Level 16

  Race: Human/Hollow

  Strength: 333

  Dexterity: 329

  Vitality: 377

  Magic: 324

  The hilltop wind kept the smoke from settling on them, but it could not carry the smell away. It rolled in on every gust, hot ash and burned pitch and something fatty that stuck to the back of the tongue.

  San Antonio burned below.

  From this distance the town was a low scatter of roofs and stone, broken by a few taller shapes that caught the light. A church tower. A line of cottonwoods along the river. The square bulk of some public building with steps on the front. Fire moved through it in pockets, orange tongues in windows, crawling along a roofline, then dropping when a beam gave up.

  The boy lay on his belly behind a limestone outcrop and watched through the notch of his fingers. He kept his rifle close and his Colt closer. He kept his head low enough that anyone looking up from town would see rock and grass and nothing human.

  Lily sat in the dirt a pace behind him, knees hugged to her chest, hair tied back with a strip of cloth. Mary sat beside her with Ember in her lap, the doll’s cloth face pointed toward the smoke like it was watching too.

  No one spoke for a while.

  A roof caved in somewhere in the middle of town. The sound came late, a faint crack and a soft rumble that the wind carried up the hill. The boy did not move. His eyes stayed on the streets, on the gaps between buildings, on the river line where the cottonwoods trembled in heat. He waited for something to cross open ground. A rider. A man. An elk. Anything with purpose.

  Nothing crossed.

  The smoke rose in thick columns, then thinned, then thickened again as another building caught. It drifted south on the wind, leaving a smear in the blue sky. Above it, vultures circled in slow, lazy loops.

  Lily shifted. Small rocks clicked under her boot.

  The boy lifted one hand without turning his head.

  Lily went still.

  Minutes stacked into an hour. The sun climbed and slid. The boy measured time by shadows. The limestone at his cheek warmed. Sweat dried into salt at his temples. He did not feel tired. His eyes did not burn the way they used to. He blinked when he had to and kept watching.

  Mary whispered, “Is it them?”

  The boy kept his gaze on the town. “Could be.”

  Lily’s voice came out flat. “Elves?”

  “Could be,” he said again.

  Mary’s fingers tightened on Ember’s skirt. The doll bent.

  Lily leaned forward until her shoulder touched the boy’s boot. “Do you see anybody?”

  “No.”

  She made a small sound in her throat that tried to be brave and failed. “Then why’s it burnin’?”

  The boy watched a plume of smoke curl from a street that should have been shaded by trees. He saw a flash of pale stone as fire ate through a wooden awning.

  “Something came through,” he said. “Something with fire. Maybe. And lots of it.”

  They watched again. The town sat there and cooked. Flies and birds did the only moving. Once, far off, a strip of canvas flapped on a roof beam. It snapped in the wind and then hung limp again.

  Mary shifted on her butt. Her knees came up. Her chin rested on them. She looked too small against all that burning.

  Mary swallowed. Her throat worked hard. “Mama’s church is there.”

  The boy did not answer. He watched the church tower. It stood dark against the smoke, cross still visible at the top.

  A bell did not ring.

  By noon the worst of the flames had eaten their way through whatever could burn easy. The orange light dulled. Smoke still rose, but it came in slower breaths. The sun shone hard on bare roofs and broken beams.

  The boy’s hand went to the eagle-feather necklace at his chest. He rubbed the shaft of one feather between thumb and finger, a small grounding motion he did not announce.

  Lily finally broke.

  “I don’t like it,” she said.

  Mary nodded hard, as if Lily had asked her a question. “Me neither.”

  The boy pushed up onto his elbows. His ribs did not complain like yesterday. The bandage under his shirt stayed tight and quiet. He looked down at them.

  “We go in,” he said.

  Lily’s head snapped toward him. “No.”

  Mary’s mouth opened and closed. “We shouldn’t.”

  The boy pointed with his chin toward the town. “Storehouses. Kitchens. Powder. Cloth. Shoes. Water barrels. That all sits there till somebody takes it or it rots.”

