Geneseo to Retsof, Western New York
The riders left Main Street behind them.
The sound of the bear fountain faded as the motorcycles rolled past the last market wagons and turned east off the square.
They passed the stone courthouse and dropped onto Court Street.
The street was quieter here.
Geneseo College buildings lined both sides of the road.
Old dormitories.
Fraternity houses.
Sorority buildings.
Most of them had been stripped down to the bones.
Windows boarded.
Front porches partially dismantled.
Stacks of salvaged lumber leaned against fences where scavengers had harvested beams and floorboards.
Hugo slowed slightly and looked at one of the buildings.
"College town, huh?"
Mike nodded.
"Used to be packed."
He pointed toward a large brick dorm with half its roof removed.
"People took the timber when things got bad."
Jason glanced at the structure.
"Smart."
Hugo tilted his head.
"You ever go to college?"
Jason didn't answer.
Mike chuckled over the comms.
"That's a no."
The road curved gently south.
Ahead of them the Genesee River bridge stretched across the valley.
Beyond it lay the Flats.
Wide river bottom farmland.
Old hay fields.
Corn ground.
Cottonwoods and maples lining the riverbanks.
The land there had flooded for thousands of years.
Rich soil.
Good hunting.
Mike's voice came across the radio.
"You know Shane used to hunt down there."
Jason glanced at the river valley.
"With Duke."
"Yeah."
Hugo leaned forward slightly on the handlebars.
"That redbone?"
Mike nodded.
"Best tracking dog I've ever seen."
Mike remembered the animal.
Long legs.
Red coat.
Eyes that never seemed to miss anything.
Hugo laughed.
"And now there's puppies running around Sanctuary."
"One of them's Duke's line," Mike said.
"Dave's dogs."
Jason nodded slightly.
"Clint's idea."
Mike smiled faintly.
"Those pups are going to be monsters when they grow up."
Hugo grinned.
"Hopefully the good kind."
They crossed the bridge.
The Genesee flowed quietly beneath them.
Cold winter water moving through the valley like dark glass.
The Flats opened wide on the other side.
Huge hay fields stretched out in pale yellow patches beneath the gray sky.
A small herd of whitetail deer grazed along the edge of one field.
Hugo pointed.
"Well at least somebody's still eating good."
Jason slowed slightly.
The deer suddenly lifted their heads.
Every one of them froze.
Then the entire herd exploded into motion.
White tails shot into the air like flags.
They ran for the tree line.
Mike frowned.
"Something spooked them."
Hugo scanned the field.
"Coyote maybe."
Jason kept watching the woods.
The tree line rustled.
Something moved inside the shadows.
At first it looked human.
A tall figure stepping out from the trees.
Then it lifted its head.
Mike's voice came over the comms.
"Jason…"
Jason already saw it.
The thing wore torn clothing.
Blue and gold.
Geneseo college colors.
Its body was too tall.
Too thin.
The head tilted slightly.
Whiskers spread across its jawline.
The mutant sniffed the air.
Then the deer bolted harder across the field.
Hugo spoke quietly.
"Well."
"That's new."
Jason didn't slow the bike.
"Keep moving."
Mike glanced back once more.
"River's pushing them farther inland."
Jason nodded.
"Yeah."
"And this is just the beginning."
The riders accelerated north.
The mutant watched them go from the edge of the trees.
Then slowly turned back toward the river.
⸻
Retsof, Western New York
The salt mine sat beneath miles of farmland.
From the road it barely looked like anything important.
A gravel access lane cut through open fields. Two aging maintenance sheds leaned against the wind. A pair of steel ventilation towers rose from the earth like rusted smokestacks.
And at the end of the road, built into the low hillside, stood the mine entrance.
Two massive steel doors.
Behind them stretched miles of tunnels carved through one of the largest salt deposits in North America.
Salt meant preservation.
Salt meant winter food.
Salt meant trade.
Which meant the mine had to stay open.
Jason slowed the bike as the entrance came into view.
Mike pulled alongside him.
"They're already waiting."
Four pickup trucks blocked the access road.
Men stood behind the tailgates holding rifles.
Old rifles.
Hunting rifles.
The kind that had ridden in truck racks for generations.
Jason cut the engine and rolled the last few yards forward.
The miners didn't lower their guns.
One of them stepped forward.
Broad shoulders. Gray beard. Heavy canvas coat dusted with salt.
A miner's helmet hung from his belt.
"You the Sanctuary riders?"
Jason nodded.
"Yeah."
The man spat into the gravel.
"Harlan Pike."
He jerked a thumb toward the steel doors behind him.
"Mine foreman."
Hugo removed his helmet and grinned slightly.
"Good to meet you, Harlan. We heard the salt here is excellent."
Harlan stared at him for a moment.
Then shrugged.
"Best damn salt in the valley."
Mike stepped off his bike and looked around the property.
"You expecting trouble?"
Harlan nodded toward the creek that ran along the edge of the field.
"Already got it."
⸻
The Creek
The creek wasn't much.
A narrow channel of cold meltwater cutting through the field before eventually joining the Genesee a couple miles downstream.
