filling with blood.

Now it was his turn to grin.

“See you in hell, peckerhead.”

Remuda had made the fatal mistake of not kicking Sterling’s revolver away, and even if his arm was practically useless, he still had enough strength left to tilt his wrist at a forty-five degree angle.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

Four shots eviscerated Remuda’s gut, the man dropping him and instantly pressing backward, the look on his face telling Sterling that he wasn’t used to the kind of pain he was experiencing.

Sterling aimed his revolver in Remuda’s direction and fired it as many times as he could squeeze the trigger, each magical bullet striking the necromancer in his chest, his shoulder, his neck, his face. Remuda’s animates descended upon Sterling, but he continued on, shot after shot, gritting his teeth as he did so, angrier than he had ever been.

The animates trying to rip him to shreds suddenly stopped.

The others staggered and fell, Sterling hearing the sound of more falling bodies all around him, a few from the rooftop, the amalgamations that had gathered crushing furniture and other animates beneath their weight.

Sterling had killed the second necromancer.

Goddammit…

He tried to press himself away from the closest animate, and was finally able to do so, the pain ever-present. Eventually, he gave up and just relaxed there on the pavement, bodies all around him.

Now lying on his back and looking up at the dark sky above, Sterling wondered for a moment why he couldn’t see any stars, and why his breaths were so short. With the number of times he had been shot, Sterling should have been dead, but no, he was still kicking, the only one alive amidst the field of dead bodies.

<Beep…?>

“Shee-it…” He squinted at the Godwalker and let out a deep breath. “I need you to find Roxie. Don’t you worry about me, Beep. You find Roxie.”

A pair of feet landed behind Sterling; he craned his neck back to see who it was. “R-Rox? That you?”

The woman lowered to her knees and helped him into her lap, where she held his head, Roxie pretty bruised up herself.

A smile spread across her blood-splattered face. “We… we haven’t had that much fun in a while.”

Sterling laughed until it hurt. “I knew things were going to get wild, I just knew. But I didn’t expect them to get that wild.”

“What did you expect?” she asked as she ran her hand through his hair.

“Heh. I don’t know; it would have been nice if they just listened to us and stopped bothering them tree folks.”

“They lost their minds, those necromancers.”

“I saw that.”

Sterling would never forget the image of zombies moving about the town of Midway as if they were alive. There was something tragic to it all.

“What now?” he finally asked, his mouth still filled with blood. “Not that I mind just lying in your lap here.”

“I’m waiting for you to heal.”

“You sure I can’t just rest here for the rest of the night?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Sterling nodded. “You know I would, but it don’t have to happen. I’m just wondering what happens next. How do you plan to get back to the treehouse village?”

“I don’t plan to go back there. As much as I wanted to leave a trail for us, I was unable to while following Melody.”

“Any idea what happened to that one?” he asked, referring to the zombie who had fetched them earlier. “Melody?”

“She put up a tough fight; if you want to see what’s left of her, she’s on the rooftop.”

“I’m good…” He started to laugh, each chuckle sending a spark of pain through him. “What a night. What a goddamn terrible night.”

“We will send Beep back with a message. The others can meet us here, and we will move on. There’s no reason to stick around.”

“A message, huh?” Sterling shifted his gaze in the direction of the Godwalker, once again seeing the now half-smudged smiley face that Paco and the Sunflower Kid had painted across the Godwalker’s front surface. “Do you plan to just tack the letter to the front? Maybe you got some duct tape?”

“Not necessary. We will store it inside the compartment where it keeps its weapon.”

“Good call. You always were a smart woman. Best I ever met.”

<Beep.>

“I agree,” Roxie told the Godwalker, her hand once again tracing through Sterling’s hair. “And you shouldn’t say things like that; you don’t know what your wife was like.”

“If only she could see me now…” He laid his head back and tried to relax, knowing that this semi-intimate scene wouldn’t last forever.

Isabelle… my wife… damn. Damn.

The past didn’t matter. For now, they were alive.

Part Three

Moab and the Elder of Icaria, Tukuhnikivatz, Monticello, Beep’s Revelation, Monument Valley, Comancheria

.Chapter One.

Nomadland, Deseret.

Not too distant future.

The rainstorm came on suddenly, blackened clouds rolling in from the northeast, lightning illuminating their faces as the sky opened up onto the dune buggy. Roxie drove as always, Sterling in the passenger seat, Paco, the Chronicler, and the Sunflower Kid in the back. The droplets never touched them thanks to Zephyr, the aeromancer creating a cyclone of air around them that kept the dune buggy dry. She floated within her own sphere of influence, matching the pace of their vehicle as she had over the last several days as they journeyed through Nomadland.

As far as Sterling could tell, there wasn’t a soul in sight in Nomadland. The last people they had encountered were the tree people outside of Morgan, who were so happy that he had killed the two necromancers that they’d even hosted an epic celebration. Spirits were enjoyed by all, and for one single night, all of them, including Roxie, had let their troubles and what they planned to do in the future fall to the wayside.

But that was days ago, the group finding out firsthand what the Chronicler meant when he said that Nomadland was a harsh country. Sterling was glad that they had plenty of water in their inventory lists, but he was even happier to know that they were soon going to be at what was once the Arches National Park, which meant the city of Moab wouldn’t be far beyond that, a territory belonging to the Oracle and the Serpents of Paradise.

They really needed to restock.

Sterling noticed after they had stopped to take a quick break just how sponge-like the desert could be, the heavens above still dark, the rain no longer falling. The sheer vastness. A cigarette in his mouth, he kicked at the dirt and found that the water had evaporated pretty much as soon as it touched it, the heat of the day ever-present, even if the sun was currently blotted out.

I wonder how long they have been dealing with this drought, he thought as he wiped sweat from his brow and took in his surroundings yet again, the great expanse of mountains and mesas, sandstone arches and oddly shaped buttes, ones that seemed as if natives had carved them out of stone just to mess with people a thousand years later. Some of the buttes were as tall as buildings, the only thing seeming to survive around them being juniper and pinyon trees appearing like scabs across the expansive badlands, the occasional flowering cactus, the wildlife Sterling had spotted thus far consisting of sparrows, evidence of other critters, discarded snakeskins.

It was that kind of place, the kind he wished he could just sit in the shade and enjoy for a while, something existential about it, something beyond him. He had done just that over the last few days, the Chronicler adamant about them not traveling too long in the heat, even if they had a vehicle. There was always the chance that the dune buggy would break down, yet they had trusted the mechanics of the past, the Before People and their ingenuity, none of them actually flectomancers but able to build things with a similar skill.

The dune buggy had prevailed. They’d made it this far, Moab just another few hours away, maybe less.

“Yep,” Sterling mumbled as he finished his cigarette. “Yep.”

As bleak as it was, something about the environment called to him, tugged at his brittle heart strings, the desert solitude something that he had come to appreciate over the years. Had he felt the same way about nature before the Reset? What had his life been like then with his son and his wife? Did they enjoy the beauty of their natural environment, or were they the type to escape via other means, televisions and the Internet, computers and smartphones?

Technological distractions.

Sterling had gone through a phase in which he thought the Before People were lazy and unimaginative. What had led them to the lives that they had, ones that seemed designed around getting through the day as quickly as possible to enjoy the night in front of their televisions, to spend hours upon hours lost in fantasy worlds?

But then it all made sense.

One day, Sterling understood how humanity had shifted in this direction. Not only was it more comfortable, it was much easier than what he was doing now, trying to traverse an alien land of peaks and canyons, one of wind-sculpted stones and skirted rock shelves set beneath the bellies of clouds, traveling for days on end, sweating and toiling in the high desert heat like a pack of scorpions. It made sense, being comfortable, growing fat with loved ones, enjoying the finer things in life. Those ancient people, and not just the ones in the Southwest but across the world, had struggled for eons for Sterling’s generation to be able to come home, pop open a cold one, kick up their feet onto the mass manufactured coffee table, and disappear to a new world through hours upon hours of televised entertainment.

And suddenly, Sterling couldn’t get enough of how the Before People had lived.

He had gone through that phase as well, wondering who he had been before, what he had liked, from sports to automobiles, and everything in between. Had he been a typical man from the South? What was his favorite food? Was he into guns? Was he an avid reader? What were his favorite movies?

Since he didn’t know, he tried to discover as much as he could about all of the things he might have been into, some of his attempts more successful than others. There was the one year that Kip had traded some turquoise necklaces he’d won from an Apache fellow for a DVD player. Kip had used a borrowed generator to power the DVD player and a television, the two watching the only two movies they could get their grubby hands on. The Disney cartoon had a bit too much singing for Sterling’s taste; the action movie, full of explosions and graphics, was about what would happen if aliens tried to take over America. In the end, the Americans had won, the world had won in that regard, and Sterling found himself wiping away tears at the end of it all, at how real it seemed and how far from the truth it was. Those aliens in the movie, and the Godwalkers they were faced with now, represented a superior force and they didn’t go down so easily. No amount of patriotism would stop them.

But as Sterling had discovered, they were defeatable.

Or at the very least, they had been in the past.

So maybe the movie hadn’t been as far off as he had felt it was at the time; looking back now, especially with what had happened in White Sands when he and his group had brought one of the Godwalkers down—maybe there still was hope. Maybe there was a happy ending to this after all.

“Took you long enough,” Roxie said as Sterling got back into the dune buggy.

“I was thinking.”

“About what?” Paco asked.

“Have y’all ever seen a DVD? A movie?”

Roxie started the vehicle up, once again forced to travel along the side of the highway due to how cracked and potholed the asphalt had become over the last five years of constant torment from the sun and wind. It was amazing that there was anything left of it all.

“I’ve seen movies,” the Chronicler volunteered. “Back in Saltair, they have a weekly movie showing in one of the conference rooms in the Oracle’s estate. It’s invite-only, only because there are a limited number of seats. They try to cycle through everyone so the villagers are allowed to watch a back to back showing every couple of weeks. Food is served, and every now and then we even have popcorn. I remember you saying something about the currency that people use here in Utah; you can also go pretty far with DVDs in a place like Saltair.”

“I’ll remember that just in case I ever find myself transported back to the Bonneville Salt Flats,” Sterling said.

“I’ve seen movies and cartoons in Albuquerque,” said the Sunflower Kid in a cheerful voice. “It wasn’t cheap, but it was worth it. It didn’t last long, though. Last I heard, the Barelas Glyphs took the theater over and ran it into the ground.”

Sterling snorted. “Crying shame. What about you, Paco? You seen anything?”

“I haven’t, but I have read comic books.”

“If we can finally locate this technomancer, then we’d have a good shot at watching something, believe you me,” said Sterling. “I’m sure ol’ Maron has a DVD player tucked away in his inventory list, maybe one of them slick flatscreen TVs. Don’t quite know how he’ll power it, but I don’t know how many of our powers work, just so long as he has the items. He’s not an electromancer, but from what I’ve been told, there are some similarities between the two. Shoot, there’s no telling what that fool can do. I can imagine a number of things. A blender, a fan, maybe even one of them smartphones. I always wanted to see one powered up, figure out why the Before People seemed to worship them so much.”

“Yes, the technomancer, it will be interesting to see what he can do,” the Chronicler said. “Those ones are few and far between, like necromancers. But we still need to find him. Once we arrive in Moab, I will introduce you to the Elder there.”

“Can’t say I’m excited,” Sterling said, remembering the Elder of Nauvoo and his harem of brainwashed women and children.

“I believe you will find that the Elder of Icaria, who the Oracle has hand-selected to be in charge of Moab, is much different than the man that you encountered in the northwest. For one, the Elder of Icaria is a woman, and she is much kinder. You have to be; you have to be willing to take in some of the riffraff that seem to crawl their way through Nomadland.”

The rain started up again, and just as soon as it did, the dune buggy was shielded from the water by Zephyr, who continued to float alongside their vehicle. There were a couple times that it looked like they were driving through a rainbow, a trick of the light, the colors mesmerizing to the point that Paco and the Sunflower Kid oohed and ahhed.

They finally came to a national park sign pointing toward Canyonlands, Sterling also seeing that there were remains of what was once a tourist attraction based around dinosaur bones. Some of the words on what would have been the marquis were still there beside a toppled over Tyrannosaurus rex, both of its little arms missing, as well as a headless Stegosaurus. There were other dinosaurs that he didn’t recognize, which seemed to have been made of concrete and painted at one point, now burnt to a crisp by the harsh light of the sun.

Much to his surprise, Roxie pulled into the parking lot. “Check inside for charms,” she said.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Sterling told her, even though he knew that the odds of them finding something were slim. Still, he spent his sweet time combing through what was left of the gift shop, just a few dinosaur coloring books with water stains on them, and a velociraptor puppet that had been used in a way that he didn’t want to think about. Most surprisingly, a pterodactyl still hung from the ceiling, one which hadn’t been disturbed.

“I’ve never seen one up close before,” Paco said, looking up at the prehistoric beast.

“You’ve seen worse things than that, son,” Sterling reminded him.

“What’s it called again?” Zephyr asked, hovering before the pterodactyl with a curious look on her face. Sterling answered and she mouthed the word a few times. “That’s an odd name, isn’t it?”

The Sunflower Kid entered through the broken back door, graceful and enigmatic as ever. She had chosen a pair of brunette pigtails for the day, the haircut making her look even younger than normal, jewelry dangling from her wrists and making it impossible for her presence not to be heard.

“Nothing more out back?” Paco asked her.

“Just a few more of the abandoned statues. I fixed the Brontosaurus. Want to see?”

“Definitely,” Paco said as he joined her, Zephyr following him out as well.

Sterling turned back to the front entrance.

He was curious as to why they had yet to come across an outpost. If Midway had been in New Mexico, the distance between the necromancers’ former haunt and Moab would have been peppered with outposts, at least a handful by this point. But there was nothing of the sort in Nomadland as of yet.

“Don’t make no sense.”

Sterling stepped out of the gift shop. He rolled up a cigarette while waiting for the others to join him, and soon, they were back on the road, both Sterling and the Chronicler smoking like a pair of chimneys as Roxie kicked up dust along the highway leading toward Moab.

It was another fifty minutes or so before they came to the entrance of the Arches National Park, which was on the left, the ranger station surprisingly still intact. Sterling imagined cars lined up, waiting to take a road that funneled them on a curved path traveling up the side of a cliff wall. The national park had some serious elevation from what Sterling could tell, the cliff brushstroked in ochre and sangria colors set in layers, copper-colored sand all around providing a breeding ground for prehistoric plateaus and salt domes, nests of boulders seemingly out of place, as if someone had transported them there.

“Have you ever been?” the Chronicler asked everyone in the dune buggy, only realizing his faux pas after the question left his lips. “Likely not. It is amazing up there. The arches are unlike anything…”

“Should we take a look?” Paco asked.

“We’re getting closer to Moab, only fifteen or twenty minutes away, tops. Up to you all,” said the Chronicler.

“Does anyone live up there?” asked Paco.

“As desolate as Nomadland can seem, someone lives everywhere. Just think of it like that, and many of them are quite territorial. On second thought, maybe it’s best if we just go into town now and if we get a chance, or reason, we can see how the tourists used to do it before the Reset,” said the Chronicler.

The statement made Sterling smirk.

Land had been so coveted and so ripe for exploitation by the Before People that the government had to preserve the wilderness for future generations. They even made it easy for them, many of the best viewpoints accessible by cars, the only hardship involved in getting to the area being the comfortable air-conditioned ride it took to reach the park and the airplane ride to Utah.

Once again, Sterling couldn’t blame them.

With everything at one’s fingertips, it made sense to treat the environment in a similar way. And it also made sense to give future generations a taste of what it must have looked like so long ago. It was a weird way for Sterling to think of it, considering how society had reverted back to a more primitive state, but a successful future, as far as he could tell, was one of accessibility.

A checkpoint came into view, one that had been erected on the single road leading into Moab, a walled defense built up around the opposite sides. Rather than wearing modified athletic gear draped in white cloth, the men and women manning the gate wore beige, sun-bleached fabric that reminded Sterling of pink salt. Roxie stopped the dune buggy behind a spray-painted line about ten yards away from the main entrance, Zephyr lowering next to the vehicle.

“We are here on behalf of the Oracle,” the Chronicler said as he got out of the dune buggy. Two of the guards had already begun to approach with weapons drawn. Sterling caught sight of a mancer closer to the walls, his eyes igniting with fire.

The Chronicler produced a series of documents, and as one of the guards looked over it, another, standing near the wall, recognized him.

“He’s clear,” this guard said, the man hanging in the shade and smoking a cigarette. He approached them and shook the Chronicler’s hand. “The Elder was speaking about you the other day, wondering when you would return.”

“Arnold,” the Chronicler said with a grin. “How’s the wife?”

“Annoyed at the heat and not looking forward to the cold, as always.”

“Did you say the Elder was wondering when I would return?” The Chronicler laughed. “What was it? Less than two weeks ago that I left? Surely she hasn’t missed my company to that degree.”

“I’m not the one that said you were good company, she was. Who are your friends?”

“Ah, yes. This is a group I’m traveling with, and we will eventually be moving further south toward Kayenta,” the Chronicler said, leaving out the part about Monument Valley. “Sterling, Roxie, the Sunflower Kid, Paco, and the aeromancer is named Zephyr.”

The guard, who had a scraggly beard and blue eyes, looked at the Asian woman floating just about two inches off the ground and nodded. “Not going to lie, Dusty,” the man finally said, “this is a strange bunch you’re coming in here with. Real strange.”

The Chronicler shrugged. “Yes, they are a bit out there, but they are good people. And once we meet the Elder, we can discuss if there is anything that needs doing around here that we could potentially exchange for information.”

“Information?” Arnold the guard asked. “What kind of information are you looking for?”

“We’re looking for a technomancer. We are already aware of the other guy we need to find, a shaman-type who, last I heard, has made a nuisance of himself at the Hole ‘N’ the Rock.”

Arnold shook his head. “Yeah, him.”

“See?” Roxie quickly whispered to Sterling. “Everyone hates Don Gasper.”

“I like him,” said the Sunflower Kid, who was listening to the conversation from the backseat, an absent smile on her face.

“I know about the shaman, but I haven’t heard anything about a technomancer,” Arnold the guard admitted. “But maybe the Elder knows. You know where to find her.”

The two men shook hands again. The Chronicler returned to the dune buggy; Roxie started up the vehicle and waited for them to open a gate made of scrap metal.

They had finally reached Moab.

It was a large area to protect. The high desert city of Moab seemed to be built along a single street, with neighborhoods branching off from it that were now surrounded by man-made barriers, reducing the amount of space needing to be protected. There was a gaiamancer here, and from what he could tell, based on the fast-flowing creek that funneled through a series of flectomancer-crafted fans to provide hydroelectricity, there was also a hydromancer.

Nomadland, or at least the heart of it in Moab, was a functioning civilization to an extent that Sterling had yet to see. It was different than Saltair, not dependent on a single main structure, and in many ways it was leagues better, the cowboy necromancer in awe of the signs of civilized humanity presented before him, from a school that was actually functioning to numerous shops providing everything from supplies to enhancements and upgrades. Most of the structures were well-made, their adobe outer walls mirroring the orange, yellow, and off red tones of their environment.

“This is amazing,” said Paco as they now walked through the city, Roxie having returned the dune buggy to her inventory list upon passing through the front gate. Like there had been in Saltair, there was a parking area for buggies, Sterling spotting ATVs and motorcycles as well, but it was easier for the female gunner to keep their mode of transportation on hand.

“This is what it could be like,” Sterling said, convinced by what he was seeing. Even if they had an affiliation with the Serpents of Paradise, who Sterling didn’t fully trust, these people could pull something off like this, able to maintain natural society, even with the proximity to the Godwalkers’ terminal. It was proof that humanity could succeed in the end.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything about it earlier,” the Chronicler told them, “but I figured I would keep it a surprise. You know, sometimes the best-kept secrets are held that way for a reason. If everyone knew that Moab was like this, they may try to come here and ruin it. At least that is the way the locals think. I don’t fully agree, mind you, but they have made a fairly impressive society, even with all the threats that often present themselves.”

“Threats?”

“The usual. Bandit groups, amalgamations, alien monoliths, and likely the natural spread of Comancheria. I don’t know how long until the Comanche reach Moab, but it is a very real possibility,” the older man said, growing serious. “Very real possibility.”

The people they had already seen wore clothing Sterling was more comfortable with, most of them clad in jeans and button up shirts, the women in similar outfits as the men aside from their bonnets, which appeared to be a prerequisite to be a member of the Serpents of Paradise. He was even more impressed once they walked by an actual saloon, a man playing piano inside and others enjoying drinks.

“Shee-it, you all know where I’m going to be tonight,” Sterling mumbled.

“Yes, it’s a popular location here, but it does get a bit rowdy,” the Chronicler told him.

They passed under an arbor without planted vines twisting along its contours. This didn’t mean there wasn’t any plant life, Sterling soon discovering a rather beautiful cactus garden, one with bluish flowers and other desert shrubs, all leading up to a two-story home with a front porch offering plenty of shade, two guards standing out front, likely mancers.

“Let’s see what the boss lady is like.” Sterling tipped his hat at the two guards, who seemed to recognize the Chronicler immediately. They motioned for him to enter the home, none of them questioning the presence of Sterling and his party, which told him that the Chronicler really had some clout around here.

Their group was led into a foyer with ample seating, where they found a woman dressed like the Oracle, draped from head to toe in white cloth, waiting for them. Sterling purposefully kept his hat on, yet bowed his head slightly to greet whom he assumed was the Elder of Icaria.

The woman motioned for them to take a seat.

“That ain’t her?” he whispered to the Chronicler.

“No, that is the Elder’s assistant, Moira. Hello, Moira.”

The veiled woman nodded at him and turned to a flight of wooden stairs. She lifted the ends of her white dress and slowly made her way up to the top.

“Always some theatrics,” Sterling said, wishing he had rolled up a cigarette. It was a bad habit, the Sunflower Kid and Roxie reminded him of this every now and then, but in situations like this, ones in which he was faced with the unknown, it gave him something to do, something to fiddle with.

“I think her veil dress outfit is cute. Can you imagine if I wore something like that?” Zephyr asked. “It would be majestic.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” said Roxie.

“Don’t mind if I do…” Sterling muttered as he plopped down onto the seating that had been provided in the foyer, Paco and the Sunflower Kid doing the same. The Chronicler crossed the room to examine a threadbare tapestry hanging on the wall, while Roxie remained standing. She didn’t have a weapon visible, but Sterling knew she was packing heat somewhere, the female gunner always on high alert.

“Take a chill pill,” he told her, just to tease the woman. “We’re honored guests here, ain’t that right, Dusty?”

“Actually, yes, yes, that is right. I’m close with the Elder of Icaria. We’re on a first name basis, you know,” he said, quite smitten with himself, his cheeks with just a flush of red to them. “But of course, it would be impolite of me to tell you her real name.”

“Your secret is safe with you,” Sterling said, not really giving two shits about the Elder’s real name. They had come to Moab for a reason, and that was to seek out information on Don Gasper and Maron the technomancer. Anything else was either a side quest in the making, or potential trouble.

The Elder’s assistant appeared again, lightly grazing her fingers against the railing as she came down the stairs. She moved like a ghost, and the veil covering her facial features that hung all the way past her ankles didn’t help. Once she was at the base of the stairs, she motioned toward the top.

“Great, she will see us now, that is so kind of her,” said the Chronicler.

Moira the assistant stood by as they headed up the wooden stairs, the Chronicler leading them into the first room on the left. It was a large space, with a hand-stitched rug on the ground and an oak table in the center of the room, built-in bookshelves lining the walls, the drapes a maroon color that matched the rug.

Standing near the bookshelf with a book in her hand was a black woman with a puffy afro. She was rail thin and wore a pair of beige overalls beneath her white cloak, the diamond jewelry on her wrists matching her dangling earrings. A chihuahua began to bark, but it never left a bed of white fur, which had been placed in a basket next to a couch against the opposite wall.

The Elder of Icaria snapped the paperback shut and turned to them, a goofy grin on her face. “I’ve always wanted to do that. Ha! Did you guys think I was actually reading this book?” She looked at the spine. “Sacred Cat Island? Who writes a book called Sacred Cat Island? Ha!” The woman tossed the book onto her desk and crossed her arms over her chest, her chihuahua continuing to bark. “Quiet, Evan. I’ve already fed you today.” Evan the chihuahua growled at her. The Elder turned to her pet and gave it a harsh scowl. “You have something else to add?”

The chihuahua yipped and turned his head away from her.

“He’s on my shitlist at the moment,” she explained. “Keeps pissing on everything. You don’t smell piss, do you?”

“No, ma’am,” Sterling said as he dipped his head to some degree, still keeping his hat on just in case she was a telemancer.

“My manners? Where are my manners? I’m so sorry!” The woman approached them and looked the group over, starting from Sterling and then making her way down the line to the Sunflower Kid. She even looked beyond them, to Roxie, who had held back a bit, the female gunner standing in the door. “What have you brought me here, Dusty?”

“These are the people I’m traveling with at the moment, we’re…” The Chronicler cleared his throat. “Actually, it’s quite a long story. Do you care if we take a seat?”

Rather than sit on a chair, the woman leaned against her desk, her arms still crossed over her chest. “Why do I feel like this is going to be some bullshit, that whatever you brought in here is going to be something I have to deal with in the future? Moira,” she called out. “Bring our guests water.” She returned her focus to Sterling and his group. “Which one of you is the leader?”

The Sunflower Kid pointed at Sterling.

“The cowboy dressed in all black, huh?” The Elder chuckled to herself. “Are you a mancer?”

“Sure am. Necromancer.”

The smile on her face broke. “A necromancer…” She shook her head. “Never was my favorite mancer, but I’ll give you a pass for now.”

“Heck, I ain’t so bad,” he told her with a shit-eating grin.

“And the rest of you are mancers?”

“Solimancer,” said Paco.

The Sunflower Kid simply turned her palm around and produced a peach, which she took a bite of.

“A biomancer…” The Elder of Icaria’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been needing someone like you. We had one before, but he ended up joining the Angels of Woe, the idiot. I’m sure he’s dead now.”

Sterling remembered the biomancer he had killed outside of Saltair. “Possibly,” he mumbled.

“What about you two?”

“Aeromancer,” Zephyr said, the ends of her hair lifting up and settling. She gestured toward Roxie. “She’s human. What am I saying? Heh. We’re all human, but she’s not a mancer.”

“That don’t make her any less,” Sterling said, feeling foolish just about the moment the words left his mouth. He didn’t need to come to Roxie’s defense; her powers generally spoke for themselves, and if people expected her to be the weakest link, it generally was a good thing, giving Sterling and his crew a secret weapon of sorts.

“She must be strong,” the Elder of Icaria said, intuiting the dynamics of the group in a way that impressed Sterling. She didn’t seem like a telemancer, but she was certainly giving off this feeling that she had read everyone in the room. “And you have come here to Nomadland… Why?”

“Who wouldn’t want to come here?” Sterling joked. “Y’all got yourselves a nice little set-up going.”

“Yes, we do,” she said flatly, “but right now we aren’t accepting any new applicants to move into town. That isn’t why you came, is it?”

“They came to find two of their companions,” the Chronicler said, skipping over the Godwalker part, and their impending journey south to Monument Valley. “Bizarre as it may seem, they were all transported here from what was once the state of New Mexico.”

Sterling nodded. “Land of Enchantment. Heard of it?”

“I have. I was either born there or I lived there, not too sure, at least according to the driver’s license I had on me once the Rapture finished. I don’t know if I was just vacationing here, or if it’d become a permanent home.”

“Have you been back since?” Paco asked the Elder.

“To Albuquerque? No,” she said. “I am a Deseret girl now.”

Her chihuahua started yipping again.

“Evan, quiet!”

“Well, you ain’t missing much in ol’ Duke City,” Sterling told her. “Just gang warfare and, well, gang warfare.”

“Sounds like Salt Lake City.”

“It is,” the Chronicler told her. “But to answer your previous question: that’s why they are here in Deseret, to find two of their companions. One, I believe you may already know.”

The Elder’s disposition soured. “The shaman?”

Sterling clapped his hands together, scaring her chihuahua and startling Roxie, who drew a weapon she had been hiding beneath her poncho and quickly hid it again. Moira entered the room at this moment with water on a silver tray and would have lost it had it not been for Zephyr, who stabilized the tray, hovering it in midair.

The Sunflower Kid laughed, immediately breaking all the tension in the room. She kept laughing until Paco started to laugh, Zephyr joining in, and finally Sterling. Roxie and the Chronicler never laughed, but the Elder of Icaria eventually began chuckling as well.

“Let me guess,” she said. “This shaman of yours has a reputation that precedes him, right?”

“Shee-it, Don Gasper has been pissing people off since before them Godwalkers showed up.”

“Abbadon,” said the Chronicler, quickly translating Sterling’s term to the Elder.

“I see,” she said, still with that big smile on her face. “Honestly, I was at the point that I was going to have to send people down there to deal with him. There’s a family that lives at the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, the Christensons, and we use the place as a rest stop between here and Monticello. This shaman friend of yours has disrupted that.”

“Sounds about right. What has he been doing exactly?” asked Sterling.

“He has everyone that lives there taking drugs and questioning existence and the order that we have established here in Nomadland, as provided to us by the Oracle. The family that lives there is already late on their monthly payment, and while we haven’t withheld the supplies we give in exchange, it is increasingly becoming an option.”

“Well, I hate to say that this ain’t the first time, but… this ain’t the first time,” Sterling said, barely able to stifle another laugh. “He’s a wild one, that Gasper, and there have been a number of times that I’ve wanted to write him off myself. Hell, recently, in fact. He may seem a little batshit, but when he really gets cooking, he’s good at what he does.”

“Which is?” the Elder asked skeptically.

“He’s a shaman, like you said, and a good one at that.”

“That’s debatable,” said Roxie.

“He led me to the Sunflower Kid,” Sterling reminded her, recalling how otherworldly the Juan Ritual had been, the coyote they had encountered on the outskirts of Las Cruces. Never will forget that, he thought as he offered the Elder of Icaria a grin. “But don’t you worry none. We’ll take care of Don Gasper in due time. Now, about this technomancer…”

“A technomancer, huh?” The afroed woman leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up onto the table, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “I can’t recall hearing of anything like that, but I do get a lot of reports and sometimes Moira goes through them. Moira!”

Once again, the cloaked woman entered the Elder’s office.

“Have there been any technomancers suddenly appearing in the area?”

Moira shook her head.

“Okay… have there been any technomancers in the area that haven’t suddenly appeared?”

Once again Moira shook her head.

“I figured as much. In that case, I can’t help you with the technomancer—”

“—but Don Gasper can,” Sterling said, interrupting her.

The Elder raised an eyebrow at him. “You think you will be able to find him?”

“Look, I know it sounds like I am on Don Gasper’s side here, because I sort of am, but I’m actually not. That son of a bitch really got under my skin recently. Long story short, he basically sold us down the river to a group of bandits known as the Killbillies—who, I should add if they’re somehow listening, are still on my shitlist.”

“He betrayed you?”

“I’m going to give him a pass this time because it was for love, and this was no ordinary love, it was love with a telemancer. As much as he would probably never admit it, Magdalena was likely in control of his mind.”

“And you still trust him?” the Elder asked.

Sterling snorted. “Hell no, I don’t trust him. But I’ve known Don Gasper for five years now, the Sunflower Kid has as well,” he said, nodding toward teenage biomancer. “He’s like a cactus: a little thorny on the outside but sweet on the inside, once you get to know him.”

“That isn’t how I would describe a cactus,” the Elder of Icaria said, “but if you think he can help you, by all means. Deal with him so we don’t have to.”

“Then I guess our little exchange here is done?” Sterling asked, looking to his group for confirmation. “Unless you got something else for us?”

“You are guests of the Oracle, and you will be treated as such,” the Elder said, taking a more serious tone. “We appreciate you dealing with our shaman problem, and you will be given the best lodging in town while you are here, the one that the Oracle herself has stayed in twice.”

“That’s mighty kind of you,” Sterling said.

“Are you sure?” the Chronicler asked. “Not that I mind or anything, it’s just… we don’t want to be any trouble.”