  Lily shook her head so hard her loose hair whipped. “You just said you saw somethin’ move.”

  “I said I thought I did,” he replied.

  Mary clutched Ember higher. “It’s full of bodies.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And those bodies had things.”

  Lily’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re talkin’ like a vulture.”

  He looked at her. His face stayed calm. His jaw did not.

  “I’m talkin’ like we want to keep walkin’,” he said. “We got food. We got some powder. We got a map that don’t show Washington and a coast that’s a long way. This town is on the way. We take what we can and we leave.”

  Lily opened her mouth.

  He cut her off with a hand raised, the same quiet command he had used on the ridge.

  “We stay on the edge,” he said. “We do not go deep. If we hear anything, we go. If we see anything, we go. You keep Mary close.”

  Mary looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and dry.

  “You keep Ember close too,” Lily muttered.

  The boy glanced toward the town again. The smoke had thinned enough that he could make out more detail now. A wagon in the street, tipped. A line of fence posts half burned. A horse shape in the open that did not move. He slid down from the limestone outcrop and stood. Lily and Mary stood slower, dusting at their dresses and making small circles with their shoulders like their bodies did not want to go.

  The boy reached inward.

  [Bestiary].

  Six names answered. He did not touch the dragon.

  [Dire Wolf].

  The air beside him tightened.

  A black shape slammed into existence with a heavy thump, fur bristling, breath steaming faint in the dry heat. The wolf’s shoulders rose like a small horse’s. Its eyes were pale and fixed, and its teeth showed when it tasted the smoke.

  Lily made a soft sound and stepped forward before the boy could say anything. Her hand went straight to the wolf’s neck. Fingers sank into thick fur.

  “Oh,” she breathed. “Look at you.”

  The wolf’s ears flicked. It leaned into the scratch.

  Mary did not move. She watched from behind Lily’s shoulder, face tight.

  The boy reached again.

  [Reaper Lizard].

  The second tear in the air came with a hiss, like wet cloth being ripped. Feathers flashed and a long, lean body dropped into the grass, claws digging furrows as it landed. The lizard’s head swung side to side, tongue tasting the wind. Its sickle claws flexed once, slow and deliberate. Its eyes held a hard light that did not belong to any bird.

  Lily’s hand came off the wolf like she had touched a stove. She took two steps back, boots scuffing.

  “Jesus,” she whispered.

  Mary made a small squeak and hugged Ember so hard the doll’s head bent sideways.

  The lizard turned its head toward Lily. Its throat worked. A low clicking sound came out, like bone on bone. The boy stepped between them and the lizard. He set his hand on the lizard’s feathered neck ridge and pushed gently, steering.

  The tether in his chest tightened. The lizard shifted its weight and looked away.

  He pointed at Lily and Mary.

  “Guard them,” he said. “Anything comes close, you bite first.”

  The wolf’s head turned toward him. The lizard’s tail lashed once, then stilled.

  The boy felt the tethers settle into place, taut lines held in his hands.

  Lily scratched the wolf again, slower now, like she was testing if it would vanish. “He’s cute.”

  Mary’s voice came out sharp. “It is not cute. It is a wolf the size of a horse.”

  “It’s a big puppy,” Lily insisted, and the wolf’s ears twitch again.

  The boy started down the slope toward the town. The beasts fell into step. The wolf walked at Lily’s knee. The lizard paced a few yards out, cutting through scrub with quiet speed, head lifting and lowering as it searched. They crossed a dry creek bed where stones lay bleached and slick. They moved through a patch of cedar that still held green in its needles. Under the trees the air cooled and the smoke smell thickened.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  As they came out of the cedar, San Antonio rose in front of them. Or, at least, what remained of it.

  The first houses were low and half burned, adobe walls cracked by heat, roofs collapsed inward. A garden fence lay flat, charred posts like ribs. A handcart sat on its side in the road, one wheel melted into an oval.

  A dog lay in the dust beside it. The hide was ripped open, ribs showing clean white. Flies crawled in a black slick line along the wound.

