Time slowed to a crawl as Bill watched the old-fashioned lanterns roll through the air. Shadows danced upon the ground, their forms bending and twisting ominously as the primitive flashlights flipped end over end, throwing light around at random.
Adrenaline flooded Bill's body, the sudden influx of jittery energy making his muscles quiver anxiously. His skin tingled. It felt as if an invisible militia of centipedes were marching across his flesh on their way to overthrow a tyrannical government. As the milliseconds dragged on, Bill became acutely aware of each and every beat of his heart; elongated whumps that caused something deep within his ears to vibrate like a subwoofer.
Bill was so entranced by the lanterns' aerial performance that he jumped, nearly pissing himself all over again when the sound of breaking glass reached his ears. The fragile lantern housings shattered upon impact, unleashing a burst of orange sparks, exposing the oil-soaked wood to open flames that proceeded to light the carriage up like a match dropped on sawdust. Rivers of fire cascaded down the rear of the horse-drawn prisoner transport like glowing waterfalls. When combined with the gunpowder that coated nearly every nook and cranny of the moble torture chamber, the rapidly intensifying conflagration began spewing trails of amber sparkles that shot through the air like microscopic meteorites.
Crackles and pops sounded out as the flames spread across the termite-eaten carriage. It swiftly blossomed into a blazing inferno, radiating waves of intense heat that made the air ripple with a mirage-like quality.
Plumes of black smoke billowed upwards, twisting and writhing towards the sky like featureless onyx serpents. Bill retreated several steps as the growing fire redoubled its efforts and began gyrating around the carriage like a twister, creating a scalding, yet breathtaking spectacle as the flames sank their elemental teeth into the old wagon and began to consume. The process had only just begun, but it was already so bright that Bill could see a pale glow visible on the bottoms of the lowest-hanging cumulus clouds. The light refracted one cloud to the next, creating an orange glow that slowly spread across the sky, reminiscent of an early sunrise.
A sudden nudge on Bill's shoulder pulled his attention back to the looming threat of an impending explosion. Nero was saying something while gesturing over his shoulder. Although Bill couldn't make out his words over the roaring fire and gathering winds, the wide-eyed stare and lines of fear etched into his face were simple enough to understand. As were his intentions. It was time to make a run for it.
Well, in Bill's case, it was more of a fast-paced hobble. That was the best he was currently able to manage, and he wasn't exactly confident that he had the strength to keep going like this for much longer. Nero noticed his struggles and offered a shoulder for assistance but Bill waved him on. For one, he had no desire for Nero to die on his behalf, but he also had a more practical reason. All of their gear was stacked up outside the gate.
Everyone's lives were on the line. Nero and the townspeople were still going to need those weapons and ammo regardless of whether he made it or not.
Already wheezing, Bill pointed at the crates of exposed ammunition. “Save the bullets!“ he choked out. Concern evident on his face, Nero gave Bill a conflicted look. For a moment, Bill was sure Nero was going to refuse. In the end, they both knew there wasn't time to argue.
Bill clenched his jaws shut, resisting Wild Bill's attempts to interject as Nero turned his back and ran for all he was worth.
Save the bullets?! Yer family tree must'a been a wilted shrub. We ain't gonna have no use for a bunch'a bullets If'n this chuckleheaded plan of yer’s gets us both killed! Go faster dammit! Move my legs like our asses depend on it!
“You… just said this was… a great plan! Feel free… to take over… anytime now…” Bill panted, shutting out the complaints of his panicked inner voice and focusing his full attention on the open gate. His top priority was getting behind the fort’s walls before he was pelted with shrapnel from behind. Aside from Nero, the street within the gate was empty. Nero himself was a shadow that darted back and forth, tossing armfuls of their belongings in a heap next to his former owner's remains before running back for more.
As Bill urged himself to move faster—spurred ahead by a powerful and surprising desire to survive that his new state of existence had instilled within him and not because Wild Bill was still actively complaining—the fire continued to feast, its intensity growing by the second as it chewed its way towards the explosive payload hidden within its core. Fighting an uphill battle against the urge to stop and look at the bomb he had rigged together, Bill lowered his head and shambled his way across the remaining twenty yards that separated him from near-certain death and relative safety. It felt like his leg was going to fall off with every lurching step, but he scrunched up his face and pushed through the pain.
Ahh, the endless pain. It was so distracting that he was having a hard time thinking about anything else. He was hot. Far too hot. Sweat was pouring down his back in rivulets, turning the crack of his ass into a fetid swamp worthy of Shrek’s jealousy. Bill's vision was spinning. He didn't need to be a trained physician to understand that the infection spreading throughout his body was rapidly approaching a tipping point. He knew all this nonstop running around was only speeding up the rate at which his health was declining but couldn't afford to falter.
What he really needed was a nice long rest. And some food. Handfuls of antibiotics. Perhaps a surgical amputation. “I refuse to die in this place!“ he bellowed out all of his caustic fear and rage, releasing not only his many current woes, but soon, all of the pent up emotions he'd kept locked up for the last several weeks came rushing to the surface.
For a while there, Bill had honestly believed he wanted it all to end. The loss of his fiancé brought his meticulously planned future crashing to an abrupt halt. Death had seemed preferable to going on without her. He couldn't exactly explain what had changed. There was still an empty pit in his heart, a piece of himself that he feared had been buried with Sara.
