The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.51 (Patreon)

Chapter Fifty-One

The old and the new.

“Hey, shit! Hey!” The gate guards began to wave excitedly as they drew near to the city. “I said he’d come! Didn’t I, Bob? Didn’t I say?”

“We both said,” the grinning Bob nodded. “You know we both said it, Earl.”

“Yeah, but I said it first!” Earl replied proudly as they drew near to the tightly closed gates. “I said it, I did. I said that Wolf’s Bane Wesley would be back in our hour of need!”

“How long were you here for again?” Malia asked, slightly uncomfortable with the exuberant reception he was getting.

“Days that felt like years,” Wesley said quietly before raising his voice to greet the guards. “Hi, guys. Nice to see you again.”

“Wait, wait,” Bob said. “Settle a little bet for us,” He elbowed Earl in the belly. “Do you remember when you saw us last?”

Wesley hesitated but, in the end, went with his gut and a dim memory.

“Sure, you guys waved goodbye when I left the city,” Wes tried, seeing their faces light up, “They got you on Gate duty again? Don’t they ever give you two a day off?”

“I TOLD you he would remember,” Bob beamed. “I told you!” 

“You said it!” Earl beamed. “I thought, naah, not a hero like that! But you said it.”

“Hey, I’m no hero,” Wesley said honestly, “We all fought like hell. No one stands out, right? Well, except Earnshaw.”

“You saw him, right? In that last fight?” Earl leaned forward. “They said he diced the wolf into bits. Is that right?”

“He sure did,” Wesley nodded. “Nothing but chunks and pink mist.”

The two guards gaped for a second, and then….

“I said it!” Earl said suddenly.

“You never said a damn thing!” Bob protested.

“Look, guys, I hate to run off when we’ve barely had a chance to chat and all that, but do you have any idea where Peterson or the rest of the squad is at?” Wesley interrupted as Malia looked between the two guards with a worried frown.

“Sure!” Bob yelled instantly. “They are training the recruits at the new grounds just behind the Town Hall.”

“Yeah, but be careful. She’s there two.” Earl shivered.

“Split?” Wesley asked.

“Yeah. Dead scary she is,” Bob nodded. “Want us to show you the way?” He clearly hoped not to go anywhere near the training grounds.

“I’ll find my way, thanks,” Wesley nodded to them. “Keep up the good work guys!”

“You too!” Earl waved back.

As they headed through the gate and into the city itself, they could clearly hear the two arguing. 

“You too? He ain’t working, Earl, you idiot!” Bob insisted.

“Is too, else why is he here?” earl shot back.

Wesley led the others deeper into the city, leaving the two guards to it.

Walking through the partially built city was a strange experience. It had only been a few weeks or so since the invasion, but they had made great strides. The outer areas were still wrecked, but the closer they got to the center, the better things got. By the time they got to the Town Hall, it was only the occasional bit of rubble that showed the lie to the fresh facades and neat repairs. 

“My gods!” An aged voice called. “If it isn’t my favorite customer!”

Wesley turned and saw a familiar old man walking quickly his way, a cart slowly rolling to a stop behind him. The contents of that cart were something he had dreamed of ever since he left the city.

“Pieman!” Wesley cheered and embraced the old man. “How’s business?”

“Good!” the old man cackled. “With the Sundering coming, everyone has stopped dieting! Everyone wants to eat till they explode! I’ve got more money than I know what to do with.”

“Well deserved, too!” Wesley beamed. “I’ve told everyone I meet to come and try your pies.”

“Oh, go on now!” A slight blush lit his cheeks.

“He did!” Joy came forward. “He told me they are the best ever!”

“Well, I’m touched,” The old man said, wiping at one eye. “Any who are you, young miss?”

“I’m Joy!” Joy said brightly. “I’m a cook!”

“Ah-hah!” the old man chuckled. “After my secret recipe, are you, lad?” 

“Every day,” Wesley nodded.

The two laughed, and then the man gave Joy an accessing look. “Tell you what, Miss Joy. You come along to this spot right here tomorrow, and I’ll give you a few lessons free of charge!”

“Really?” Joy lit up like a Christmas tree. “I’d love that.”

“And now,” the old man gestured, and three pies appeared in his hands. “On the house! See you around, son!”

Malia watched him walk on, nearly mobbed every time anyone noticed his cart.

“Seriously, how does everyone seem to know you?” Malia asked. 

“I’m a friendly guy!” Wesley joked as he led them into the training yard.

The new training yard was basic but functional. A half dozen men of various ages were marching stiffly up and down on one side while three women and a tall man were standing nervously, bows in hand, at one end of the archery range.

At the other end, next to targets barely punctured by arrows, was a familiar willowy figure. 

“Did you lot learn NOTHING?” Split roared, her hair rising into a nimbus around her for a short time before she kicked one of the targets, sending it flying. Wesley guessed she had tiered up even more than he had. “Am I gonna have to, like, shoot one of you to make my point this time!”

The recruits shivered, looking aghast as he wandered over.

“See, I said you would shoot one of them,” Wesley called.

Split whirled, her bow seeming to appear from nowhere in her hand, and an arrow flew, landing at his feet.

