John was surprised to see the Sheriff ready and waiting for him as he rode up the next day.

The man flicked his cigarette on the ground and crushed it underfoot. “You’re late.”

“And you’re early. You ready? We won’t be stopping until dark.”

Instead of answering, the man swung himself into the saddle of his horse and turned it toward him. “Don’t worry about me, I may be old, but I’m not dead yet.”

That seemed to be a common phrase for the man. John acknowledged his words with a slight tilt of his head before turning his horse and making way for the edge of the city.

Once they reached the outskirts of Ember Creek, they pushed the horses hard. They only slowed to follow the trail, mostly because John had to stop multiple times to make sure they were still on the correct path.

As the trail started winding back toward the west, it grew easier to follow as the trees thinned and were replaced by long grass. The area of long grass wasn’t very large, but it was clear by all the trampled vegetation and cold fire pits that the missing workers had set up camp at this location.

Blackwood dismounted his horse, landing with a pained grunt. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough riding for today, and we have a ready-made place to camp. They even left some wood for a fire.”

“It’s a trap,” John stated, looking around but not seeing anything other than distant trees.

Instead of second-guessing him, the Sheriff put his hand on his pistol. “Where from?” The man eyed the terrain like someone was going to pop up any moment and shoot them.

John dismounted his own horse, letting it graze and rest. “It’s not an ambush.” He walked over to the cold campfire, carefully removing the logs and tossing them to the side, then digging through the ash below them until he felt something solid. He pulled the item from the ash and dusted it off before showing it to Blackwood. From the moment he saw that fire pit, something had felt off about it. It looked like it had been used, but the dead grass around it didn’t show any signs of charring.

If this was Jacob’s handiwork, the man knew some dirty tricks. Yet seemed to overlook some of the finer details.

Being a smart man, Blackwood took a step back from the stick of dynamite John was holding. “That’s monstrous. If we had started a fire, we would both be dead. Who would do something like that?”

“The same type of people who would hold a man’s hands down while he was being strangled to death. I would say it’s pretty clear they really do not want anyone following them. Let's keep going, there’s no telling if they laid any other traps here for us.”

John opened his saddlebag and stuffed the stick of explosives inside.

“You’re not seriously considering bringing that with us?”

“It's safe enough, so long as it doesn’t start sweating.”

“I’ll make sure to maintain my distance then.”

“Probably for the best, they won’t be able to pick us off as easily if we are separated.”

Sheriff Blackwood snorted at that, the first time John had seen him crack anything other than a frown. He wasn’t surprised the man was so stoic. He had seen the man’s shaking hands, even though the older man went to great effort to hide it. Blackwood was detoxing from the alcohol and likely felt like shit. It’s why he didn’t entertain taking him the first time he attempted to follow Jacob. The man was still a liability, but just maybe he would prove useful.

***

The pair rode for another two hours before stopping. They had no fire and they ate in quiet solitude as the last of the light faded. Since there were two, they split watch. Sheriff Blackwood took first watch and John second.

The lack of fire did make for a chilly night, but these lowlands were much warmer than where he had camped on his way to inspect the mine.

Morning came quickly and they spent most of the next day riding before they spotted something.

The two men stared at the open hole where over a dozen bodies had been dumped.

“Seems like not all of the workers were very enthusiastic about their new job.” John only nodded at the Sheriff’s statement.

There was no need to go down and check the bodies, he could see their lifeless eyes and the blood that soaked down the front of their shirts.

“Did you get a count of the missing workers?” John asked, stepping away from the grisly scene. They would need to return and bury the men properly later. These people didn’t deserve to get dumped into an open pit like a piece of trash.

“Forty-eight in total.”

“Let’s cover them up for now so no animals get at them.”

It took two hours of back-breaking digging, but they managed to cover the bodies. John knew this was just another way to slow down anyone who was after them. Anyone with an ounce of compassion would stop and do something. Compassion Jacob and the people he worked for seemed to lack.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

John didn’t like it. All this death and subterfuge brought up long-repressed memories of his time as a soldier. Specifically when the other countries were hunting down people like him. He didn’t like it because he had done similar vile acts to slow down his pursuers.

***

Two more grueling days of riding later, John spotted a wagon cresting a hill in the distance.

Blackwood must have seen it as well. “You think that’s them?”

“Has to be. But I don’t see anyone else with them. I know the wagon would be slower having to carry the explosives, but I didn’t expect to run into it for another few days. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Another trap?”

“Maybe,” John muttered.

He tried to judge their position in relation to Ember Creek. They were much further north, that was obvious. They had also passed over the river that gave the town its name. Now that he was looking closer at the distant mountains, he was pretty sure they were only a few miles northeast of the burned-out mining camp. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

If he was correct, then that hill he saw the wagon going over was likely right before the ground grew too treacherous to cross by horse.

“Shit!” he swore as he whipped his horse into motion.

“What is it?” Blackwood yelled as he raced to catch up.

“It’s a staging area. That area beyond those hills and all the way to the mountains is impassible by horse. If we don’t stop them before they finish loading their walkers, we aren’t gonna be able to catch them.”

