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The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.2
🕑 Added 2024-05-30 08:00:03 +0000 UTCChapter Two
Hiking Blues
Wesley’s first shot went well wide of the beast. The bang was loud, but it didn’t even shy away. It kept coming: paws eating up the ground as it charged toward him with blood slathered across its muzzle.
He adjusted the range with trembling fingers and tried to settle his breathing. The recoil kicked against his shoulders, and the hyena stumbled just for a second. He pulled the trigger again and again, aiming for the chest. The skull of Earth Hyenas had been known to stop bullets, even large calibers in some cases, so he kept his shots center mass.
It closed quickly, and he started to walk backward, still firing after slamming another clip into the rifle.
It was close enough to jump at him before his last bullet ended its life. It went limp, tumbling in the air as he scrambled aside.
“Oh, fuck!” Wes repeated over and over again as he started to shake from head to foot. His feet went out from under him, and he collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air.
He rocked back and forth, rubbing his arms, shivering in the hot air as sweat broke out on his body.
It had all happened so fast, he kept thinking, so fast. One second, the world looked beautiful; the next, it was a nightmare. He had always wanted to play a scene like this in some big-budget movie, but now. Now, he would happily play the comedy sidekick for the rest of his career if he never had to see another monster charging at him.
It was the smell that broke him out of his panic and shock. The smell of the blood. Blood attracted predators, right? And here he was, sitting cradling an empty rifle. He hurriedly activated Reload and put another clip in the M1. When he did, he noticed the top of the tattoo looked faded. He could also feel the skill itself was drained a little.
He latched onto the puzzle like a drowning man onto a life raft. The tattoo faded when he used the skill. Did that mean it only had a certain number of uses before it vanished for good? If that were the case, he would be in real trouble.
Experimentation was called for, and not with the skill his life relied on. His other skills, or whatever they were called, were Heal and Flare. He wasn’t risking it with a healing ability, just in case it was a limited-use thing. So, he turned his mind to the Flare spell.
Aiming his hand vaguely into the distance, he fired off the spell and saw a dim ball of light gather in his hand before arcing away into the distance. There was a moment of heat as it left his hand, but it wasn’t too bad. Immediately, he saw the little tattoo fade a little. So, he did it again and again. The third cast made his hand sting a little, but when he tried a fourth time, the tattoo now barely visible on his hand, his whole arm ached and burned… but no light ball came.
The next few minutes were tense, spent staring at the tiny tattoo in desperate hope. After almost five minutes, the tattoo slowly faded back in, and Wes breathed a huge sigh of relief.
The abilities seemed to have charges that were refilled over time, like a cooldown. It was actually quite a good system, allowing the person to use the skill multiple times through the charges before it drained but still having a limit. It was flexible and adaptable to emergencies while still needing to be managed. He felt like he needed to get good at that management quickly.
Experimentation was going to be important.
The little mental puzzle had pulled him out of his shock and panic, and Welsey was finally able to rise to his feet and examine the oversized hyena that had nearly ended his life.
Approaching cautiously, he saw that strange chalk-like writing appearing again, this time on the corpse's side, scrawling itself over the short fur of the hyena’s coat.
Greater Hyena (Late 1st) killed!
Essence gained - 250
Influence gained - 120
Loot?
“You’re fucking with me, right?” Wesley asked the empty air. “Loot?”
The moment he said the words, the writing changed…
Touch kills to claim rewards and initiate looting…
A short laugh of disbelief burst out of his mouth, and he shrugged, placing a hand on the still-warm shoulder of the dead animal. The moment he did, there was a strange noise, almost like air being sucked into a pipe, and the body disappeared, leaving behind a folded piece of hide, some meat that seemed to be wrapped in wax paper tied up with string, and a set of extra large teeth.
“Bloody hell!” Wes recoiled from the teeth, “That’s just fucking grim!”
Still, needs must and all that… he gathered the hide, meat, and large teeth, shoving them into his pack as quickly as he could.
While he was doing so, a flash of something passed over the waxed paper, and he paused, looking closer…
Sealed Loot.
Preserved until opened.