A second later, Split had arrived, throwing herself at him and hugging him tightly.

“Missed you,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Me too,” Wesley gave her a gentle squeeze.

She stepped back, chuckling, with red eyes. 

“You lot, piss off.” Split snapped, sending the recruits scrambling to get away. “Things are bad, Wes.”

“I figured,” Wesley nodded. “Who knew a shithole like this world could get so much worse so quickly.”

That got a small smile. “Cap’ll be glad to see you,” Split said. 

“Yeah, and I bring some news,” Wesley exchanged a glance with Malia. “It might help, at least a tiny bit.”

“He’s with Earnshaw, anything he needs to know too?” Split asked.

Wesley thought about it. It would make sense, but it wasn’t just his secret to tell, so he looked to Malia. She tilted her head to one side and then asked if Wes thought Earnshaw was trustworthy.

It was a difficult question to answer. Did he think Earnshaw was a good guy? Yeah, sure. Would he trust Earnshaw with a significant advantage over others? That was another thing altogether. 

“It would help to save lives,” Wesley said after a second. 

That was the long and short of it. Knowing about the crafting recipes would give people here a fighting chance to hang on. It was a small chance, but it was something. Would he normally trust Earnshaw with this secret? Probably not. The man was a kind ruler, but he was still a ruler. This was not the kind of secret you wanted anyone ELSE to have. 

But these weren’t normal times, and they had a backup plan they had left with the other Keeper. 

Just in case none of them survived. 

“Oh my gods,” Split rolled her eyes. “Are you two, like, speaking with your minds?”

“No,” Wesley laughed. “And to answer your question. Yes, something Earnshaw will want to know.”

//////////////////

The three of them stood outside the door and waited. Split had simply nodded them to one side and gone right in to see the Mayor. It seemed she and Peterson had taken on a larger role than Wesley had thought. 

Fortunately, the only people who liked gossip more than actors were guards. A few well-chosen comments and the supposedly stoic guards spilled it all. 

The word of the impending Sundering had led to a serious exodus from the city. Not that Wesley blamed them. If he thought Peterson or Split would leave, they’d already be halfway to the zone border.

Apparently, the officers who had survived the invasion were the first to go. The whole lot snuck out that first night. Earnshaw woke up to find them gone, along with a sizable chunk of the city treasury and many of the guards. 

Peterson had stepped up; the man was terminally noble at heart, and Split had stepped right along with him. Overnight, they had become a lot bigger deal in the city, even as it emptied of anyone with somewhere else to go. 

Oh, and Split had shot one of the trainees on her second day, just like he predicted. 

Malia was staring at him as he came back over to her and Joy.

“What?” Wesley whispered.

“It’s just,” she looked around the room, her eyes seemingly reaching much further, “Everyone seems so… trusting?”

“I could be wrong about this,” Wesley admitted, “But I think it comes down to the fact we fought for this city together. Even if I don’t know their names, or they mine, we still saw each other. Here and there.”

“Connections like that,” Malia shook her head. “I can’t believe you ever left.”

“You weren’t here,” Wesley said, feeling his face set like stone. “You didn’t see what we faced or lost. It was painful—too painful to stay here.”

“Sorry,” Malia said gently.

“It’s fine,” Wesley smiled around the tight chest and bad memories. “You came with me, right?”

“Right,” Malia nodded. “We’ll get through this, somehow.”

Split opened the door and ushered them in.

“While all the rats scurry into the shadows, the Rifleman comes walking back into my city,” Earnshaw said with a sad smile. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” Wesley nodded; it would be awkward to say he was there for his friends, not the city. And pointless. Earnshaw knew that much already.

Peterson stood to attention next to the Mayor, but he smiled as wide as Wesley had ever seen him.

“Good to see you,” Peterson said warmly.

“And you, Captain,” Wesley nodded back, wanting to go over and hug the man but feeling it would be impolite. “Allow me to introduce you to my new team. This is Malia, my boss, and Joy, our friend and trainee.”

“I don’t wish to appear curt,” Earnshaw broke in, “But time is tight, and we are scrambling somewhat to prepare. I am told you have news.”

Wesley took out their new notebook, one of three copies they had made. One Joy had, one was with the other Keeper, and this one that he gave to Earnshaw. The original was kept in the safe room at all times now.

Earnshaw looked it over, frowning at first before his eyebrows shot up to where his hairline used to be.

“Do you have any reason to believe this is accurate?” Earnshaw asked. 

“We’ve tried it ourselves,” Malia confirmed. “There may be other recipes as well. The situation is developing.”

“I won’t ask where you got this,” Earnshaw said. “Or who the original author is. I shall not even guess. It would be better for me not to know, I suspect. All I can say is that once more, Rifleman, you have turned up in our darkest hour, carrying a lamp. How bright that lamp will turn out to be, I don’t know yet.” He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly as he stood. “As before, I can not promise to pay you anything like this is worth.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Malia stood forward. “Perhaps, should the city survive, the Rambling Rangers could be given an area to establish a headquarters.”

“Size to be agreed upon later,” Earnshaw nodded. “Agreed.”