“The exchange isn’t over yet,” the woman said, grinning once again at the group. “You have a biomancer, and I could use a biomancer.”

Sterling looked at the Sunflower Kid. “You feel like helping out around here?”

“What needs to be done?”

“If you didn’t know, it’s canning season as we get ready for winter. Just about anything you can help us grow with the aid of a hydromancer and maybe even you,” she told Paco, “would be helpful. We can deal with all the canning and those aspects, but if we had an even larger harvest, it would sure make winter less terrifying. That and…” The Elder of Icaria darted her eyes over to her chihuahua, which lifted his head in her direction and folded his ears back. “I want you to turn Evan into a female dog. You can do something like that, right?”

The Sunflower Kid nodded.

“I’m tired of him pissing everywhere and humping everything he comes into contact with. He’s not a bad dog, but he is stupider than they come and can’t recognize a leg from a snatch, pardon my language.”

The Sunflower Kid approached Evan the chihuahua. She crouched before the dog as it growled at her.

“He’s not so friendly…” the Elder said in the way one would apologize.

“I’ll handle it.”

Vines began to swirl out of the center of her palm. The dog tried to run only to be caught up in her vines, the Sunflower Kid turning the chihuahua away from her as it started to urinate.

Just like that, it became a female, Sterling not seeing the change in action but definitely noticing that the trajectory of its urine had modified to some degree, going from a stream to a trickle and finally stopping.

The Sunflower Kid kept the chihuahua suspended in the air, on its back now, as she returned to her seat.

“I’ve always wanted to see a biomancer do that,” the Elder of Icaria said as she came over to the dog and told Evan that she was going to be okay, that it was over now. The chihuahua stopped whimpering. “I really appreciate it, and I want no expenses spared for you during your stay. Moira!”

Once again, the veiled assistant entered the Elder of Icaria’s office.

“They will be staying in the Oracle suite, and make sure they are well fed and that there are baths and massages provided.”

“What about that saloon?” Sterling asked. “I wanted to check it out.”

“Of course. Anything you’d like. Put it on my tab.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked her.

“You are doing us a favor here, and the food will get us through winter and then some, not to mention Evan here. Thank you, truly.” The Elder of Icaria took the lapdog into her arms. She squirmed a little, but eventually settled. “One more thing; I’m sure you encountered the Gauntlet in Saltair. We have something similar here that you may use tomorrow, if you’d like, before you set off.”

“Y’all got one of them too?” Sterling asked.

“We do.”

“How’s that? You don’t have a biomancer.”

“We have the next best thing, a flectomancer who has…” The Elder took a deep breath into her nostrils and nodded. “Well, you’ll see tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your night, and try not to get into too much trouble at the saloon.”

“How did you know I was the get in trouble type?”

The woman shrugged in a playful way. “Call it a hunch.”

.Chapter Two.

Clean-shaven and feeling like a million bucks, whatever that used to feel like…

Moab actually had a barber who had taken care of Sterling after a relaxing bath, where he’d enjoyed a few cigarettes as he worked on some of the sketches he’d been meaning to make. He didn’t need to be told that the suite reserved for the Oracle was going to be amazing, and he wasn’t at all surprised to find that they had converted one of the buildings downtown into an epic Nephite-ready pad, with several rooms, all remodeled, and plenty of extra space for staff and other things the Oracle may need.

Sterling’s group had played Rochambeau for the main room, which had gone to the Sunflower Kid, Sterling in a smaller room next to hers, Paco and the Chronicler sharing a space across the hall, Zephyr and Roxie at the end. It was certainly an estate worthy of true Southern Living, which was the name of a magazine Sterling had once come across back in Truth or Consequences.

Them Before People really knew how to live it up, he remembered thinking at the time, a bit jealous at the number of creature comforts they had been provided. They really knew how to build, too…

Now seated at the bar of the saloon, no scratchy beard, ready to order his dinner, Sterling felt just about as close to who he once was as he ever had. And as the bartender approached, all he could do was smile. “Howdy. The Elder of Icaria said I can order whatever I want, just confirming that before we get started here, because I do indeed plan to take her up on her offer,” he said, not at all feeling cheap.

The bartender offered Sterling a short nod. “She sure did. Let me put your food order in first.”

“Yup, about that… what do y’all have on special tonight?”

“Tonight? Bison burgers.”

“Shee-it, in that case, I’ll take two,” he said, his mouth watering. “And I’ve got something here…” He summoned three Chimayó peppers. “Tell the chef to grill these off and put them on the burger, no condiments necessary. Y’all got bacon? Tell me that y’all got bacon, it’s been ages.”

The man nodded once again. “Thick cut.”

“Hell yes. Add some bacon, some cheese too. Another question: y’all got chips and salsa?”

“We do, but the chips are made from fry bread.”

“Yessir,” Sterling said, remembering the cave fajitas he’d had with Joel the Troll using fry bread. “That’ll do.”

The bartender examined the peppers Sterling had given him. “These are interesting.”

“Interesting? Yes. Tasty? You bet your ass. Not quite as hot as a habanero, but it’ll do just fine. You want a bite? Shit, feel free to take one, amigo, I know y’all will be cooking it anyway.”

“I think I’ll pass for now. To drink?”

“Whiskey, neat. Can you do that?”

“We sure can.”

Sterling whistled, nearly overcome with joy. “I don’t know who figured out how to distill whiskey in these parts, but that’s about the best damn news I’ve heard all day.”

The bartender tilted his chin toward the wall, as if this direction meant anything to Sterling. “The distillers are down in Monticello, a flectomancer and a couple people that work with him. They’ve been able to replicate a good many liquors used before the Rapture, including whiskey, vodka, a coffee liquor, tequila, and gin.”

“In that case, I can’t wait to see what them people have whipped up.”

The bartender left, and as he did Sterling shifted his attention to a woman playing an old piano in the corner, another leaning against the side of the piano as if she were about to sing, both in crocheted bonnets like Lily Gray had worn. There were a few patrons in the saloon, and after another few moments of intro, the singer began.

Sterling had never heard the song before, but he found himself nodding along, enchanted by everything around him, all the wood surfaces polished slick, a sense of joviality thick in the air, of fellowship and normality.

Normality… ain’t nothing like it.

The bartender began to pour the whiskey, Sterling indicating that he wanted a double. “Can’t wait,” Sterling said as he tipped his shot glass at the bartender. “Salud, amigo, salud.”

He sipped his whiskey slowly, savoring the burn, and eventually lit a cigarette.

Been needing this, he thought as a woman approached, one in a pink bonnet that matched the lace tied around her neck, her bosom slightly powdered and on display.

“Fancy some company, stranger?” she asked in a thick, syrupy drawl that didn’t match her fairly pretty features, her perfume reaching him.

“What kind of company does the Elder allow around here?”

She blew a kiss at him, her lips strikingly red, a beauty mark painted to the left of her nostril. “She’s paying for your tab, ain’t she?”

“She sure is, but I’m expecting someone,” Sterling told her with a big grin. “Mighty kind of you to ask if I’d like company, though. I’m sure some feller walking in here at some point is looking for just that. Any other day, and I might have taken you up on that offer.”

The woman ran her fingers across the hair on his arm. “But you ain’t like them other fellers. I’ve never seen one around here like you.”

“That may be,” Sterling said, not able to hide the smile on his face. “That may be.”

The woman was certainly alluring, but just about the time she was scooting closer to him, his two burgers came. Sterling glanced from the woman to the food and chose the latter.

“I’ll be around,” she said, the smell of the cooked meat now overpowering her perfume.

“I’m sure you will.”

Sterling took his first bite of the burger and felt a tingle run down his spine. It really was that good, practically oozing from the combination of his peppers, the grease of the bacon, the way the chef had fried up the burger so the center was still red and juicy, the cheese, the melted cheese. The burger was small, but it was amazing, Sterling glad to have ordered another.

The chips and salsa weren’t anything to write home about, but he expected as much this far north of the border. He ate them anyway, washing them down with a glass of water and another whiskey. It was about that time that everything came to a stop, the pianist pausing for a moment, the singer doing the same. A smile, one that Sterling could barely contain, slowly traced across his face. He didn’t have to turn around; he knew exactly who it was.

He pushed his plate away and motioned for the bartender, the man stepping over to Sterling as he cleaned out the inside of a shot glass.

“For the lady?”

“Same as me.”

Sterling finally turned around to find Roxie standing there in all her glory, the female gunner no longer wearing her poncho or her armor. He’d never seen the woman so gussied up. Roxie was in a black dress with a bit of sparkle to it along the straps, a silk scarf tied around her neck. She had makeup on, while her hair had been slicked back and done up in a pony tail.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

The bartender was good at his job, Sterling turning just in time for him to slide the glass of whiskey to him. He handed it to Roxie and motioned for her to sit next to him. She did so, the female gunner biting her top lip for a moment, all of a sudden shy.

He didn’t know what to expect from the rest of the night, and he didn’t care. It was all about this moment, the two of them behaving as if they were normal, the energy radiating between them thick enough that he felt as if he could have contained it, bottled it, and sold it as some sort of aphrodisiac. “I’ll be damned,” Sterling said again, not able to find the words to describe how gorgeous Roxie looked.

“You already said that.”

“I cleaned up too,” he told her. “In case you couldn’t tell.”

Roxie’s lips twitched as a little grin formed on her face. “I could tell.”

“Let’s just have ourselves a good night, just enjoy it. Ain’t no sense in worrying about what happens tomorrow, or what happened yesterday. I don’t know if…” A sense of sorrow filled him. “I don’t know if we’ll ever experience something like this again.”

He didn’t want to get choked up, and knew it had something to do with the alcohol, so he turned away from her and took a deep breath in.

Roxie placed her hand on his shoulder. “Like you said, let’s just enjoy it.”

The emotion seemed to leave as she moved her hand away.

“Yup, just you and me, some kind of date night, but we don’t need to call it that.”

“No, no we don’t. But that doesn’t mean that isn’t what it is.”

“Shee-it, you said it, not me. I’ll just leave it at that. Now, what do you want to eat? I just had me a pair of burgers, and they were by far the best burgers I’ve had in the last five years. Small, but decent, damn good.”

“A burger?”

“Bison burgers. I’m telling you, Rox, this is a five-star dining experience here. Six, seven stars maybe. I want to call it a Michelin-star restaurant because I read about that in an old magazine, but I don’t know what that is, and I don’t know much about that star system. But this food. Ain’t no burgers like this between here and Las Cruces, I can guaran-dang-tee you that. You’ve got to get the burger. No peppers, of course, but cheese.”

“Sure. That sounds perfect.”

Sterling motioned the bartender over and placed the order. From there, his eyes fell to a jewel hanging around her neck, one that he had never seen her wear before. “Where did you get that there necklace?”

“Zephyr. She has a lot of jewelry that she’s lifted over the years.”

“I’ll bet! That woman is trouble, she really is. And the Kid? How is she holding up? Dusty? Paco? Talk to me; what’s everyone up to?”

Roxie lifted her shot glass to him. “Stop worrying about the others; let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

The two clinked their shot glasses together, and threw them back.

“You got it, Rox.”

Perhaps something could have happened, maybe if the planets had been aligned differently, or they had imbibed more whiskey. Maybe there was something Sterling could have said, or a scenario in which Roxie relaxed her guard a little more than normal, more than she already had in just agreeing to get dressed up and meet with him at the saloon.

But as they reached the estate that they were staying in, and headed up the stairs, Roxie leading Sterling to his door, he knew that this was where their night together could potentially end.

He could sense it.

Leaning now with his back against the wall, Sterling looked her over one last time, happy that they had been able to spend time together. Intimacy would always be nice, but maybe there was also a lot to say in the fact they had just been able to simply connect, to feel normal for once.

It surprised him when Roxie pressed just a bit closer to him, Sterling now with his shoulders against the wall.

He slipped his hands around her waist and brought her in close enough that he would be able to kiss her, the alcohol making him feel for a minute as if he was floating. He closed his eyes, electricity rippling between them, Sterling feeling as if he could inhale her aura.

“You know I want to,” she said softly, her lips now just inches away from his. “But we can’t complicate things this time.”

“I know.”

A part of him wanted to protest the words that had slipped free from his lips. He didn’t want to agree with her, and there wasn’t a bone in his body that was protesting being closer to her, but he knew she was right. What they were planning to do, and the sacrifices they would be making in the near future, would only complicate things if they started up a relationship again.

He slowly started to shake his head, and as he did Roxie pressed forward and kissed him, her hands going around his cheeks, her lips wet, Sterling’s knees starting to buckle by the time she finished.

“When all this is over,” she promised.

“When all this is over,” he told her, the two staring deep into each other’s eyes. “I hope you like Truth or Consequences…”

Roxie shoved him in a playful way, Sterling once again with his shoulders against the wall. “Do you have to ruin everything?”

“I already told you that’s where I’m going after all this. Someone needs to have himself a little pepper farm outside of Truth or Consequences, and that someone is me.”

“You don’t want to explore? Go somewhere else?”

“This is my hero’s journey, for what it’s worth,” he said, recalling a passage he read on the classic trope. “When I retired there three years ago, I did so with the intention of minding my own business and going about my life. Then they came for me, not just the Godwalkers, but bandits, them damn Killbillies too… ain’t done with them… but right now, my priorities are dealing with them Godwalkers. Once I do that, I have to hunt down a bounty hunter—”

“—Named Ram, I know. A cryomancer. You’ve told me that a dozen times now, maybe more.”

“Sounds about right, but I got to keep it fresh in my mind. And that’s not to mention Commodore Bones and them Killbillies. If I’m able to get through all of that, I deserve peace and quiet for the rest of my life. And I’m being honest when I say that I sure hope that you are part of that plan in the end.” Sterling brought her in closer and kissed her one more time.

“I don’t know if I can agree to move to Truth or Consequences…”

“Yeah, it ain’t much, especially after seeing this place. Do you think the Elder of Icaria would let us move here? Although I don’t know if this is the right kind of soil and whatnot for peppers. Would have to ask around, or find me a biomancer to partner with. That part might be easy.”

Once again, Roxie smirked. “And I don’t imagine myself being the girlfriend of a pepper farmer…”

“If you ask me, you need to give the proletariat a damn chance,” Sterling told her with a grin. “I know you are used to living high on the horse—Rowayton the Indestructible in her mansions, eating out of fine china wherever she goes—but there’s something humbling about planting a seed and watching it grow. Speaking of which…” He looked to the room that the Sunflower Kid was staying in. “I’m getting low on peppers, but I got plenty of seeds. Looks like I need to re-up come tomorrow morning.”

Roxie slowly started to turn away from him. “You have the Gauntlet tomorrow as well.”

“And then, our little band of misfits is going to add a shaman to our ranks.”

The smile on Roxie’s face faded.

“I know it ain’t ideal, but he’s one of us, whether we like it or not.”

“Says you.”

“Besides, we can help the good people of Moab, of Nomadland, by taking him with us. After a night like tonight? Don’t you want to help these people? I don’t know if I’ve had a night as nice as this in the last five years, even… even with some of the nights we spent together back then. No offense. You know what I’m saying. Nothing like this. Nothing.”

“It was nice.”

Sterling removed his hat and held it over his chest for a moment. “This is one of the best nights I have ever had in my life, that I can remember, at least.”

Roxie cast her gaze down, toward his boots.

“One of the best nights,” he mumbled.

“Same.”

“Then let’s end it on a high note, Rox. And I’m not talking about that. Although that would be nice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We don’t have to go to sleep just yet, but we can still keep each other company.”

Roxie hesitated. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“Every day is a long day depending on what you try to fill it with…”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Let’s just go for a walk. Moab seems peaceful enough at night, and I don’t think anyone in their right mind would mess with us anyway. What do you say?” He extended his hand to her. “We don’t need to call it a night just yet, darlin’. Let’s you and me go for a midnight stroll.”

“Fine, but only if you never call me darlin’ again.” Roxie took his hand, and the two headed back out again. They walked for well over an hour, from the gated entrance of the city to the gated exit, neither really saying anything, the night cool and the sky clear, a blanket of stars illuminating the darkness, Deseret illuminated.

Infinite dark, Sterling thought again, even though the night was well-lit. Infinite dark.

Sterling arranged a chair so he could kick his feet up on the windowsill. It was early the next morning, and as he sat there with his desert haiku book in his hands, the cowboy necromancer flipped to a sketch that the Sunflower Kid had made of Beep at his request, a day back, when they’d been roaming through Deseret.

She ain’t half bad, he thought as he turned to a blank page. He summoned the tiny Godwalker and looked it over. “Morning.”

<Beep.>

“You know I can’t let you just float around here in Moab like some sort of mechanical ghost.”

<Beep.>

“I figure you could hang out with me for a while while I write this desert haiku I’ve been meaning to peck out.”

<Beep.>

“Yeah, yeah; I hear you…”

Sterling placed his cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He stared at the blank paper, his mind searching for a way to encapsulate some of his experiences thus far in Deseret, what was once the state of Utah.

The rest of the desert haiku came to him in a flash of inspiration:

Amalgamations

Cold world shroud, infinite dark

Lizard eat lizard

“There it is,” he mumbled as he reread it. “There it is.”

A knock at the door interrupted his moment. Zephyr entered without being invited in, the aeromancer quickly conjuring a gust of wind that blew Sterling’s cigarette smoke out the open window.

“Breakfast is ready,” she said, her dark hair now in two braids and twisting over her ears.

“I knew I could smell something cooking down there.”

“It’s quite the spread; I don’t think I’ve ever seen a breakfast set-up like this before. Well, maybe I have…” Zephyr gave him a funny look. “Yes, in Albuquerque. Of course, with the Barelas Glyphs.”

“You are always playing all sides, ain’t you?” He brought his feet down and turned to her. She had cleaned up as well, Zephyr in a black ballerina dress with body armor on top and combat boots, the laces loose.

“You and Roxie sure were out late last night.” Zephyr approached him, not at all bothered by Beep’s presence any longer. None of them were; they had traveled with the miniature Godwalker long enough now to simply accept it as another member of their little group.

<Beep.>

“Don’t go starting no rumors. We just had some dinner and drinks, figured we would take a walk around town and see if there was anything worth getting into.”

“And was there?” Zephyr leaned near the window, the woman’s braids lifting just a little and settling as she looked down at Sterling, who was still seated.

“Not that I could find, and believe me, we looked. No stone left unturned,” he told her.

“Huh.”

“Huh? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I thought you two really had decided to get back into it, but I guess not. I figured I’d hear some boinking.”

Sterling shook his head. “Did you say boinking?”

“You could be lying.”

“I’ll lie to anyone if it keeps me out of the doghouse, but I ain’t in the doghouse,” he told her. Through it all, Sterling was a man of his word. He wasn’t one to double-cross someone unless they had really burned him badly, and he wasn’t good at hiding his emotions long enough to truly deceive someone. He could lie when need be, but he preferred to just tell the truth. The truth in a post-apocalyptic world was already tough enough. “I ain’t lying about nothing.”

“Keep telling yourself that, cowboy. Let’s head downstairs. You don’t want breakfast to get cold, do you?”

“They got peppers?”

“No, but I bet you do.”

Zephyr left the room, and once she was gone, Sterling returned Beep to his inventory list, mumbling to himself as he did so. He slipped into his black duster and his cowboy hat and headed down the stairs, his mouth watering instantly when he saw the spread that the Elder of Icaria had arranged for them in the dining room. There were scrambled eggs, strips of meat, some sort of pastries, fruit courtesy of the Sunflower Kid, and plenty of coffee, no Elder of Icaria or demented chihuahua, but plenty of grub.

Sterling took a place next to the Chronicler, the Sunflower Kid seated across from him with her hair short now and almost white, a spikiness to it, with two tufts arranged to almost look like cat ears.

He feasted, and after going back for seconds, he motioned for the Sunflower Kid to follow him outside. “Need your help with something, Kid.” He led the teenager to an open patch of dirt next to the home where they were staying. Sterling went ahead and selected the leather satchel of pepper seeds from his inventory list, and selected the individually bagged NuMex Heritage Big Jim, NuMex Española Improved, and Chimayó pepper seeds.

“I need me some peppers, a lot of peppers, if you will. Enough to get me through the next, well, I don’t know how long.”

“Sure,” she said as she started off with the NuMex Española Improved peppers, which were green and each about seven inches long, not too many seeds, hence the ‘improved’ part. She grew enough for Sterling to gather much more than he needed, then she went for the Big Jims, which were his favorites.

“We don’t have time to let them mature and turn red, but green will do. Wish we could settle down for a week or so somewhere, then I could get some mature ones, dry some of these here out. But like I said, this’ll be perfect. Sleep well last night?” he asked as she continued to grow peppers from the ground as if it were nothing.

She nodded. “Did you have fun with Roxie?”

“Why is everyone asking me that?”

The Sunflower Kid smiled. “You two make a good couple.”

“Now don’t you start saying things like that,” he said as Paco came around, the Hopi youth impressed once he saw the Sunflower Kid conjuring colorful pepper after colorful pepper. Sterling plucked one of the peppers off its stem and took a bite out of it, instantly feeling the spice on his lips. “Nice. Are you heading to the Gauntlet with me today?”

“I am,” said Paco.

“Kid?”

“I want to relax here,” she told him.

“You ain’t interested to see what this flectomancer has done to an amalgamation?”

“I suppose I could…” She grew a couple more peppers, which ballooned in size to the point that Sterling thought they were going to pop.

“We still haven’t tried your resurrection power,” he told her.

“We could have back in Midway, if you had brought me with you.”

He recalled taking on the two necromancers, Remuda and Matilda, which had been something that Sterling had tried to forget about. He had five of their better animates in his inventory list now, the ones that he hadn’t cut down and that Roxie hadn’t shot full of holes.

Hopefully, they would make themselves useful in the future.

“Like I was telling you on the road, you didn’t want to see what we got into. Hell, I didn’t want to see what we got into.”

“I could have helped,” she said.

“Likely, but…” He retrieved the cigarette that he had tucked behind his ear, one that he had rolled after breakfast. “I’m glad you weren’t there. You too, Paco. Look, people like me, necromancers, we are few and far between. And as much as I like myself, maybe that’s a good thing. You don’t see me walking around like some kind of Gothic demigod conjuring zombies and acting like an asshole. Most people given this power? I think they would be like those two back there, Matilda and Remuda. Damn wackos. Some things you can’t unsee, and them two were the type capable of those things.”

Once he had plenty of peppers in his inventory list, Sterling and Paco headed to the western side of town, where the Gauntlet was located. The Sunflower Kid came with them, as did Zephyr, who floated just a few inches above the ground rather than walk.

“How many levels are you going to get?” Zephyr asked.

“As many as they let me.” Sterling sent his black duster and his pearl snap shirt to his inventory list so he now wore his bulletproof vest over a tank top, which he had heard Kip refer to as a ‘wife beater.’ He never liked that name for it.

“What level are you at right now?”

“Level 73. If I could just get to Level 80, I’d be happy as a clam,” Sterling told her.

“Happy as a clam?”

“It’s an expression. I think.”

“The longer this takes, the longer it will take us to get to Don Gasper,” the aeromancer reminded him.

“Gasper’s shaman ass can wait a damn minute.”

It was clear that the Icarians, which was the common name for the people that lived in Moab under the Elder of Icaria, had borrowed parts from local farms to form the Gauntlet. Sterling recognized the kind of railing they would use in a bullpen, and the front of the place was done up in stone and corrugated metal, the merging of the two materials evidence of a skilled gaiamancer.

They entered a wooden door to find a man seated on a bench amidst a floor of hay, the mustached fellow using a black knife to pick at his nails. He was in a pair of coveralls with stenciled letters across the front that read F-I-C-K, whatever that was.

“You must be the visitors from Saltair,” he told them.

“That’s right,” said Sterling as he came forward to shake the man’s hand. He introduced himself and the others, the man nodding and saying hi to each of them.

“The name is Maurice Jones,” the man told them as he stood from his stool and sent his blade to his inventory list. “I’m the flectomancer that designed what you are about to face off against.”

“Oh yeah?” Sterling asked. “The Elder didn’t go into too much detail…”

“Seems about right to me,” Maurice told him. “She does her thing, and those with expertise do theirs. It all works. All trust. Anyhow, what you are about to see is one of them bison amalgamations. You’ll need to put this on,” he said as he motioned toward a modified olive green chest piece, which was stitched with charms that Sterling assumed would increase the amount of XP given. “And then I’ll send her in and you can start up.”

“What exactly did you do to the amalgamation?” the Sunflower Kid asked.

“Good question. I figured out a way to game the system, as it were, but it does take some strain on my part, so there’s only a limited amount of times I’ll be able to do this today. I try to cap it at ten levels; a nice, even number.”

“Hell, I’m looking for seven levels myself,” said Sterling, “give or take a few.”

“In that case, I’ll take the additional three,” Paco added.

“That should be fine. Anyway,” Maurice returned his focus to the Sunflower Kid, “to answer your question: XP is distributed once your target dies. This is instant. So fast, in fact, that if you revive the target shortly after its death, the person that received the points gets to keep them. I have done hundreds of tests on this, and it is what I have discovered. I have installed a bunch of items I’ve devised inside the amalgamation’s body that revive the beast using my mana once it is killed. What I’ve put inside it also heals the thing just after that moment it has technically died. It costs a lot of mana. Hence the reason I can only do it a certain amount of times. Trust me, I’ve tried to max out my mana by doing my own Gauntlet and using charms, but it doesn’t seem to work that way. It just takes more, oddly enough. And this is no easy opponent. I’ve managed to modify one of those buffalo amalgamations.”

Sterling recalled the towering amalgamation that he had faced off against in the salt flats, the one that Beep had fried. It would have been a tough opponent without the Godwalker’s help.

“I also didn’t want to make it too easy for people to knock its legs out or anything like that, but what I have put inside its body slows it down to some degree. The best way to kill it is to take it off its feet. That’s it. No need to gouge it, blow a chunk out of its body, or anything like that. Please don’t do that. There are sensors along the underside of its body that kill it from there. No guns, and try not to cut it up too much. Just take it off its feet.”

“What’s the best way to take it off its feet?” Paco asked.

“Smart question. Usually, I leave that up to whoever wants to level up, but if you ask me, the best way I’ve seen it done is either through a rope or sheer strength. You are both mancers, right?”

“We all are,” said Zephyr. “Aeromancer, biomancer, necromancer, and he’s a solimancer.”

Maurice nodded, his tongue pressed against the inside of his right cheek. “That really is something, isn’t it? Well, you shouldn’t have too much of a problem taking it down. I’ll let you get creative. As easy as this can be, I sort of like to make people work for it. After all, levels shouldn’t come this easy and the Elder usually only approves us for dire circumstances, or to train our guards. Now, who is up first?”

“That would be me.” Sterling placed the body armor on, sending the bulletproof vest he was wearing and his cowboy hat to his inventory list. He didn’t bother to check what the charms would do. He knew the drill by this point. Soon, he was being led to the fenced-in area, the ground hardened dirt with cracks in it.

“Just give me a thumbs up when you’re ready,” Maurice told him.

Sterling did as instructed, and as soon as he did, the buffalo amalgamation tore into the Gauntlet through a chute. It stopped just a few feet away from Sterling, the towering creature covered in rippled scars. It bucked its shoulders down, the skull of a saber-toothed tiger gnashing its teeth.

“Get it, cowboy!” Maurice shouted.

Sterling took off toward the amalgamation, the beast preparing for impact. He reached it and threw his weight forward, glad that the flectomancer had shaved down the monster’s razor-sharp teeth. Still, it drew blood on his arms as he skated by the amalgamation’s skull, the cut stinging.

He got to the side of the amalgamation and slammed his shoulder into the creature, just as it spun and met Sterling head-on once again. He knew he was gonna be bruised and scraped up by the end of this, perhaps with some internal bleeding or minor broken bones if he ended up on the wrong side of the amalgamation.

The quicker the better, he thought, also knowing that if he lost his nerve, things could turn even worse.

“Come on!” Sterling shouted once he was able to get a few feet away from it, an attempt to get the amalgamation to chase after him. There was something wrong with it, something that told him that it was a beast that had been kept in captivity for too long.

The bison amalgamation charged at him just as Sterling stepped into the air, hovering for just a moment, his stomach twisted into a knot until he landed on the other side of the creature. He ran up from behind it and ended up jumping back as the amalgamation swiveled.

“Need some wind?” Zephyr called out to him as he landed again.

“Shee-it…”

A thought came to him: if the instrument in the amalgamation’s body was triggered by falling, why did it need to fall in the first place? What if Sterling just put all of his weight into slamming into it? Would that trigger it? And with this in mind, why not add to the distractions?

Sterling quickly summoned one of the five animates he had taken from the other necromancers, a muscled zombie with dreadlocks that hung in his face.

“Distract the amalgamation,” he ordered the animate.

As his animate launched into action, the amalgamation turned away to chase it, Sterling finally able to put some space between him and the monster. The strategy paid off in a matter of moments, the amalgamation making a beeline toward his animate while he charged the beast from the side.

Wham!

Sterling collided with the amalgamation and stepped back just as it started to tremble. The beast buckled down to its front knees and lowered its head, Sterling getting the prompt that told him that he had received XP, and a good amount too.

You have received 17,500 XP!

It’s going to take a while to get seven levels, he thought as he bent forward, considering he still had a ton of XP to get just to reach the next level. Sterling placed his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, a bit of sweat dripping from his chin. But what else do I got to do today aside from wrangle me a shaman?

“Just let me know when you’re ready,” Maurice told him.

“Give me a minute.” Sterling motioned for his animate to get into position in front of the amalgamation. “I ain’t going to take long here.”

.Chapter Three.

Sterling returned his animate to his inventory list and handed the charm vest to Paco, a sense of exhaustion rolling down his shoulders. He stepped out of the pen, his muscles tensing from all the action he’d seen over the last hour. Even with his animate, Sterling still had run his body into the creature numerous times, the cowboy necromancer acting as a linebacker of sorts, his shoulder sore, vertebra disrupted to some degree.

But he had done it, he had gained seven levels.

He ignored the series of prompts as he got down to what mattered most, Sterling awarded sixty-seven Stat Points, three Class Proficiency bonuses, and one hundred and forty-eight Technique Points.

Before he could get to assigning them, he needed a cigarette. It wasn’t long before Sterling found a place in the shade and dropped onto an overturned bucket. After rolling up a cigarette and lighting it, his first inhale calming him to some degree, he went to town on his Stat Points.

Name: Sterling Monedero

Race: Human

Mancer Class: Necromancer

Class Ranking: Wretched Reviver

Level: 80

Fortitude: 137

Strength: 90

Resolve: 195

Mana: 205/205

Current Armor Rating: 28

XP: 1,317,367

XP to Next Level:98,421

Stat Points Available: 0

Technique Points Available: 163

From there, he focused on his Class Proficiencies, Sterling excited to see that he had received a new power known as Osteomancy, which would allow him to do some detective work using bones. He put two of his Class Proficiency points into this new skill, and tossed the other into his Resurrection ability, which continued to prove useful to him.

In the end, especially as the pain began to dissipate, the XP farming had been worth it.

Necromancer Class Skills

Death Whisper: Class Proficiency Level 4

Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

Description: Can communicate with the deceased; blood needed to do so.

——

Resurrection: Class Proficiency Level 7

Casting Cost: 5 Mana Points

Description: Can summon at will, but doing so takes a cut of MP until the animate is relinquished.

——

Enhanced Durability: Class Proficiency Level 4

Grafting Casting Cost: 15 Mana Points

Description: Enhanced durability and grafting.

——

Death Sense: Class Proficiency Level 3

Description: Able to sense the bodies of the dead around you. Higher levels allow for wider ranges, including remote animating.

——

Mold Manipulation: Class Proficiency Level 1

Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

Description: Able to manipulate and conjure mold. Higher levels allow for strong and further reaching creations.

——

Osteomancy: Class Proficiency Level 3

Casting Cost: 10 Mana Points

Description: Able to get an exploratory vision when coming into contact with bones.

It was time to deal with his techniques. Rather than check out the Buy Store, Sterling went ahead and improved the techniques he’d already purchased. He increased his Sword and Marksmanship levels, his Sneak Proficiency and Assassination, and his Awareness technique, leaving him eight Technique Points in the bank for the next time he gained a level.