Now that, Wesley thought to himself, could come in handy. If that meant what he hoped it did, namely that the meat inside wouldn’t go bad, he wouldn’t have to worry about losing the meat to rot, heat, or germs while he traveled.
It was not just handy; it was necessary.
While he went on his way, Wesley’s mind kept coming back to the sealed package. It was just like the thing with the tattoos. Thoughtful, considered, and highly worrying.
This place, whatever it was, had clearly been well planned out. Somewhere deep inside, Wes Lancaster had been hoping that this was all somehow explainable. That he was knocked out and hooked up to machines, this whole thing just the fever dream of his unconscious mind… but that could no longer be the case.
Wesley was a lot of things, but a great planner was not one of them. It was why he ended up an actor. One thing had led to another, and he had just fallen into it. A chance had presented itself to play an extra one day, and they gave him money.
Just for walking down a road. Over time, he graduated from walking to eating in the background… someone asked if he wanted to join them for drinks, and he drunkenly joined the kind lady for a drink, then ended up in her bed, and even the cast of her play.
That was it for him. He got paid, people brought him drinks, he got laid, and he got a job. What more could a young man want?
Job security would have been one thing. A shot of penicillin was another, but it took him a few days to figure that one out.
In short, he didn’t have the kind of mind that could make all this up. This whole place worked in ways he didn’t even understand, but one thing that was horrifyingly clear was that it was well made, well designed, and he was almost certainly going to die.
In the short few hours he had been here, Wes had already been forced to do something that he had never done before. He had killed. Sure, it was an oversized hyena literally drooling blood as it charged at him… but still.
The Lancasters -ironically for a family bearing the name of both a rifle and one of the most famous bombers in history- were a peaceful bunch. His parents were vegetarians famous for taking in stray animals at the drop of a hat, while his sister had become a doctor and immediately joined the Red Cross.
He was the black sheep of the family, having dropped out of college to pursue his dream of acting… namely, getting drunk, laid, and becoming famous. It had been a shock to learn how hard actors actually had to work, but by then, it was too late to go back.
He was lost in his thoughts about his family for a while, eyes scanning the area while his mind wandered to what his family would think had happened to him. It was painful to think about them worrying, maybe searching for him, maybe… giving up on him. How long would they keep hoping to find him?
His thoughts were interrupted by the dying light. Night was falling, and he wasn’t sure what to do. There were plenty of things that hunted at night on Earth. Chances were it was the same here.
The distant smoke had turned out to be much further away than he thought. His initial guess that he would be there in a few hours was hopelessly wrong. If anything, it would take another whole day of walking to get there.
In short, he needed to spend a night camping in the open, which did not sound attractive in the slightest.
Many people loved going camping, but Wesley J. Lancaster was a hotel kind of man. Roughing it meant somewhere without room service. Still, needs must and all that.
That thought led him a scant half hour later to chopping determinedly through a small sapling with the world’s dullest hand axe. Charitably, he knew no one intended it to be used; uncharitably, Wesley cursed Todd with every swing. He had no idea if Todd was actually responsible for the axes, but he was as good a target for his ire as any.
This was his second sapling, and the axe wasn’t getting any sharper.
Not liking camping didn’t mean he had no idea how to do it. In fact, he actually was pretty good at it. His short-lived role as a survival expert on a TV series about a zombie apocalypse included lots of scenes of them making camp. It was cheaper than the zombie makeup, and the budget had been tight.
So, he had found a place that would stay dry in case of flooding, which for all he knew could actually happen, carved a notch into a tree to hold one end of a pole and cut a small sapling to support the other. Now, he just needed this one to go between the two, and he could drape the tarp over it, secure the corners tightly… and he would have a tent.
It wouldn’t be much, but it would keep the rain out and put something between him and the night-time world.
By the time the last of the light failed, Wes had a fire burning merrily in the center of a ring of stones; the surroundings swept clear of anything flammable with a bunch of twigs, and he was cutting more wood as fast as he could.
His urgency was caused by a pair of red eyes on the other side of the clearing he was camping in. They had appeared just as the light went completely and remained staring at his camp without so much as blinking as far as he could tell. In short, he was terrified.
They hadn’t gotten closer, as far as he could tell, but they certainly weren’t going away either. He did not even want to think about what would happen if the fire went out… but his mind refused to focus on anything else.
