Over the next few hours, Carter worked. Worked at untying his bindings, and worked at listening for new clues about his situation. The bandits talked, and he absorbed whatever useful information their prattling conversations gave him.
Apparently, the nearest town to the cave was known as Culvert’s Rock. It was a port town, with many ships from all over the world coming in and out. The country they were in was called the Western Empire and currently, it was at war with a nation to the south. Oh, and there was magic.
Yes. Magic.
If their words were to be believed, then he was not on Earth anymore. He was in some fantastical parallel universe or another planet. It was unbelievable, yet there was a lot of evidence to support it. The prehistoric forest with its gigantic trees. The vicious monsters that had attacked him. The bandits and their archaic armor and weaponry. All pointed to one incredible conclusion: He was not home any longer.
Carter stewed in his thoughts. Something had brought him here. For what purpose, he didn’t know. As for how?
He shivered slightly as he remembered the cold barrel of the gun pressed against his head.
No, it wasn’t true. That couldn’t have happened. He was still alive. He was breathing. He had a heartbeat. He was hungry. And thirsty. That meant he was still alive. He didn’t kill himself. He wasn’t dead.
Carter was broken out of his thoughts when the bandits all began to shuffle and move around. Ugly stood up and began speaking to all of them.
“Alright. I’m headed to town to get supplies and to ransom off our guest.” Various thugs’ eyes looked over at Carter, who was sitting stock still in the corner of the cave. He spotted Teeth, who was now proudly wearing his round-lensed sunglasses. It looked absolutely stupid on him. The group then turned their attention back to Ugly when he started talking. “Guff. Pilgren. Shanny. You’re with me. Jacksim and Lug, stay and guard the place.”
Fatso and Weasel didn’t look happy at being left behind. Weasel gave Carter a withering glare, obviously blaming him for his current straights. Carter, as usual, ignored him.
Ugly walked over to where he was sitting and squatted down so that they were almost face-to-face. “So, who should I talk to in order to arrange yer ransom? The quicker I talk to ‘em, the quicker you’ll get outta here.”
Carter thought quickly.
“Laura Golfrum,” He blurted out. Carter had come up with the name on the spot, so he hoped it sounded convincing. If Ugly found out that he didn’t have any people to be ransomed back to, his life was forfeit. Worse, if Weasel was to be believed. “You’ll find her at the fanciest hotel in town.”
“So, that’ll be the Angelissa, then.” Ugly nodded to himself. Carter mentally sighed in relief; the big bastard had bought it. “So, how much you think yer worth?”
“How much do you want?” Carter told him boldly.
Ugly laughed. “Oh, a big shot, huh? Sounds good ta me. Twenty thousand silver should be good. Whatta ya think?”
Carter nodded. “Just talk to Laura, she’ll set you up.”
“She better, or you’re a dead man when I get back,” Ugly told him.
Well, Carter thought. It’s a good thing I’ll be gone when you get back.
Ugly stood up, then went to collect his gear. “Okay, boys. We’re off. We’ll be back in a few days. Oh, and Jacksim.” The leader turned towards Weasel. “Remember. One finger on him, and you’re fucked.”
Weasel paled as he nodded.
With that, Ugly left the cave taking Guff, Blondie, and Teeth with him. Fatso grumbled something under his breath while Weasel started whining, shouting about how unfair it was, how he had wanted to go into town, etc.
More hours passed. The sun shining through the opening in the cavern’s ceiling had dimmed as night set. Carter’s stomach grumbled and not for the first time did he wish he had eaten something that morning. He was also thirsty. Again, he hadn’t had anything to drink since the night before.
Eventually, dinner time seemed to have come since Fatso and Weasel took out some food and began eating. Carter watched them chowing down on some bread with cheese and felt his stomach growl. He noticed how dry his throat was when he watched Weasel drink some water from a wooden bowl. The man caught him staring and smirked.
“Oh? What’s this? Are ya thirsty?” Weasel filled the bowl with water from a nearby barrel, then walked up to where Carter was sitting. With a wide grin on his face, Weasel upturned the bowl over Carter’s head, dousing him with the cold water. “There ya go, poncey! Drink up!”