Combat:

Sword Expert Level 7 - 56 Technique Points to Level 8

Marksmanship Level 8 - 59 Technique Points to Level 9

Stealth:

Sneak Proficiency Level 4 - 26 Technique Points to Level 5

Assassination Level 3 - 17 Technique Points to Level 4

Cover of Night Level 2 - 7 Technique Points to Level 3

Disguise Level 1 - 4 Technique Points to Level 2

Perception:

Persuasion Level 6 - 46 Technique Points to Level 7

Awareness Level 6 - 51 Technique Points to Level 7

“Look at you, leveling up.” He finished his cigarette. Sterling felt good, definitely in a little bit of pain, but nothing a nice warm bath wouldn’t handle. “I’m heading back to get cleaned up before we go find us a shaman,” he called to the others, Zephyr turning to him.

“I’ll go with you,” she said, leaving the Sunflower Kid to watch Paco gain his levels.

Sterling motioned for Zephyr to step in front of him, the aeromancer lightly hovering forward. “Ladies first.”

“You know it.” She floated ahead, the ends of her ballerina dress wavering in an unnatural way. Her control over the wind was uncanny, the aeromancer always up to something when it came to utilizing her power, be it simply making it look as if a slight breeze was blowing through her hair even when the wind was absent, or going against the grain entirely, the wind rippling in unnatural ways around her.

“Feeling stronger?” she asked as Sterling caught up to her.

“Something like that.” The cowboy necromancer was now in his undershirt. His hat, duster, and black button up shirt were still in his inventory list, arms and shoulders layered thick with grime and dried sweat. The sun was bearing down on him but he didn’t mind. It was par for the course by now.

“You look different than you did three years ago,” she told him, tilting her head in his direction.

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“You look tougher.”

“Shee-it, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You look like you’ve seen some shit.”

“Heh. I ain’t the only one, Zee.”

“Yes… I suppose we all have in our own ways. You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you, but that Chronicler friend of yours is pretty interesting.”

“The man knows a lot, ol’ Dusty.”

“Last night after you and Roxie went out on your little date, I hung out with Paco and the old man. A couple of days back, when you told me what we were up to, I was just sort of going with the flow, you know, my style. But I get it now, I really do.”

“I know, I do too, and it wasn’t a date,” he told her, even though he knew it was. They stepped aside, letting a dune buggy towing a trailer full of supplies pass in front of them, an ATV bringing up the rear and kicking up clouds of black smoke.

“I’d never even heard of archeoastronomy.”

“It’s a strange one, that’s for sure.”

“But if it’s true, and it sounds like it is, then…” Zephyr stopped floating, Sterling taking just a few steps before he turned to her.

“Yeah?”

“We may actually be able to do this thing. Maybe I am overly hopeful, but… why not? We were all brought here; what else is there to do?”

“Couldn’t agree more, and that’s the plan. Do it, or die trying. Ain’t no sense in sticking around post-Reset like a bump on a log being subjugated to these aliens and their whims, these good-for-nothing Godwalkers.”

“But it is still somewhat unclear to me how we are actually going to be able to do it,” she said. “The old man showed me all the drawings he has, but even Roxie, with all the weapons in her inventory list, shoot, I don’t think she has enough C-4 to cause that big of an explosion, and that’s saying something.”

Sterling thought back to what he’d seen outside of Saltair, when they had encountered the enemy aeromancer. “As crazy as it sounds, I’ve got an idea. At least for how we can do a little tectonic disruption. I’m still hashing it out a little bit, but it’s there. And spoiler alert, it involves you and Paco.”

“I hope so,” she said, a hint of hesitation in her eyes.

“It’ll work out,” Sterling said. “If it don’t, we’ll die, and as far as we will know, what we did worked. Nope, not quite the win-win situation I was looking for, but hell, it’s good enough. Now, let’s rally the troops and whatnot and head on out of Moab. As much as I hate to leave this place—because damn, if it hasn’t been a good time—it’s time to move on. It’s shaman time.”

Zephyr laughed. “I can hardly wait.”

They were off to the races, Roxie blazing along the side of Highway 191 south, the sky above a crisp eggshell blue, the landscape surrounding them various shades of beige, coffee with too much cream, burnt orange whisked with stripes of sugar cookie white, and veins of red velvet crimson.

Sterling felt good, levels gained, fresh from a bath, seated in the passenger seat with his revolver in his lap while Zephyr floated alongside the dune buggy. Beep was out as well, now that they had left the city limits of Moab, the miniature Godwalker tasked with staying at the back of the vehicle and acting as a rearguard just in case there was a road ambush.

The urge to smoke was ever-present, but for once Sterling didn’t go for the cancer stick tucked behind his ear, the air too crisp for him to spoil it with his bad habit, the scenery too beautiful. A deep breath in through his nostrils solidified this fact, Sterling feeling well-rested after his night in Moab, the absolutely wonderful time he’d had with Roxie, one that he feared would be the last intimate moment they would ever share again.

But at least it had been something, at least it had some semblance of what things could have been like had there not been alien monoliths preventing society from expanding, bandits and a smorgasbord of power-hungry assholes doing their part in holding everyone back when there could be signs of advancement.

At least it had been something.

Lizard eat lizard, Sterling thought, a phrase that he would have tattooed on his body had he had enough time to hang around and get tattoos. But there was little time for frivolous things like that, not with the looming goal he had of doing his part to save his neck of the woods. The rest of the world? He had no idea how that would play out. For now, that could wait. If he could get the Godwalkers out of the Southwest and deal with some of its less desirable players, like the Killbillies, some of the gangs in Albuquerque, bounty hunters, the post-apocalyptic Comanche, and perhaps even the Angels of Woe should they decide to strike back, Sterling could die happy.

And that was what it was all about for him anyway, at least at this point in his journey. Reach his end goal, die if necessary, but do so on his own terms.

“You should know more about where we’re going,” the Chronicler said, interrupting Sterling’s inner monologue, one of the many pep talks he had given himself over the last few days to keep motivated.

“I’m all ears, amigo,” Sterling called over his shoulder, the tiny roar of the dune buggy’s engine something he was used to by now.

“Well, for one, the Hole ‘N’ the Rock is actually a rock, in case you didn’t know that tidbit. It’s a huge entrada sandstone that is standing all by itself in front of a backdrop of orange and red cliffs. The rock itself, believe it or not, is a quarter of a mile high and a mile around the base…”

“Wait, how do you know all this?” Sterling asked, finally looking over shoulder to see that the Chronicler had a pamphlet in his hand.

He waved the pamphlet at him. “They made these for tourists back in the day, and I happened to acquire one. Long story sort of short, a guy named Dick Hooten is the one who turned the rock into a home in the early twentieth century. He originally carved out a series of rooms to serve as bedrooms for his five sons, who later got into the swing of things and began carving rooms as well. Fourteen rooms in total, one with a natural fireplace vented through the rock.”

“So it’s a cave, a comfy cave,” said Sterling, remembering Joel the Troll, how the cave dweller had adjusted to life deep within the Earth.

“Not exactly, but I would suspect living at the Hole ‘N’ the Rock back in the day would be as difficult as living in a cave, especially with their food situation.”

“Not a lot of hunting here in Nomadland, right?” Sterling gazed out at the rugged landscape, assuming that there were things like jackrabbits and other little critters running about, the hunter in him knowing that they wouldn’t be easy to kill and also well aware that they would have other predators.

“I highlighted this part,” the Chronicler told him, “just in case I ever got lost out here. When Hooten and his kin first arrived, they ate dandelion greens, new thistle, watercress salad, and wild berries. So there is some foraging to be had. But eventually, Moab began to take shape as a mining town, which gave them a place to trade and get in trouble with the law.”

“The law, huh?”

The Chronicler laughed. “Hooten’s sons definitely kept the authorities on their toes, especially during prohibition, when they became bootleggers.”

“Can’t blame them; a man has got to drink.”

“One of them even went to jail for it, the one named Albert. He did some time in Leavenworth.”

“Don’t know that name.”

“Sounds like a prison,” Paco said, causing Sterling to smirk.

“Good observation, son.”

The Chronicler closed his pamphlet. “Well, there are few other details that I found interesting, mostly involving the one I mentioned, Albert, who continued to have issues with the federal government. While he was in Leavenworth, he, ironically, became acquainted with sculpture, something he brought with him once he got out. He carved the likenesses of President Franklin Roosevelt and one of his presidential rivals on the big sandstone cliff not far from their home. The Bureau of Land Management didn’t like him doing this, so they dynamited it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Sterling, even though it still didn’t seem right.

“He claimed it was his property, they said otherwise. Lots of disputes around these parts with the Bureau of Land Management, at least from what I have uncovered.”

Roxie came around a bend, Sterling spotting a natural sandstone arch connecting to smaller hills.

An uncanny landscape…

“So if you’re wondering why there’s the head of President Roosevelt carved near the home’s entrance, that’s why. This is what originally sparked my interest. I saw that head and began asking questions. The people that live there now, the Christiansens, had a bunch of the gift shop materials left over and happened to have this little book.”

“Ain’t that something,” said Sterling. “Them fools were living the post-apocalyptic life before it was fashionable.”

The statement caused the Chronicler to laugh again. “Something like that, yes, but that seemed to be the fate of many of the early Utah settlers. And as always, a tale truly as old as time when it comes to this country, the natives helped, but they also warned them about the climate, how hard it was to survive, and not everyone turned out as lucky as the people with Dick Hooten.”

“I reckon.”

The Hole ‘N’ the Rock was visible from a mile or two away, white letters painted across the surface of the giant, pastel orange stone. There was an RV out front, as well as several other frontward facing structures that had been built into various portions of the rock, the gift shop clearly demolished for parts, the only thing standing in its place being a statue of a bull made of old leather saddles and metal.

Roxie pulled the dune buggy into a paved spot about a quarter-mile away from the structure, and once they were out, Beep back in Sterling’s inventory list, she encouraged the others to keep going while she stayed back ‘just in case.’

“Just don’t shoot my hat,” Sterling told her, a joke.

“It’s not you I want to shoot,” she said in a grim way.

“I’ll, um, be sure to relay that to Don Gasper.”

What followed was a quick walk along the highway through the high desert, Sterling at the front, the Chronicler at the back, Zephyr, Paco, and the Sunflower Kid somewhere in between, the aeromancer floating just a few inches off the ground as always, her form sometimes providing shade from the sun.

Sterling had teased her before about actually using her feet to walk. Every now and then, the Sunflower Kid would stop walking as well, resorting to hovering for a spell. Personally, Sterling didn’t get it. Solid ground, that was his thing, that was the kind of guy he was.

They were just coming to the rock when a voice reached Sterling’s ears.

“Who are you?” the voice asked, Sterling looking at the enormous entrada sandstone rock and seeing that it had come from a hole drilled in the side, a hole that could easily have the barrel of the weapon pointed through it.

“I’m here to see Don Gasper,” Sterling told the voice.

“Who’s here to see Don Gasper?” the voice asked, one that belonged to a male teenager as far as Sterling could tell.

“Tell him it’s an old friend from Las Cruces, one with a bone horse. He’ll know.”

Had Sterling been closer to the rock, he probably would have heard a little bit of scrambling as the teenager got down from whatever perch he was on to deliver the message. But standing on the cracked highway, the sheer expanse all around them, had a way of suppressing any sounds.

“I’ll see you guys at the front,” Zephyr said as she began to float forward.

Sterling looked at the others and shrugged. “Not a bad idea.”

The front door of what was once a roadside diner built into the rock shifted open, Sterling spotting the carved head of President Roosevelt above it, just like the Chronicler had said.

Sure enough, Don Gasper shambled out, the old shaman draped in multifarious robes as if he were auditioning to become the Elder of Nauvoo, rabbit fur draped over his chest where suspenders would be, his beard braided in portions, his eyes that odd shade of brownish blue that Sterling always found a bit off.

“¡Vaquero nigromante!” Gasper lifted his hands, gesturing like he wanted a hug, and puckered his lips.

“Put your goddamn arms down. I ain’t fixing to hug you, Gasper,” Sterling said, not able to hide the smile on his face. “And I definitely ain’t kissing you.”

“Ah, come on, amigo…”

“You old son of a bitch, what the hell have you been doing to these here folks?”

“The Christiansens?” Gasper motioned to the door behind him. “They have embraced me, and have become my disciples. My people. I am a man of the people, no?”

“Gasper, I don’t got time for this, and just so you know, Roxie’s out there with a bead trained on you. I’m not saying she’s going to shoot you, but she did mention that was something she would like to do. You and I both know that you ain’t no Messiah for these here people. Whatever narcotics you’ve given them to convince them that you’re some sort of Southwest warlock, stops now. We got things to do.”

Don Gasper’s eyebrows furrowed as he offered a wave to the others. “Yes, we need to find him…”

“See?” Sterling asked the person closest to them, which just happened to be Paco, who had a curious look on his face as he examined Gasper. “He already knows what needs to be done. I told y’all. That’s why he is part of this group, as much I hate to admit it, and why I keep having to defend him to Roxie.”

“Roxie hates everyone,” Zephyr said as she lowered to the ground in front of Sterling. “Aside from you, and the Sunflower Kid. Hey, Gasper, got some weed for me to smoke?”

“Sí, of course, Zee, of course…”

“Don’t…” Sterling shook his head. “Y’all, we got shit to do.”

“I don’t think Roxie hates me,” said Paco, even though that conversation had already moved on. “She hasn’t said anything bad about the Chronicler either.”

Sterling made a gesture as if they needed to wrap this up. “Gasper, you and I got plenty to talk about, as I’m sure you know. So don’t go getting our aeromancer high, we just may need her.”

Zephyr laughed. “Boo…”

“Boo me all you want. Now, are you going to invite us into this here rock, or what? Also,” Sterling nodded his chin to the Chronicler, “I got someone here that you might like to meet.”

It was cavernous yet comfy, just as Sterling had surmised, the cowboy necromancer immediately seeing the appeal to living in the Hole ‘N’ the Rock when compared to the damp and dingy cave that Joel the Troll had been holed up in. For starters, there was a lot less climbing here, it wasn’t wet at all, and the way it had been fashioned created perfect nooks for built-in furniture, numerous beds, and plenty of room.

Not a bad place to call home.

The Christiansens, the owners of the rock, were just about as innocent as Sterling imagined they would be, which had made it easy for Don Gasper to dupe them. They were a family of seven, Sterling not knowing their actual relations aside from the baby, which clearly belonged to the older two. It became a side conversation as he got down to explaining to Don Gasper what had happened since they last saw each other outside of Las Cruces, New Mexico, Sterling catching him up.

The old shaman listened intently, his eyes watching Sterling’s fingers as he finished rolling a joint for him. He knew his way to Don Gasper’s heart, the best way to keep his interest.

Once he handed Gasper the joint, the older man motioned for the two of them to step out of the rock while the others got comfortable, introductions taking place and whatnot, Sterling not too interested in any of it. Especially after what happened last night, he was ready to finish this leg of his journey.

Once outside and squarely in the shade of the rock, Don Gasper lit his joint and Sterling did the same to his cigarette.

“So this poco Godwalker of yours, let’s see it.”

“Yep…”

According to what Sterling had already learned, Don Gasper had been in Deseret for about a month, just like Zephyr, which had given him plenty of time to get into the Christiansens’ brains, Gasper doing what he did best. Sterling imagined the older man making a prediction that came true, or giving the father whatever entheogenic drugs he kept in his inventory list.

Sometimes there ain’t much difference between a con man and shaman, Sterling thought as he summoned Beep. Most times.

Don Gasper bit down on his joint and leaned forward, examining the miniature Godwalker. “It’s so tiny, no? Muy pequeño, muy muy pequeño.”

“Small, but useful. As I keep telling people, Beep here has saved my ass more times than I can count. And Beep is the one that brought us here, like I was telling you in there.”

<Beep.>

While Sterling had briefed Don Gasper on most things, he hadn’t gone into detail about what they were planning to do once they arrived at the Terminal. This was something they could do later, once the Chronicler was able to show Gasper some of the petroglyph sketches taken from the cave dwelling outside of Morgan. All in due time, Sterling thought as Don Gasper slowly placed his hand on Beep’s surface.

“And the kids, they painted the face?” Gasper asked him. “Or was it you?”

“Shee-it, you know I didn’t paint this Godwalker.”

“They call it Strawberry,” Zephyr said as she floated out of the dwelling. “The Kid and Paco do. Sorry, it’s stuffy in there.” Her eyes dropped onto Don Gasper’s joint. “You sharing that or what?”

“Now…” Sterling didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence as the aeromancer took her first puff.

“Who is Strawberry?”

<Beep.>

“Beep has already been given two names,” Sterling told the old shaman, “so don’t go giving it another. Now, I’ve said most of what I need to say; what about you, Gasper? You know who we’re looking for, so let’s get down to it, let’s hash this out. Where’s the technomancer? Where’s Maron?”

“It’s a good question, no? Where is Maron? Hola, Maron, where are you? Personally, I think he is near. Perhaps…” Gasper took his joint back from Zephyr and took a long drag off of it, the smoke twisting around his head, his eyes glazing over to some degree. “Muy buena mota…”

“Gasper, let’s get on with it,” Sterling said.

“I was out, you know. Smoked all of mi mota the first week, and these people here…” He pointed his joint at the dwelling. “They don’t have no mota.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’re a goddamn pothead. But I have some, so that should do for now. Look, Gasper, we need us a plan. According to the Chronicler, we’re getting close to the Terminal, and I promised the Elder of Icaria that we would relieve these people of your influence. You can clearly help us find Maron, and once we do, we have our team. Well, most of it anyway,” Sterling said, thinking of Raylan the flectomancer and Sierra the pyromancer, both back in Madrid.

Then again, maybe they weren’t supposed to be part of this after all…

“Down in Las Cruces,” Don Gasper began, “I had a very spiritual connection with a beautiful mujera…”

“Nope, I ain’t going to hear it. Don’t you start in about Magdalena,” Sterling told him, referring to the telemancer who had betrayed them.

“Don’t smoke it all,” said Zephyr, the aeromancer sending just a small gust of wind in Don Gasper’s direction, which rippled through his beard. He handed the joint to her and she took another puff, a haze settling over her dark eyes.

“No, no, Magdalena is…” Gasper waved his hand in the air. “Terminado para mi. Done. Más o menos… I’m talking about someone else. You remember the trailer we stayed in when we were in Las Cruces? The one with the peyote drying inside?”

“Vaguely.”

“That peyotera had a connection with a man who sold the seeds of a South American plant called cebil. The seed, that’s where the power lies, amigos. You can see anything with this seed and…” Don Gasper turned his hand around, a small plastic bag materializing in his palm. The plastic bag was filled with dark brown seeds that reminded Sterling of what a coffee bean would look like if it had been flattened yet had maintained its shape. “Magical, no?”

“So you’re going to smoke it?” Zephyr asked.

“No, no, Zee. That’s not how you use this.”

“Then…?”

Don Gasper rubbed his grubby finger against his nostrils and made a snorting sound. “You sniff it. And not you, me,” he motioned toward Sterling, “and him. We. We sniff it.”

“Come again? Why the hell do I need to be part of this? You are the one that knows how to use it.”

Zephyr nodded. “I agree with Sterling. Why does he get to be part of it? If anything, I’m interested and likely more capable. Someone needs to be in charge… what is the term?”

“Trip sitter works.” Don Gasper took the joint back from her and finished it. Rather than toss it to the ground, he sent the roach to his inventory list. “You can be the trip sitter, Zee. I need to be there to be the guide, but I can also partake just a little. This one is best performed with two people, in my experience. So I will guide you, vaquero nigromante, because you don’t know how to guide someone on a bufotenin journey.”

“Bufotenin?”

“The active ingredient, amigo. This is a very old entheogen, perhaps one of the oldest forms of hallucinatory medications, keep up.”

Zephyr playfully lowered her shoulders and hung her head. “So I don’t get to snort seeds? Shucks. That sounds like fun; better than sitting around this rock watching Roxie time herself as she assembles and disassembles her weapons. Of course you guys don’t include me in the fun.”

“No, Zee, not exactly fun,” Gasper told her, a hint of sorrow to his eyes. “But you will make a great trip sitter with your wind powers. Make it very nice and comfortable for us, no?”

“Ugh. I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this…”

Don Gasper puffed his cheeks out. “Later tonight, after supper. I’ll explain everything in the meantime. Let’s figure out where this technomancer is.”

“Now before I agree to any… shaman business, you promise to go with us tomorrow, to leave these people be?”

Don Gasper shrugged off Sterling’s question. “If you insist, I go. But first, a ritual.”

Rather than have the Christiansen family provide most of the food, especially because Sterling felt a little guilty about the way that Don Gasper had exploited them up until that point, a meal was made from rations and some of the goat byproducts they had taken from the farm outside of Morgan, cheeses and milk, what was left of the honeycomb, and some dried bison meat courtesy of the Chronicler.

The Christiansen family kept pretty quiet, the children well-behaved, Sterling never getting any of their names aside from the husband, who went by Buck and seemed like a nice enough man, albeit one easily influenced by Don Gasper.

Sterling couldn’t blame them, not after the things he had been through with the old shaman, and how much he himself put into Gasper’s visions. But even with this in mind, he was heavily skeptical of what Gasper planned for that night, Sterling still not certain how he felt about consuming some hallucinatory seed.

Over dinner, and a bit after they had finished their meal in the main room of the Rock, the Chronicler explained once again what he had learned from the petroglyphs, enlightening Don Gasper on the Anasazi and their struggles so many years ago.

“I always knew there was more to the past,” were the first words out of Gasper’s mouth once the Chronicler paused his explanation. “The ancients, our ancestors. No matter skin color, we are all survivors in the end. It comes from our ancestors, and they have illuminated the ways. They put something in our blood.”

“I think it’s called hemoglobin,” the Sunflower Kid said, a statement which caused Don Gasper to laugh.

“You always were so clever, Kid.”

Sterling agreed. “She sure is something.”

“As you can see in this glyph here,” the Chronicler opened one of his field diaries, and showed it to Don Gasper, “the Godwalkers’ power source lies beneath the ground.”

Don Gasper examined the sketching with heavy eyelids and finally looked at Sterling. “We will disrupt the power source, no?” he asked, growing serious. He did that from time to time, changing moods in a way that was almost fluid, from mystical to serious to batshit insane—all flavors of the old shaman.

“That’s the plan, Gasper, that’s the plan.”

“It seems that everything is coming full circle,” said Don Gasper as he turned his focus to Paco, “considering they are your people, the Hisatsinom, who did this so long ago.”

“You know the word?” Paco asked.

“Sí, mi amigo, sí. I know many things.” He ran his hand along his white beard. “You don’t get this old and survive this long without knowing some things.”

Sterling nodded. “Speaking of which, we need to try something out tomorrow.”

“What’s that?” asked Roxie, who was merely picking at her food by this point, quiet as ever. She had opened up to Sterling last night, something he would never forget, and he wished that there was a way for him to relive the great time they’d had.

If only there was a way…

“Whatever is powering, or should I say, recharging these Godwalkers, it’s deep beneath the surface. Now I know there’s other ways to remove a little rock, but we don’t have enough C-4, and we also don’t got a gaiamancer in our crew. I’m at the point now where I trust Beep, Strawberry, whatever, and if we needed a gaiamancer, one would be part of this group by now, or perhaps we will encounter one heading south. If that’s the case, then we can scratch this idea. After all, we have a solimancer and an aeromancer.”

“And?” Zephyr asked.

“Paco, you are going to work with Zee here to create a cyclone of heat. That’s what we’re going to work on tomorrow. We can ride a mile or so out and see what happens when you do it, how deep it can penetrate, what we can expect. If everything goes according to plan, it’ll make the heat you are putting off even stronger. We also will need to give Paco here whatever charms we can that could help his mana. I’m looking at you, Kid.”

“I can help as well,” said the Sunflower Kid, “by using my vines to create a hole.”

“That could be the case, but they may get burned up in the process. The rest of us, well, you, me, Roxie, Strawberry, and Maron, are going to be dealing with the Godwalkers themselves when the time comes. And it won’t be easy, I reckon. Dusty here said that they had a lot of smaller ones.”

“They do, and dealing with them will be a challenge,” said the Chronicler.

“The goal is to not make this a bloodbath, on our end,” Sterling reminded the group. “Because we ain’t done with them yet. We deal with the Terminal, and we head on down to Chaco Canyon and finish what we need to do there. We have a plan working for that, right?” he asked the Chronicler.

“I’m going to need to visit the tribal lands again, especially now that we have you with us,” he told Paco, “which will help. If we do this right, we can simply—and by saying the word ‘simply,’ I’m well aware of how hard what you hope to do actually is—make our way south through Arizona, curve toward New Mexico, and reach Chaco Canyon from there.”

“Always easier said than done,” Don Gasper said as he picked something in his teeth.

“I’m well aware.”

“In that case, it looks like our time here in Deseret is coming to a close. Don’t know if I’m going to miss it, but I will miss a few times in particular,” Sterling said, knowing better than to glance at Roxie. “Heh. Hard to believe that once we hit Monument Valley, all this will be behind us. I’ll never forget showing up in the middle of nowhere and bending over to find out that the ground was made of salt. Not to mention our little friend. Kip ain’t never going to believe me.”

“I would stay here if I could,” Don Gasper admitted, his statement causing Sterling to laugh.

“Of course you would. You are the ideal candidate to start a cult, and Deseret is the ideal location to host it, past and present.”

Don Gasper clasped his hands together in front of his face, elbows on the table, his lips pressed against his two pointer fingers. His brown-blue eyes filled with a bit of light. “Perhaps you’re right, mi vaquero nigromante, perhaps.”

Zephyr ended up not joining them for the ritual, the aeromancer convinced that she should have been the one to go on the vision quest, and Sterling actually agreeing with her. He didn’t like to step out of his normal frame of reference, where he was most comfortable. Alcohol and cigarettes? Sure, but things like marijuana and other narcotics weren’t really his cup of tea.

Yet there he was, now seated outside with Don Gasper in the orange glow of a trio of rocks that Paco had heated up. It was night now, a deep layer of blue defining the sky, stars reaching out towards Sterling.

He had his doubts, which was nothing out of the ordinary when it came to Don Gasper and his various hallucinatory ways to gather information. Sterling didn’t want to believe in it. He liked to say that he wasn’t overly superstitious, yet he was also well aware that Gasper’s tactics had worked in the past, and he knew if anyone was capable of figuring out where the technomancer was, it was the shaman crouched before him.

Don Gasper was shirtless as always, a strip of fabric decorated with bottle caps tied across his forehead. He was rail thin, his pectoral muscles defined by two lines that seem to stretch across his chest, the shaman now wearing some covering he’d crafted from an old quilt. Using Paco’s help, he had started a small fire in front of Sterling, and was now heating up a sawed off portion of a tin can, the cebil seeds inside.

“Have to heat it up first, to let the cebil know that you are ready to greet it, respectfully, of course. Come, let us greet you.”

The Sunflower Kid was there, the teenager seated on the perimeter of the ritual, her hair practically the length of Rapunzel’s now and wrapped in a giant bun atop her head. As always, she had conjured a plant construct to sit on. Next to her sat the Chronicler, the bucket-hatted researcher in his camping chair and taking notes quietly. Roxie was around somewhere, but was certainly avoiding the group. The last time Sterling had seen her, she had floated up to the top of the Hole ‘N’ the Rock to be by herself and watch from above.

“I’ll crush it next while it’s still hot, and then…” Don Gasper smiled at Sterling, his teeth crooked and sharp. “Up the nose she goes.”

“And then what?”

“I won’t explain too much about this particular experience; I don’t want to influence what happens once it starts, but I will guide you. Do not worry. You are among friends, no? I am a professional.”

“Keep telling yourself that…”

“You have to believe in yourself, no? You have to believe in me. Now, no more talk. I’m going to start singing now, it’s time to focus…” Don Gasper began humming a song in a language Sterling was certain he hadn’t heard before, definitely not Spanish, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t any of the native languages he had picked up in New Mexico. As he crushed seeds, the man’s voice thinned, Sterling barely able to hear what he was saying.

Gasper continued this for several minutes as he crushed seeds, only pausing once to look at Paco and remind the Hopi youth that he was to keep a watchful eye over them. The old shaman wasn’t the only one who had worn something unique for the ritual; Paco was shirtless, his face with stripes of white paint on it that Sterling hadn’t seen him do before.

Once the seeds were crushed, Don Gasper scooped some of the powder up with the nail of his pinky finger and sniffed it. “That should be enough for me. The rest, for you.”

“All of it?” Sterling asked as he was brought the mixture by the old shaman, who had dumped what remained of the powder out onto a smooth metal surface.

“Sí, sí…”

Sterling already had his cowboy hat removed and tucked safely away in his inventory list. Before he began sniffing up the crushed seeds, he ran his hands through his hair once again, making sure his hair was properly tucked behind his ears.

Here goes nothing… he thought as he used his pinky finger to scoop up some of the seed residue. He sniffed it up, noticing that it was bitter, Sterling immediately hating the flavor that dripped down his throat.

“More, all of it, if you can,” Don Gasper told him. “You must take it all. Puedes hacerlo.”

“Goddammit…”

“You can do it,” the Sunflower Kid told him, echoing Don Gasper, her statement causing Sterling to smile.

“Hell, if you believe in me…” Sterling felt something shift inside him. It was subtle, but it was definitely a change. “Yep, here we go.”

As much as he didn’t want to, he sniffed up more of the ground cebil seed until he had gotten pretty much all of it. By this point, his environment was starting to pulsate, colors bleeding, Paco’s three glowing stones twitching as if they were alive.

“And so it begins,” said Don Gasper.

“I don’t know, amigo…”

Don Gasper ignored him and started singing once again. Eventually, he got to his feet and plopped down next to Sterling. He grabbed the cowboy necromancer’s hand and squeezed it, his singing hypnotic, a strange, scratching sound accompanying it. Sterling realized his eyes were shut but didn’t know when he’d shut them. Upon blinking his eyes open, he saw Don Gasper slowly swirling a single maraca through the air, tracing lines of energy.

Dammit…

Sterling bent his head forward, listening to the sound as it swished back and forth inside his skull. He felt for a moment like he couldn’t clear his breath, a sensation moving down his shoulders making them tense up, his spine constricting.

“Shhhh… shhhh…” Don Gasper whispered. “Show me what’s on the land. Say this in your head with me, amigo: show me what’s on the land.”

Show me what’s on the land… Sterling thought. Show me what’s on the land…

“Teach me to see things as they are,” said the shaman, still using his maraca.

Teach me to see things as they are…

“You will climb slowly, amigo,” Don Gasper said quickly. “A jaguar will appear, and he will become a man. Follow him. Do whatever he does. You must do what he does!”

Do what he does…

“Follow the jaguar.”

Follow the jaguar. Do what he does…

“You will know when the time has come… ask then…” Don Gasper started singing again, shaking his maraca even harder.

He let go of Sterling’s hand.

“¡Vamos!”

A heavy sensation twisted through him. It was as if the ground were rushing away, the insides of Sterling’s eyelids starting to change in color until the edge of a cliff took shape. The sky beyond was suddenly teal, no clouds present, the sun somewhere behind him.

Fear came careening toward him and filtered away into the ether, following the garbled sound that Don Gasper continued to sing.

Where…?

“Show me what’s on the land,” Don Gasper said again and again.

Show me what’s on the land…

“Follow the jaguar.”

Follow the jaguar.

A jaguar appeared before Sterling.

It turned away from him, toward the edge of a hazy cliff. It transformed into the body of a man, his form one of shadows etched as if colored in by a pencil.

Follow the jaguar…

Sterling tried to speak but he couldn’t.

It was as if language no longer existed or made any sense, English, Spanish, nothing. His tongue practically fell out of the side of his mouth as he took a step toward the shadowy figure.

Follow him…

Follow the jaguar.

Follow him…

Sterling was amazed that he was able to move his feet at all, his boots heavy, everything weighted down. Yet he pressed on, taking one step after another, the shadow man doing the same until he reached the edge of the cliff.

The man stepped out into the sky as if there were solid ground beneath him and continued.