Yet, despite everything he had lost, and the ludicrous challenges he now faced, his accumulated negative emotions and intentions were being supplanted by a sense of child-like excitement that was bubbling up from somewhere deep within him. Bill wanted to live. Death was an inevitable force hidden in every facet of life. What was the rush? They would meet eventually. But if Bill had his way, the reaper would be waiting for a long, long time.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
He was still young. At the very least, he remained young in spirit. Wild Bill was at least a dozen years older, which, seeing as they were sharing his body, technically put Bill at closer to thirty-five or so years old. Regardless of his questionable age, Bill had no doubts in his wounded heart that Sara would have wanted him to experience everything he could with whatever amount of time he had left.
His current predicament proved that there was still so much out there he had never experienced. He'd been eaten by a mirror and transported to an alternate timeline for God's sake! Add in the introduction of this mysterious System and all of the videogame-like properties it brought along with it, and Bill was finding it harder and harder to relate with the broken person he'd been the very night before.
Yer a tough nut to crack there, Bill.
Just as Bill stumbled through the gate, a bone-rattling boom unleashed a wave of pressure that shoved him from behind, sending him sprawling face-first towards the familiar corpse splayed out in the gray muck that layered the pitted dirt road. Bill threw up his hands to protect his face, but wiry arms materialized around his chest, stopping him mid-fall and yanking him to the side.
“Sorry 'bout this, Mr. Bill.“ Nero said. Bill felt the world spin sideways as Nero lifted him off his feet, tossing him against the base of the wall. Bill's hip screamed in protest as he was driven bodily into the ground. As Bill tried to catch his breath, Nero crouched down beside him and shrugged apologetically.
Bill looked down at the puddle of slop he was laying in, glaring at the newest layer of 'mud' coating the backside of his stolen shirt and trousers. He sighed. The aggravating sight was blocked out by a wave of small yellow boxes appearing one after another, occasionally in multiples, quickly filling up his vision from bottom to top like a simplistic version of tetris playing out in midair. Each one sent a jolt of energy buzzing through his brain and shooting down his spine.
••
••
••
••
When the notifications finally stopped, they all collapsed into one another and changed colors, becoming a single sky-blue box that hovered in the center of Bill’s vision. It wasn't exactly the massive windfall that he had been hoping for, but at least they'd gotten something for their troubles.
The electrical surge of incoming experience had spread out to encompass Bill's entire body in an uncomfortable pins and needles feeling that reminded him of waiting for his legs to fall asleep and then trying to wiggle his toes. His eyes and ears pulsed erratically, seemingly about to rupture between every beat of his heart. This newest addition to his growing list of discomforts added a whole new flavor of agony to his burgeoning palette of woes, but unlike his agonizing hip, the pain passed nearly as fast as it arrived.
After waiting for his vision to stop spinning, Bill dismissed the conjoined notification and looked to see how Nero was handling his own influx of information and experience. It was as if the former slave had just been subjected to a sudden premonition. Like he somehow knew what was coming. Nero suddenly covered his head with his arms, causing Bill to panic and do the same just as another, far more powerful detonation vibrated the wall to the point it began to come apart at the seams.
This second, wholly unexpected explosion reverberated through the ground, shaking the earthen foundation of the small town. As the muddy road rumbled beneath Bill's shoulders, a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke rocketed into the sky, filling Fort Alamo with its blazing glory. The blast echoed across the landscape, a thunderous roar filled with the high-pitched whistling of countless metal projectiles.
Bill's ears popped as another jolt of incoming experience thundered through his body. Trails of warmth dribbled down the sides of his neck as the System's annoying notifications began filling his vision all over again. He tried to dismiss them one by one, but they refused to budge, continuing to pile up against his efforts to get rid of them. Bill could no longer hear the sounds of his own pathetic moans, but he was acutely aware of the rekindled pain, as well as Wild Bill's overly-excited exclamations.
Well fuck me to tears! Bill! Whut in the infernal armpits of Lucifer did you put in that death box? Dynamite's mighty powerful, but it ain't capable of all this! His voice took on a contemplative tone. Hmm. You think Slavin' Dave might'a had another stash hidden away in there somewhere..?
While Wild Bill rambled his thoughts without a care for how distracting it might've been, long, thin cracks were spider-webbing across the mudbrick wall. The dried mud that bound the individual blocks together began to crumble, sending a plume of displaced material showering down on Bill’s cowering form, coating both him and Nero in a cloud of chalky tan dust.
The slight overhang where the narrow wooden walkway built along the top of the wall protruded out over the edge was sufficient to keep Bill and Nero from getting seriously injured. It was an immediate relief that their brains weren't being intruded upon by the lead-and-buffalo hailstorm. The town, unfortunately, wasn't faring nearly so well.
The sounds of breaking glass and cracking wood intermingled with exclamations of anger and high-pitched screams, assaulting Bill’s ears with a maddening cacophony. Each individual sound stood out against the others. Sickening meaty slaps rang out as displaced buffalo chunks landed at random. Shouts of fear and pain echoed through the town, created as an unforeseen byproduct of the not-so-well-thought-out plan Bill’s feverish mind had cooked up. The shame and embarrassment caused him to cringe harder and harder, curling up into a tight ball of anxiety that sought only to disappear.
Eyes clenched shut, Bill pressed his palms against his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise, his teeth grinding together so hard they began to ache.