  Lily made a sound and turned her head away. Her hand found the boy’s sleeve and held. Mary stumbled once on a rut and caught herself. The boy kept walking. His boots stepped around blood-dark patches where bodies had been dragged. He did not slow.

  They reached a street wide enough for two wagons. The ruts were deep and packed hard. On one side a saloon sign hung half off its nail, swinging a fraction in the breeze. On the other side a storefront had been smashed in, glass scattered like ice.

  He held up a hand and stopped them at the edge of an open stretch.

  A horse lay in the middle of the road, belly up, legs stiff. The harness was still on it. The reins trailed to a broken wagon tongue. A man lay near the horse’s head with one arm thrown out like he had tried to crawl.

  The man’s chest had been torn out. Ribs cracked outward and the meat between them had been eaten clean. The boy crouched and looked at the edges of the wound. The ribs were cracked and splintered outward. Teeth marks pocked the bone.

  The wolf sniffed and sneezed, then backed away a step, lips curling. The lizard’s head lifted. Its feather crest rose, then settled.

  Lily’s voice came thin. “What did that?”

  The boy stood. He did not answer. He kept moving.

  They passed a yard where a woman lay face down in the dirt, skirt burned up to the hip. One hand still clutched a rosary. A child’s shoe lay near her fingers.

  Mary’s steps went faster, then faltered. Ember bounced against her chest.

  The boy pointed with two fingers. “Store.”

  Mary blinked. “General store?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mary swallowed and nodded. The general store sat on a corner near a small plaza. Its front wall was limestone. The window glass was cracked, one pane punched out. Inside, shelves leaned at wrong angles.

  The boy motioned Lily and Mary to the right side of the building where the wall threw shade. He nodded toward the wolf.

  “Stay,” he said.

  The wolf sat, heavy haunches in the dust, eyes watching the street.

  The lizard stayed standing. It pressed its claws into the dirt and angled its head so one eye watched the open plaza and the other watched the boy.

  Lily’s hand stayed on the wolf’s fur, fingers moving in small nervous scratches.

  The boy went to the door and pushed it open with the butt of his rifle. The hinge squealed. It sounded too loud in the dead street.

  He waited for movement.

  Nothing.

  He stepped inside.

  The air smelled of spilled sugar and smoke. The light came in through the broken window in pale bars, showing dust motes and ash. A stack of crates had toppled, lids busted, dry goods spilled across the floor. A jar of pickles lay shattered, brine dried into a sticky stain. Flies buzzed around it.

  He moved through the aisles slow, listening. His boots crunched glass. He passed a counter with a brass scale on it, one pan bent. Behind the counter a man lay slumped against the shelves, apron still on. His eyes were open. His throat was purple with bruising.

  The boy did not look long. He looked at the shelves.

  Cans. Jars. Boxes.

  Some had burst. Some were blackened. Many sat untouched, protected by stone walls and luck. He grabbed the first can and wiped ash off with his thumb.

  Beans.

  He touched it to his palm and willed it away.

  [Inventory].

  The familiar pressure accepted it. He moved down the shelf and took more. Peaches. Salt pork. Coffee. Hardtack in tins. A jar of molasses with soot on the lid.

  He worked fast. Hands moving. Eyes scanning. He did not waste time counting.

  Outside Lily called, soft but sharp. “Brother.”

  He paused and listened.

  The wolf gave a low rumble that felt like it came from the ground.

  The boy stepped back to the door and looked out.

  Lily stood with one hand on the wolf’s head, eyes on the street. Mary stood behind her with Ember pressed to her stomach. The lizard had moved, body low, feathers tight, staring at a narrow alley that ran between two buildings.

  The boy saw nothing in the alley. Just shadow and a torn piece of cloth hanging from a nail.

  He stepped out anyway and stood beside them.

  “What,” he said.

  Lily jerked her chin toward the alley. “That thing don’t like somethin’.”

  The boy watched the alley. He listened. He heard the wind. Flies. A loose shutter tapping a wall.

  He said, “Hold.”

  He stepped forward, slow, and the lizard matched him from the side, claws silent.