Heights didn’t matter to Sterling in that moment, his fear nonexistent. He followed and everything began to speed forward, Sterling now flying alongside the shadow man, the wind hissing all around him. They moved higher and higher, above the clouds, eventually settling in front of an enormous peak covered in snow.

The shadow man turned to Sterling and motioned toward it.

“I…” Sterling found his words all of a sudden, as if they’d been there all along. “I am looking for someone… estoy buscando a alguien… Maron… estoy buscando a Maron.”

The shadow man motioned once again toward the mountain.

“I don’t know… I don’t know…”

He motioned once again.

“Por favor, no lo sé…” Sterling whispered, finding it harder and harder to speak. A word he’d never heard before came to him, his mouth contorting as spoke it: “Tukuhnikivatz…”

Everything dropped out from beneath him, Sterling suddenly falling. He found himself smiling, enjoying it, his arms out wide, the cowboy necromancer ready to hit the ground, to end it all.

But instead of plummeting to his death, he blinked his eyes open.

Don Gasper was still seated next to him, his head bent forward as he sang his ancient song and rattled the maraca.

“What did he show you?” Don Gasper asked without looking up. “What did he tell you?”

“Tu-tukuhnikivatz…?” Sterling shook his head, entirely unfamiliar with the word. “Tukuhnikivatz.”

Don Gasper stopped and lowered his head. “I don’t know… don’t know this word. Paco? Is this your word?”

“I know it,” said the Chronicler, his voice coming from behind Sterling, everything still with an edge to it. “Mount Tukuhnikivatz. It’s north of here. The technomancer is north of here.”

.Chapter Four.

The translated name of the mountain was apropos considering its height, over twelve thousand feet, according to the Chronicler. It was so large that Sterling had actually spotted Mount Tukuhnikivatz along the way to the Hole ‘N’ the Rock without really recognizing what it was.

He thought about this once his mind settled, the cowboy necromancer not able to sleep very well in the cavernous Hole ‘N’ the Rock that night. Something about the hallucinatory cebil seeds he had snorted up had an almost caffeine-like effect on him, Sterling getting sick at one point and having to vomit, a bitter taste lingering in his throat.

He ended up crouched outside the Rock smoking a cigarette, wishing that the feeling would pass. Gazing up at that night sky reminded him of the haiku he had written, infinite dark, even if there was some color to the heavens, a smattering of stars set in a drapery of midnight purples folding across toward the horizon.

Sterling recalled the shadow man he had seen in his hallucinatory vision, how the two had flown toward the mountain, a single word pressing free from his lips, one that he had never spoken before.

Tukuhnikivatz…

According to the Chronicler, it was a Southern Paiute word that translated to “where the sun sets last,” or alternatively, “where the sun shines the longest.” Most of the locals didn’t have a name for the mountain now, just “The Big Mountain.” But the Before People did have a nickname, “Mount Tuk,” which was much easier to say.

To reach the mountain, they were going to have to head north again, not all the way to Moab, where they would then veer toward the east once they reached the Picture Frame Arch.

That was the easy part. The difficult part was going to be locating Maron, which could mean that they would need to get to the top of the mountain itself. Sterling had an idea for that, however, multiple ways for them to locate the technomancer. There was always the chance that there would be hostiles in the area, but this was something they were used to by now, and once they found Maron, they would finally be able to head south again, past Hole ‘N’ the Rock toward Monument Valley.

To the Terminal and beyond.

“Shee-it…” Sterling said as he pinched his eyes shut, noticing the start of a migraine. He knew Roxie was outside as well, somewhere off to his left and seated with a weapon across her lap. She hadn’t said anything when he came out, even if he did offer her a short wave. Now, after he had finished his cigarette, she finally spoke.

“And you truly believe he is actually there?” she asked, which were the first words she had said to him since the completion of the ritual.

“Don Gasper is a crazy son of a bitch, but he is our crazy son of a bitch. And don’t you forget that, Rox. Besides, I was the one who had the vision, not him. He simply guided me toward it, and I know what I saw, or better, I know what I heard. If this turns out to be a wild goose chase, then it’s on me. I’ll take the blame for it, not Gasper. Hell, if it weren’t for him…” He trailed off, his thoughts fuzzy.

“What?”

“For one, finding the Sunflower Kid would have been much harder. Plus there was his vision from three years ago, the one that helped us bring down that medium-sized Godwalker. It’s kind of strange, you know, we ain’t never seen any more that are that size. Not like the big ones, not skyscrapers, and definitely not Beep-sized.”

“I would prefer not to see any of them.”

Sterling laughed. “You ain’t wrong, Rox, you ain’t wrong there. Anyway, as you can tell, I can’t sleep.”

“Imagine that.”

“So I figured I would just sit out here and wait for the sun to come up. What do you think? Another hour or two?”

“Two and half hours,” she said with certainty.

“Want to…” Sterling figured he might as well ask it. “Want to watch the sunrise together?”

“Sure.”

Sterling got to his feet and approached the female gunner. He plopped down next to her, close enough so their bodies were touching to some degree. He didn’t put his arm around Roxie or anything, Sterling simply glad to have the company.

They were quiet for a while, Roxie eventually equipping a water bottle she had filled up back in Moab, drinking some of it, and handing it off to Sterling.

“Got to stay hydrated,” he said as he finished the bottle. “You want this here bottle?”

“You can keep it in your inventory list.”

“My list is getting mighty full.”

“You can always leave the rocking chair behind.”

“That’s right,” he told her, “I did take that rocking chair. I would use it right now, but it’s nice to sit next to you.”

“Stealing my warmth.”

“It is a little cold out here, ain’t it?”

“It is,” she said as she scooted just a bit closer to him, Roxie now with her arms draped around her knees. Eventually, she leaned her head to the side and relaxed it onto Sterling’s shoulder. The cowboy necromancer dozed off for a while, only to be woken by Roxie.

“It’s rising,” she whispered.

“Always does…”

It was a gorgeous thing to see, the sun the color of a ripe grapefruit as it rose in the sky, the marmalade landscape suddenly illuminated, shadows slowly retreating. Deseret was a landscape of basalt, red tuff, tattered valleys colored in earthen pastels and smattered with travertine, terrestrial limestone, cold bedrock and crystals.

It was beyond otherworldly.

Breakfast that morning was a humble affair, just some eggs from the chickens that the Christiansens kept and meat that the Chronicler had been saving. From there they would head straight to Mount Tukuhnikivatz, Sterling planning for them to take a small detour once they reached the wide open area.

“I think I will stay here,” Don Gasper announced to the group when they were prepared to leave.

“No, you’re not supposed to stay here.” Sterling turned back to the old shaman, the group now standing outside the Hole ‘N’ the Rock aside from Zephyr, who hovered.

“I don’t mean permanently, amigo. I mean until you come back. You have to go there and then come back here, no? The highway is right there.” He motioned toward the road as if it were an afterthought. “I’m an old man. Too old to climb a mountain.”

“I’ve seen what you can do,” Sterling said, reminded of how Don Gasper had fought alongside him back in Las Cruces.

He swept his hand toward the dune buggy. “Sí, sí. I promise no more trouble. It will only take you a day, perhaps less to find our technomancer. You come back here and I ride in this vehicle of yours. No problem. I’ll ride in the front seat.”

“Why do I feel like this is going to be a problem?”

“No problemo, vaquero nigromante, no problemo.”

“Who else wants to stay?” Sterling asked, his eyes settling on the Chronicler. “Dusty? Perhaps if you stick around, we’ll be able to keep a closer eye on Gasper.”

“I have enough eyes on me.” Don Gasper pointed at the sky and made a circle around his head. “Many spirits are watching me.”

“I can stay. Besides, I’ve been meaning to go through some of my notes anyway. Reaching the mountain shouldn’t be very difficult with your abilities, and I don’t think you will need me to guide you or anything.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that last night. I remember passing by it from yesterday. Big as hell.”

“There was also a sign,” the Sunflower Kid pointed out.

Zephyr cracked her fingers in front of her body. “I’m not worried at all about finding this man. Not only will I be able to fly around the mountain, we have Strawberry, and…”

“Yup, my animates.”

“I was going to say zombies, but call them what you want if it makes you feel better. Don’t worry about Gasper. This isn’t going to take us very long. If I have to use a tornado to force him out of that rock, I’ll do it.”

“Heh. I reckon.” Sterling didn’t like separating at this point. He was sort of expecting the group to stay together, but Gasper had been right, they were going to have to come back this way regardless. Answering for him, Roxie got into the driver’s seat of the dune buggy and started it up.

She honked the horn. “Let’s go.”

The Sunflower Kid and Paco hopped into the back, Sterling getting in last. As they pushed onto the highway, he looked back over his shoulder and saw Don Gasper and the Chronicler standing there, the old shaman waving at them in an almost meek way.

“This won’t take us long,” Roxie promised him, the female gunner likely noticing the uncertain look on his face.

“I know, I know,” Sterling told her. “But I…”

He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to say that the vision he’d had could be wrong. There was no point admitting something like that, not with how much faith he’d already put behind it. But now he was second-guessing himself, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he was wrong.

Rather than say anything, Sterling simply did something predictable, once again summoning his bag of tobacco and his rolling papers.

Might as well, he thought.

It was only about twenty-five minutes later that they came to the sign pointing toward the mountain, Sterling now able to see its peak in the distance, a gray cloud forming a loop around it like one of the rings of Saturn.

“Pull off right over there.” Sterling gestured toward a long stretch of hardtop, one with a few big stones creating something akin to a courtyard. Zephyr lowered once Roxie stopped the vehicle. “It’s time to test something out.”

“Roger,” said Roxie.

Once they settled, Sterling got out of the vehicle and waited for Paco to join him, a cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He lit it, and then took about twenty paces away from the vehicle. He glanced back at the dune buggy and continued forward just a bit further. “Here should do.”

Zephyr lowered. “What do you want us to do?”

“I want the two of you to create a heat vortex of sorts. Paco, you’ll be heating up the ground; Zee, you’ll be adding a tornado to the mix. Let’s see what kind of craziness that can do. We may need to test it again as well. But this is our first little experiment here. I’m going to take a few steps back…” Sterling returned to the dune buggy and joined Roxie and the Sunflower Kid. He called for Paco and Zephyr to start up. “Try it!”

The Hopi youth lowered to one knee and pressed both hands into the ground, a look of sheer concentration spreading across his face as Zephyr began conjuring a mini tornado. She started it about fifteen feet away from Paco, who gritted his teeth as he summoned more and more of his power. Fault lines began to appear, the wind whipping around Paco now, who stood behind the floating Zephyr, the two protected by her sphere of influence.

“This is going to work,” Sterling said as he watched what happened next, the wind strong to the point that he had to turn away from it to keep his hat. “Them Godwalkers are going down.”

They ran into their first problem once they reached the foot of the mountain, something that made Sterling wish they’d had the Chronicler there with them to offer his guidance. There were two main peaks, both of the mountains quite substantial in size, and he wasn’t sure which one was actually Mount Tuk.

“Shee-it,” he mumbled, but went ahead and summoned his animates anyway, six of them in total. He instantly felt a pull in his chest from his mana being utilized.

“I’m looking for someone,” he told the group he had picked up back in Midway. “What did Maron look like again?” he asked Roxie, who was generally good with faces.

“Blonde hair, blue eyes, bearded.”

“Blonde hair, blue eyes, bearded,” he relayed to his animates. “Once you find him, if you find him…” Sterling turned to Roxie and smiled at her. “You got some old guns these fellows can borrow? I’m talking ones that can be left behind, just pieces you might have picked up and were hoarding. Make sure they’re loaded and ready to go. I’m going to leave these animates out here when we’re done.”

“You mean zombies?” Zephyr asked.

“You say tomato, I say tomatillo…”

Roxie exchanged glances with Zephyr, who floated in the air with her arms crossed over her chest. “Did you call me a hoarder?” asked the female gunner.

“I don’t remember.”

“I’m not a hoarder, I’m a collector.”

“That’s what they all say. Now, get out some guns.” Sterling returned his focus to his animates. “If you find him, I want you to fire your gun into the air. If you come across anyone, try not to kill them unless they try to kill you first. Any amalgamations you may stumble upon, do what you can.”

Roxie equipped one looted handgun after another, and after making sure they were loaded, she handed them off to Sterling’s six animates. Paco, who stood nearby, seemed more and more apprehensive as the undead took the weapons that had been assigned to them.

“Don’t worry,” Roxie said, misinterpreting the way he was looking at her, “I’ve got better weapons.”

Sterling laughed. “I think he’s more worried about who we are giving these weapons to than how you originally came to possess them.”

“Is there anything else?” one of the male animates asked. The two necromancers had mostly killed people in ways that made them presentable, no visible marks. They had been clean about it, which made these ones look even more presentable, definitely a troubling visual.

“If you do find him, or anyone with him, you tell him that we are here to rescue him, Roxie, the Sunflower Kid, me, Sterling. Same people from White Sands. Try not to scare him, and above all else, don’t shoot him.”

The animates nodded and shuffled away.

“The more I see this idea playing out in my head, the worse I think it will turn out. If one of those things approached me while I was, you know, I would probably try to fight back,” said Paco, referring to how they had discovered him outside of the Bonneville Salt Flats.

“Yep, and if that’s the case, we will hear it. Well, hopefully. Zee, it’s your turn.”

The wind began to whip all around them as she dramatically lifted into the air, a grin on her face. Zephyr knew it wasn’t necessary, but it was clear that she also sensed that Roxie was watching her, which was why she did a complete twirl as if she were a ballerina before finally zipping away.

“She is so extra,” Roxie said with disgust as she also began to float herself. “So unnecessarily extra. Anyway. I’m going to get to higher ground and see what I can discover with my scope. I won’t be flying around, not with all the wind that she’s going to be kicking up, but I’m sure there’s a cliff or something that I can use to get a better perspective. I’ll shoot my weapon as well if I find him; if this goes into the night, I have flares.”

“Maybe this can help to some degree,” the Sunflower Kid said as she approached a small shrub. She turned back to Sterling and cocked her head to the left. “You’ve never seen me do this before, have you?”

“You haven’t done it yet,” said Sterling.

A small stem grew out of the tip of her finger, one that merged with the shrub, Sterling watching as it pressed itself smooth with the surface of the plant, becoming one. The Sunflower Kid crouched next to it. “This may take me a second.”

“Wait, it’s just like my Death Whisper power or… or my new one, Osteomancy. What you’re doing…”

She nodded. “What you can do with the dead, I can do with the living.”

“Shee-it, I only wish you had said something earlier before everyone ran off.”

“I’m just trying to make it easier. First, I will find out if there has been anyone here…” Her eyes softened. “There has. The last time this person interacted with any of the plant life was…” She pointed toward the peak on the left. “That direction. We need to go in that direction.” The Sunflower Kid stood, and brought her hand to her side, the stem she’d created still dangling from her palm.

“In that case, let’s see what we can find out,” said Sterling. “All ears, y’all. Maron could be anywhere on this here mountain.”

The arrows and other markings that the Before People had painted on rocks to assist hikers came in handy, Sterling, Paco, and the Sunflower Kid finding a relatively smooth pathway forward, one that didn’t force them to climb any large rocks or deal with anything too difficult to navigate.

They moved at a vigorous pace, Sterling and Paco taking turns shouting for Maron. Sterling didn’t much care how much attention they brought upon themselves; he just wanted to find the technomancer so they could continue south. It was his hope to reach Monument Valley over the next few days and do what must be done. The night he’d had with Roxie in Moab, a semblance of what could be, had truly lit a fire under Sterling’s ass, the cowboy necromancer ready to bring this leg of their journey to its conclusion.

The three gradually experienced a shift in altitude, the land around them splashed in hardy juniper trees and rocks, the clouds overhead still obscuring the peak of Mount Tuk. As the trees began fading away, Sterling spotted a set of bones. They looked fresh, a trekker’s bag torn apart on the ground next to the skeleton, a few tufts of blonde hair, matted, still attached to the man’s skull, bits of flesh still visible and partially blackened.

“Is that him?” Paco asked.

“No idea,” said Sterling, “but I have a way to find out.”

It came naturally to him as he crouched in front of the bones and sent his hand out to the man’s exposed rib, Sterling’s fingers grazing against the surface. His eyes naturally fell shut, images reaching him in a series of flashes, Osteomancy powerful enough to cause him to fall backward.

Short breaths did little to calm his nerves as he felt the Sunflower Kid come to him, Sterling seeing his own arms and feet in front of him, running from something sinister. He could no longer separate reality from the series of fleeting images, a huge force hitting him from behind, Sterling finally turning to see an enormous bear of a creature with the skeletal head of a cow, one with curved horns.

Oddly enough, the experience reminded him of the hallucinatory seed he had consumed the previous night.

“Open your eyes,” said the Sunflower Kid, Sterling not certain of how many times she had told him this now.

He blinked his eyes open, and slowly started to catch his breath, knowing exactly what happened. The man had died from being mauled to death by a bear amalgamation, Sterling recalling the term that the Chronicler had given the sort of creature.

“Grizzly beast…” He motioned toward the bones. “A dang grizzly beast killed him, and other animals picked him apart.”

Inspired by his vision, Sterling moved to the other side of the skeleton and found evidence of impact with a pair of horns, the bone cracked away. He could see it all now, the man swept into the air and onto his back, trampled, more evidence in the claw marks and concussed points of the skeleton’s thicker bones.

“Was it Maron?” asked the Sunflower Kid.

“No,” Sterling said, not quite certain of how he knew this. He felt an intimacy with these bones now, and while he didn’t know the man’s name, something told him that it wasn’t the technomancer, that the skeleton belonged to someone else.

Paco offered Sterling his hand. “Do you need help?”

“We need to keep going. That amalgamation… it’s… it’s still around here somewhere.”

“It’s…”

Sterling followed Paco’s eyes to a low ridgeline. The grizzly beast stood on its two back legs, the bear’s body easily eight feet tall, and the creature had its cow skull tilted down as if it were observing them.

“Shee-it…” Sterling hopped to his feet and drew his revolver.

The grizzly beast took the hint, and dropped down onto its two front legs as it charged in their direction, faster than any amalgamation he had ever seen before.

The Sunflower Kid barely had a chance to lift a vine from the ground, and it wasn’t big enough to disrupt the amalgamation’s trajectory as it tore through her plant construct, Sterling firing as many shots as he could in a short amount of time.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

He dove out of the way, tackling Paco in the process, only to have his body warmed to the point that it felt like he was being burned from the inside. He had disrupted the solimancer, who’d been concentrating on the ground, Sterling understanding exactly what he was wanting to do.

“Sorry about that, amigo!” Sterling said as he instinctively floated into the air. He didn’t like doing it, but he needed to get some space between him and the grizzly beast, who had just started to turn, once again rising onto its feet as it prepared to pounce on Paco.

A plant with a club-like hardwood end piece struck the grizzly beast in the side, preventing it from landing on Paco.

The Hopi youth rolled out of the way, something remarkable happening as he moved. It was as if he had shed his skin, a remnant of Paco left behind him, one that was glowing with light.

A heat construct…

Paco’s heat construct dove straight into the grizzly beast, the monstrosity writhing in pain as it fell to the ground and began to roll onto its back. It recovered, but by this point Paco had conjured another, which he sent directly at the amalgamation.

That wasn’t all. Glowing appendages had lifted out of Paco’s back, reminding Sterling of how the Sunflower Kid could use her vines. Even though it was light outside, he could see them almost burning with fire as they formed into a series of sharpened tips and plunged into the grizzly beast’s chest.

The Sunflower Kid acted next, vines and limbs wrapping around the amalgamation’s arms and legs. They began to move in the opposite direction, the grizzly beast struggling as its body was lit from the inside and simultaneously ripped to shreds. One of its legs was the first limb to go, torn off at the bone, white on fleshy, blood-soaked red.

The smell of seared flesh layered in what almost resembled boiling fat reached Sterling’s nostrils. The amalgamation was not only torn apart, it was also heated to a crisp, the cowboy necromancer simply holding back in the end and watching it all unfold.

“Damn, son,” he told Paco once the creature was dead. “You really have leveled up, haven’t you?”

“Yes…”

Sterling placed his hand on Paco’s shoulder and noticed that his clothing was hot to the touch. The young man’s slightly brown skin covered up just how flushed he was, but Sterling could tell that using his powers in this way did put some strain on him.

Movement in the sky caught Sterling’s attention, a wind whipping by as Zephyr appeared. The fairy-like aeromancer lowered, the ends of her ballerina skirt lifting and revealing that she was wearing a pair of modified athletic shorts beneath, black with armored plates on the thighs.

“I was wondering what all that commotion was,” she said after she landed. Her nose twitched. “And that smell…”

Sterling summoned his bag of tobacco and quickly rolled up a cigarette as Zephyr looked from the amalgamation to the skeleton on the ground.

“It’s not him, Zee,” Sterling said as he placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. “The guy was killed by this here grizzly beast.”

“I can see that. And of course it’s not him. We already found him, Roxie and me. Beep is there as well.”

“Y’all found Maron?” Sterling asked, raising his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you give the signal?”

“I figured it would be easier to find you myself.”

“How’s he doing? Is he with people?” asked Paco.

“No, he’s dead.”

“Come again?” Sterling asked.

“I think he’s dead.”

Sterling glanced at the Sunflower Kid. “Do you think you could do something about that? I know we haven’t really tested that power of yours out yet, but…”

The teenage biomancer bit her lip. “I don’t know. It usually only works on the recently deceased, at least from my experience. But I can try.”

“I guess that’s all we really can do in the end,” Sterling said, not able to stop himself from shaking his head. “Lizard eat lizard.”

Sterling didn’t like heights, and he certainly hated flying, yet he knew it was the easiest way to move to a new location, especially with the sheer size of Mount Tukuhnikivatz and the snow-covered peak next to it. Roxie and Beep were clearly on the other side, which would have taken them hours to reach by foot.

It was the practical thing to do.

The wind whipped against his face, Sterling with his cowboy hat in his inventory list, his eyes clenched shut as the ends of his black duster twisted all around him. He thanked his lucky stars once Zephyr set him down, equilibrium a thing to be appreciated, solid earth his best friend. The Sunflower Kid landed next him, Paco as well, the Hopi youth so tense his hands were shaking, his teeth practically chattering.

“God bless.” Sterling removed his cowboy hat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Every time I got to do something like that, I instantly regret it.” He squinted, everything around him reorienting for a moment, the ground adding a sense of much-needed stability, his knotted stomach loosening until finally he sighed audibly. “Well? Where the hell is he?”

Zephyr yawned, stretching both hands above her head. “Right in front of your eyes.”

He glanced to a small alcove to find Roxie crouched in front of a body, Sterling instantly recognizing Maron, his blonde hair, his thin form, his five o’clock shadow. The man was in a jean jacket with a shearling collar, a pair of black jeans covering his legs, his body surprisingly preserved, yet to be picked over by any scavenging animals.

That’s odd…

Sterling summoned his cowboy hat and placed it over his chest, bowing his head to some degree. “I wonder how long he has been dead.”

The Sunflower Kid approached next, a solemn expression on her face as she lowered onto her knees. Her eyes darted from Maron’s face to a small, portable boombox next to his head, one that Sterling hadn’t seen upon first glance.

“Well?” Sterling asked. “Anything you can do for him?”

“I wonder why he didn’t just fly down.” Paco turned to the south, to the base of Mount Tukuhnikivatz. “I’m not a big fan of heights, as you all may know by now, but it doesn’t seem that far down.”

“Maybe he didn’t leave here for the same reason you didn’t leave the spot where we found you,” said Roxie. “If I recall, you were keeping to a mountain as well.”

“I thought…” Paco bit his lip. “I thought it was part of the ritual. But this, if he knew he wasn’t going to make it…”

“People do all sorts of strange shit all the time. Who knows why he just curled up and died here, unless…” Sterling placed his cowboy hat back on his head. “Does he have any injuries?”

Roxie cracked her knuckles. “Not that I can tell. I came upon him like this.”

“What do you think, Strawberry?” Sterling asked the miniature Godwalker.

<Beep. Beep.>

“No, huh?”

<Beep.>

“Yup, my thoughts exactly. It don’t make no sense, and you don’t make no sense. So no injuries, no signs of struggle?” he asked Zephyr, who was still floating in the vicinity. He’d already taken a quick look at the rocks around Maron’s body. Had the technomancer gone up against a mancer or an amalgamation, there would have been signs.

There would have likely been less of him as well…

“I didn’t see any. But I think it has snowed up here in the last day or two, at least based on the runoff.” She pointed to some of the rocks, which were still slick with water. “There was that rainstorm the other day. Maybe it was worse up here.”

“Dang.” Sterling began looking around for a place to dig a grave. “I was really hoping…” He turned his focus to the Godwalker yet again. “I know you’re the one that brought us all together here in Deseret, but you think you could have maybe put us a bit closer together, and on the same timeline? Hell, some of us were weeks apart. There’s no telling when Maron arrived on this here mountain. I ain’t blaming you,” he told the small Godwalker as it began to tilt forward, as if it were lowering its head in shame.

“Yes, you are,” said the Sunflower Kid. “This isn’t Strawberry’s fault.”

“Actually, it sort of is,” said Roxie. “For some reason, this damn thing brought us all here, including Maron and, for that matter, Don Gasper’s crazy ass, who—”

“—Don’t you go saying he’s useless,” Sterling told her, coming to the old shaman’s defense. “We wouldn’t be here on this mountain were it not for the vision he helped me with. It was Gasper through me who led us here to Maron, even if he is dead.”

“Maybe,” was all she said in reply.

“No maybe about it. We would still be looking for him had it not been for Ol’ Gasper. At least we can give the man a proper burial. No sense in leaving him out and letting the animals pick at his carcass.”

Roxie took a few paces away from the body, and crossed her arms over her chest. “At least we found him. Maybe you’re right. Maybe.”

“Why is there a boombox near his head?” asked Paco. “Am I the only one that is wondering why he has a boombox? That’s what that thing is called, right?”

“I think so, or stereo or something. Y’all ever listened to one before? I mean, now, not before the Reset. Of course you’ve heard a stereo system before.”

“I haven’t,” Paco told him.

“I have,” Zephyr told Sterling. “The Kid too. They have that movie set-up in Albuquerque, at the old theater. We’ve heard it.”

“Rox?” he asked the female gunner.

“A few times, yes. I don’t like listening to the music of the past. It makes me feel…” She didn’t finish the statement, but Sterling knew good and well what she was referring to. He had felt it before as well, the way the music reminded him of something that he couldn’t remember, this feeling that he should know the song or the tune, that at one point the song may have even meant something to him. He hated that disconnect when it came to music. It frustrated him to the point of tears, some of the songs he had heard so close to pressing through the wall that separated Sterling from his past that he could almost feel it.

It was too much.

Zephyr shrugged. “Maybe he died listening to his favorite song. That’s what I would have done if I was a technomancer.”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess there are worse ways to go,” Sterling finally said with a sad smile. “He could have gone like that feller that was mauled to death by the grizzly beast back there, the one the Sunflower Kid here killed. Y’all should have seen them two,” he said, motioning from Paco to the Sunflower Kid. “They made a good team. I just stood back and watched. Y’all brought it.”

“Thanks.”

“Did anyone notice he was holding the electrical cord of the stereo?” Paco asked.

The Sunflower Kid looked up to him. “I was wondering about that…”

Sure enough, the electrical cord ran beneath Maron’s body and was clutched tightly in his other hand. There was something else off about the whole situation, something that Sterling only picked up on when he came closer to the body. It wasn’t exhibiting signs of rigor mortis, nor was it bloated or anything of the sort.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had become somewhat of an expert on what the dead looked like over the last five years. And this body didn’t look dead.

“Something ain’t right here,” he finally said, wishing he had pre-rolled a cigarette that he could smoke while he thought about what exactly wasn’t right. Sometimes it helped him think. “Beep, Strawberry, whatever, I got a question for you.”

<Beep?>

“Is Maron here alive?”

<Beep.>

It was an affirmative answer, one that he was familiar with.

“Are you sure?”

<Beep.>

“Impossible,” said Roxie. “I checked his pulse.”

The Sunflower Kid looked back at the boombox, her head tilting a bit as she observed the buttons on top. “Do you think…?”

She pressed the power button, and as soon as she did, a burst of static emitted from the tiny speakers.

“Is… is someone there?” a voice asked.

“Hot damn!” Sterling clapped his hands together. “Is that you in there, Maron? How in the hell?”

“W-who…? I recognize your voice. I can’t… W-who are you?”

“Shee-it, it’s me, Sterling, the same guy who blasted your ass out of that prison in White Sands.”

“S-Sterling?”

“Maron, it’s me, it’s us. Stop your stuttering and remember who we are. You know us, amigo, we took down that Godwalker together.”

“Yes… I…”

“How are you in the stereo?”

“He’s a technomancer, son,” Sterling told the Hopi youth. “Not that that really answers it, but it sort of answers it for me. Maron, you put yourself in that there stereo, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes I did.”

“Can you take yourself out?” the Sunflower Kid asked.

“I’m not really a survivalist,” Maron admitted. “I was on this mountain for weeks, and I went through most of the food and water in my inventory list. There was still water around here, but I didn’t find any game. So I figured I would do this to stay alive.”

“So you transferred yourself to a boombox?” Sterling asked. “To preserve your body, right?”

“That’s right.”

Sterling started to laugh, Zephyr joining in. “That is the dumbest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard. You really don’t know nothing about surviving, do you?”

“Why would I know anything about that? I’m a technomancer, one that mostly stayed in Albuquerque after the Reset. Not only am I able to power things, but I keep objects in my inventory list that I can use for things like warming up food, entertainment, all those kinds of things. When I was in Albuquerque, it was fairly easy to trade my skills for food and other supplies.”

“And you can transfer yourself back to your body, right?”

“I can, yes.”

“So just to be clear here,” Sterling said as he glanced from the boombox to Roxie, who was currently shaking her head. “Your plan was to live inside a little stereo until someone found your body, is that right?”

“I guess, yes. Maybe it wasn’t a great plan.”

“I’ll get to that part. What if a coyote found your body here or, I don’t know, a wolf? Heaven forbid an amalgamation.”

“Then I would just have to exist like this,” Maron said in a tone that told Sterling that this wasn’t something that was out of the question for the man. “Have you ever actually interacted with a technomancer? Do you know—I don’t mean to sound rude or defensive here, considering I’ve been trapped inside this ‘little stereo’ as you call it for at least a week—but do you actually know what people like me are capable of?”

“No,” Sterling said, suddenly feeling a hint of foolishness come on. “I just thought y’all could communicate with electronics and whatnot.”

“And electricity, and…” Maron sighed, his voice swelling with static. “It gets complicated. But I figured this would be the best way to preserve my body.”

“That don’t make no sense to me.”

“No, it makes…” Roxie approached Maron’s body again. “It makes sense. You come back to your body daily, right? To eat or drink what little food you have left. Then you transfer your electric form…”

“Are we talking about his soul?” Paco asked.

“There is no soul in the way that people generally understand it,” Maron said flatly. “Everything is electric, everything is energy. But yes, you can call it my soul, or if it helps, ‘electric soul’ is the term I use. And yes, Roxie, was it? I remember meeting you, but we really didn’t have a chance to really introduce ourselves. And there was another one…”

“The Sunflower Kid,” said Sterling. “She’s here too. To catch you up, and there’s going to be plenty of that over the next few hours, but to do so briefly: we were all transported here by a miniature Godwalker who I call Beep, but the others call Strawberry.”

“Did you say a miniature Godwalker?”

“Sounds scarier than it is. Ol’ Beep here has become a good friend of mine, ain’t that right, Beep?”

<Beep!>

“And if you are wondering where here is, the locals call it Deseret, and I guess that sort of makes sense considering most of the place we’ve seen is, or could be classified as adjacent to, a desert. But it is actually Utah, well, what was once the state of Utah. That’s where we all are. All of us were teleported here, and by all of us I mean the people I need for what happens next.”

“Which is?”

