Chapter 4
Samuel's Path to Mercy, The Rampart
Samuel had a path before Mercy. But she came, not for him, but for everyone. She led him to the rampart and to war. This was when they met before they met.
Samuel stood at the foot of the Western Mountains. Mercy was already there. Neither one knew the other. But with each passing day, the fear of the sister's demon grew stronger.
He was behind the rampart with a couple dozen other volunteers. Farmers, herdsmen, metal forgers, woodworkers, teachers and others made up the fighters. None of them were professional soldiers. Professional soldiers were a thing of the past. Behind him were the massive mountain gates. The passage to the northwest. The corridor to a new life, to safety, maybe. In front of him, in the distance, the last city of man burned. The glow of fire climbed out of the horizon. Between the volunteers and the gate, streamed escapees from the city. Each one checked to ensure their humanity. Only humans would pass through the gate. Out past the defensive earthwork, all the way back to the flaming husk of the city marched a hoard assembled from all the creatures from this part of the world. Before their condition drove them mad; they call themselves Unity. Unity compelled itself across the landscape. A massive hoard consuming, absorbing and destroying as they moved.
Occasionally, someone ran past the line toward the burning city. There was no way to tell if it was human. Was it someone whose mind gave way to the horror, or was it a newly formed creature running to join the hoard? Either way they were no longer within the help of any human. Nothing human survived the creatures, the horde. He heard the shot. He watched the body drop.
The old man next to him said, "Damn shame." He paused, "Don't say it. I know we can't save them. I've seen the ones that fight against them, and I've seen the mad creature's rampage. This is better. It may be the only way. Still, it don't mean we got to like it."
Moaning, whaling and the garbled speech of an unknowable number of creatures filled the air. The first wave of creatures was almost in range. A barricade went up, blocking the road. The sound of weapons being checked rattled across the earthworks. There were no humans out there anymore.
Uncle Jon shouted, "Long range guns fire! Slow down. Take your time. Pick your target." He marched behind the rampart. The breech was open on the double barrel shotgun that he waved as he walked. "Mid-range guns, hold your fire. You don't have the range." He continued his march, his encouragement, and his orders.
A creature sagged; then it fell. The report of the rifle shots filled Samuel's head. He fired again. The old man said, "The two to the right of the last one is in range. Take those two; then switch guns. Have to let the barrel cool down. Soon, they will be coming faster than the guns can shoot..., or maybe just faster than us."
Samuel stated as he switched guns, "The long guns and the barbed wire are slowing them down." A shot rang out. "I hope the explosives actually work." Another shot rang out... The shooting continued.
The old man surveyed the ground in front of him. He watched as the bodies of dead creatures formed hills and levees. He raised a mid-range weapon. He fired at a straggler. The creature fell.
He mumbled, "Damned creature looked like my cousin." Neither Samuel nor the old man knew how long they watched, fired, and watched. Time didn't seem to exist. Only smoke, dirt, noise and bodies existed. The shooting went on.
The yellow flares burst. Billowy rambling lines of yellow reached down from the sky. The outer line was over-run. The barbed wire covered with the dead. Creature's crawling, staggering, rolling and falling over the bodies like it was a carpet. More of them than anyone could count. Uncle Jon ordered, "Heads down! Take cover!" He ran, tapping upright fighters on the head. "Four...Three... Two ...One..." The hand signs read.
There was an explosive reverberation in the earth larger than any person currently living had ever heard. It was a sound so big that for a moment, it robbed a person of every other sense. No sound. No light. Not even the earth or air existed. The sky above Samuel was gone. Slowly, like an ember turning into a flame, their senses returned. It was replaced by falling earth. He felt the Earth itself had broken free of its bonds. It was like the feeling prey would have as a predator shook the life out of it. An eerie blackness covered his world as the grumbling came to a halt. He turned. His Uncle Jon was there, holding his side. Blood oozed between Jon's fingers. Earth rained down on them.
Samuel ran. Carrying, dragging the man to the horse drawn wagon. It was the closest thing to a hospital they had left. Several people met him. They helped Jon into the wagon. Someone said, "It's not bad. He should live, but his time as a fighter is over." Someone else said, "It's a rock. From the explosion?" Another voice said, "We'll have to..." Samuel realized, he hadn't surveyed the craters left by the bombs. Maybe, they would slow the coming onslaught of creatures.
"Samuel, we need another three to four hours to get everyone through the gate. It's yours now." Someone pushed the double barrel shotgun into his arms. Samuel watched the runner from the rampart coming.
Samuel grasped the satchel of shotgun shells from the wagon. "In an hour, we'll be in the same situation only without explosives." He replied. Then he went to meet the runner. "Orders are that we hold this ground until everyone is through the gate – safe. Pass the orders up and down the line. Then take my place, on the line. You're a long shooter, now. OK Runner?" Samuel gestured.
The man nodded. He ran off.
Samuel dived down by the old man. "How does it look?"
The man stated, "Ten minutes. They'll be in range of the long guns. Ten minutes later, mid-range guns. Ten minutes later, I'll be considering running."
"Good." Samuel responded, "That gives us thirty minutes to win the war. What color flare signals retreat?"
"Blue." The old man said. "Blue, I hope you can see colors. Blue and red are not the same color. You know that? Don't you?"
He marched behind the earthworks. He shouted to the men. Long guns fire. Mid-range guns get the ones that breakthrough. Spotters watch your range. Fire at will. He ended several as they tried to scramble up to the shooters. The blue flare burst in the sky. No one moved. The fighters continued to fire. Samuel fired the second flare into the group of creatures approaching the barricade. Blue smoke puffed up from the fallen creature. There was a brief moment of silence as the firing stopped. Followed by the creatures in front of the barricade being cut down.
"Retreat!" He ordered! The long shooters and spotters ran. They took their positions in the rear. Everyone else abandoned the rampart. Samuel shouted as the last fighters fled the line. "Fire the rampart!" He tossed a torch on the wooden structure. He signaled to each man with a long gun. They would stay as long as it took. Each pair, spotter and shooter, found a new perch. If they survived, they would go to outposts along the old wall. Twenty-one men left behind to wait for the next hoard and hope they could warn someone in time. The gate closed.
He sat with the survivors. The hoard had been dispersed. They turned south. No one knew the reason. Four days had gone by since the gates closed. Thousands of creatures lay rotting. The ammunition for the long-range rifles and mid-range weapons was spent. The last creatures were dispatched by handguns, or by hand-to-hand fighting. Five men survived. They stared at the gate. Looking at the gate was better than seeing all the dead.
Samuel finally spoke, "I'll take watch. You all get some rest. We'll go in the morning."
The old man spoke, "Our friends?"
"I'll bury them in the morning." Samuel returned.
"We'll bury them in the morning. Wake me in four hours. Sam?" Another man spoke.
"Yes, four hours. Try to get some sleep, Blake." Samuel answered.
Samuel's replacement on the line wondered as he gestured at the gate, "They'll make it fine? Won't they? My sister went through?"
The old man stated, "They'll do fine, boy. Maybe even great. And they have us to make sure they're fine."
Samuel lived, and he wasn't going to an outpost. He had another destination in mind. Dead creatures can't form a hoard. And he had someone to find.