  Halfway down the alley he saw it.

  A shape in the shadow. Low. Pale.

  A dead elk lay there, antlers tangled in a broken cart. Its hide was smoke-gray. Its belly was split and dried dark. One antler had been sawed clean through at the base, like someone had tried to take it for a trophy and gotten interrupted.

  Elk did not belong here.

  The boy stared at it and then looked farther down the alley. Scuff marks. Drag lines. Something had hauled meat away.

  He backed out and returned to the girls.

  “Just dead,” he said.

  Lily did not look convinced. She scratched the wolf harder until the wolf’s lips pulled back in a quiet, pleased pant.

  Mary whispered, “Elves.”

  The boy did not correct her.

  He went back inside the store.

  In the back room he found a barrel half full of powder, lid sealed with wax. He found tins of percussion caps in a crate under a table, wrapped in oilcloth. He found a sack of lead balls and a mold for casting more. He found paper cartridges in a wooden box, some damp, some usable.

  He took what mattered. The [Inventory] swallowed it all.

  On a wall behind the counter hung two rifles. One was a long piece with a maple stock and a patchbox. The other was shorter, heavier, a caplock with a stout barrel and iron sights filed clean. A revolver sat in a glass case that had cracked but not shattered, a Colt with a worn grip and a clean cylinder. And another one beside it, smaller.

  He lifted the rifles down and checked their bores. Soot. Fouling. No bulges.

  He opened the revolver case. He carried them outside and laid them on the shaded ground.

  Lily’s eyes went wide. Mary licked her lips once, fast.

  The boy pointed at Lily. “Pick one.”

  Lily stared at the guns like they might bite her.

  “I got you,” Lily said, and patted the wolf’s head again.

  “You got fire,” the boy replied. “You still need iron.”

  Lily’s mouth tightened. She crouched and picked up the revolver with both hands. The barrel dipped and wobbled until she adjusted. She held it out, arms stiff, then brought it close and peered at the cylinder.

  “It’s like yours,” she said.

  “Smaller,” he replied, and nodded at Mary. “You too.”

  Mary shook her head once, hard. “I ain’t supposed to.”

  “You are,” the boy said.

  Mary’s fingers trembled around Ember.

  Lily stared at her. “Mary. If monsters come, you ain’t gonna pray ‘em away.”

  Mary swallowed. Her shoulders rose and fell once. She set Ember on the ground carefully like she was putting a baby to bed. Then she reached for the other revolver, a little pocket Colt with a shorter barrel and a grip that fit her hand.

  She held it wrong at first. The boy corrected her with a tap to her wrist.

  “Finger off the trigger,” he said. “Muzzle down. You point it at me and I will take it away.”

  Mary nodded hard. “Yes, sir.”

  Lily smirked. “Don’t call him sir.”

  Mary’s jaw worked. “Fine.”

  The boy lifted the rifles next. “One each. You carry in your [Inventory] till you need it.”

  Lily’s eyes tracked to the long rifle. “That one looks pretty.”

  “Pretty don’t matter,” the boy said. He picked up the shorter caplock and handed it to her. “This one’s stout. Easier to handle.”

  Lily took it and almost dropped it when the weight surprised her. Her knees bent and she caught herself, cheeks flushing.

  Mary stared at the rifle like it was a fencepost. The boy pulled a lighter carbine from the store’s back room, a cut-down piece someone had shortened for riding. He handed it to Mary.

  Mary’s arms shook. She held on.

  “You can put it away,” he said.

  Mary blinked. She looked down like she expected the gun to vanish without her asking. Then she closed her eyes and whispered, “Inventory.”

  The rifle disappeared.

  Mary’s eyes snapped open again, startled, then she gripped Ember and looked away. Lily’s smile tried to show and got smothered.

  The boy stood and looked across the plaza. San Antonio sat quiet, smoke still rising in slow coils. The sound of fire was there if he listened close, a faint crackle, a pop, the collapse of something already ruined.

  He motioned with his head. “In and out.”

  They moved.

  The wolf padded at Lily’s side, shoulder brushing her leg. Lily kept one hand on its fur like it was a rope.