As they were racing through the trees, John’s eyes caught a glint of something. “Whoa!” He yelled, jerking hard on the reins of his horse. The animal came to a quick halt, tossing him from the saddle and over the creature's head only moments before a rope was stretched taut across the trail.

During his graceless flight, John spotted Blackwood. The man had been able to remain on his horse. He was already reaching for his sidearm. John was still quicker. Landing in a roll to protect his head, he came up in a crouch and fired off two rounds. He heard grunts as his shots hit their mark, but it was punctuated by the sound of ringing metal.

From behind a covering of brush came a figure covered almost completely in armor. From the armor’s back puffed a thin stream of steam. An angry Harc’otti face glared at him moments before a thick metal helmet slammed into place.

A bullet pinged off the metal helmet a moment later from the Sheriff but it failed to punch through the helmet.

John rolled away as the second metal man came from the other side of the trail, trying to stomp him flat.

He could see the malicious grin of this man as he turned toward John’s horse.

John just looked at Wyatt. The man’s eyes grew wide before he turned his horse to flee.

“You cannot run!” the first man stated in broken Fareen as he began to give chase.

John didn’t know what these automata suits were but that didn’t stop him as he sprinted past the second one that was going for his horse. It took a swipe at him with its metal arm, but John easily dodged the slow-moving strike. If it landed, it was bound to break bones.

After avoiding getting his head squashed flat, he grabbed the saddlebag off the horse and slapped its rear, causing the animal to rear up before sprinting away in panic.

The man in the metal suit followed the horse for a moment before turning his attention back toward John. That was a mistake. By the time the man returned his focus back to him, John had discarded the bag. He had retrieved the items he needed. He was already sprinting toward the armored form again and had covered most of the distance back toward the slow-moving target.

The man tried to kick him as he ran past, but John was able to avoid the clumsy strike. He then shoved the stick of dynamite between the weird steam contraption on its back and the suit of armor before he took the flint and sparked it against the metal.

There was a distinctive hiss as the fuse lit, and then John legged it as the man in the armor started flailing around in panic.

He only made it a dozen feet before a loud boom threw him off his feet. He rolled around and brought his gun up but it was unnecessary. The explosives had peeled the strange armor open like a tin can, and what was left of the man inside, wasn’t going to be a problem.

It took a moment to get to his feet. He realized his equilibrium was off and his ears were ringing. Despite his disorientation, he started jogging in the direction Blackwood had ridden. There was at least one more of these things to deal with.

***

Blackwood rode as fast as his horse could take him, but the trail was winding and not very wide. When he looked back, he saw the walking tin can was gaining on him. He cursed and reached down for Sally, hoping the enhanced pistol had enough punch to make it through this armor.

A boom in the distance made him look back. It also made the other man turn. Then Wyatt saw it. He had listened to Seline jabber on about artificing for years, and while it wasn’t a subject he held much interest in, he had picked up a thing or two. Right there in the back was what looked like a pressure relief pipe.

Wyatt stopped his horse and turned it as he drew the heavy pistol. He only had one shot at this and the man was already starting to turn back around to face him. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart before raising the pistol with both hands and firing.

He grunted in pain as the weapon kicked hard in his grip, but he watched as the round struck the pipe, denting it.

Then he turned his horse again and urged it into a run.

The man yelled at him before giving chase once more. Only this time, instead of excess pressure bleeding through the relief pipe, it built up. And it continued to build until Wyatt heard a loud *POP*.

His horse screamed as steam blanketed them. Wyatt shut his eyes and held his breath as he urged the horse on until the painful heat finally dissipated. Only then did he slow the horse and turn to see what had happened to the man. The armor was lying face down and motionless on the ground, heat still rising from the hot water soaking into the dirt around it.

He could see the pressure canister had burst inward, sending the super-heated steam boiling right at the back of the suit of armor. It had probably saved his life by deflecting most of the steam. Although, it didn’t do the man in the armor any good.

The poor bastard must have been boiled alive instantly. It was a horrific way to go, but considering what this group had already done, it was probably more humane than they deserved.

It took him some time to calm his horse, the animal was burned pretty badly on its hind end and kept dancing and snorting angrily. He would likely have to put the creature down if the injury was severe enough.

Speaking of, he finally got off the panicking animal and leaned against a nearby tree. He could feel the stiffness on his skin from exposure to the heat. But there was no pain. That was not a good sign.

The burn was either minor or major, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch the back of his neck or face to tell for certain. He just sat there, leaning against the tree for a few minutes before the pain finally hit him.

He would have laughed if he wasn’t so relieved. He had seen major burns before and knew the feeling didn’t come back for those sorts of injuries until hours or days later, if at all. So he had lucked out. A few days of stinging pain and peeling skin and he would be good as new. Assuming they survived whatever this group had in store for them.

He glanced over and saw Smith walking his horse up the trail. Wyatt laughed, causing his face to flare in pain, but it was worth it. The company man looked to be in worse shape than he felt, which made all his pain worthwhile.