“Why don’t you come on out of that little stereo of yours and talk to us mano y mano? It’s weird enough I have to talk to Beep here; I’d rather talk to you face-to-face. Plus, we got food and water, whatever you may need. Not only that, we got people waiting for us back at a place called the Hole ‘N’ the Rock. So what do you say, amigo? You ready to quit dragging your feet around this here mountain and seize your destiny, or what?”

Maron’s electric soul transfer skill, or however he had explained it, reminded Sterling of one of his animates coming alive. The body was still, and then suddenly it wasn’t, Maron blinking his eyes open, a bit bewildered as he took in his surroundings, most notably the miniature Godwalker.

“What… what are you doing with that thing?” he asked in a thin voice, his throat clearly parched as he examined the alien craft.

“I done already told you it was here, so don’t be too alarmed. And that’s another part of the story that we’re going to have to get into. Welcome back, by the way,” Sterling told him. “Glad you could make it. This Godwalker here, which has two names at the moment, Strawberry or Beep—call it whatever you’d like—is the one that brought us all here.”

Maron’s eyes began to trace with code, which was something Sterling had seen him do before. He squinted and suddenly stopped, letting out a little gasp as he did so.

“What is it?” asked Paco.

“I… sorry… I have a headache. Hungry…”

“Let’s get you some food, compadre,” Sterling told the technomancer.

They slowly nursed Maron back to health over the next thirty minutes, giving him enough time to get his head on straight, the man in a similar condition that Paco had been when Sterling and Roxie had first come across him.

The group filled him in on what had happened up to that point, Sterling going over most of the details, from how each of them had appeared in Deseret at different times, to some of the situations they had gotten into as they continued toward Monument Valley, necromancers and cultists and bandits and newfangled amalgamations. It was quite the tale, Sterling taking it upon himself to explain what they planned to do once they reached the valley itself.

“… Destroy the Terminal,” Maron said, slowly nodding, his eyes half shut as a vein pulsed on the side of his head.

“Bingo. And I expect that there will be some resistance. Plus, it might take these two,” he said, gesturing from Zephyr to Paco, “some time to disrupt whatever is charging these ‘Walkers.”

“It’s a suicide mission.”

“It is,” said Roxie, “but that’s what we have all signed up for.”

One by one, each of the members of the group nodded, starting with Sterling, then the Sunflower Kid, Paco, and Zephyr. Even Beep made its presence known.

<Beep.>

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“No, that’s not exactly true. You have a choice, amigo, but you need to make it now. Because once we get down there, there ain’t going to be time for no second-guessing. We either go forward as a team and do what needs to be done, or…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

“If you aren’t coming with us, we’re going to leave you here,” Zephyr said flatly, Roxie making a noise with her throat to indicate that she agreed. “For some reason, you weren’t brave enough to come down this mountain yourself; so maybe we will leave you for the next person to find. I don’t know. But you need to make a decision now. This isn’t something that you’re going to be able to change your mind about.”

“I never said I was going to change my mind,” Maron told her, growing defensive. “What was your name again?”

“Zephyr. People call me Zee.”

Maron exhaled audibly. “For the record, Zee, I can be somewhat timid, but… but none of you really know what I’ve been through, or what I know about these things. You haven’t seen,” he said, his voice tinged in fear. “A lot of it is hard for me to put into words, but what I’m trying to say here is—and I’m sorry it’s a roundabout way—I’m ready. Or better, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Sterling offered the technomancer his hand. “That’s all we needed to hear, amigo. Welcome to the team. Now, let’s git.”

Getting down from Mount Tuk wasn’t going to be too difficult considering Zephyr’s power, but the base didn’t seem too far away, and Sterling wasn’t in the mood to fly again if he didn’t have to. So most of them ended up walking, knowing that they were wasting daylight, but also well aware that by the time they got back to the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, supper would likely be ready and they could set off in the morning.

No sense in rushing back.

Paco walked with Sterling, as did the Sunflower Kid, Beep, and Maron, Roxie taking to the air, the aeromancer handling flights so neither had to use their mana. They wound their way down the mountain, Sterling coming to understand the new part of his blood magic power, one that hadn’t happened before. The six animates that he had called forth and sent out with weapons all met him in the woods as if he had summoned them, taking the others off guard.

“It’s like you are telepathically linked with them,” said Paco.

“Something like that.” Sterling sent the animates that he had picked up in Midway back to his inventory list after collecting their guns, which he planned to get back to Roxie.

As they continued on, he thought about what Maron had been able to do. What did it mean to be alive when someone could simply transfer their soul, their being itself, to an electronic object? What were the extents of his powers?

Smoking a cigarette, enjoying the walk down, the altitude slowly changing, Sterling wondered about these things, knowing full well that even if the mancers he teamed up with trusted one another, everyone sort of kept their stats and techniques to themselves.

Did this need to change?

Likely so.

If they were going to work together, it was probably best for them to know exactly what they were capable of. Then again, he also got the feeling that their lives had been stripped from them in a way, their identities, everything up until the Reset. Maybe holding on to what they were able to do was natural, an odd gesture of both remembrance and privacy.

The Sunflower Kid handed out apples and pears, which they gladly ate, Sterling feeling refreshed by the time they reached Roxie and Zephyr. The female gunner was already seated in the driver’s seat of the dune buggy, Zephyr cross-legged on the ground.

“Took us long enough,” Sterling said once no one responded to their appearance.

This statement caused Zephyr to laugh, the aeromancer lifting into the air. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sterling hopped in the front passenger seat while Paco, Maron, and the Sunflower Kid filed into the back. “Here are your guns.” He placed them on the dashboard, and Roxie sent each piece to her inventory list.

She keyed the ignition, heading back toward the highway and to the Hole ‘N’ the Rock from there. The ride back was a bit nauseating until they reached the road proper, Roxie again keeping to the shoulder, Zephyr overhead, the miniature Godwalker whistling through the breeze behind them.

The beautiful views, the taste of fruit on his lips, satisfaction with finding the final team member—Sterling was in hog heaven. Everything seemed to be going to plan, but then Roxie swerved to the left, Zephyr lowering next to the dune buggy as she skidded to a halt.

<Beep!>

“Shee-it…” Sterling noticed the commotion in the distance, motorcycles and fire, calamity at the Hole ‘N’ the Rock.

“It’s them,” said Paco. “It’s the Comanche.”

.Chapter Five.

Sterling didn’t know what a post-apocalyptic Comanche would look like, but he was not at all surprised to see a few of them on motorcycles, the others with flames ripping from their palms as they attacked the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, at least two of them pyromancers, another a cryomancer evident in the glacial spikes tearing from the soil.

Roxie took off toward the fight, moving at her top pace, Zephyr twisting forward as well, followed by Beep.

“Let’s go!” Sterling shouted as he summoned Manchester, his skeletal steed taking shape just about the time he threw his modified saddle onto the horse’s back. “Maron, stay here and hold down the fort, dune buggy, whatever. Shit! Kid, let’s go!” he said, reaching down for the Sunflower Kid. “Keep up!” he told Paco.

Sterling galloped ahead on his bone horse, the Sunflower Kid holding his waist with one arm, dragging more and more vines behind her that began to cut into the asphalt and the stone. By the time they reached the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, she had a proverbial tidal wave of rock she had ripped up, the strength of Sterling’s horse plus her natural ability making this feat one that seemed almost too easy.

The stones she had been dragging hit the airwaves, Zephyr taking over and using them as projectiles, the Sunflower Kid leaping off Sterling’s horse and floating just before she touched the ground. He reared up, and began firing his pistol at one of the motorcycle-riding Comanche, Sterling’s shots causing the man to lose his bike, Beep sounding off as well with an epic blast of energy. They had to act quick; he assumed that the Comanche had used the element of surprise, and now it was their turn.

The dust cleared as Sterling hopped off his bone horse, the cowboy necromancer getting his first glance at the post-apocalyptic Comanche in what he assumed was their battle garb. His opponent was thin, the man’s face smeared in black paint, buffalo horns jutting out of his hat, long feathers dangling over his ears. Muscled and sinewy, the Comanche warrior was already running towards Sterling, a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. Losing his wheels from beneath him had done little to stop his opponent’s charge.

Click, click, boom!

Sterling would have lost his leg had it not been for the Sunflower Kid, who had erected a barrier between the two, one which he quickly took cover behind.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

He fired his gun around the other side, another blast from the Comanche shotgun kicking splinters into the air. The man launched himself over the barrier, now gripping a jagged tactical knife, one with strips of leather and beads hanging from its grip. He lunged for Sterling; the cowboy necromancer continued firing his revolver as he went for his sickle-sword.

Turquoise energy radiating off the blade, Sterling swept the curved weapon toward the Comanche, who gritted his teeth as he jumped backward, his eyes completely red, Sterling recognizing by the fact that he hadn’t conjured any of his powers that he wasn’t a mancer.

Bam!

Sterling finally hit his mark.

The man gargled blood as he fell to his knees, Sterling slipping around his opponent and slitting his throat from there. He accessed his inventory list, and summoned the animates he had picked up back in Midway.

“Stop them,” he said quickly, “and find Don Gasper and the Chronicler. A bearded man with a bucket hat, a… shaman. You’ll know when you see them.”

His animates took off, Sterling ducking just as a giant plume of fire whooshed over his head, one that was quickly followed by a spear of ice.

Damn, damn, damn… Sterling thought as he tore off toward the commotion.

The adrenaline had a way of blurring his periphery, a manic panic swelling within him as more fire hit the air, as the ground shifted, as he heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. There were cries of anger, surprise, the air now filling with smoke and debris, dust, Sterling happening upon one of the attackers, her face painted black like the others, the woman on the ground nursing a wound across her abdomen, blood and intestines already fumbling through her fingers.

Bam!

Sterling ended her suffering.

He damn sure didn’t want to make war with the Comanche, nor did he want to end up on their radar. They needed to make sure none of them got away, and what mattered now was finding Don Gasper and the Chronicler, and hopefully the Christiansens, the family that lived there.

With this in mind, Sterling sheathed his sword and turned toward the enormous rock itself. He was going to have to make his way inside, where it was thick with smoke and drenched in frantic terror. Sterling heard muffled cries just about as soon as he reached the entrance, which he was only able to navigate to by keeping his back against the enormous entrada sandstone and steadily pressing forward.

With a deep breath in to steady his nerves, Sterling plunged straight into one of the entrances, colliding with yet another Comanche, this one a man carrying a custom-made axe. The two slammed into the dining room table, Sterling immediately firing several shots into the man’s stomach.

He was thrown off and slammed into the rock ceiling, the man an absolute powerhouse. Yet his bullet wounds were deep, and by the point Sterling hit the ground, the man was already down to one knee, both hands on his stomach.

“Y’all shouldn’t have done this,” Sterling said through gritted teeth, the smoke now scraping against the inside of his throat.

Bam!

He finished the job and pressed on, coughing now, trying to cover his mouth with his arm as he kept his revolver up. The ground quaked yet again, the sound of rock on rock telling him that one of them, perhaps the Sunflower Kid, was doing something big outside.

He pushed deeper into the Rock, second-guessing every step he had taken thus far, feeling lost, the smoke and darkness of the place getting to him. The calamity of it all.

Another Comanche came charging out of the shadows, this one missing his horned headgear, his face smeared with black, eyes white and reflective, flames on the other side of the room dancing across them. Sterling fired a shot and missed as the man tackled him.

His opponent was fast, his punch dislocating Sterling’s jaw. This only enraged the cowboy necromancer as he managed to wedge his knee up, and turn his revolver around—Bam!—the man’s brains blew out of the back of his head, the rapport loud enough to leave Sterling’s ears ringing, everything even more disrupted than it had been moments ago.

He had to press on. Stumbling to his feet, Sterling began to find bodies, children and a woman, a man, the Christiansens, and then…

No.

It was Don Gasper, splayed out, the orange light of the encroaching flames showing a death mask, Gasper with his mouth agape, his arms spread wide, covering something.

“Dammit, dammit!” Sterling shouted even though his voice was hoarse.

“S-Sterling?”

The voice belonged to the Chronicler, who was lying on his side and bleeding out, Sterling interpreting by the way they were positioned that Don Gasper had protected him in the end.

“Got to get you two… out of here…”

“He saved me…” the Chronicler said on the tail end of a whimper. “If it weren’t for him… for Gasper…”

“Got to…” Sterling sent his gun back to its holster. He proceeded to lift Don Gasper over his shoulder, and then reached down to the Chronicler, offering the man his hand.

“My legs are shattered… just… just go.”

“Hell no, hell no, I ain’t…” Sterling said, feeling even stronger, realizing now what he had to do. Gasper had saved the Chronicler for a reason. “Just drag your feet, it’ll hurt… I’ll… I’ll do the rest.”

Gasper over one shoulder, Sterling crouched and waited for the Chronicler to place his arm over his shoulders. He wrapped his hand around the older man’s belly and began scooting toward the exit, or at least where he thought the exit was, everything blackened or burning, embers glowing red hot, the world on fire, the smoke thick. He didn’t think he was going to make it; he was starting to feel lost when an arc of dusty light caught his attention, Sterling invigorated once again.

He reached the exit of the cavernous home and kept going.

He kept going.

Sterling collapsed about thirty feet away from the Hole ‘N’ the Rock, still in the cracked parking lot, not far from the now overturned bull statue made of saddles and scrap metal.

He couldn’t breathe.

Sterling rolled onto his back, his hands on his ribcage as he tried to suck in air. Come on… he thought, wishing his Resolve could kick in even faster. Come on… He’d inhaled a lot of smoke, his lungs on fire, Sterling tasting blood as he gasped for air.

Suddenly, he could breathe again, his vision shifting as he drew his mana-powered revolver and sat up. He’d lost a few good minutes in the fight, crucial minutes, Sterling feeling as if he’d failed his companions somehow.

What was once a battleground was now silent aside from the crackle of flames. The smoke outside had mostly cleared and the dust had settled.

The Sunflower Kid turned to him, Paco not far off, a laceration across his face. Still with her weapon drawn, Roxie appeared from behind a smaller boulder and slipped over to Sterling, motioning with her chin for him to stand. Beep appeared as well.

<Beep…>

“Yeah… I’m…” Sterling dropped his head, feeling a wave of guilt rush over him.

Had they gotten there just twenty minutes before, things would have been different. Had he not taken the long way down the mountain, had they briefed Maron later—any combination of those two things would have put them back at the Hole ‘N’ the Rock with enough time to fight off the Comanche.

Sterling had failed, and not only that, he had lost a damn good friend in the process, a spiritual guide.

The wind whipped up around them as Zephyr landed. The aeromancer had an absolutely exhausted look on her face. She stumbled forward and ended up using Roxie’s shoulder for support, much to the female gunner’s chagrin.

“Why aren’t you going after them?” Roxie asked, her eyes twitching as she tried to refrain from glaring at Zephyr. “They’re getting away.”

“I can’t catch them.”

“And… and you won’t be able to…” Sterling said as he finally got to his feet. “That’s how they did it back then, and that’s apparently…” He spat and wiped his mouth. “Looks like that’s how they’ll do it now.”

Roxie shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“The Comanche were never… they weren’t the type to fight to the death. Ain’t no sense in it. If their ambush worked… it worked, and they took what they could, killed who needed to be killed. If it didn’t… they skedaddled, they left,” Sterling said, feeling better by the second. Paco and the Sunflower Kid approached, the two tuning in to what he was saying. “The American settlers couldn’t figure this out at the time… why they didn’t stay and fight… if that makes sense. What I’m trying to say is that it looks like they’re operating the same way now.”

“How many got away?” Paco asked Zephyr. “Did you see?”

“Three. All on flectomancer-enhanced motorcycles. Never seen any move that fast. They already had a head start and I tried sending a tornado after them but…” She pressed off from Roxie’s shoulder. “I failed.”

Sterling swept his hand toward Don Gasper. “You didn’t fail, I failed. You all right, Dusty?” he asked the Chronicler, who was now seated, blood smeared across his bearded face, his bucket hat disheveled.

“We have to get word back to Moab that the Comanche are in this region.”

“I can see that. But the first thing we need to do…” Sterling dropped in front of Don Gasper and summoned a pocket knife and an empty jug bottle from his inventory list. He also recalled the mana powering the animates he had dispersed earlier, sensing they were no longer in any shape to fight. “Gasper,” he told the corpse, “I’m going to get as much of your blood as I can. Kid, I’ll need your help. Rox, can you go and check on Maron, maybe bring the dune buggy around? I got a feeling it’d be best for us to get on the road sooner than not. Zee?”

“Yeah?”

“Like Dusty here said, I need you to head to Moab and let them know what happened here.”

Thick wooden vines wrapped around Don Gasper’s legs, another portion supporting his body as the plant construct lifted the old shaman in the air to drain as much blood as he could.

It pained Sterling to make that first cut, but he swallowed the notion that this was all his fault, knowing that dwelling on what happened would only make things worse. First they’d get his blood, then they’d talk to him and figure out how he wanted to be buried.

Draining the blood became Sterling’s only focus, and in the end, he was able to nearly fill the jug. Leave it to a post-apocalyptic pepper farmer who was often mistaken for a cowboy to be carrying a jug of shaman blood in his inventory list, but this was what things had come to, and Sterling knew they could tumble further downhill at any point.

“Got us some Gasper for later,” he said, still trying to cope with the old man’s death through a poor attempt at humor. But it didn’t land, and no one laughed or made any indication that they’d even heard him. Sterling returned his focus to the suspended body, where a bit of blood had dripped onto the ground. “Here goes nothing.”

Using his Death Whisper ability took six mana points, and as soon as he stretched his hand over the blood the surface of the small puddle began to boil, Don Gasper’s face taking shape.

“Que horrible,” the face said. “I’m dead, aren’t I? Vaquero nigromante… you have summoned me, no?”

“Shit, Gasper,” Sterling said, feeling tears come on as he looked at the bloody face. “This…” He settled his breath, not wanting to admit fault, to rip open a wound that hadn’t even had the chance to mend itself. “It’s me, you’re right, Sterling, and yes, I’m afraid to say it, but you ain’t one of the living no more.”

Gasper’s blood form started to laugh, shocking everyone who was watching. “Ha! It’s about time! This is what we all have waited for, no? You seem sad, amigo. Are you sad to see me go?”

“Gasper, I ain’t here to talk to my therapist; I’m here… I’m here to figure out what happened, and also ask you how you want to be buried.”

“—I’m sorry to interrupt,” said the Chronicler, “but I just want to thank you for saving me back there. From the bottom of my heart, Mr. Gasper, thank you.”

“Eh? That’s right… that’s right. I did something good in the end. Ha! It was nothing, those idiotas wouldn’t have killed me had we not been trapped in that pinche Rock. I should have listened, you know.”

“Listened to what?” Sterling asked.

“To the voice at the back of my head last night telling me to go with you to the mountain, to find the technomancer. But no, I am a stubborn old man, so I stayed behind.”

“You protected me,” said the Chronicler.

“Yes, yes, maybe that was my role in all this. I don’t know. Did you find this technomancer?”

“We did,” Sterling said at just about the point that Roxie pulled up in the dune buggy, Maron in the back and wide-eyed to see Sterling talking to a face conjured from a puddle of blood.

“That’s good, muy bueno, muy, muy, bueno.”

“We also, ahem, I also got a jug of your blood.”

Don Gasper laughed, beadlets of blood flying out of his mouth. His form began to waver, and before he could say anything about it, Sterling went ahead and called upon his Death Whisper power again.

“Shaman on call, no? Like a drive-through those Before People used, ha! Very smart of you, vaquero nigromante, very smart. It’s dark here, so I’ll have plenty of time to figure out the void, maybe see if I can’t find a better way to open my mind while I’m here. Can’t stop reaching for enlightenment, no? The Christiansens? Are they all dead?”

“They are,” Sterling said.

“A pity, really, but the men that attacked us, they did so in such a sudden way, it is remarkable that anyone survived at all. Maybe I’ll look for them here.”

“The attackers… they were Comanche.”

“Comanche?” Don Gasper seemed to chew on this for a moment. “Yes, I heard they were expanding Comancheria. I didn’t think they’d come here so quickly. How many of them died?”

“Several,” said Sterling, realizing at that moment that he might be able to get information from some of the dead as well. If anything, he could add the animates to his inventory list. It really depended on how badly their bodies had been treated, Sterling under the assumption that his team had done some serious damage.

“No sense in trying to reason with them, in my opinion,” said Don Gasper. “I tried to talk when they first arrived, offered everything I had, hoping to stall them until you returned.”

Once again, Sterling felt a twist of guilt in his heart.

“They believe this land is theirs, and I don’t think you’ll be able to convince them otherwise.”

“Shee-it,” Sterling said. “We’ve got to go through their turf to reach Monument Valley.”

“Sí, sí, you do. And you can. Go at night. Work together to keep a low profile, no? You have Roxie? She’s clever. Zephyr can fly ahead, the Kid can protect you if need be, and the Godwalker, the little baby one, perhaps an element of surprise, no?”

“You’re right.”

“Plus you can take their bodies you collect along the way, maybe use them.”

“I can make my animates smarter now.”

“That’s good, muy bueno, maybe trick them. And you have the Navajo one, no?”

“He’s Hopi.”

“That’s right, a Puebloan, I forgot. He’ll know the ways even if he doesn’t know them. Instinctual.” Don Gasper sighed, his cheeks drooping to some degree. “I miss mota, amigo, I can tell you that.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

“Maybe next time you smoke one for me and blow it into my face.”

“I don’t see how that would help, but if that’s what you want…” Sterling said, even though he didn’t really like marijuana. “What about… what about what we’re planning to do next? You never said what you felt about that.”

“You mean going to Monument Valley?”

“Yeah. You never said one way or another.”

“Eh, it goes without saying. Give the Godwalkers hell, amigo, give them hell for me. I didn’t say anything because I have no doubt in my mind that you will defeat them.”

“You’re confident…”

“They did before, no? These ancient peoples. They did it then, you can do it now. You can, vaquero nigromante.”

Sterling nodded, once again bottling a sensation of sadness rising in his chest. “Gasper, I’ve got to ask you: how do you want us to leave your body? Whatever you want, we’ll honor your wishes. If you want to become an animate, well, I can’t say I’m up for that one, but…”

“No, no. Nothing loco like that. I’m done fighting and I don’t serve anyone but myself. You see the top of the Rock?”

Sterling glanced up to the top of the Hole ‘N’ the Rock and nodded, recalling that Roxie had been perched up there the previous night.

“I want you to bury me up there, put me in the stone, make a monument. The Kid can help. Leave the top surface of my body for the animals to pick at. In the future, people will come across the structure and find a half-submerged skeleton. It will bother them until they show it the respect it deserves.”

“Yeah,” Sterling said as Gasper’s blood form began to quiver again. “We’ll do that. Until we meet again, amigo.”

“Sí, until we meet again. Next time, mota for me, yes?”

Sterling tipped his hat to Gasper. “You got it, compadre.”

Sterling definitely had the jitters once he looked over to the edge of the enormous rock, but he didn’t say anything, choosing instead to simply clench his eyes shut for a moment and remember who he was doing this for.

Don Gasper’s body was partially encased in wood, which the Sunflower Kid had burrowed deep into the top of the giant entrada sandstone. His arms were stretched out, also wrapped in vines tight enough to look uncomfortable, the group honoring Gasper’s wishes that a part of his body be left for the animals.

“One day,” Sterling began, “people are going to come across this thing and wonder what the hell happened here; we’re going to do our best to let them know.” He cleared his throat. Standing behind him were the Chronicler and Paco, the Sunflower Kid off to his left, Roxie to his right and Maron suspended in the air. “You were a good man, Don Gasper, and you meant well more often than not.” Sterling nodded and stepped aside, Paco coming forward.

His finger glowing white, Paco carved a passage deep into the rock in front of Don Gasper’s body, one that would take some time for the elements to cover. In this gesture, Sterling understood, for perhaps the first time, what the Anasazi and other ancient peoples living in the Colorado Plateau had hoped to convey with their petroglyphs. Perhaps there’d be a time, hundreds of years from now, when someone would come across Paco’s scrawlings and have to interpret them, a time past the English language, humanity always having the power to reset.

The Reset… Sterling thought bitterly as Paco finished etching the words Sterling had composed. It was a haiku, of all things, the Hopi youth with one hand on Sterling’s leatherbound diary, his glowing fingertip pressed into the stone.

Here lies Don Gasper

A victim of the Reset

Lizard eat lizard

Roxie had told Sterling that no one would understand what it meant, that the phrase ‘lizard eat lizard’ was never going to take off.

“I couldn’t give two shits,” Sterling had shot back. “It means something to me, Gasper will get it, and I’d rather leave the future a bit of a mystery than a damn blueprint. That’s what he wanted anyway; he wanted something that would make people ponder.”

Seeing his desert haiku etched in stone gave Sterling a strange sense of pride. He didn’t often do things that left an impact on his environment, actions that would live much longer than he did. It certainly wasn’t closure—he would always live with the guilt that he could have done more, that he could have gotten to the Hole ‘N’ the Rock earlier and fought off the Comanche—but at least he’d done something.

And sometimes, that’s all there is to do.

After a moment of silence, the group all floated to the ground, the Sunflower Kid already seeing to the burial of the Christiansens while they waited for Zephyr to return from Moab.

Sterling should have gone with her to see the Elder of Icaria; as the loosely defined leader of the group he’d put together, it would have been appropriate for him to join her. But Zephyr would handle things well enough, she wasn’t really the funeral type, and this gave Sterling time to strategize with the Chronicler, who once again had a map open across the dune buggy’s engine.

“Monticello,” said the Chronicler as he tapped his finger on the map. “It’s a straight shot to the place, and we can send scouts ahead once we get closer to see what the Comanche influence looks like there. We don’t yet know the extent of their territory.”

“Right,” said Sterling as he ashed his cigarette.

“If we’re lucky, we will bypass them completely.”

“Shee-it, if we’re lucky.”

Maron was on the other side of the dune buggy, the technomancer examining Beep with an increasingly troubled look on his face, his eyes lit with code. It was distracting; Sterling kept seeing him out of the corner of his eye, wondering what he was discovering.

He knew there had to be more to Beep’s appearance in their lives, and it was something he could get to later. For now, they needed to find a place to lay low for the night, especially if the Comanche decided to return with more mancers.

“Back to Monticello,” Sterling said, recalling that the bartender back in Moab said that this was where the liquor had come from. “It would make sense for the Comanche to have already taken the town, right? I mean, it’s between here and Monument Valley.”

“Yes, it would…”

“Then those people are likely either dead, being killed as we speak, or being held prisoner. The Comanche wouldn’t just roll through town and kill everyone, right? What if there were resources there?” Sterling asked, thinking aloud at this point. “I could see the Comanche from the eighteenth century doing this, but it don’t make no sense now, especially with dwindling resources and people. Hell, if they controlled the liquor of a region, I’m sure that could be a boon in itself, all that good liquor. Listen to me, sounding like a boozehound.”

“You aren’t wrong,” said the Chronicler. “From what I’ve seen—which I’ll admit, is limited—if there is a way for them to control a group for resources, they will do that. Think of it as a Mongolian-style diplomatic experiment.”

“A what?”

“The Mongolian hordes, well back in the early 1100s, didn’t always raze a town to the ground. They often had the people swear allegiance and pay a tithe to the Khan. They would also bring the women back to Mongolia so there was a form of familial ties as well. I would say the Comanche are operating more on this model than the one their predecessors exhibited.”

“Which means that if them three hadn’t escaped earlier, we could have probably rolled into Monticello acting like we were just new to the area and everything was hunky-dory.”

“More or less, but I see your point. But now, they know about what happened here.”

“And how far away did you say Monticello was?”

“About twenty-one miles.”

“Ah, hell,” Sterling said, growing alarmed. “We’re going to need to hurry then. Roxie,” he called over to the female gunner, who stood near the road with one of her sniper weapons. He’d already seen her check the scope several times. “We could have more Comanche any minute now. We need to wrap this shit up and get off the highway.”

Roxie nodded.

“What about Zephyr?” asked Paco.

“I don’t think she’ll stick around long in Moab. She don’t got no reason to. Although…” Sterling flicked his cigarette to the ground. “She can be quite chatty.”

“Hey, Sterling…” Maron began.

“Not now,” he said. “We’ve got to figure out a plan here.”

“Yeah, there’s just… You really aren’t going to believe this.”

“I don’t believe most things these days,” Sterling told him. “Is it big?”

He looked at Maron to find the technomancer nodding at him.

“In that case…” Sterling glanced to the sky; night would be coming soon, the sun already clearing the mountains in the west, leaving a blood orange rim in its wake. “Tell me once we get settled; I’ve had enough surprises for the day.”

“Zee’s coming,” announced the Sunflower Kid.

“Is she?” Sterling squinted to the north and noticed something twist through a low-hanging cloud. “Good to know. Let’s get off the highway, get to somewhere safe. We ain’t stopping until we reach the Terminal in Monument Valley. It’s what Gasper would have wanted. Hell, it’s what he did want. Let’s git!”

.Chapter Six.

Sterling Monedero would certainly describe himself as someone stuck in his ways. He didn’t like heights, he certainly didn’t like flying, and even when given the choice, he would walk before he took to the air to travel, something he’d already proven earlier that day.

But now wasn’t the time to drag his feet, literally.

Keeping about a mile off the highway—which just so happened to be the same thing Sterling would have done in New Mexico—the group zipped through the air right before sunset, some of the members of Sterling’s party using their natural abilities, the others relying on Zephyr.

For his part, Sterling simply let Zephyr do the steering, a geologically tattooed landscape cast beneath them, the pink gray daylight filtering to dusk. They’d been traveling like this for an hour now, moving at a relatively slow pace, Roxie in the lead. The Sunflower Kid was comfortable enough with being transported by Zephyr’s power that she had flipped over and relaxed onto her back, hands behind her head, staring up at stars that were just starting to appear. Maron and Paco were moving of their own accord, the Chronicler as well.

Still with the jitters, Sterling tried to turn onto his back like the Sunflower Kid but suddenly felt as if he were falling, which he was, Zephyr laughing as she returned him to a steady float.

“Dammit!” he shouted to her, Sterling with his hat in his inventory list, black duster beating in the wind, anger swelling within him. “Stop horsing around!”

He was too stressed by flying to really think about how hungry he was, yet it was there, a twist of something in his stomach not related to the butterflies that never seemed to leave whenever he was airborne. Soon, they would need to find a place to settle for the night, to regroup before they pushed on toward Monument Valley. Because that was what it was all about post-Reset, moving forward and always moving on. No sense in dwelling, no sense in reliving what had already happened. To survive was itself a work of art, a muse that needed constant attention.

“Over yonder!” Sterling pointed at the south-facing rampart of a mesa which would give them a view of the highway, yet was positioned in such a way that it would shield them from anyone heading northbound toward Moab.

Their group lowered, the Sunflower Kid immediately seeing to the outer rim of where they would stay that night by strengthening their cover with a low level row of pinyon, thick enough that it worked as an awning. The natural alcove cut into the sandstone would do for the night, the lip of a cliffhang above aiding in shelter.

“It’s going to get cold,” said Sterling. “Believe that.”

Even with his duster on, his shirt, his bullet proof vest, and his undershirt beneath that, Sterling could feel the drop in temperature in his bones, his throat parched from flying through the air, voice a little scratchy from all that wind.

“I’ll deal with that part.” Paco began selecting larger bits of scree and arranging them around the most logical place for them to sleep. He moved some of the heavier stones with determination, Sterling noticing in that moment just how much the Hopi youth had changed since they had encountered him along the mountainside near the salt flats.

Still has a way to go, Sterling thought, almost as if he were an overbearing father, but he’s getting there.

“Um, Sterling?”

The cowboy necromancer turned to Maron, finding the man with his arms crossed over his chest, a nervous tick about the way he was nodding at him.

“¿Que pasa, amigo?”

“Yeah, about what I was saying earlier, about Beep…”

<Beep.>

“Strawberry,” the Sunflower Kid reminded him, the teenage biomancer now seated on a plant construct she’d conjured from the soil, the miniature Godwalker floating next to it.

<Beep.>

“Sounds like it already has a name,” Sterling told her matter-of-factly. “But fine, I’ll call it Strawberry.”