  The lizard ranged ahead, weaving between broken wagons, climbing a low pile of rubble and pausing to look down streets before dropping again. Its feathers caught ash and shook it off in small puffs.

  They went street by street.

  A line of shops with shuttered windows, some burned open. A bakery with its front wall collapsed and a smell of scorched flour in the air. A smithy where the forge had been knocked over, coals scattered like black pearls. A church yard where bodies lay in a row, dresses and boots, skin darkened by smoke.

  Mary’s head turned fast, eyes jumping. She kept close to the boy now, almost under his elbow. Lily tried to talk and could not find words that fit. Her mouth worked and closed again.

  They found monsters.

  A boar lay in an alley, bigger than any hog should be, tusks curled like sickles. Its hide had been burned in patches, bristles singed away. Dark blood had dried under it in a thick sheet. A green-skinned arm stuck out from under its shoulder, hand still gripping a broken spear.

  Farther down a street a thing lay on its back with too many legs, a body like a wolf and a crab jammed together. The shell plates were cracked. Pale guts spilled and baked in the sun. Flies covered it in a moving carpet.

  Lily stopped once and raised her hand, finger pointing without thinking.

  The boy caught her wrist.

  Lily looked at him, eyes wide.

  He shook his head once.

  She lowered her hand.

  They took what they could without digging through bodies. A canteen from a saddlebag. A blanket from a porch. A spool of thread and a needle kit from a dry goods shop. Salt from a torn sack that had not soaked through. Mary found a small silver cross on a string and held it up. Her fingers shook. She looked at the boy like she was asking permission with her eyes.

  He nodded once.

  Mary tucked it into her [Inventory] and then clutched Ember again, hard enough to wrinkle the doll.

  The boy kept glancing to the river line. Cottonwoods marked it, leaves dull from smoke. Water still moved there, dark and patient. He watched for ripples that did not match the wind. He listened for hoofbeats.

  Nothing.

  They turned a corner and stepped into the main plaza.

  The space opened wide, hard-packed earth and stone, bordered by buildings that had been white once. Now soot streaked them. One side of the plaza held a church, its doors open, interior black. Another side held a long building with arched windows and steps. A flagpole stood in front, the rope burned through so the flag lay in the dirt like a rag.

  Town hall.

  The boy slowed. The wolf stopped too. Its ears went forward. Its lips pulled back from its teeth.

  Lily’s hand froze on the wolf’s fur.

  Mary made a small sound and swallowed it.

  The boy saw a shape on the steps.

  A man.

  He lay on his side near the bottom, one knee bent, boots dusty. His coat had been a good one once, dark wool, now torn open. His shirt underneath was soaked through with blood that had turned black in places. His chest rose in short jerks. His eyes were open and glassy.

  He tried to move and failed. One hand clawed at the stone step and slipped.

  The boy raised his fist and stopped Lily and Mary with that motion.

  He walked forward alone, boots slow on the plaza dirt. The man’s eyes tracked him. His mouth worked. A wet sound came out. The boy stopped a few paces away. He held the Colt down at his thigh, muzzle toward the ground, ready.

  “Don’t,” the man rasped.

  The boy watched the man’s belly. It moved wrong. The cloth there had been torn too, and a dark mass bulged under it like something had tried to climb out. The boy’s jaw tightened.

  “Don’t what,” he asked.

  The man coughed and red wetness bubbled at his lips. He swallowed it and tried again.

  “Don’t come any closer,” he said. “Get out. Get out of this town.”

  Lily took one step forward behind the boy, then stopped when the wolf’s hackles rose.

  Mary stayed rooted, Ember pressed to her sternum.

  The boy crouched a fraction. “Who did this?”

  The man’s eyes rolled toward the street behind the boy, toward the smoky rooftops.

  His voice went thin. “They’ll come back.”

  The boy leaned closer, careful. “Who.”

  The man’s fingers scraped the stone step. His nails left pale lines in soot.

  He swallowed, throat working hard.

  “Monsters,” he said.