His head was filled with the sounds of his own screaming, accompanied by wet, tearing sounds. Wesley cut wood for hours, completely stripping every branch from the trees in range of the light. He almost cut his thumb off twice when his eyes strayed to the red orbs mid-swing of his axe.
As he cut free the last branch, Wes dragged it over to the large pile and then collapsed, staring at the red orbs and sighed. Either he had enough until morning, or he didn’t. One thing was certain: this would be a long night.
He ate another ration bar, chewed up some jerky, and allowed himself an extra long swig of water after his hard work.
At first, he was too nervous to feel tired, but as time passed, the crackling fire seemed to suck the energy from his body, and he started to nod off.
Jerking awake at one point, Wesley saw the fire dying and hurried to build it back up in a panic, but when he looked up… the orbs were right where they had always been.
“Almost got me there, eh?” He spoke calmly, talking just to keep himself awake. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I am a veteran of many an all-nighter. I’m an actor, see? I have to be able to spend the night partying and the day working. It’s just the way it goes.” The eyes stared, unblinking. “Okay, so maybe I didn’t have to… call it my own style of acting. Method acting is all very well and good, but it doesn’t exactly sound like fun, you know?”
Still no sound or movement.
“No chance you would sod off and let me sleep, is there? Only, I hate to be that guy, but… I kind of have a lot to do tomorrow.” No change, “Sorry, had to ask. You know how it is.” He grinned weakly. “Don’t suppose I am an actor anymore, anyway. I’m a Rifleman now.” He shrugged. “Honestly? I was never much of an actor anyway. I just looked good enough to get by, you know? Not that I’m saying that I’m good-looking,” He grinned, “Just that I have a look, you know. Kind of roguish but charming, with just enough goofy to be non-threatening.” Wesley chuckled. “Now, I know that might sound arrogant, but seriously… someone I trust said that about me.”
The red eyes stared, still unchanged over all these hours. The silence was starting to freak Wesley out a little, but at least it wasn’t attacking him.
“...and that completes our tour of my M1 Garand rifle,” Wes nodded to the eyes as he flipped it back over again. He had run out of things to say, the silent stare a constant stress that seemed to worm into his psyche and unnerve him, stealing away his words. So, he started going through his gear, explaining the hows, whys, and whatnots of every piece. “Oh, I almost forgot, the butt plate on the M1 has a compartment inside; just swivel it open an-”
A bag of white powder slid out of the stock, followed by one full of pills. Gingerly, he opened the bag of powder… it was not sugar.
“Well, I’m an idiot,” Wesley said morosely. His eyes flicked to the red orbs glaring across the clearing at him, “Look, in my defense, who is smuggling drugs in guns, for fuck’s sake? I mean, is there anything more likely to be searched?” He stopped for a second. “Maybe they wouldn’t think of it, but… wow.”
His mind flashed to the complex set of permits, and import slips Matt always carried on his person. England was not exactly lax when it came to gun laws, but did he really need them everywhere?
“The planning involved must be off the charts,” He added conversationally, “But if you can pull it off, it sure is a good cover.” He tossed the bags over his shoulder. “Not that it matters now.”
Time seemed to slow in the darkness, and it felt like a year or more before the sky visible between the trees started to brighten. He smiled across the fire at the red orbs, “You know I just figured something out,” he slapped his head and laughed. “Your eyes only showed up at sundown, just as I started this fire. I bet that when the light touches the ground, I’ll see some sap or a statue with jeweled eyes that I have been talking to all night.” Climbing to his feet, Wesley started to squint, feeling like an idiot. A whole night of fear for nothing.
Ten minutes before the light broke through the trees, Wesley was packing up, getting psyched up to go and check on the eyes BEFORE the light made him an idiot. He stood, leveled his rifle at the eyes, and smiled.
“Thanks for the company,” Wesley said with a bow before he slung the rifle over his shoulder.
“ThAnkS fOr thE cOmPaNeeeee,” a keening, wet voice repeated, and the eyes vanished.
Wesley Lancaster sat down fast, staring across at the spot of darkness.
He did not move until the sun was brightly shining on the path out of the trees.
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Mercury313
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