“We need to fix its face.” The Kid was referring to the face that had been painted across the Godwalker’s smooth front surface, which was now absent, replaced by fingerprint smudges, powdery dust, dried water droplets, and mud.

“Shee-it, what Strawberry really needs is a bath. Next time y’all do its face up, give it a little spit-shine too. Can’t be traveling around Deseret with a dirty Godwalker, the Oracle wouldn’t have it.”

<Beep!>

“No offense.”

“Yes, it… it’s about Strawberry,” said Maron. “I’ll just come out and say it: We communicated. There are some things you need to know. What I’m trying to tell you here is that I understand it all, and… we need to talk. I know today has been rough but… Yeah. We need to talk.”

Sterling certainly wasn’t in an epiphany mood, not with the way things had played out. For a moment he didn’t even realize what Maron had said. Sure, he’d heard him, but he gave little weight to the words.

The Sunflower Kid, who was listening more intently, picked up where Sterling might have dropped the ball. “What do you mean you understand it all?” she asked as she conjured a seat for Roxie as well, who sat quickly and began dealing with one of her weapons.

“This Godwalker, Strawberry…” Maron bit his lip. “I really don’t know how to say it other than simply to come out with it. But it’s… maybe it’s a sensitive subject.”

“How so?”

“Strawberry, Beep, whatever you want to call it. This Godwalker…” Maron motioned to the floating monolith and exhaled audibly. “It’s your wife, Sterling, it’s Isabelle.”

Sterling felt as if his heart had been carved out, the emptiness within suddenly so strong, so debilitating, that his knees started to buckle. He fell, only to be aided by Paco, who happened to be standing nearby and arranging a rock.

Zephyr landed, the aeromancer darting her head left and right as she tried to understand what the sudden tension was about.

“Did I miss something…?”

Roxie, who had quit fiddling with her weapon, nodded to the Godwalker. “It’s Sterling’s wife. The Godwalker is Sterling’s wife.”

“Say… what?” Zephyr started laughing. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The Chronicler, who had been resting in his chair as the scene unfolded, cleared his throat to clarify what Roxie had said: “Maron has been able to communicate with… Strawberry… and it appears that it claims to be Sterling’s wife, but we’ve yet to uncover how, or why, or for that matter, make any sense of Maron’s revelation.”

“Is… is it true?” Sterling asked Beep, ignoring the others now. He crouched, his insides still feeling as if they’d been scraped out like an avocado.

<Beep…>

“Shee-it,” Sterling said, not knowing how to process any of it. The day had been too much at this point. First Don Gasper, and now this? Too damn much, he thought as he began to shake his head. Too damn much.

“So…” Zephyr looked around, starting at the Chronicler and ending up at Roxie. “So we’re just going to take the Godwalker’s word for it? I mean, that’s it? Strawberry is his wife. No one has even asked how this is even possible?”

“I can explain it…” Maron swallowed hard. “Well, sort of. I can sort of explain it. It’s complicated, as I’m sure you might imagine, but…” He chewed on his lip for a moment. “First, I should note that this Godwalker isn’t exactly communicating with me in the same way that we talk, it’s more of a communication that is beyond words or even images. It’s hard for me to encapsulate it. But I’ll try. Everything, at its core, is somehow electric, energy-related. Let’s just say it like that. Now, let’s take it a step further and assume that the soul is also electric, and that the Godwalkers are—like everything, even though they use alien energy sources—powered in some way. We can call it electricity, or not, but we’ll just call it that to make it easy. That’s the only way I can describe it, because that’s how I make sense of it here,” he said as he tapped his temple, “but I don’t know how else I could explain it aside from becoming a telemancer and beaming it into each of you, which is impossible.”

“Electric souls…” Zephyr asked.

“Sure, again, that’s a huge oversimplification of what has happened here. But basically, the Godwalkers killed ninety percent of humanity to use us as—and here’s the kicker—an energy source. The source points are stored at various points across the globe, including the Terminal in Monument Valley. Isabelle managed to escape, and in turn, inhabit this smaller Godwalker.”

<Beep!>

“It then brought us all here, again, an oversimplification, but considering that it’s an electric soul inhabiting an advanced alien technology, it’s safe to say that she warped the space-time continuum and deposited us at various points, our timelines are all synced now, as you can tell.” Maron ran his hand over his beard, a bit wild-eyed. “Is everyone following what I’m saying here?”

“I think I am, although it sounds outlandish. So his wife, this Godwalker, brought us together but didn’t do a great job of it, and now we’re supposed to destroy the Terminal, which is where some of these electric souls, as you call them, are being stored?” Zephyr asked.

“Precisely,” said the Chronicler as several of his field diaries appeared in his lap. He began flipping through them excitedly until he landed on a series of images. “This! I was trying to interpret the meaning, but it never panned out. I thought it was a spiritual thing, or perhaps an ancestral understanding but… but it makes sense now! It makes sense!”

He distributed two of his notebooks, Sterling barely getting a glimpse at the picture, which involved a series of glyphs with people emerging from their own bodies, a Godwalker hovering above them as if it were absorbing their spirits.

“I thought that this meant the Godwalkers had killed them,” the Chronicler explained, “but what Maron is saying here makes so much more sense to me.”

“Isabelle?” Sterling asked the Godwalker, the sky too dark and the monolith too blotted out by dirt and grime for him to actually see his reflection. “Is… is that really you in there?”

<Beep…>

“Do y’all mind…” Sterling glanced to the top of the mesa above. He wanted some privacy, he wanted a moment to talk to what was left of his wife, even if he could only receive yes and no answers on his own. “We can go up there. I want to talk to her.”

“I can help,” Maron said. “There’s… there’s more.”

“Yeah, there’s always more, amigo,” Sterling said as he waved the technomancer’s suggestion away. “But we don’t got to delve too deep. Not yet, anyway. Right now, just some yes and no questions will do. Need me some privacy though.”

Sterling stood in front of the Godwalker puffing on a cigarette, the glow of Paco’s rocks below and a glitter of stars above the only light available at the moment. He had been standing here like this for several minutes now.

“It’s hard to call you Isabelle,” Sterling finally told the alien craft. “I don’t mean no disrespect in that, but it’s hard. I don’t even know what my wife, what you, looked like, yet I find it real tough to imagine you inside that thing.” Sterling ran his tongue across the inside of his lip. “Real damn hard. So, I might end up calling you Strawberry like the others. I don’t know. Beep don’t seem right. I was rude to Beep.”

<Beep. Beep.>

“No, I was, I know I was. Heh. I guess I’ve always been a bit ornery.”

<Beep. Beep.>

“You say that now, but I can tell. A bit curmudgeonly, stuck in my ways. I’m fine with that. Look, I got some questions, and I don’t know how much you can elaborate on the answers without Maron around, but right now, I’ll just take what I can get.” Sterling settled his breath. He was ashamed of the fact that he couldn’t feel for his wife, but knew that this was because of the Reset, that it would always be hard for him to process his emotions. But that didn’t mean that there weren’t some pressing questions. “Is our son still alive?”

<Beep.>

“So… all three of us survived?” he asked, feeling a melancholic sense of elation.

<Beep. Beep.>

“But I thought you said our son was alive.”

<Beep.>

It dawned on him what the Godwalker was suggesting. “I get it, I get it. You died.”

<Beep.>

“Yet here you are. So our son is alive and out there, and you think I can find him?”

<Beep!>

“I’ll take that as a yes, and… I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever I have to do,” he said, noticing how the Godwalker had grown more ecstatic with that response. “I guess I got another question about you and me, about the past, back when we were together. I’ve got to know, because frankly, I don’t know nothing about my old self. Was I a good man to you and our son? I’m sorry if that is a stupid question.”

<Beep.>

“And we were in love, right? Shee-it, I guess that sounds stupid,” he said as he ashed his cigarette. “I mean, were we true loves? That sort of thing?”

Once again, the Godwalker answered in a positive way.

“High school sweethearts?”

<Beep.>

“Dang, so you was with me for a while then, huh? You must have really liked me to put up with all my bullshit.”

The Godwalker tilted to the side to some degree, Sterling getting this weird sense that it was smirking at him.

“Were we together when… when it happened?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“Figured as much. I didn’t go back and check people’s IDs or nothing, but I had this feeling that we weren’t together. Always had it and I don’t know why.” Sterling brought his cigarette to his lips again and gazed out at the brittle landscape, one of steep tiers and sculpted sandstone. He could see a bit of the moon now, a thin dark cloud in front of it diluting its hazy pale light. “Were we happy together?”

<Beep.>

“I guess I sort of asked that already, just double-checking. Shoot, I don’t really know what to ask. Part of me wants to just let the past be the past, especially because there ain’t nothing I can remember from it, yet even now, standing here in front of you, I can still feel how it must have affected me. I can feel how much I loved you, and how much we cared about each other. Strange, right?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“You seem like you must be real optimistic. Were you like that in real life?”

<Beep.>

“Figured as much. Me? I ain’t too gloomy, but I can have my days. Makes sense I’d be with someone that kept things light. These Godwalkers, the aliens, are they really as bad as they seem? I know that’s a weird question especially with what they’ve done, but are they?”

<Beep…>

“And you truly brought us here to stop them.”

Once again, an affirmative answer.

A stretch of silence spread between the two of them, Sterling recalling something that Maron had said earlier. “Since… since the Godwalkers are using this soul energy and whatnot, by destroying the Terminal, are we freeing the souls that are trapped there?”

<Beep.>

“Does that mean that something will happen to you?”

<Beep… Beep.>

“Well, I guess that’s a good thing. Don’t know what freeing them souls will look like, but shoot, I guess it’s just part of the process.” Sterling took his cowboy hat off and held it against his chest for a moment, not wanting to press this line of questioning any further. He knew better. “We… we still got a ways to go, I reckon. The Terminal, then Chaco Canyon, not to mention the Comanche, Commodore Bones and the Killbillies, and a bounty hunter named Ram I need to see about in Albuquerque. Listen to me just recapping what you already know. I just… I’m sorry, Isabelle, I really don’t know what else to say to you at the moment. Maybe I will later.”

<Beep.>

“This is real weird, ain’t it?”

<Beep.>

Sterling flicked his cigarette over the side of the mesa, watching as the ash scattered in the wind. He placed his cowboy hat back on his head and started to laugh. “Some kind of life. But I guess… I guess that’s how it goes. Let’s get back down there. And if you don’t mind, for now, I’m going to send you off to my list for a moment so I can sleep. I need me some rest.”

Of course Sterling couldn’t sleep. The others seemed to be doing just fine, even with a cold wind whipping over the high desert, the group all tucked away in whatever they had in their inventory lists and warmed by the stones Paco had heated.

There came a point that early morning that he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

It was as if he’d drunk three cups of coffee before bed, Sterling able to shut his eyes and almost feel as if he was asleep, but never getting the rest he deserved. Rather than toss and turn, or pretend to be getting some much-needed sleep, Sterling sat up and ate some of the goat cheese from his inventory list.

As he sat there eating, he heard a rumble in the distance. Sterling squinted down at the highway to see a trio of motorcycles heading south.

The Comanche…

“Rox,” Sterling whispered, only to find that the female gunner was already awake and silently moving into position. “Think you can get them fools from here?”

The previous day had ended Sterling too quickly, and he’d yet to process how he would deal with Don Gasper’s murder. There was a part of him that wanted to take it to the Comanche in Monticello head on, but he also knew it would be just as good to bypass them, that he already had enough people on his shitlist, and enough things to worry about, including the fact his wife had joined them in the body of a Godwalker.

The three motorcycles came to a stop in the canyon below, two of the men getting off to relieve themselves while the other one remained on his bike, a cone of light illuminating the ground in front of him.

Roxie stepped into the air, and began floating toward the ground.

She’d already started running by the time Sterling did the same, the cowboy necromancer finding it hard to float in the dark. To avoid the glow, he kept his sickle-sword in his inventory list and went for his magical revolver instead, holding it at the ready as he moved as quickly and as quietly as possible.

The three men had left their motorcycles running, the sound loud enough to be heard for half a mile or more, Sterling reaching Roxie just as the three Comanche detected movement on the horizon.

“Wait,” Sterling whispered, his hand coming to her shoulder. Roxie brought her eye to the scope of her weapon just as a panther-like amalgamation tore out of the shadows, its skull that of a ten-point buck. It rammed into the first Comanche, shredding the man with its antlers in a matter of seconds.

Roxie shifted toward Sterling, not at all afraid of the amalgamation. “We could get info from them,” she said in a low voice.

“I meant to do that back at the Hole ‘N’ the Rock.”

“What about the amalgamation?”

“Let it kill them, and then we’ll kill it. I’ve got…” he sighed, still not certain what he should call the Godwalker, “…Beep as well, if we need backup.”

Roxie tipped her head back toward the others. “They must have heard something by now.”

A plume of fire ignited the midnight desert air, the orange glow illuminating the amalgamation. The beast slipped to the side as an enemy pyromancer tried to unleash another bolt of fire. The amalgamation brought him down. The final Comanche started his motorcycle in an effort to escape.

Zipff!

Roxie saw to the one trying to flee, his body slumping forward and the motorcycle taking off for a few paces. It fell as well and skidded out, just as the panther amalgamation was finished mauling the pyromancer. The beast sat on its haunches, Sterling well aware of what needed to happen next.

He’d been meaning to utilize the small upgrade he’d made for a while.

His Death Sense ability allowed him to conjure corpses from a distance, and about the time that the amalgamation tilted its antlered skull in their direction, the three Comanche it had just killed came alive.

They lumbered toward the amalgamation, Roxie taking charge as well and firing yet another weapon that she had summoned, one that came tethered with an explosion once it reached its target.

Thunk - Boom!

“You’ve got a damn grenade launcher?” Sterling called after her, the ground shaking, a cloud of smoke and flames illuminating the desertscape.

She didn’t respond, which left Sterling the choice of holding back or moving forward. Naturally, he took off after her, also firing his weapon as he ran at the panther amalgamation, which was now covered in tufts of flame and trying to crawl away with a shredded leg.

Thunk - Boom!

Roxie’s next shot did the trick, the amalgamation nothing more than smoldering chunks of viscera and bones by the time Sterling reached her.

“Damn, Rox. A grenade launcher, really?”

“You should know by now that I have all sorts of shit in my inventory list. Besides, I think we are far enough out not to attract too much attention.”

“You think?” Sterling looked back to the mesa they’d been camped on, his animates suddenly without life, the mana returned to him.

“I reckon.”

“Hey, that’s my word…”

Roxie approached him, the grenade launcher she had summoned already back in her inventory list.

Sterling felt a tug in his chest, an energy link between the two of them that he knew he’d never be able to understand. It was as if time had slowed for a second, and even though it was dark and gruesome in that Deseret valley, Sterling could see her fully as if she was glowing.

The moment faded.

“Well?”

“Yeah?” he asked, just to say something.

“Are you going to use your power or not? You have yet to answer if we’re going to deal with the people that came for Don Gasper, right?”

“I don’t know,” Sterling told her.

“Mister ‘I’ve got a bounty hunter to deal with and screw the Killbillies’ is really going to let the Comanche get away with murdering one of your amigos, as you put it? Look, I know today’s been hard, and there’s the whole thing about your wife. But we have made it this far. And…”

He nodded. She didn’t need to finish that sentence. “We don’t want them people on our asses, Rox. Sure, we’ve killed a handful of them, but if we just slip on out of this region and do what we came here to do, then… then I don’t know,” he admitted. “I need to see what Gasper would have wanted too; I can say this though, we definitely don’t need all of Comancheria looking for our asses. Dusty showed us how big their territory is, and we’re going to have to cut through it on the way back home. Aside from all that, since when did you give a damn about Gasper?”

“While I might have had my disagreements with him, he was one of us. And…” The left side of her cheek lifted, Roxie clearly not excited about the next sentence to come out of her mouth. “And he helped us; he helped us get this far and find Maron.”

“He did.”

“And Maron was able to figure out… you know.”

“My wife.” Sterling shook his head at yet another thing he had yet to come to grips with. “My wife, what’s left of her, is trapped in a Godwalker.”

“And she’s trying to help us too. Don’t discredit that.”

“Yep.” Sterling lowered before one of the bodies. He lifted one of the man’s wrists and drew a line of blood, which he let pool onto the cold Earth. A face took shape, with a scowl outlined by starlight.

“Where…?”

“I’ll do the question-asking, pendejo,” Sterling told him in a gruff voice.

“Who…?”

“It don’t matter who. You and your people have moved into Deseret, and I want to know what you’re planning.”

“Why… why would I tell you shit?”

“If you do, I’ll bring you back to life,” Sterling lied. “I’m a telemancer and you aren’t actually dead; I’ve just got you and your two friends in a coma of sorts for the time being. I’m going to crosscheck some of your answers here, and decide who gets to live and who gets to die. So don’t lie to me, son. That amalgamation y’all fought? Figment of your imagination. You tell me what I need to know, I let you go and I get on with it. Whoever lies to me, dies. I wasn’t planning on sticking around here, or in Comancheria, for that matter.”

“What… do you want to know?”

Sterling glanced up at Roxie, partially surprised that his bluff had worked. Then again, if this one didn’t buy it, he could have just used his power on one of the others until someone answered his questions.

“Are the rest of your amigos in Monticello?”

“Yes.”

“How many fellas are we talking about here?”

“Close to two hundred…”

“Shee-it,” Sterling mumbled, “two hundred strong. How many are mancers?”

“Maybe fifty.”

“Maybe fifty, okay. What are y’all planning?”

“I… I… shouldn’t tell you.”

He tried a different line of questioning. “Are all y’all actually native? Do you all have Comanche blood? I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Some… the leaders… the rest have joined by force or choice.”

“And who is the actual leader of Comancheria? Or is it a group? Can you tell me that?”

“Shouldn’t you know? You’re a telemancer.”

“I done already told you that I’m checking some of your answers…”

“The leader of Comancheria is named Isa-tai.”

“Isa-tai, huh? And y’all got bands, right?”

“I’m part of the northern band, yes.”

“And you’re Comanche or have just become Comanche for the hell of it?”

“I’m not Comanche by blood… but I am by choice.”

Sterling nodded. “Y’all planning to go to Moab next?”

“Yes.”

“Figured. Well?” Sterling asked Roxie. She nodded. “I guess I’ll see you on the other side.”

The face of blood settled back into what was left of its puddle, most of it soaked up by the cracked soil by this point. Sterling stood, the urge to smoke coming to him.

“Yep,” he told Roxie once she didn’t say anything.

“What do you think we should do?”

“I think we should head back to camp and talk to the others. I’ll get Don Gasper’s take too. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take on two hundred Comanche, fifty of which are mancers, when we got places to go and Godwalkers to kill, but maybe there’s another angle. Shit, I need to ask that puddle of blood one more question. Just give me a second, Rox.”

.Chapter Seven.

The others were awake by the time Sterling and Roxie returned to the camp, Zephyr floating with her legs crossed beneath her, Paco and the Sunflower Kid seated on plant constructs and drinking water, Maron crouched with his arms wrapped around his legs, and the Chronicler seated in his camping chair.

“I didn’t think you’d need backup,” Zephyr said in a nonchalant way, “but you could have been quieter about it. Was that you with the explosions, Rox?”

“What do you think?”

“Hey…” Sterling hoped that the wave of his hand would calm the tension between Roxie and Zephyr. It didn’t always flare up, but people were tired, and it was too late to go back to bed, yet too early to officially be awake. “I couldn’t sleep on account of… Strawberry and what happened to Gasper. Just too many thoughts racing through the old dome. Anyway, I woke up and well, we saw Comanche and decided to deal with them. Get us a little info.”

“You’re going to call Beep Strawberry now?” Zephyr asked. “What was your wife’s name again? I’m so confused…”

“Don’t be too confused. It just… it is just easier for me to call her something other than Isabelle for now. I don’t know. All this is too damn sudden. Here I am, talking shit and roaming around Deseret with what I thought was a floating alien trashcan and it turns out to be my wife? I need…” He sucked in a deep breath. “What I need is a goddamn cigarette, but I also need time to process all this.”

Zephyr showed him her palms. “Take your time, cowboy.”

“I intend to. You know what? Before I get into what we’ve been discussing, I think it’s high time I give ol’ Gasper a ring, you know, catch him up.”

“Can you bring Strawberry out?” the Sunflower Kid asked. “I still want to fix her face and dress her up.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Sterling’s inventory list appeared and he selected the miniature Godwalker. It took shape, and as it did the Sunflower Kid began to grow a vine of flowers from the ground, which she thickened with more flowers until she could make a belt of sorts.

<Beep…?>

With Paco’s help, the Sunflower Kid wrapped the flowers around the Godwalker, and then used her power to tighten the vine.

“See? Now she has a belt.”

“Shee-it…” Sterling said, not able to hide the smile on his face. The Kid, who currently had her long jet black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, turned to him and shrugged.

“Aren’t you going to talk to Gasper?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Wanting some privacy, Sterling floated up to the top of the mesa, where he’d been last night. The sun had just appeared in the distance, a blazing plum holding court over the stark desertscape.

Sterling watched it rise until he couldn’t anymore, the cowboy necromancer finally turning away from the sun and summoning the jug of Don Gasper’s blood. He also equipped tobacco and some papers, which he quickly fashioned into a pair of thin cigarettes. He lit one and popped the top of the jug.

His hand hovering over the opening, Sterling called Don Gasper, the old shaman’s face squeezing through the opening of the jug, the blood glistening in the early morning light.

“Amigo?” Gasper asked.

“Sorry to bother you.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just getting used to it here. So many pinche idiotas over here.”

“I’ll bet,” Sterling said, realizing in that moment that Don Gasper himself must have had this electric soul that Maron had spoken about, a concept that Sterling didn’t even pretend to understand. “Something came up.”

“Is it Magdalena?” Gasper asked.

“Hell no, it ain’t. I’ll let you know when we get to her, Gasper, promise. Still a ways away from New Mexico. There are a number of things that have come up, but I’ll start at the top…” Sterling gave Don Gasper the quickest explanation he could about his wife, how she had been able to shift her soul into the body of the miniature Godwalker. He also reminded him about how it had been Beep, Isabelle, who had brought them all together, that she believed in them.

At least he thought she did.

“Sí, sí…” Gasper said after he’d finished. “It makes sense, no?”

“What? Hell no, it don’t make no sense. You’re just going to accept this explanation?” Sterling took a long drag off his cigarette. “Electric souls and whatnot? Hell nah. None of it makes any sense.”

“We exist in many forms, vaquero nigromante, many different forms. Look at me, no? I’m in a void yet you still are talking to me, keeping me company. It’s energy, amigo. We are all energy. You got any mota?”

“I still got some.”

“You want to smoke it for me? Blow some in my direction.”

“It’s been a rough night, Gasper.”

“Do you have plans for the day to come?”

“Not… well… That’s another thing. I don’t quite know about that part just yet. We need to get to Monument Valley, and we’re almost there. Asked the Chronicler at some point yesterday and he said just a few hours. Light at the end of the tunnel… something like that.”

“And?”

Don Gasper’s form started to waver. Sterling used his power once again, the mana drain subtle but definitely something he noticed.

“You really want me to blow weed smoke at your face even though you can’t technically inhale it?”

“It’s the thought that counts, no?”

“You’re right,” Sterling said, and while he could have pretended to roll something and simply blow cigarette smoke, he owed it to Gasper to honor his wish, however stupid it was. Sterling grabbed the bag of marijuana he’d gotten sometime back in New Mexico. He ashed his cigarette and put out the tip, figuring he’d smoke the rest later.

“Just give me a second to roll it up.”

“Take your time; it’ll help you rest.”

“Yeah, you would say that.” Sterling rolled up a thin joint and lit it, his first inhale nothing to write home about, the second one causing a calming sensation to roll down his shoulders. He exhaled the cloud of smoke straight into Don Gasper’s face. “Happy?”

Sterling started to cough, Gasper laughing, which caused the blood construct to quiver.

“Dammit, Gasper. I called you because… because…” Sterling’s mind skipped a beat. He blinked a few times and refocused on Gasper. “Because… shee-it…”

“Sí, sí, it’s good to let go. You’ll remember, relax…”

“Look, them Comanche,” Sterling said, interrupting the shaman. “Rox and I dealt with three more of them just now, and apparently, they’re… holed up with two hundred of their closest friends in… shit, forgot the city name. Midway. No, that ain’t it. Monticello. That’s it, where the distiller is.”

“Two hundred Comanche?”

Sterling put out the joint and rubbed his eyes. He focused again on Gasper, just as his form started to blur again. With a grunt, he cast his Death Whisper power, hoping to make this the final time he did so.

He was really starting to feel the marijuana.

“Gasper, I called you here because I wanted… I wanted to get your take on what to do with the Comanche. You know… you know me, amigo.”

“Sí, lo sé.”

“And that’s the thing. The normal me would waltz right into Monticello, especially with the crew I got, and make a run at it. But… but they got mancers, maybe fifty, and we got…” Sterling had to count them out on his hand. “Five. We got five, and Rox, and shit, maybe she counts as two, but Maron… technomancer… I don’t know how useful he’ll be. Could be wrong, so…”

“I get what you’re saying. You want to know what I think, if I want you to avenge my death.”

“Yeah, something like that. I just need a second take.”

“No sense in vengeance, and there never really is,” Gasper said matter-of-factly. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other things you can do…”

“You see… that’s what I was thinking,” Sterling told the old shaman. “I already checked with one of the men I killed. They ain’t got no telemancers in that particular band.”

“You sure?”

“Nope, no telemancers in Monticello. I told him… ha!” Sterling recalled the lie he’d come up with. “I told him I was a telemancer. So… if there was one… he would have admitted it because… because I could have just gotten the info from him if… dang, Gasper, why’d you have to go and get me high?”

“Use the high, amigo, it’s nice. Use it to do what you’re going to do. Or rest. You sound like you could use some rest.”

“You bet your ass I could. Been burning the candle at both ends and then some.”

“So they don’t have a telemancer, but they have a small army there. What are you thinking, amigo?”

As best he could, Sterling told Gasper the plan he’d cobbled together on the way back to their camp. There were still some details that needed to be worked out, but it was solid enough.

“Heh,” Gasper said once he finished. “You really are loco, aren’t you?”

“Loco? Do you approve or not? I think it’s a damn good idea.”

“Do it, vaquero nigromante. Make them wish they hadn’t killed me.”

After going over the plan with the others, Sterling found himself a comfortable place to rest his eyes, his cowboy hat squarely over his eyes to blot out the morning sun, everything calm. The marijuana helped him sleep, Sterling only waking once over the course of an entire day, the shadow of the alcove keeping him nice and comfortable, the others quiet or resting themselves.

While they did this, Zephyr once again headed back to Moab to brief the afroed Elder of Icaria on the Comanche that had gathered in Monticello. She also was tasked with telling the woman what Sterling and his crew planned to do about it, which would buy them some time to come up with a solution, a way to either stop the Comanche from spreading into Nomadland, prepare for the siege that was to come, or lead the offensive. According to the Chronicler, the Elder would also have a way to quickly get word to the Oracle, who would likely have a say in the matter.

It was nice to simply be able to rest while things happened in the background, Sterling feeling just about as close to a CEO as he had ever felt before, or someone else calling the shots, the puppet master of sorts, especially when Zephyr and Paco joined their powers yet again, creating another heat vortex in practice for what they would do in Monument Valley.

But that was at least a day away, Sterling looking forward to what they were going to do in Monticello first; he hadn’t used his powers in this way before, nor had he really thought outside the box as much as he should have, especially with the people he surrounded himself with.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but he was up for the challenge.

He finally awoke about the time that Zephyr landed, dust swirling around her, the aeromancer’s dark hair lowering onto her shoulders. She wore a leather jacket over body armor, her trademark skirt, and her combat boots laced over a pair of pink socks.

“How did the Elder take it?” the Chronicler asked, looking up from his camping chair. His bucket hat now cast a shadow over his eyes, the book in his hands disappearing.

“Just as you said she would. She was a bit surprised, but also expected to receive this news at some point. They are beginning their preparations to push back against the Comanche. She has already sent messengers to Saltair and…” Zephyr squinted up at the sky for a moment. “I think that’s about it. We ate some food, she complained about her chihuahua, and she invited us back whenever we would like.”

“Shoot, I wish we could go back to Moab,” said Sterling. “I would love to have me another nice night at the saloon.” He knew that Roxie heard him say this, but she never looked up at him, the female gunner seated on her knees and picking at her nail with a black tactical knife. “Anyhow, I told y’all that you had the day to think about ways we could have a little fun there in Monticello. Well? What do y’all got? Because I got a way to at least get us in, add a little fun to the mix.”

“We will have to see the sources they are using to light Monticello at night,” Maron said.

The Chronicler summoned his pipe and lit it. “It’s like Moab there, Monticello. They are using generators and have some mancer-enhanced tech. The Comanche will likely be using whatever power source they have there. I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

“Definitely one of my specialties. I’ve got a way for us to communicate as well. I’ll show you later.”

Sterling nodded at the technomancer’s suggestion. “There will probably be captives. As y’all know, I spoke to one of them fellers last night, and they basically got one rule in Comancheria: submit or die. Now, I’m guessing that they have learned by now that just rolling into a place and forcing everyone to submit can be a little difficult. You’ve gotta deal with ruffians and whatnot, maybe local militias. So you take them captive, kill off the ones that are causing trouble, and make it easy. These ain’t the Comanche of the past; these are a post-apocalyptic Comanche, and hell, most of them aren’t even native. Some have joined by choice, others have joined by force. So we’re going to be dealing with several different kinds of people here, and maybe different motives depending on who you ask.”

“Which means that the more we can do to disrupt their operations, the better,” said Roxie, finally looking up from her blade.

“It could even spook some of the ones that might be on the fence to the point that they may leave. I’m sure that they’re not all that gung-ho about the war that is to follow. Sure, those closer to the upper echelon—Isa-Tai is the overall leader, from what I’ve been told—will be obedient. But others may not be so zealous.”

“They have mancers,” Paco said.

“Yup, around fifty. They sure do. And I would wager that those are the ones that we will have to be extra careful of, the ones that probably are treated better than the others. We’re going to have to see how they keep their transportation. They could just be sending their motorcycles to their inventory lists, or they could be showing them off. So that’s one thing we can disrupt. I can also use my mold power to do that, or the Kid here can rope them up.”

“Windstorms are always fun.”

“Zee has a point, and if we coincided that with the generators suddenly shutting off, well, that would be something. Then again, they may have a technomancer. They don’t have a telemancer, but if they have a technomancer, they may be able to fix that real quick.”

“Not if we disrupt the generators themselves,” said Paco.

“True, true. Some of them may be sleeping too, which tells me we could pick them off if that’s the case. That could be you, Kid, maybe make sure they never wake.”

Sterling imagined vines wrapping around someone while they were sleeping, trailing into their mouths and preventing them from breathing, or simply squeezing or even smothering them to death. There were a lot of things that the Sunflower Kid would be able to do, especially if they had left their motorcycles out, or they had an area where they were repairing them.

A not so insignificant part of Sterling knew that with enough clever planning, they truly could kill all two hundred. But this would be risky, and his main goal in moving past Monticello was to do so with his party intact, no man left behind, everyone doing their part to disrupt the Comanche enough that the Serpents of Paradise would be able to prepare for war with them and take it from there. After all, that was what this was leading up to. While Sterling certainly had a dog in the fight, he also had more important things to do.

At some point over the day while he was sleeping, a dream had come to him, one that he remembered, a canyon with buttes in the distance, Godwalkers joined together, an enormous explosion, fallout.

Sterling could sense the impending event. While he was known to stick his head in other people’s business, a man at home with a quest for revenge, now wasn’t the time to join someone else’s war. Even more, if they survived Monument Valley, they would have to journey through Comancheria, making this their first real test of how they would navigate this entire region.

It truly was time to get down to business.

Sterling approached the Monticello checkpoint that the Comanche had taken over. It was dark now, well past midnight, and leading him were two of the Comanche that the amalgamation had killed last night.

He was their prisoner.

There were a couple of options if this didn’t work, but Sterling had a hunch it would. The others were also on the move, all aside from the Chronicler, who had already been dropped off at a rendezvous point several miles ahead toward Monument Valley.