But the mud along the banks was destroyed.
Deep gouges.
Dragging marks.
Footprints that were almost human.
Almost.
Jason crouched near the waterline.
Hugo stepped beside him.
"Well."
"That's unpleasant."
Mike studied the ground carefully.
"How many?"
Harlan answered without hesitation.
"Four last night."
"Three the night before."
Jason looked up.
"You killed them?"
"Had to."
One of the younger miners spoke from behind the trucks.
"Big ones too."
He gestured with his rifle.
"Seven feet easy."
Hugo exhaled slowly.
"Yeah."
"That tracks."
Mike pointed at the water.
"They're coming from downstream."
Harlan nodded.
"This creek feeds the Genesee."
Jason stood slowly.
"Which means the river's pushing them north."
Harlan didn't look happy about that.
⸻
First Movement
The creek rippled.
Everyone saw it.
Harlan raised one hand.
"Hold."
Rifles came up along the truck beds.
Jason slowly drew his pistol.
Mike stepped toward the creek bank and pressed one hand into the frozen soil.
The water bulged.
Then broke.
A gray shape dragged itself onto the muddy bank.
Whiskers spread across its face like cables.
Its skin glistened with a thick mucus layer.
Seven feet tall.
Wide shoulders.
Too human.
Too wrong.
One of the younger miners whispered,
"Jesus…"
The mutant lifted its head.
It could smell them.
Harlan spoke quietly.
"Take it."
The rifles cracked.
Three shots.
The creature dropped instantly.
Silence returned.
Then the water moved again.
Hugo sighed.
"Oh come on."
Two more shapes climbed from the creek.
These moved faster.
The miners fired again.
One mutant collapsed halfway out of the water.
The other lunged toward the trucks.
Jason fired twice.
The rounds punched through its skull and it slammed face-first into the mud.
The creek went quiet again.
No one spoke for several seconds.
Then one of the miners exhaled slowly.
"That's the fifth group this week."
⸻
Mike's Work
Mike looked from the creek to the mine entrance.
"No."
Harlan raised an eyebrow.
"No?"
"No more easy approaches."
Mike walked out into the field and knelt beside the creek bank.
He placed both hands against the frozen earth.
Earth Bastion answered.
The ground trembled.
The creek twisted sideways as the soil shifted beneath it.
Stone pushed up from the earth like the spine of a buried animal.
Within seconds the narrow water channel bent sharply away from the mine road.
A trench formed across the field.
Beyond it, a waist-high stone wall rose along the edge of the property.
Mike stood.
"Now anything coming out of that creek has to cross open ground."
Jason nodded.
"And your rifles get clear shots."
One of the miners grinned.
"That's a hell of an upgrade."
Harlan studied the new terrain carefully.
"Well I'll be damned."
⸻
The Real Concern
Harlan looked south toward the distant river valley.
"They're following water."
Jason nodded.
"We know."
Harlan kicked a frozen clump of dirt.
"That creek connects to the Genesee."
Hugo crossed his arms.
"Then the river's pushing them north."
Mike nodded slowly.
"Which means Letchworth Gorge."
Harlan looked up.
"That place with the cliffs?"
Jason nodded.
"Yeah."
"If they funnel into that canyon…"
Hugo finished the thought.
"…it becomes a choke point."
Harlan looked impressed.
"Good place to stop them then."
Jason didn't answer.
Because choke points worked both ways.
⸻
Leaving Retsof
The riders started the bikes again a few minutes later.
Engines rumbled across the quiet farmland.
Harlan stepped aside as they rolled past the trucks.
"You boys heading north?"
Jason nodded.
"Niagara Escarpment."
"Chert communities."
Harlan grunted.
"Tell them the river's moving."
Jason twisted the throttle.
"Already planning on it."
The motorcycles roared down the gravel road toward the north ridge.
Behind them the miners took up positions behind the trucks again.
Rifles steady.
Eyes on the creek.
Guarding the thing that kept the valley alive.
Salt.
And the water kept moving.
⸻
Niagara Escarpment, Western New York
You could hear the falls before you saw them.
A low thunder rolled across the ridge long before the river came into view.
The sound wasn't constant. It rolled like distant artillery across the escarpment, fading and returning again as the wind shifted.
Jason slowed the bike as the road curved along the escarpment.
Mist drifted above the distant trees like smoke rising from a battlefield.
Hugo looked toward the horizon.
"That's a lot of water."
Mike nodded.
"Always has been."
The Niagara River ran hard through the gorge ahead.
Above the falls the current was violent — whitewater smashing against black stone before plunging over the cliff into Canada.
Anything caught in that water didn't survive.
Which meant anything trying to move upstream…
had a problem.
Jason stopped the bike on a ridge overlooking the river.
Below them the water boiled against the rocks.
Mist rose in slow columns where the current smashed into the gorge walls.
Hugo leaned forward slightly.
"Well."
"That explains something."
Mike crossed his arms.
"The river's too rough."
Jason nodded.
"Mutants coming from Lake Ontario would never make it upstream through that."
Hugo glanced toward the wooded ridges east of the river.
"Which means…"
"They go around."
