their machetes at the stunned Chinese riflemen mustering in the median of the old highway.
Through the smoke, MacRaven and a collection of warriors from the tribes of the Sierra Nevada were picking their way through the rubble. MacRaven turned, waving his machete, and behind him a vanguard of ashen-faced warriors pushed a wagon forward through the shattered remains of the gate. Atop the wagon rested a large gleaming metal crossbow.
The Boy crossed the open sward of grass to the on-ramp, waving at MacRaven.
MacRaven led the tribesmen toward the Boy as he pointed for the giant crossbow to be set up on the median of the highway.
“Have you found them?” roared MacRaven, his performance of concerned commander utterly believable.
The Boy nodded, unsure what to do next. He looked to the gate, hoping Horse would come through at any moment as more and more ashen-faced warriors poured through the breach.
MacRaven led the Boy away from the others as if to receive the planned bad news of their leaders’ demise.
“Speak to me like you’re telling me something horrible,” he whispered once they were some distance from the others.
The Boy couldn’t think of what to say.
“Just move your mouth.”
He opened and closed his mouth as MacRaven nodded. Then, “Where did Raleigh put the bodies?”
The Boy pointed toward the Old School.
“On the field, up there.”
“All right, in just a moment you’re going to lead us up there. But first I want to watch my Space Crossbow take out their courthouse.”
MacRaven turned back to the crossbow crew and raised his arm, then brought it down toward the dome of the courthouse.
A singing twang sent a six-foot iron shaft speeding from the gleaming crossbow into the cupola of the courthouse. Brick and debris shot out the other side of the building as rubble crashed down onto the lower levels and finally the steps leading to the parking lot.
“Great, huh?” said MacRaven, turning to the Boy. “It’s from Before. It was designed to go up into space and shoot down asteroids so smart men could bring soil samples back to earth. I found it inside an old research plant down east of L.A. Place called JPL, whatever that means. Doesn’t sound like a word, but maybe it was in another language I ain’t learned yet. From what I could tell, they were gonna send it up into space before the war. Good thing they didn’t, huh?”
The Boy heard a little electric motor whining as the drawstring re-cocked the crossbow. Three men levered another iron bolt off the floor of the wagon and placed it onto the weapon.
“I’ll conquer the world with it,” said MacRaven in armor amid the smoke and bullets. “Just wait.”
The catapult fired again and the massive bolt disappeared into the main body of the courthouse. Its effects were devastating.
Chapter 31
The main group of MacRaven’s entourage was twenty feet behind the Boy as he led them up along time ravaged streets toward the Old School and the field where MacRaven expected they would find the strung-up corpses of their leaders.
Instead, MacRaven will find the body of his most trusted man and a wagon full of corpses, Sergeant. A wagon many will have already seen back in the Hidden Valley.
The blood was everywhere along their trek through the lanes of the outpost: in pools, splashed against the sides of houses, painting shattered glass.
The gunfire from the courthouse came in waves, and each wave seemed diminished from the one previous. The waves were punctuated by the giant crossbow’s singing note and the audible whistle of the great bolt through the atmosphere and then its sudden crash.
Ahead of the Boy, at a bend in the lane, a woman lay in the street, naked and dead. An infant wailed from the porch of the shack she lay in front of.
Around the bend, three Chinese guards were riddled with arrows. They stared sightlessly at the Boy, MacRaven, and the wild entourage of tribespeople, who grew quieter with each found body.
The air was still cool, reminding the Boy that it was just after dawn.
The Boy looked behind and saw MacRaven staring intently at him.
The dead did not bother MacRaven.
I’ve got a knife and a rifle.
The low concrete that abutted the sports field of the once school was all that remained and protected the Boy from the truth that was soon to be revealed.
Warriors were still climbing the walls toward the north.
But these warriors were different.
They wore clothes like the Chinese.
They carried large axes.
They uttered
In a moment, it would be the hot work of thrust and slash.
MacRaven’s entourage formed up quickly to stand against the sudden waves of Hillmen climbing the walls to counter-attack.
MacRaven fell behind the warriors of the tribes now eager to get their fair share of trophies. He signaled the Boy to come to him.
“Get back to the gate and find whoever you can and get them up here. It’s a counter-attack!” A moment later, MacRaven pulled a dead tribesman aside and thrust a Hillman through with his machete.
“Go!”
I know.
The Boy ran back to the gate.
Black smoke climbed in thick pillars from the southern portion of the outpost, forming an inky backdrop to the crumbling courthouse. There were only a few Chinese snipers left in what remained of the old building.
At the gate, ashen-faced warriors were gathering to watch the crossbow’s work while a captain marshaled them for the final attack on the last of the courthouse’s defenders.
Dunn rode through the gate on his dark gray mare. He saw the Boy and waved his hat as he galloped the distance between them.
“Where’s MacRaven?”
The Boy pointed toward the top of the outpost. “Where’s my horse and gear?”
Dunn smiled. “What, dontcha trust us, Bear Killer?”
The anger behind the Boy’s stare checked Dunn.
“Nice rifle.” Dunn’s eyes were ice cold.
The Boy looked down at the rifle. He had completely forgotten about it.
“Give it here,” demanded Dunn.
“Where’s my horse?” said the Boy through clenched teeth.
For a moment Dunn’s hand fell to his machete. But then he heard a far-off volley of rifle fire and this meant something to him.