While there may have been some similarities between the post-apocalyptic Comanche and their predecessors, it became clear as he approached Monticello that the way they took a territory was nothing like the plains warriors of the past. The Comanche of the American West were quick to loot and kill, preferring to keep to their own camps and bands, never ones to completely take over the settlers’ town or farm.

Loot and leave.

But this group seemed to have settled.

It was through this hunch, and a few of the things that had already been mentioned to him, that solidified in his mind that coming into Monticello as a prisoner would work.

And if it don’t work, plan B…

Sterling’s hands were loosely roped behind his back, his weapons in his inventory list. He wore his black duster over his shoulders, arms out of the sleeves so he could launch into action if need be, his cowboy hat square on his head, bulletproof vest covering his chest. He had smudged his face with dirt as well, which would aid in his downtrodden appearance, Sterling keeping his chin tucked as a pair of lights flashed onto them. Once again, Beep, now wearing a flowery belt, was in his inventory list, for both the element of surprise if they needed it, and because he still didn’t know how to process the information he had learned.

For now, he was bottling it up and focusing on the assault.

“Got a prisoner,” one of his Comanche animates told the guard at the front, the man also in a cowboy hat, tucked over the bullet wound on his forehead courtesy of Roxie.

“That you, Martin?” asked one of the guards.

Sterling tensed, prepared to kickstart the fight when the guards suddenly shifted individual gazes to something behind him.

“You see that?” one of them asked.

Paco conjured another one of his heat constructs, which had a way of glowing just bright enough to certainly draw the guards’ attention away from Sterling. The two that had started questioning Sterling moved toward it, one making a loud call to signal some of the others that were behind the wall.

And just like that, Sterling entered Monticello.

As soon as he was in the city proper, he slipped into the near shadows alongside his two animates. “Good work, amigos,” he said as he sent them back to his inventory list.

Sterling took a quick look at what he could see of Monticello, noticing that it’d been mostly built along a single road, some of the outer areas walled off better than others. It was certainly not a great place to hold, which was likely why the Comanche had been able to take it over so easily in the first place.

Roxie’s voice appeared in his head. “You’re in. What do you see?”

Alongside a flectomancer in New Mexico, Maron had repurposed earbuds that could be used for communication. It was one of many items the technomancer had in his list that fascinated Sterling to no end, the piece fitting directly in his ear and allowing him to communicate with the others over an incredible distance.

It was going to make what they planned to do that night even easier.

“Seven main buildings, scattered housing built behind it. I’m still trying to figure out where they are holding prisoners. I can see…” Sterling took another look around the corner. Not able to get a great perspective, he quickly floated up to the rooftop, where he crouched and kept out of the cone of a nearby light. “The Comanche must be using some of the buildings as housing, but there are plenty of tents as well. A lot of them. It reminds me of Commodore Bones’ Killbilly camp outside of Hatch. Have the guards at the front returned?”

“They have. We need to locate the prisoners.”

“Everyone in position?”

“Yes. Paco is on the northwest side of the city right now with Zephyr.”

“Maron and I are on the northeast side,” came the Sunflower Kid’s voice, crisp in Sterling’s ear. “Behind what I believe is the distillery.”

Dang, this really is some cool technology, he thought for what felt like the umpteenth time upon hearing the voices in his head. Like having a telemancer in the group.

“Have you slipped in from the south yet, Rox?”

“Just about to. I have located their motorcycles. I don’t think this is all of them, but there are a good forty to sixty parked here on the southwest side of Monticello. Kid, do you want to handle them?” asked Roxie.

“Will do. Coming to you.”

“I can hear a generator from here,” Sterling said. “It should be on another side of the smaller building adjacent to the entrance. My guess would be that they have one with each building, but I could be wrong. I’ll deal with this one once we cut the lights.”

“Is it time for my windstorm yet?” asked Zephyr.

“Almost.”

Sterling crept over to the other side of the rooftop and looked down, where he saw the generator in question. A flectomancer had done much of the work, encasing it in vented metal to protect it from the elements. There were other items rigged up which he assumed would be to power the generator itself, Sterling following a line that had been buried toward a windmill that, just like everything else he’d seen, had been modified by a flectomancer.

“Kid is almost here,” came Roxie’s voice.

Sterling nodded, knowing that she would be able to do quite a bit of damage to their bikes in an inconspicuous way. The strategy being discussed was to use a thick branch to tie them all together, also sending smaller vines and mushrooms into various crevices on the motorcycles, making it impossible to use them or to be stripped of their parts and repurposed.

“Zephyr, you’re up. Maron, I think it’s time we kill the lights.”

It started gradually, the wind blowing through town picking up until Sterling practically had to get down on his stomach, his cowboy hat clamped onto his head. He heard some shouting below, which he assumed was another aeromancer who would address the windstorm, but not before the lights were cut.

Monticello went black, the wind dying down immediately as Sterling slipped over the side of the building and floated back to the ground. His sickle-sword appeared in his hand, and he went about severing some of the wires that were connected to the generator, the light from his weapon providing the glow he needed to quickly get the job done. Once he was finished, he sent his weapon away again and equipped his revolver, hoping that he wasn’t going to have to use it due to the sound.

The plan remained to let the Serpents of Paradise deal with the Comanche, but there was always the chance that they wouldn’t have any control over that…

“I am going hunting for hostages,” he said as he moved toward the next building. Sterling ducked down just in the nick of time. A Comanche patrol with lights attached to their wrists stopped about fifteen feet away from him, Sterling wishing in that moment that he could turn himself invisible.

One of the men was a solimancer, evident in the way that his hands were red, his bones visible. He had seen this effect with Paco’s powers when the young man did his stone trick.

“Report on your location,” came Roxie’s voice.

Sterling bit his lip. If he said anything in that moment, the odds of him being heard were high. Rather than respond, he simply hunkered down next to an old air conditioning unit, prepared to fire if he was spotted.

“I have visual on an electromancer,” Maron said.

An electromancer? Sterling thought. This kind of mancer seemed to be incredibly rare, and having one around was an element that they hadn’t been prepared to deal with. They would have to be extra careful.

“Windstorm number two in the works…”

Sterling used the building he was beside as a shelter, the cowboy necromancer leaning into it as the wind kicked up again. He noticed another generator from his new vantage point, and after making sure that he would be in the clear, Sterling practically crawled over to it. This one was even more elaborate than the last, the cabling much harder to find and disrupt.

The flectomancer who had put it together had done a good job.

Rather than use his sickle-sword, Sterling relied upon his Mold Manipulation power, that strange mana tug in his chest coming to him as mold began to spread over the slick box protecting the generator and the pipes leading out from it, the mold crackling into the fence and completely disabling the piece.

“Two generators down.”

“I took one down as well on my way to the east,” said Roxie. “Planting C-4 now at the distillery.”

“Yup. Still looking for the prisoners…” There was one more building that Sterling could hide behind before he reached the start of the Comanche’s tent village, where many were still sleeping, not at all disturbed by the fact that the electricity had gone out.

The only problem was, the area was quite open, and there was a lot more activity here. The sudden lack of electricity had spooked some of the men and women tasked with guarding the camps at night, Sterling seeing cones of light moving about and a few mancers floating in the air, most notably a pair of pyromancers, flames licking off their heads.

“I have dealt with their motorcycles,” came the Sunflower Kid’s voice in Sterling’s headpiece. “I had to kill one of them, non-mancer, buried her.”

“I’m assuming no one saw you,” said Paco, the first time Sterling had heard his voice on the comms.

“No, and I’m heading back toward Maron. The patrols have increased.”

“Rox, any sign of where they are keeping the prisoners?”

“Nothing, but I have located another generator. I’ve also spotted the electromancer. They may have a technomancer as well.”

“Do you have visual?”

“No, I saw a drone.”

“Maron, tell me what I should know about a drone,” Sterling said as he continued to duck in the shadows.

“There are a number of things that they may be able to do. I have worked on one that could actually fire a weapon. I never saw it to completion. They may be trained to simply spot something unfamiliar and sound off. Or they may follow and provide data to the mancer that’s controlling them.”

“And if I see one?” Sterling asked. “Should I shoot it down or something?”

“You will most certainly give us away if you do so.”

They weren’t stupid enough not to have a plan B. Because of the way that they had positioned themselves around Monticello, Plan B involved a full out strike using all of their powers at once coming from a variety of angles, which was one of the reasons that Zephyr and Paco were closer to the Comanche’s tent village. A fiery tornado would be the first thing in store, followed by quick sniping from Roxie, and a surge of plant constructs from the Sunflower Kid.

But it would also make them quite vulnerable to being overwhelmed, even if they were quite a strong group. Two hundred people was two hundred people.

“I’ll figure out where the hostages are. Y’all hold tight,” Sterling said as he summoned one of his animates, the Comanche now standing before him. He explained to the man that the amalgamation had killed last night what he wanted him to do, the animate offering Sterling a short nod.

Soon, the zombie had stepped away, back toward the patrol that Sterling had seen just moments ago. It was either going to work, or…

Come on, luck, Sterling thought as he waited in anticipation for his animate to return.

“Last generator has been disrupted. At least, I hope it’s the last,” said Roxie.

“Move to a rooftop; I have an animate trying to get some information.”

“Are you sure?” she hissed.

“Move, and everyone get ready,” he told the group as his animate shuffled back toward him. Sterling was relieved to see that no one had joined the dead man, but that didn’t mean that someone hadn’t followed him, nor did it mean that he wasn’t being used as some kind of ploy. “Well?”

“That one,” the animate told him as he motioned to the building directly in front of Sterling, which was close enough to the camp that it was going to be hard to infiltrate without being spotted.

“Figured. Y’all,” Sterling announced over the headset, “I’m heading in.”

Sterling couldn’t believe that it had worked. This was what his increase in power was supposedly going to allow him to do going forward. His animate had actually been able to gather information, not unlike the female named Melody that had come to him that night back when he had stayed with the tree people.

Definitely got to get me some more levels, Sterling thought as he observed the building in question, which, from what he could tell, used to function as some sort of courthouse. There was nothing fancy about it, the windows barred up, the outer walls made of polished red granite. It looked like there would be only a few ways in, either through the front, the back, or the rooftop, provided that there was an entrance.

After making sure that no one was coming around the corner, Sterling slipped forward and reached the outer wall. He began floating up, his hands against the stone surface as if he were crawling. Sure enough, as soon as the brim of his hat reached the parapet, he spotted a guard, the man’s back to him at the moment.

He had been waiting for an opportunity to call upon his assassination technique, the one that he had gotten all the way up to Level 3. And even if he wished he could place his boots on solid ground rather than continue to hover, Sterling rose up and over the edge of the roof like some sort of ghoul, hovering directly behind the man as he summoned his sickle-sword. His hand went around the man’s mouth, the curve of his blade slitting his throat, arterial blood adding a dash of crimson to the night sky as Sterling brought the man down.

The guard only struggled for a moment, Sterling keeping his hand still over his mouth, kneeling behind him as his life slowly left his body.

“Got me one,” he said over the earpiece.

“On the rooftop?” Roxie asked. “Make sure to stand him back up so he doesn’t raise any suspicion.”

“Just what I was thinking.” Sterling waited a moment, taking his time to equip a rag from his inventory list and wipe away some of the blood. He had the urge to smoke a cigarette, but he knew that that wasn’t a great idea. Figuring it would help his craving, he quickly rolled one up. Rather than tuck it behind his ear, he stuck it in the front pocket of his shirt. “For when we get out of here,” he mumbled as he animated the dead body.

The guard stood, and returned to the place where he had been just a couple of minutes ago, a rifle in his hands.

“Yup.” Sterling saw that there was indeed an entrance on the rooftop, but it wasn’t one that he would have preferred. The rooftop exit was a hatch. It would be risky, but it was better than going through the front, where there were patrols to the main street, or the back, which was close to the Comanche campsite. “Y’all, I’m heading in.”

“Paco. Move toward the south of the campsite and conjure a few of your heat constructs. Kid, there’s a group of Comanche in the building closest to the south exit, across from Sterling’s current location. Seal them in.”

“Okay, Roxie.”

“What about me?” Zephyr asked. “I’m getting bored over here, Rox, bored…”

“We’re going to need you for the hostage escape,” Sterling reminded her. “Stay put, and if you’re bored, well… don’t be. We get these hostages and we skedaddle, go out with a bang, if you get me. Maron?”

“Yeah?”

“Any way you can get a little bit closer and see what them drones are capable of? Don’t want to throw off the other technomancers, however many there may be, but it could be a good distraction as well once the prisoners are out.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Wish me luck, y’all.”

Still crouched over, Sterling approached the hatch and went for the handle. He had already put his sword away, but he kept his magical revolver at the ready as he slowly opened it.

Got lucky there, he thought after he peeked inside and saw that it opened out onto the end of a long hallway, one that was currently dark. There was enough moonlight coming through the barred windows to illuminate the space to some degree, the hatch opening up onto either the third or second floor, he couldn’t quite tell at the moment. But he did see that there was the outline of an exit at the other end of the hall.

Sterling lowered down, and once he was ready, he approached the exit just as the door began to open. A man peeked into the room. Sterling lunged forward with a fist, missing his punch but managing to strike the man in the throat as he pulled the guard into the darkened space.

Sterling began beating him with the grip of his revolver as the man tried to push him off.

It only took a couple hits, his opponent giving up the fight with a gasp.

Sterling once again holstered his weapon and equipped his sickle-sword, twisting into a crouched position behind the man so he could slit his throat.

“Update us,” Roxie said over the earpiece.

“Got me another. Sure could use some light.”

“Did you disrupt the generator that powers that building?”

“No telling. I took down two of the generators; I don’t know what kind of grid they are on.”

“I can turn everything on again,” Maron suggested. “Well, anything still plugged in. It might cause an electrical fire, depending on how you all dealt with those generators.”

“A fire could be nice. Do it, amigo. I need to see what’s about to happen here.”

A light came on above about thirty seconds later, Sterling seeing the results of what he had done to the guard, a puddle of blood on the ground. He was just about to press forward when he decided to get some information. Still crouched, and now raising his hand over the blood, Sterling used his Death Whisper ability to summon the guard.

The man’s face took shape in the blood, Sterling telling those on the comms what he was doing so they wouldn’t wonder why they were hearing his voice. Maron had shown him how to turn his earpiece off and on, but he had forgotten, so he just kept it on as he watched the bloodied face stitch together.

“Ain’t no reason to worry,” he told the man before the guard could speak. “I am a telemancer, and right now, I’m seconds away from doing some nasty shit to your brain. You know what that means? Tell me, son, do you understand me?”

“Yes…”

“Here’s what I need to know. Y’all got prisoners down there, and I want to know how many there are, and how many guards we’re going to have to deal with. I also want to know if there are any mancers.”

“Dawn is there.”

“That don’t mean nothing to me. Is she a mancer?”

“A cryomancer.”

“You don’t say?” asked Sterling, a slow grin taking shape on his face. “I’ve been needing me a little practice with one of them fools. How many hostages?”

“Thirty.”

“They just had thirty people in this town?”

“Thirty… still alive.”

“Y’all are cruel for that, and you know it. But I ain’t here to judge you. Someone else will do that soon enough. How many other guards?”

“Two.”

“So three in total?”

The blood apparition nodded as best it could.

“Rest in peace, amigo.” Sterling quickly relayed what he had heard to the others. “I’m going to make this real quick, and then we are all going to fly out that back door. Y’all get ready to set up a diversion for me.”

“Hurry already,” said Zephyr.

“Ready to support you when you do,” came Roxie’s voice.

The Sunflower Kid was next: “We are all meeting on the same side now. I’m bringing Maron.”

“Y’all stay safe.”

Sterling moved to the next room, which happened to be the top of the stairwell.

“Dallas, is that you?” a voice called out from below, Sterling now understanding the setup of the interior. From what he could tell at the moment, they had made the hostages stay on the bottom floor, at the base of the stairwell, likely to make them easier to manage.

Sterling tried to recall the man’s voice he had just slain. Had it been low? Had it been a bit higher pitched? He couldn’t recall now, so he simply went for it.

“Um, yep,” he said in the most generic voice possible. He even cupped his hand on one side of his face, just to give himself a different tone.

“Then get your ass down here. The lights came back on.”

No, they aren’t on the bottom floor; they are in the basement, Sterling thought, which was something he’d surmised after peeking over the railing and spotting sleeping bags, but no bodies. If there were thirty people, he would have seen someone by now.

Three of them, he reminded himself, and one is a cryomancer.

He wasn’t too worried about the ones that weren’t mancers, not that unpowered people couldn’t put up a fight. Sterling had severely leveled up in Deseret, and was much stronger than he had been just a few weeks ago. But the cryomancer would be a problem, especially until he figured out just how powerful the man or woman was. He assumed that they were pretty strong to be put in charge of guarding thirty hostages.

“Are you coming or what?” a voice called up to him.

Sterling removed his sickle-sword from its breakaway sheath. He glanced over the railing and didn’t see anyone looking up at him, which told him that whoever was calling up wasn’t all that focused on his movement. He thought about taking the stairs down, but figured the element of surprise would be to his advantage. Sterling threw himself over the railing and dropped three floors to the ground, hovering just before he landed and spotting a man with an assault rifle standing in front of one of the doors.

“What the—!?”

Sterling shot forward and cupped his hand around the man’s mouth as he dug his sickle-sword into his stomach. He pulled up, glaring into the guard’s eyes. “Shhhh…”

He watched him die. Sterling didn’t like doing it, and it wasn’t the first time he’d seen life leave someone’s eyes, yet it still felt like a new experience. The man, who wore leather and had a thick scarf, slowly lowered his head and relaxed his shoulders.

“Almost there,” Sterling said into his earpiece. “Any updates?”

“The electromancer I saw on the other side of the town is now investigating the generators that didn’t come back on,” came Roxie’s voice. “The alarm should sound—”

She never was able to finish her sentence, the alarm loud enough that it took Sterling off guard. He stepped back, away from the man whom he had just been holding up against the wall.

The guard’s body sagged forward, blood dripping from the tip of Sterling’s sickle-sword as the basement door popped open.

The cryomancer burst out, the air crackling with ice as she spotted Sterling.

“Shit!” Sterling hopped backward to avoid an icy projectile, one which cut into the wall behind him. The cryomancer was fast, and as she spun, razor-sharp protrusions grew from her forearms, smaller bits of sharpened ice flying from her hands, one managing to tear straight through the side of Sterling’s bicep.

Bam! Bam!

He fired two shots at her, his trajectory thrown off by her sudden ice attack.

Sterling’s eyes darted to the door, expecting the final Comanche guard to burst out; when no one arrived, he put all of his weight onto one foot and came forward with his blade, the cryomancer ducking beneath it. She tried to counter with a spiked uppercut, one that passed mere inches from the tip of his chin.

He thought he had her. Sterling really thought he had her as he squeezed the trigger of his revolver, but she managed to block his magical bullet with the protrusions on her arms, more ice growing around her body, the air cooling to the point that his inhales were starting to hurt.

“What’s happening down there!?”

Sterling ignored Roxie’s voice as he jumped backward yet again, the female cryomancer sending forth a flurry of sharpened ice bullets. Another one struck Sterling, grazing his bicep, but the one that really hurt was the bit of ice that grazed against the side of his cheek, Sterling feeling as if someone had slashed at him with a blade.

He kept firing his gun, the temperature dropping to the point that he was finding it harder and harder to squeeze the trigger, an icy mist in the air now obscuring the cryomancer’s form.

I ain’t going down this easy, Sterling thought as he summoned the Comanche guard he’d just killed. “Stop her!”

This had the effect that Sterling had intended, his animate barreling toward the woman and scaring the living hell out of her based on the way she screamed at his sudden appearance. The former Comanche guard slammed into her and brought her down to the ground, where he began bashing her head and shoulders against the floor even as she sent spikes of ice into his body.

It was enough commotion for Sterling to pinpoint where they were, and as he pressed through the mist, he fired at the ground, not really caring where his bullets landed, be it his animate or the woman. The temperature stopped plummeting and the mist settled. He found the female cryomancer dead, and his animate pretty badly injured yet still moving.

Using his foot, Sterling kicked away some of the ice spikes that had pressed through his body and helped the guard off of the cryomancer.

“There’s still a guard down there,” Sterling said quietly as he pointed at the door, which he knew led down to the basement. “See if you can’t get down there first and get him. He won’t see it coming. When he comes to help you, kill the son of a bitch.”

The animate crawled toward the doorway, its body dragging behind it, leaving a trail of blood.

Sterling heard a voice call below.

“Dave… that you? What the hell’s going on down there?”

His animate responded, “Help… Help me…”

The struggle that came next was rapid fire, Sterling’s animate overpowering the man, followed by the sound of a gun going off, followed by a scream.

It was gruesome, but Sterling was used to this sort of thing by now and he needed to hurry, his eyes on the two entrances that led into the government building, gun drawn, sickle-sword at the ready.

“Now it’s your turn.” He raised the female cryomancer from the dead, the woman sitting up suddenly, the bullet wound on her forehead oozing blood onto her face. “Go down there and get them folks to come up here.”

His animate shuffled forward with a grunt, and soon, some of the captives began to come up the stairs.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sterling told the first man and woman to step out of the door, all wearing masks of shock. “I know this shit looks real crazy. I’ve been sent here by…” He grimaced. It made sense, and it would make this easier, even though it wasn’t quite the reason he had come here. “I’ve been sent here by the Oracle and the good people of Moab, the Elder of Icaria, to rescue anyone who’s alive. Y’all need to follow me. Thirty, right?”

“Yes… yes,” said one of the men, his face badly bruised, eyes bloodshot as he cast his gaze down at the bodies Sterling had left in his wake. “What… What did you do to them?”

“Don’t matter none. Paco, you ready, son?” Sterling asked aloud.

“In position. Zephyr is sending another windstorm through; we are all together now.”

“Kid? You ready as well?”

“Forming it as we speak.”

This is going to be crazy, Sterling thought as more ragged people joined him in the hallway.

“If any of y’all can shoot a gun, which I’m sure you can, grab that one right there and equip whatever you have from your inventory list. We are going to need to guard the women and children. It’s about to be a bum rush to get the hell out of Monticello. No one else needs to die here tonight, folks. But we all have to stick together, we all have to work to make this happen.”

Several of the men began equipping weapons, grunting to psych themselves up. A few of them couldn’t, their hands frozen solid, entrapped in blocks of ice. It wasn’t going to be pretty, nor did he think they would be able to recover from it, but at least they were alive.

It made sense now why a guard had stayed down in the basement. This was to prevent anyone from pulling something out of their inventory list that they hadn’t already emptied. Sterling didn’t think that the Comanche were dumb enough to not have them empty their inventory lists, but without a telemancer, it would have been impossible to know if they had actually obeyed the order or not.

“Almost ready.”

Sterling nodded at the Sunflower Kid’s voice.

“Triggering the explosives now,” said Roxie.

“Windstorm’s on the way.”

“Cut the lights again?” Maron asked.

“Nah, we need them.”

Keeping to the outer edge along with two of the men, Sterling guided the group of hostages toward the back door, prepared for the front door to pop open at any moment. It did just that as the group started to spill outside, Sterling firing his weapon immediately toward the front of the building, the men around him responding as well.

“Head into the tunnel!” he called to the group that was funneling out of the back entrance, the Sunflower Kid’s creation set to protect them as they made their escape.

Sterling kept firing at the Comanche coming in through the front, a spark of electricity catching his eye and telling them that the electromancer was about to make things real bad if they didn’t hurry.

The explosion that followed could be felt all around him, as if it happened directly outside the building. Sterling’s guts twisted into a knot as dust fell from the ceiling, but he continued shooting his weapon. He took cover behind a walnut desk, his eyes going from the people just making it out the back door to a bolt of electricity that sprung forward, an apparition taking shape in form of an electromancer.

Energy crackled around his eyes, the man with slick black hair grinning at Sterling, and making the fatal mistake of gloating rather than killing him.

Sterling’s bullet passed just beneath his cheekbone, and tore out the back of the electromancer’s head.

It was that fast.

It always was.

The electromancer fell and Sterling took off toward the exit, firing behind him as he did so, ignoring some of the guttural shouts from those who had seen what he had done to the electromancer. He ripped out the back door to find that the last few men with weapons were entering the tunnel that the Sunflower Kid had grown within an enormous vine, one that Sterling could almost make his way through without having to duck.

“Seal it up!” Sterling told her as soon as he entered, running to catch up with the men in front of him, pushing the group forward as the tunnel began to seal from behind.

The tunnel the Sunflower Kid had concocted let out about half a mile away from Monticello, chaos engulfing the city as the Comanche tried to figure out what had happened.

Boom!

Roxie triggered another explosion, the night sky lighting up with a fiery show, the distillery destroyed as planned, the alcohol within adding deep blue hues to the flames.

“Everyone here?” Sterling asked the closest survivor he could find, the cowboy necromancer breathless. Still shocked, the man offered him a quick nod. “Good. Do… do a headcount, and then y’all have to move. Ain’t no sense in sticking around here.”

.Chapter Eight.

Zephyr wouldn’t be able to transport all thirty of the people back to Moab, but she was able to lead them, Paco joining her and occasionally glowing like a firefly as they floated through the night sky, Sterling, Roxie, Maron, Beep, and the Sunflower Kid heading in the opposite direction.

They had chosen an abandoned rest stop between Monticello and Monument Valley as a meeting place, which was where they found the Chronicler, the bucket-hatted man seated in the dune buggy with a gun in his lap when Sterling and the other three approached.

“I’m guessing it went well?” he asked, gesturing toward them with his pipe.

“Sure did,” Sterling told the older man as he finally stopped to light the cigarette he had tucked away in his front pocket. He had been meaning to do so along the way, the cowboy necromancer now mounted on his bone horse. The Sunflower Kid was on her mount as well, her white buffalo beside him. While Sterling had hoped that Roxie would ride his bone horse with him, she had declined, preferring to float alongside the technomancer instead.

“We gave them a scare, killed a few, and the rest is up to the Elder of Icaria. It ain’t going to be easy now. We were able to disrupt some of their operations to some degree, blow a few things up, kill a handful, mess with their bikes, that sort of thing. They are going to be angry, livid. Believe that. Like kicking over an anthill.” Sterling went ahead and explained in detail what had happened, how they had kept a low profile.

“And you didn’t end up using the Godwalker?” the Chronicler asked, careful now what he called Beep.

“Nope, that was supposed to be a backup plan, one that was never necessary.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing. And it goes without saying, I am glad to see you all. It was making me nervous to be positioned here along the highway.”

“I feel that. No activity out here?” Sterling took a look around, realizing that it must have been a little scary to be out there all alone, not a soul in sight, the potential to run into either a Comanche or an amalgamation always there.

“None that I saw.”

“We are good until the morning,” said Roxie, who had taken a position where she could watch the road. If anyone was coming, they would be able to see them, an advantage to the great expanse that was Deseret. There were mountains and buttes, arches and tumbledown boulders, slot canyons galore, bedrock and capstone as far as the eye could see. But it also had wide open spaces that the Before People had used to the best of their ability for highways and settlements, which was another reason they’d chosen this particular rest stop.

It was a damn good vantage point.

“In that case, I think I’ll rest.” Sterling hopped down from Manchester. He sent his skeletal steed back to his inventory list and made his way behind the rest stop, where he relieved himself and later took a seat after finishing his cigarette.

“Um, Sterling…”

He had just gotten comfortable, his back against a plywood wall spritzed in Angels of Woe graffiti, cowboy hat dipped forward on his head when he heard the voice. It belonged to Maron.

“Can I help you, amigo?”

“It’s about the Godwalker.” Sterling glanced over his shoulder to see Beep with Maron. He had seen the two out earlier in the day, the technomancer’s eyes lit as he communicated with the soul of his dead wife. Sterling still didn’t know what to make of it, and like many things, he had decided to suppress any true feelings he had on the matter rather than address them by focusing on not only getting revenge for what happened to Don Gasper, but their ultimate plan to destroy the Terminal.

<Beep.>

“I know, I know, I have been a little quiet lately. Just still processing all this. And you’re right,” Sterling said, interpreting the sound the miniature monolith had made. “Now that we got us a translator here, we can talk more.”

“I have asked questions about who you were and what your life was like. She really doesn’t have much to say about it, at least not to me, anyway. It is clear that the two of you are linked in some way through your souls. That’s how she found you, and I believe that is how Isabelle found and transported the others as well.”

“And she can’t transport us back when we’re done with Monument Valley? It sure would make this a whole lot easier.”

<Beep. Beep.>

“Figured as much. The day that something ain’t hard for me is the day that my life ceases to be. Heh. Listen to me rhyming over here. You would think I was some sort of amateur desert poet,” Sterling said, realizing at this point he was just talking to talk. “What’s this about, Maron? You act like you have something to say, or maybe you need to go to the bathroom. If that’s the case, have at it, amigo. Ain’t no one out here to judge, nor does anyone care. I’m just trying to get me a little shuteye. We did well tonight, but the real challenge is tomorrow.”

“That’s why I wanted, ahem, that’s why we wanted to talk to you.”

<Beep.>

“Then shoot. I’m all ears, compadre.”

“Before whatever happens tomorrow happens, Isabelle wanted you to know something.”

Rather than come back with a pithy reply, Sterling simply nodded his head, assuming that this was going to be some confession of love, something that he would not be able to reciprocate considering all of his memories had been stripped from him. It was a weird thing, love, and since he only had the one photo of his wife, it really was all he had to go on, a photo stripped of its meaning. He had more love for some of the people he had met over the last five years than he did for Isabelle, which made him feel guilty, like there was something wrong with him.

“It’s about your son. And maybe…” Maron glanced around the wall that Sterling was currently propped up against, to whom Sterling assumed was the Sunflower Kid or the Chronicler.

<Beep…>

“If that’s your choice,” he told the Godwalker. “I guess it makes more sense to do this one at a time. Or just…”

Maron paused, bringing his hand to his mouth as he looked down at the ground, communicating in some way with Sterling’s dead wife. He would have given anything in that moment to be able to understand what they were saying or how their communication worked, Sterling feeling absolutely useless as Maron simply nodded, his cheeks filling with air.

Finally, the technomancer glanced up to Sterling. “I’m just going to come out and say it, it’s about your son.”

Sterling wanted to feel something; he wanted to feel his heart constrict, or perhaps his hands tense, but all he knew of his son was in the photo that he kept in his wallet. And hearing that he was alive, while joyful, also saddened him to some degree. They would never be able to have the same type of relationship they’d had in the past, not without their memories. He could have passed his son in the street at some point and wouldn’t even have known. Which, yet again, made him feel a sort of guilt that was hard to quantify.

“If my son is actually alive, then why didn’t she bring him here?”

“Are you sure you want the answer to that?”

Sterling glanced up at Maron. “What do you think?”

“I’m asking you.”

“And I’m telling you. I don’t know much about you, amigo, but if you knew that your kin was alive in some way, you’d want to know about them, right? Or maybe wouldn’t, depending on the circumstances. And that’s where I’m finding myself right now.” Sterling flicked his cigarette to the dirt. “Somewhere buried in between them circumstances.”

<Beep.>

“She wants you to know, but she doesn’t want…”

“She doesn’t want what? For it to affect me? Hell, all this is affecting me. I don’t know what to make of none of this. Here I was, roaming around Deseret with a miniature version of the enemy, only to find out that my wife’s soul is in there? I’m not blaming you, I’m just… I’m agitated. That’s all. I feel like I should… I feel like I should be expressing myself differently. That I should feel something for this damn thing here,” he said as he swept his hand toward Beep, “but I don’t. I don’t know shit about my life, or who I was before. That’s for damn sure. For goddamn sure.”

Maron exhaled audibly. “Would you prefer I wait and tell you later?”

<Beep. Beep.>

“What she said. I’m sick of dancing around the edges here, amigo. Tell me what I need to know.”

“Like I was saying, your son isn’t dead. In fact…”

“Come on, spit it out. No need to hesitate; I can handle the info.”

Maron’s voice quieted, now just above a whisper. “It’s the Kid. The Sunflower Kid is your son.”

Sterling’s mouth dropped open, his eyes watering. “The Kid? Are… are you shitting me?”