“Now, regarding our service to the city during the crisis,” Malia went on, “We only ask fair payment for services when able.”

“Agreed,” Earnshaw smiled. “I’m glad your new group is serving you well, Mister Lancaster.”

Five minutes later, Peterson led them out of the Town Hall and gave Wesley a crushing hug.

“Jeeze,” Wesley laughed. “How much did you Tier up? I like my lungs unpunctured there, Captain.”

“Figured I’d get that in before you got pissed at me,” Peterson laughed. “We got something to talk about, and you aren’t going to like it much.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Split appeared, seemingly from nowhere. “Let’s head back to the house, eh?”

Wesley wondered why did this. It seemed like everyone always wanted to give you bad news in private as if that helped. Instead, he spent the entire ten-minute walk to their place coming up with ever-worse scenarios in his mind. Anything that they didn’t want to tell him in public should have been kept quiet until they actually got him there.

This way just added the torture of ever-worsening expectations.

The moment the door to the house—quite a large place, almost a mansion by anyone’s standards—was firmly closed, he spoke.

“Is it Ben-ta?” Wesley asked. 

“No!” Split looked guilty. “She’s fine, as far as we know.”

“Interesting that’s where your mind went, though,” Peterson added.

“Isn’t it?” Malia asked with a smirk.

“It concerns your old teammates,” Peterson said, “And can we sit? It feels awkward just standing in the hall.”

“Who? Pris and Pru?” Wesley asked as they were led through to a formerly opulent room. The former part was thanks to the various chairs and couches, all sporting evidence of Split’s habit of stabbing her dagger repeatedly into the arm of her chair… which was apparently all of them. “What about them?”

“I know that you had your reservations about them,” Peterson started. “But things were tough at the start, there.”

Wesley nodded, groaning internally. He could almost see the rest of this conversation. The ‘at the start’ was what gave the whole rest of the conversation away.

“They, like, got to be useful,” Split said guiltily. “Especially Pris, uh, the ghoul.” She flushed. 

Which confirmed everything he needed to know. Still, he was petty enough and pissed enough to let them twist for a while yet. 

“She turned out to be great at investigating the dead and, well,” Peterson trailed off.

“Go on,” Wesley said with a fixed smile. 

“Pru is a bit of an acquired taste,” Peterson said with a slight flush, “But she does good work.”

“Thing was, it was tough to keep them under guard, especially with everything going on,” Peterson added. “So we kind of recruited them.”

“Into the squad?” Wesley asked.

“No, but into the city guard,” Split said plainly. 

“There isn’t much of a squad left now,” Peterson said sadly. “Mental still hasn’t crawled out of the bottle, Ben’s gotten married to some guy he met back home, and Ben-Ta is settled.” He shrugged. “It’s pretty much just the three of us now.” 

“Point is,” Split pressed. “You might come across them.”

“And you would prefer I didn’t shoot them by accident?” Wesley guessed.

“Not quite how I would put it,” Peterson said with a chuckle. “But yes.”

“Fine,” Wesley shrugged. “They don’t try and kill me, and we are fine.”

“Really?” Split asked.

“But if they do,” Wesley added. “All bets are off.”

“Agreed,” Peterson said with a smile. 

He caught up with the squad for a while as they got to know Malia and Joy. Split had developed a strange fascination with the little squirrel-kin. Apparently, something about the way Joy flinched when she was surprised seemed to attract Split like a cat to a laser pointer.

Later that night, as they settled into a set of rooms on the top floor of the mostly empty house, Malia and Joy called him into a room, clearly worried.

“I don’t like that they let the people who betrayed you go,” Malia said bluntly. 

“I’m not a huge fan of it either,” Wesley admitted. “But they needed people badly, and there were two right there.”

“Who tried to kill you,” Malia added.

“And them,” Wesley pointed out. “I bet there are more than a couple of former enemies rattling around this place.”

“Is that normal?” Joy asked.

“It was back where I came from,” Wesley said with a shrug. “It sucks a bit, but what is the other option? An enemy is an enemy forever? That way, everyone ends up dead. I don’t love the choice they made, but I can understand and respect it.”

“So, you think they will be a problem?” Malia asked.

“Oh, yes,” Wesley laughed. “Even if Pris doesn’t want to do anything, Pru hates me with a burning passion now. She will try something the second there is a chance that she gets away with it—Maybe before.” 

“Anything we should know?” Malia asked, pacing as much as she could in the small room. 

“Pru will try and push my buttons, probably yours too.” He caught their confused stares. “She will say and do things to deliberately piss you off or fuck you over. Every chance she gets. If you attack her first, she can play the victim.”

“What do we do?” Malia asked.

“We make sure to see that one of us is with Joy at all times,” Wesley said simply. “Other than that? Nothing. Pru is not a match for either of us.”

“What about the ghoul?” Joy asked, pulling nervously at one ear. “She sounds scary.”

“She isn’t,” Wesley smiled. “And to be honest, I don’t expect anything that bad from her.”

“Why?” Malia asked.

“She’s terrified of me,” Wesley said simply.

“Why?” Joy asked.

“Because I ripped her class out of her,” Wesley said simply.

Malia winced. “Yeah, that would do it.”