Mike finished the thought.
"Over land."
The sound of engines approached from the north.
Jason turned slightly.
Four motorcycles appeared along the escarpment road, moving fast but controlled.
Hugo squinted.
"Well look at that."
The bikes rolled to a stop beside them.
Cory removed his helmet first.
Behind him Tyr swung off his bike.
Njord shut down his engine quietly.
Karl climbed off last, brushing dust from his jacket as if the ride itself had been mildly inconvenient.
Jason nodded once.
"Cory."
Cory nodded back.
"Jason."
Hugo leaned slightly toward Mike.
"Well that saves a meeting."
Karl adjusted his glasses and looked down toward the river.
"The falls are louder up close."
Njord watched the water with quiet intensity.
"They always were."
⸻
The Chert People
The settlement sat along the escarpment ridge.
Small stone workshops built near exposed chert veins.
Flintknapping tables.
Buckets of broken stone.
Arrowheads laid out in careful rows.
Primitive tools.
Simple.
Effective.
A gray-haired man sat at one of the work tables shaping a blade with careful taps of a stone hammer.
He didn't look up when the motorcycles arrived.
He already knew they were there.
Jason walked toward him.
"You the one running this place?"
The man nodded once.
"Name's Elias."
He held up the blade he had been shaping.
"You came for these?"
Hugo picked up one of the arrowheads.
Sharp.
Perfectly shaped.
"Nice work."
Karl stepped closer and studied the stonework with interest.
"Chert from the escarpment."
Elias nodded.
"Best stone in the region."
Karl turned the arrowhead slowly.
"Very efficient."
Elias finally looked up.
"You're not traders."
Jason shook his head.
"No."
"Sanctuary."
That got the attention of everyone nearby.
Elias set the blade down.
"What's the warning?"
Jason pointed toward the river.
"Water."
Elias nodded slowly.
"Thought so."
Njord stepped to the ridge edge and looked downriver.
"The lakes have been restless."
Hugo glanced at him.
"Water usually is."
Njord shook his head slightly.
"Not like this."
⸻
Below the Falls
One of the younger men came running up the ridge.
"Movement!"
Everyone turned toward the river valley.
Below the escarpment, near the calmer water downstream from the falls, something moved along the rocks.
Gray shapes crawling up the shoreline.
Hugo counted quietly.
"One…"
"Two…"
"Three…"
The creatures moved awkwardly across the stones.
Not swimming now.
Walking.
Climbing.
Forced onto land.
Karl leaned forward slightly.
"They avoided the rapids."
Mike exhaled slowly.
"Well."
"That answers that question."
Jason looked toward Elias.
"How many bows do you have?"
Elias gestured toward the tables.
"Enough."
⸻
First Escarpment Fight
The men moved quickly.
Archers took positions along the ridge.
Rifles rested against the stone ledges.
Below them the mutants began climbing the slope.
Whiskers twitched in the air.
They could smell people.
Jason raised his pistol.
"Wait."
The creatures climbed higher.
Ten yards.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Elias nodded.
"Now."
Arrows fell first.
Stone heads punched through gray skin.
One mutant tumbled backward down the slope.
Rifle shots followed.
Two more creatures collapsed among the rocks.
The last one kept climbing.
Jason fired once.
The body slid down the hillside toward the river.
The gorge fell silent again.
Mist drifted across the escarpment.
Hugo looked down at the bodies.
"So they can't cross the falls."
Mike nodded.
"But they can walk around them."
Karl crouched near the edge of the ridge studying the corpses below.
"They are adapting."
Tyr folded his arms.
"They always do."
⸻
The Line
Jason looked north toward Lake Ontario.
Then south toward the escarpment ridge.
"If the river pushes them inland…"
Hugo finished the thought.
"They'll hit every town south of here."
Mike nodded slowly.
"Geneseo."
"Retsof."
"Letchworth."
Cory crossed his arms.
"And if they get through the gorge…"
Karl finished quietly.
"They reach the interior."
Jason looked toward the river again.
"This place becomes a cork."
Tyr nodded once.
"A natural choke point."
Mike looked south.
"Letchworth's another."
Cory added,
"And Mt. Morris dam."
Karl thought for a moment.
"The lakes have two exits."
Everyone looked at him.
"North."
He pointed toward Ontario.
"And south."
He pointed toward the Genesee watershed.
Njord spoke quietly.
"Then we cork both."
Hugo smiled faintly.
"That's actually a pretty good plan."
Jason looked toward Cory.
"You hold the north."
Cory nodded.
"You hold the river."
Tyr rested a hand on the pommel of his sword.
"If the cork breaks…"
Mike finished the thought.
"We fall back to the next one."
Jason stared at the water for a long moment.
Then turned back toward the bikes.
"Let's move."
⸻
The engines roared back to life.
The riders headed south again toward the orchard country and the final warning before returning to the dam.
Cory and his team remained on the escarpment ridge watching the river.
Behind them the chert workers returned to their tables.
Stone against stone.
Arrowheads forming beneath practiced hands.
Preparing.
Waiting.
Because the water kept moving.
And the river was bringing something with it.
⸻
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