“That’s what she says. I swear. The Sunflower Kid is, or at least was, your son. And… and she wants you to keep this information to yourself for the time being.”

Sterling lowered his head and brought his knees up, his arms going to his chest as he tilted his chin down. “I won’t say nothing to her and… I need some time to think about this. Y’all give me some time. I need a moment.”

Sterling kept to himself the rest of the night.

He heard the others winding down, Paco and Zephyr returning, Sterling lost in his thoughts on how he should feel, or what he should think. Part of it made sense to him. For some reason, it made sense that he would be related to the Sunflower Kid, ironic in the fact that she had been the first person he’d run into really back in Las Cruces, both of them bewildered and wandering through some random neighborhood. Star-crossed in that way.

Had they been looking for each other after all? Had it been some higher power operating through them? Sterling didn’t much believe in things like that, but some of the experiences he’d gone through told him that there was something else out there, and it likely wasn’t the electric soul concept as Maron had put it. It was something else.

The morning sun had already risen when Roxie approached Sterling, the female gunner in her poncho, hood over her head, the sudden appearance of her silhouette at odds with the Canyonland backdrop.

She looked down at him, a softness in her eyes that she was unable to hide. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he told her as he sent his wallet back to his inventory list, hoping that she hadn’t seen him looking at the photo. “Just… I’m just getting ready for Monument Valley.”

“You don’t seem yourself.”

“Shee-it, I’m as much me as I’m ever going to be.”

“Do you have a cigarette?”

“I’ll roll one.” Even with the revelation, Sterling felt well-rested. He had dozed off at some point that night, seated there behind the rest stop, and now, as he equipped his bag of tobacco and his rolling papers, he noticed that he wasn’t feeling as groggy as he thought he would have.

Even so, Sterling couldn’t suppress the apprehension he was starting to notice about what they planned to do, the group just a few hours away from Monument Valley. A little reconnaissance, and then they’d make their move. The longer they stuck around the area, the easier it would be for the Godwalkers to preemptively strike or for the Comanche to find them.

He spoke about these things as they shared a smoke, Sterling never telling Roxie about the Sunflower Kid, how she was his son, or rather, his daughter, considering she had changed her gender. None of that part mattered to him. But he did wonder why Isabelle didn’t want the Kid to know, why she was making Sterling keep it a secret. Shouldn’t this be cause for celebration?

To think, this whole time, she was right here… Sterling looked at Roxie as if she were the Sunflower Kid for a moment, the female gunner taken off guard by the expression on his face.

“Did I say something?”

“Nothing. Is everyone ready to go?”

“We’re waiting on you. Why do you think I came back here? Listen…” Roxie sent her hand forward and squeezed his knee. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I promised I wouldn’t say nothing. And… and it don’t matter right now. There are a lot of things I’m going to say in the future, but right now, our focus needs to be on them Godwalkers. It’s why we came here, Rox. Why… Beep brought us here.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Please, just leave me be, finish this cigarette with me. And while we’re at it, let’s eat something.”

“We already ate. You eat. Maron said to give you as much time as you needed, and the others seemed to agree. This better not be something…” She bit her lip. “This better not be something that will put us in danger, whatever it is you know.”

“Heh. We are already in danger, but no, it ain’t nothing like that.” Sterling took a long drag off the cigarette and finished it. After flicking the stub to the ground, he went for some of the rations in his inventory list, not at all surprised to see a vine come twisting down over his shoulder, apples and strawberries and oranges appearing, the colors vibrant and fresh in such a dry landscape, the buttes in the distance seeming even further away than they had been just moments ago.

Sterling plucked the apple, knowing that it was from his daughter, and that she didn’t know who she was, that they were related. He took his first bite of the fruit of knowledge and it was crisp and perfect.

This whole time, he thought again as he looked down at the apple. This whole time, my child has been right here with me this whole time.

Sterling looked up at the sky and yet again felt a tear coming. He didn’t let it fall. It wasn’t really his style, and there was no time for crying in the post-apocalyptic Southwest. Instead he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his duster and got to his feet. He took a deep breath in and finished the apple, which he chucked as far as he could.

Out of sight, out of mind. For now.

He ate some of the strawberries, and finally, after eating a strip of dried buffalo meat, he stepped around the barrier separating him from the others to find all of them gathered around the dune buggy, the Chronicler with a map out on the hood, Maron and Zephyr and Paco all looking at it with him. The Sunflower Kid was off in her own world, her hair long and braided, bright pink, her back to Sterling at the moment as she gazed out at the horizon. Beep was by her side and even more gussied up than it had been the last time he had seen the Godwalker.

My wife, and my daughter, Sterling thought. Ain’t that something…

The Chronicler offered Sterling a cautious wave. “Morning. We were just circling back to what we’ve already discussed numerous times now.”

Sterling approached the hood of the car and saw the map. He also saw several sketches, including one of Monument Valley and some of the petroglyphs that the Chronicler found important. He’d seen much of this material before. But now that they were closer, he looked at it in a new light, one sketch of souls being lifted into a hovering Godwalker, the other featuring an energy force being driven into the ground, the Godwalkers finished.

<Beep.>

“Howdy,” Sterling said as he tipped his hat to the tiny monolith. “Are y’all ready to do this?”

The rest of them looked up at Sterling, reminding him at that moment that he was the ringleader here. Even if he wasn’t the most powerful, or maybe the most useful considering his power, he would be leading the charge.

“Our job is to distract them,” Sterling said, hopping right into a conversation he’d already had with the Chronicler a few days back. “Paco, Zephyr, you know what needs to be done while we run interference. We don’t know exactly where this underground charging station of theirs is, the Terminal proper, but they’re going to be hovering around, so shoot for that area.”

“They will, and there will be others, from the size of your… companion here, to ones in between.”

“We have taken down one of those before, and a bigger one,” Sterling reminded the Chronicler.

“Yes, and you may have to do so again. It’s going to take quite a bit of energy to drill down and destroy what is beneath the soil.”

“I believe I will be able to help in some regard,” Maron told the group. “At least when it comes to those that are the size of your wife here.”

Sterling almost told the man that Beep wasn’t his wife, but he refrained from doing so and motioned for him to continue.

“I was testing it late last night. Watch…” Maron cast his hand in the Godwalker’s direction, the technomancer tilting his chin up, Sterling watching as code took shape on his eyes. Bits of moving vertical code starting to glow under Maron’s skin, characters he didn’t pretend to recognize.

Beep began to shift forward, until it did a complete somersault.

“You can control one that size?” Zephyr asked, a shocked look on her face. “That’s awesome.”

Maron slowly lowered his hand, the alien characters shining beneath his skin fading away, his eyes back to normal. “I didn’t think I could, but she suggested I try and… it works. I don’t know how many I will be able to control, but it doesn’t take much mana, so I’m guessing more than a handful.”

“Speaking of mana…” Roxie summoned a leather satchel. She opened it and showed the group, Sterling seeing dozens upon dozens of charms. “A collection of things I’ve picked up over the years. None of them are legendary, or even rare, but many of them have some effect on mana. Paco, Maron, Zephyr? Take anything you can.”

“Dang, Rox, you’ve been holding out on me this whole time…”

“Please. There’s nothing in here that will modify your stats that much, but there are mana charms.”

“I have some that I can donate too.” The Sunflower Kid finally turned to the group, Sterling not able to look her in the eye now. He had this feeling that she would know; if they made eye contact, he knew that she would recognize that he knew something she didn’t, so he kept his chin tucked, the brim of his cowboy hat shielding his face.

The three mancers began picking through Roxie’s charms, and equipping them in any way they could, the Sunflower Kid distributing several of her pieces to them as well.

“According to what we already know, there is going to be a massive explosion when this happens. That puts the two of you at ground zero,” Roxie told Zephyr and Paco.

“I will be there too.”

“No, no you won’t,” Sterling told the Kid in a tone that was a hair too harsh. “We tested this out, and y’all ran another test yesterday while I was resting. We got to keep to the game plan here. You and I keep up the distractions, they handle the Terminal. That means we need something big from you.”

“Watermelon?”

Sterling smirked in her direction. “A big Watermelon would be great and all, but no, not your buffalo. The same kind of thing you did back there at that cultists’ place in New Mexico. Big ol’ vine. I know you’re capable of it. Try to use it to throw off the trajectory of their weapons. All of us have to play our role here, and we can’t shy away from it.” He returned his focus to the others. “Zephyr, your main goal, aside from helping Paco here, is to protect him once that explosion starts up. This very well could kill us all, I don’t know. I hope not.”

“It won’t.”

Sterling nodded at Roxie. “Mighty confident over there.”

“We’ll regroup and continue south to Chaco Canyon. There is no other acceptable outcome.”

“Down through Arizona, back to New Mexico,” said the Chronicler.

“Yep,” Sterling finally said. “Well, folks, do whatever else it is you need to do here and let’s get going. I want all of us to be pushing into Kayenta by nightfall,” he said, referring to a former Navajo city on the border of Arizona and Utah. “This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. It’s payback time.”

.Chapter Nine.

Monument Valley and its voluminous buttes, once a place filled with jacal and primitive stonework, a meeting ground of ancient peoples made famous by Western films and stock images of the American Southwest, was now set to become a graveyard of alien monoliths.

Even so, it truly was a mesmerizing location, the sky clear and heavy over a breathtaking landscape cast in various shades of bronze. Between the three most famous buttes floated a collection of Godwalkers, the big ones towering in size, the heat playing tricks on their angular shadows. There were five of the monoliths, and surrounding the five were ones the same size as Beep, dozens upon dozens, as well as the medium-sized ones like Sterling and his team had taken out three years ago.

He was the only one seated in the dune buggy now, smoking and staring at the Godwalkers, Sterling trying to temporarily suppress all the things he had learned recently, from his wife to the identity of his child, and the things he knew he had caused to some degree, like Don Gasper’s death.

This is it, amigo, he thought, an attempt to psych himself up. This is why we were brought here, and… and I’m going to do it for you, Isabelle, Gasper. Not only for you, but for Liam, for Karina, for any and all who have been affected by these damn things, and for those who will be affected in the future, people like baby Jessica.

Sterling steeled himself. This was a chance to make things right, to kickstart their journey home, and anything on the periphery could remain there.

He needed to focus.

Summoning one of his peppers from his inventory list, he went for one with a light kick to it, eating one of his Big Jim peppers as if it were a carrot in between gulps of water.

“Just psyching myself up,” he said once Zephyr approached.

“That’s not what I came here for. Roxie wants a cigarette, and I want a joint.”

“How about a pepper?”

“You can keep them for yourself.”

“Gladly.” Sterling finished chewing his pepper, took another swig of the water, and went about honoring their requests, first rolling up a couple of cigarettes, one of which he placed behind his ear, and the other he tucked in his shirt pocket. He then crafted a thin joint for the aeromancer.

Sterling hopped out of the dune buggy to find Paco seated with his legs crossed beneath him, the Hopi youth shirtless, his face painted with red marks, the desert sun warming his skin. He sat near the Sunflower Kid, who stood far too close to the edge of the mesa, observing the Godwalkers in the distance.

Dusty was seated in his camping chair, puffing away on his pipe, and while he had some of his notes in his lap, it was clear that he had just put them there for reassurance, the researcher with uncertainty in his eyes.

“It’ll work, amigo, it’ll work,” Sterling said as he stepped by him, lightly patting the older man on the shoulder. “Zee, as requested.”

The aeromancer took the joint from him and he lit it. After two hits, she sent what was left to her inventory list. “Just need a little to take the edge off.”

“Yeah, maybe we could all use something like that. Who wants some tequila?”

Sterling still had enough left to share with his friends, and he wasn’t surprised to see Zephyr be the first to volunteer for the first shot.

“Hold on a minute.” He lit a cigarette and approached Roxie, who was on her belly with one of her sniper rifles set up. Rather than say anything, he simply handed the cigarette down to her and she took it, keeping her eye on the group of Godwalkers.

<Beep.>

“I see you,” Sterling said as he turned to the hovering monolith, offering it a smile as best he could. The flowery belt that the Sunflower Kid made was still wrapped around the Godwalker’s body, and an almost comical face was painted on its front surface. “We’re going to do this. And afterward…” He nodded at Beep. “Afterward, I’ll take it from there.”

<Beep.>

Sterling summoned what was left of his bottle of tequila and a square shot glass. He poured up the first shot and handed it off to Zephyr, who threw it back. The second shot of tequila went to Maron, the technomancer with his peculiar twitch blinking rapidly. He wiped his mouth. “That helps. My nerves are just a little…”

“Fried?”

“Frazzled, yes. There’s a lot of chatter in the air,” he said, his eyes pulsing with code and then relaxing again. “I don’t know how to describe it other than that. Thus far, they haven’t detected me.”

“Good. Just be ready when we get down there to do what you got to do.”

Maron nodded and offered Sterling a thumbs up, some of the bracelets on his arm, charms that increased his mana, sliding down to some degree.

“Rox, you want a shot?”

“I’m good.”

“Kid?”

“I have an avocado.”

“Paco?”

“It’s fine.”

“Dusty?”

“Maybe after all this is over.”

“In that case…” Sterling looked down at the shot of tequila that he had just poured up. He sent it back, winced, and let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he sent the bottle and the shot glass back to his inventory list. Sterling rubbed his hands together and exhaled. “I guess there’s only one thing left to do, and that’s do it.”

Sterling was the first to float down to the base of the mesa, doing so before the others could prepare to move.

They were still about two miles out, but it was a straight path from here to the Godwalkers, and he was ready to get the inevitable over with. If they survived, they would head south, and during that time he would figure out how to tell the Sunflower Kid that he was her father, that there was much more to the situation than either of them could have possibly imagined.

But for now, he was ready to ride.

Summoning Manchester’s bones, Sterling waited a moment for his skeletal steed to clink into place, the cowboy necromancer putting his saddle on just about the time the others joined him. The Sunflower Kid summoned her white buffalo and climbed on using a set of vines as steps.

The Chronicler was with them as well and now in the driver’s seat of the dune buggy, Roxie seated shotgun. Sterling appreciated that about Dusty; the older researcher wanted to do anything he could to be part of their operation, and if that meant he would be the driver for their ballistics expert, then so be it.

<Beep.>

“Y’all know what to do,” Sterling said as he offered the mini Godwalker a nod. “Let’s stick to the plan. We will distract them, and Paco and Zee will deal with the Terminal. Now that we have seen it, it’s pretty clear that they are hovering around the target. Be ready for an explosion, and be ready to get the hell out of Dodge once it looks like things are about to sound off. The Sunflower Kid and I will run the distraction here from the north. Rox and Dusty will hit it in the west, over yonder, Maron and Beep will disrupt the minis wherever they can. We will be in constant communication through our earpieces. So listen, and pay attention if there is a warning. One more thing…”

Sterling’s group all looked to him at the same time.

“Nobody dies today. Done already buried enough for the week.”

Sterling galloped toward the field of Godwalkers, cigarette in his mouth, no clouds in the sky above, his heartbeat steady. He didn’t know how long it would take for the monoliths to notice them, and he wasn’t at all surprised to see movement once he was about a mile out.

“¡Vamos!” Sterling veered off to the left, and curved back to the right, the Sunflower Kid behind him, not quite able to keep up on her white buffalo. She dragged vines that continued to grow in size, the fibers twisting together, a strange look on her face, her head tilted down.

Let’s do this, Sterling thought to her even though he knew she couldn’t hear him, for your mother, for my wife.

The miniature Godwalkers were the first to start zipping toward him. Sterling summoned one of his animates as he continued to ride, now bent over to the side of his skeletal steed. The animate touched down and ran in the opposite direction, some of the Godwalkers changing their trajectory. He did the same for another animate, more of the small alien monoliths chasing his second summon.

It was impossible to know how many there were, especially now that he was on level ground with them, Sterling noticing that a few of them were starting to open up.

Manchester hooked to the left yet again, the Sunflower Kid following suit as Maron floated past, his arms at his sides, skin riddled with code, the air filled with visible sparks. Several of the Godwalkers began to fire on one another, kicking up dust and scrap, Sterling hunkering down as he leaped over the first Godwalker to reach him.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

He knew his magical revolver would do little to the alien monoliths, but at least it distracted them. He caught sight of the Chronicler whipping around them, Roxie in the passenger seat of the dune buggy with her modified grenade launcher.

Thunk - Boom!

The first explosion sent several Godwalkers flipping into the air, Sterling stirring up more trouble and trying to grab their attention. The cowboy necromancer fired his revolver brazenly, hoping to lead them away, to distract them so Zephyr and Paco could make their move.

“Going in!” Zephyr’s voice came to him over the earpiece, Sterling sensing a gust of wind off to his right somewhere, the dirt billowing into the air. Much to his surprise, the larger monoliths continued to float aimlessly over the high desert and had yet to open up, the five simply hovering there, charging.

He couldn’t see an energy source, nothing like that, no indication of what they were doing there. If someone had stumbled upon them they might have thought that they were simply gathering. But Sterling knew better; the Anasazi had laid it all out, and he prayed that the petroglyphs were accurate…

“Come on!” He tugged the reins; Manchester leaped over another Godwalker just as a serpentine vine shot by, one easily as thick as a shipping container. It slammed into more of the smaller Godwalkers, the vine twisting toward one of the medium-sized alien monoliths. Dropping to the side once again, Sterling summoned another of his animates, who took off in yet another direction to add to the madness.

Some of the Godwalkers were fighting themselves, others trying to get Sterling, his animates, or anyone intending to attack them. Plenty had yet to officially act, as if they were moving in flanks into the fight, which was making him feel uneasy.

Sterling holstered his weapons and held tightly on to the reins of the skeletal steed as he slowly stood onto the saddle. It wasn’t something he had done that often, but he wasn’t going to be standing for long, the cowboy necromancer taking to the air and shooting straight up, ignoring the butterflies as he careened toward one of the medium-sized Godwalkers.

He landed on top of it, one knee down, his head bent forward.

His hands against the smooth surface of the Godwalker, he immediately began sending as much mold as he could into the alien craft. He kept triggering the power, feeling a flourish within him every time it reignited. He had to believe it was possible, that the Godwalker was not so different from the generator he had destroyed in Monticello by doing the very same thing. Sterling just needed to keep the pressure up, and as he had noticed before, there was little it could do to get Sterling off the top of its body.

Come on… Come on…

He kept pumping it full of mildew and mold, the craft beginning to tremble, Sterling glancing over his shoulder to see a bulleted spiral of wind reaching the larger Godwalkers.

“This is for you, Isabelle,” he muttered as the medium-size Godwalker he was on top of began to tilt forward. Dozens of smaller ones before it were obscured by the dust and infighting as it crashed down onto them, metal on metal screeching.

Sterling jumped off at the very last moment, and shouted for Manchester. He saw his skeletal steed turning in his direction, and flew toward it, back in the saddle in the matter of moments.

Thunk - Boom! Thunk - Boom!

He barely managed to press past some of Roxie’s explosions, debris falling from the sky, Sterling buckled down with his hand on his cowboy hat as he galloped away. Once he was in the clear, and as he turned back to the fight, he saw Roxie running forward as well at a breakneck pace, her grenade launcher in her hand, no fear in her eyes.

He blazed toward her, the female gunner naturally taking a step into the air and joining him, her weapon instantly dematerialized as she wrapped her arms around his body, an embrace of sorts.

“Don’t you get yourself killed!” he told her just before she threw herself off his bone horse, tackling one of the smaller Godwalkers and bringing it to the ground.

This was why she had been called Rowayton the Indestructible years back. Roxie quickly lifted the Godwalker over her head and slammed it into the ground. She then picked it up and tossed it into some of the others and charged forward, an absolutely savage look on her face as one of his animates nearby was fried by a beam of energy, viscera spritzing the air.

Sterling looked back just as a blast from another of the smaller Godwalkers tore into Watermelon, eviscerating the white buffalo completely and tossing the Sunflower Kid off.

“No!”

His heart still would have skipped a beat had he not known what he knew now, but the knowledge that she was his child only made the feeling more debilitating, Sterling sensing it all the way down to the soles of his feet. He nearly fell off Manchester, the cowboy necromancer just barely able to hold himself up with the reins as he turned in the direction he had last seen the Sunflower Kid.

“It’s starting!” came the Chronicler’s voice over the earpiece, momentarily snapping Sterling out of it. “Everyone get ready!”

Galloping toward what was left of Watermelon’s fallen body, Sterling collided with one of the smaller Godwalkers, and was flipped off his bone horse.

He landed on his back hard, the wind knocked out of him, the world shifting as he scrambled to find his weapon. He turned over onto his belly. On his hands and knees now, he looked up and saw the front of the small enemy Godwalker beginning to open.

He also saw his revolver.

He reached for it instinctively, not thinking things through. Sterling was certain he would have died had it not been for an enormous blast that shredded his alien opponent, liquid metal, bits of fire, shrapnel, everything exploding into the air in front of him.

Sterling recognized the flowery belt, the face painted on the front of Beep, his wife.

Isabelle had saved his life, and now he needed to find his daughter, their daughter.

Panic buckled his knees, yet he remained standing. Sterling stepped around Watermelon’s carcass, and over the collapsed form of a miniature Godwalker. The air was electric now and he heard the buzzing sound that he associated with the larger monoliths beginning to open up, his breaths growing shorter and shorter with each second that passed.

“Where are you…?” he whispered, his revolver in his hand, as if that would do any good. “Kid! Kid!”

There were a few craters in the ground. Sterling came to one that had a collapsed form resting in the middle of it.

No…

He rushed to the Sunflower Kid and scooped the teenage girl into his arms, her face bruised, her neck held at an uncomfortable angle, blood streaked across her pink hair. Sterling brought his ear to her chest, but there was too much activity around for him to hear the faint murmur of a heartbeat, the ground lurching in a way that he wasn’t expecting.

The Chronicler’s voice came to him, jarring as ever over the earpiece and rimmed in static. “Everyone needs to get out of there! They are almost done. Go! Go!”

“Sterling, where are you!?”

He ignored Roxie’s voice as he tried to feel for a pulse, before eventually giving up and lifting the Kid into his arms. He tried to whistle for Manchester, to shout, but he couldn’t get any sound out, his voice nonexistent.

He knew she was dead. She had to be. But Sterling wasn’t going to accept this. He wasn’t going to let his only kin alive die.

“Don’t do it,” he told her, his voice choking up, the words finally coming to him. “Don’t do it, Kid. You can’t. You can’t!” he yelled, oblivious to his surroundings, oblivious to Roxie shouting for him in the earpiece.

A new thought came to Sterling as he continued to search around the smoke, the man bewildered now, not sure of where he was going or what he should do.

He would die here with her.

She was his daughter, and if that was what needed to happen, that was what needed to happen. But then he remembered what he had told the others, that there was more that needed to happen, Monument Valley just a stop along the trip to their ultimate goal, Chaco Canyon.

You have to keep going…You have to keep going…

The Sunflower Kid coughed, the eternal teenager gasping awake, her wavering eyes locking on to Sterling, her arm going around his neck as she hugged him.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said as he began running away from the towering monoliths, the only direction he knew that made any sense, trying to ignore the elation in his chest. Manchester appeared on the periphery and charged toward him. “Pingo!” He launched himself in the air, aided by his ability to fly as he hovered over his bone horse and lowered, still clutching the Sunflower Kid tightly in his arms.

“Sterling, for the love of God… where are you!?”

“Had to get the Kid,” he finally said loud enough for his earpiece to pick up his voice. “Apologies, Rox.”

“Don’t… don’t apologize. Get to the rendezvous point!” He could tell by the tone of Roxie’s voice that not only was she stressed, she was also relieved. “What the hell are you thinking!?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, Sterling turned the skeletal steed back toward the mesa they had been perched on earlier, the cowboy necromancer picking up steam as he barreled toward safety.

He spotted Maron holding on to Beep as the Godwalker zipped forward, the technomancer’s legs sprawled out behind him. He reached the two of them, and as he did he noticed something on the horizon, several hundred feet ahead. It was the dune buggy, Roxie with half of her body out the window and holding the grenade launcher, the Chronicler giving as much gas to the vehicle as he humanly could.

The ground began to quake, both Sterling and Maron making eye contact in that moment, both aware of what was to come.

There were Godwalkers chasing after them now, Sterling turning to see that one of the medium-sized ones was within thirty seconds of leveling all of them, the craft just about charged up.

He turned back to their destination, ignoring the monolith as they drew closer and closer toward the bottom of the mesa. Not able to jump off the saddle like he did earlier, Sterling simply fell to the side, the Sunflower Kid still in his arms as he simultaneously sent Manchester to his inventory list and began flying in a sideways trajectory.

He came inches away from scraping his body against the hardtop, the cowboy necromancer able to pick up speed as he began to lift higher into the air.

Wooooosh!

The ground began to tear away beneath him as one of the Godwalkers unleashed a terrifyingly powerful laser, Sterling just a few feet above it and feeling the intense heat, the others flying as well including Roxie and the Chronicler, Beep and Maron.

Come on, Zephyr, come on, Paco, he thought, too afraid to look over his shoulder now, not certain what was about to happen as the air began to spark with electricity. He landed on the mesa and stumbled forward. An enormous explosion sending ripples across the high desert, Sterling shielding the Sunflower Kid with his body.

What followed was a blast of wind and a series of smaller explosions the likes of which he’d never experienced before, the ground practically stripped away from the Earth’s core, subsonic booms happening all around him, rattling the landscape and causing rock slides.

Sterling continued to shield his daughter as dust and debris trickled down on them. Even as the others began to stir, he still sought to protect her.

He finally began to let up when someone touched down not far from them, the ground rumbling once again as if a comet had landed.

Sterling looked over to see Zephyr and Paco, the Hopi youth completely passed out, Zephyr with the young man thrown over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The aeromancer looked beat to hell, but she was smiling, a wicked grin on her face, her dark hair matted to her forehead as she laid Paco onto the ground.

Zephyr licked her lips and bared her teeth. “Fuck those Godwalkers.”

Maron cheered, as did Roxie, who clapped her hands together and whooped. The Chronicler stood, and stared off into the distance with a bewildered look on his face, his hand nursing his side. “It worked? It… it worked! I can’t believe it worked! I’ll… I’ll take that drink now. Holy hell, it worked!”

“Shee-it…” Sterling slowly lowered the Sunflower Kid onto the ground, and saw that she was squinting at him, a faint smile on her face.

“We did it, didn’t we?” she said in a soft voice.

“We sure did.”

Flowers began to lift out of the soil around her head and her body, almost as if they were embracing her. “Give me a minute.”

“You got it.” Sterling got to his feet and turned to the others, dusting himself off as he did so.

He reached into his front shirt pocket, pulled out the cigarette he had been saving for this very moment, and placed it in his mouth. He lit it, and warily took his first glance at the horizon, which was covered in smoke, yet absent of Godwalkers.

Roxie had summoned a bottle of liquor she had apparently lifted from the distillery back in Monticello and took a swig, the female gunner then handing it off to the Chronicler, who took a big pull as well.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Zephyr said, the aeromancer ecstatic to the point that she was floating. “I can’t believe that worked!”

“We… we did it?” Paco asked as he slowly started to come awake, the red paint he had across his face smeared, blackened marks on his forehead.

“We sure did, son,” Sterling told him. “We did it, goddammit, we did it.”

“Only… Only one problem…” Maron stepped aside and gestured toward Beep. The Godwalker was now resting on the ground, completely lifeless, yet still with a face painted across its front surface, the belt of flowers that had been tied around its waist missing. “She… said this would happen. Said not to tell you.”

Sterling ashed his cigarette, a sad smile cracking across his face as he came to understand in his own way what love was, and how Isabelle had shown it to him.

“It’ll… it’ll be fine. I had this feeling that destroying this Terminal would do something to her, and… I just wish I had said goodbye in a better way.” He turned and looked back at the Sunflower Kid, who had her arms over her chest, eyes shut again as flowers continued to bloom all around her, yellow, blue, pink, red, and white, the biomancer healing her internal injuries.

“We can still use her, or, the Godwalker. But it won’t be her,” Maron offered, the technomancer now crouched next to the tiny monolith. “At least not in the sense of who she once was. Still, she gave me her blessing…”

“Yep. Sounds like Isabelle to me.” Sterling brought his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned back in the direction of Monument Valley, the famous buttes pressing through the smoke, Deseret slowly shifting back to its natural state. “Let’s wait for the dust to clear, and then see what’s left of the Terminal. After that, we head south. It’s time to go home.”

The end.

.Back of the Book.

Hi, I’m Harmon Cooper. Before we get into the making of Cowboy Necromancer Two, please take a moment to review this book. The Cowboy Necromancer series exists because of your readership and reviews. Right now, I’m planning for it to be a trilogy, but I love these characters and I’d like for it to go longer.

But all of that is dependent on how it is received, so if you’ve made it this far, take a moment to review both the first and second book. Your review can be super short, and regarding the next book, I plan to release it in May of 2022.

Review Cowboy Necromancer 1 (This is where everyone starts, very important to review!)

Review Cowboy Necromancer 2 (This is where everyone looks once they see the first book to see if the reviews stack up…)

The Cowboy Necromancer story is chiseled into the southwest, and I've been a bit worried about really pulling it off because there's just so much research necessary to get things right.

A lot of the times, it seems as if I have made something up, but if you know my style by now, you might have seen that I generally draw on actual historical documents that I then add a fantasy take to.

With Cowboy Necromancer, I not only wanted to go to some of the places, I wanted to utilize as much native mythology and names and settings of the region to create the world itself as a character.

There have been some books recently that have really helped me, and you can find them all on Amazon. Here are the ones I’ve used to craft the Cowboy Necromancer world:

Blood and Thunder by Hampton Sides

Empire of the Summer Moon by S.C. Gwynne

Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey

Wild Bill by Tom Clavin

Dreams of El Dorado by H.W. Brands

Some of these are absolutely amazing, especially Blood and Thunder and Dreams of El Dorado for a view of the southwest history as a whole. Edward Abbey's book has helped me with landscape descriptions, plus his voice is something I'll channel for a project in the future. (He is literally a disgruntled park ranger writing a memoir while living at one of the national parks. It's snarky and funny).

But House of Rain by Craig Childs... this is the one I was looking for, how I crafted the petroglyph tie-in to the Cowboy Necromancer lore. House of Rain follows the writer, an explorer, as he navigates rough terrain in the Southwest and touches on archeoastronomy.

Read these books, and check out my Patreon .

Yours in sanity,

Harmon Cooper

Writer.harmoncooper@gmail.com

Here are some Facebook pages you should join:

My Facebook Group

(join the above group to get exclusive content, see cover reveals, get updated release schedules, connect with other Harmon Cooper readers, check out dope memes, and so much more!)

LitRPG Books

GameLit Society

LitRPG Forum

Here are some other ways to support my books:

1. Join the Proxima Galaxy on Facebook where I look for ARC (advanced Review Copy) readers and give away audiobooks and other cool stuff.

2. Review my books, which generates more interest from other readers, which makes me write faster because (carrot dangling from the stick!) – I want to please you all!

3. Join the Harmon Cooper mailing list.

4. Join my Patreon where you can read exclusive content (from cover design to future release ideas and chapters)

To learn more about LitRPG, talk to authors including myself, and just have an awesome time, please join the LitRPG Group.

Other Books by Harmon Cooper

I have written over sixty books (whew). Here are some of the highlights!

Witcher meets John Wick meets The Witcher in my bestselling series.

https://geni.us/PILGRIM

Introducing War Priest: Mask of the Fallen

Check out my newest and expect a much deeper cultivation system, some of the best combat I’ve written after a year of research into samurai and ninja (shinobi) techniques, yokai, and a coming-of-age dark fantasy story about a healer who is forced to become a warrior.

Check out War Priest!

A man becomes the grim reaper and introduces game mechanics to the role. DO NOT miss this book.

https://geni.us/DeathsMantle

What if Ready Player One was a multi-part epic? Gritty LitRPG action, gamer humor, fantastic fantasy worlds, and a killer MC.

https://geni.us/TheLoop

.About the Author.

Harmon Cooper is the author of over sixty science fantasy books. Originally from Austin, Texas, he spent five years honing his writing skills in Asia before ultimately relocating to New England. More information can be found on his website www.harmoncooper.com