“Boss is gonna kill you if you keep messing with him,” Fatso warned.
“Bah, I didn’t touch ‘im, see?” He pointed down at the dripping-wet form of Carter. “See? Not a finga!” The crude thug laughed, then went back over to the fire pit to finish his meal.
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Ignoring the water dripping off his hair and seeping into his clothes, Carter waited. He had already undone the knots on the ropes holding his hands together. Now all he had to do was wait for the right opportunity.
That opportunity came three hours later. After lounging for a bit, Weasel announced that he was going to sleep.
“What?” Fatso asked. “Why do I always get first watch?”
“Cuz I said so!” Weasel grinned as he lay down his sword and climbed into his bedroll.
Fatso looked angry but didn’t say anything. He grumbled and sat down on a nearby stool. He was facing the entrance to the cave, the place where he thought danger would most likely come from. He didn’t even give his prisoner a second thought.
Which was lucky for Carter. Within a few minutes, he heard loud snores coming from Weasel’s bedroll. Carter waited another half hour, letting Fatso get comfortable. The more he was, the more careless he would be. Currently, the bandit was writing in a small book, probably his journal.
A literate bandit. Imagine that.
Carter removed the ropes from his wrists, then moved his arms out in front of him. His shoulders were extremely sore from being in the same position for most of the day, but he could manage the pain. Once more he silently thanked his young body and its innate durability.
He untied his shoelaces, then removed his dress shoes. They had wooden soles and would make too much noise. He then stood up into a crouching position and moved towards the bandits, one asleep and one otherwise occupied. Carter spotted a large stone nearby, and he silently lifted it. The rock was pretty heavy, and just right for what he was going to do.
With the stone in his hands, Carter crept closer. He slowly inched towards Fatso, who had his back to him. The thug was still busy writing in his book, his full attention on it and not his surroundings. Ever so slowly, Carter closed in. One foot forward, then the other. His socked foot stepped on something sharp and Carter flinched, but he made no noise. He ignored the stinging pain and continued on. Eventually, he stood behind Fatso, who was still sitting on the stool, still writing in the book atop his lap.
Carter lifted the stone over his head, then with a snarl, slammed it down onto Fatso’s skull with as much strength as he could. There was a loud thwack followed by Fatso’s body falling bonelessly to the floor.
“What the fuck?!”
Carter turned towards the voice and saw that Weasel was awake. The bandit was wide-eyed and staring at him, seemingly in disbelief that Carter could be free at all. Taking advantage of the thug’s alarm, Carter rushed towards him.
Weasel let out a sound similar to that of a pig’s squeal as his hands scrambled for the sword lying at his side. Unfortunately for him, Carter was quicker, as he tossed the heavy stone at the bandit. It wasn’t a good throw as there wasn’t much force behind it, but the stone’s sheer weight proved to be enough as it slammed against the side of Weasel’s head. This stunned the bandit long enough for Carter to kick away his sword. Carter then straddled the thug’s prone body and grabbed his thin neck with his left hand. His right raised up above him before slamming down into Weasel’s face.
“Die!” Carter shouted as his fist pummeled the bandit’s face. “Die!” He said again. With every punch, every drop of his fist, Carter screamed. “Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!”
Carter stopped, leaning back and away from Weasel’s bloody face. His breath was hitching, coming in large gasps as his lungs burned. Sweat soaked his skin and his right arm ached. His knuckles stung, broken and bleeding. He felt utterly exhausted.
A gasp brought his attention back to Weasel’s face. The skin was all swollen and purple. His nose was smashed into nothing. All his front teeth were missing, either spat out or swallowed whole. The eyes were shut, covered over by black and purple bruising. Blood leaked out of his ears.
But yet, Weasel lived. A bloody sputter spat out of the swollen, bleeding lips and the bandit began to cough and gasp. Carter, though drained, stood up. His work wasn’t done yet.
With tired legs, he staggered over to the heavy stone he had thrown. His bloody hands picked it up, and he turned back to Weasel. Sitting down once again on the man’s belly, Carter raised the rock over his head. Weasel sputtered and spat out blood, trying to talk, to say something.
The stone dropped, aided by both gravity and every ounce of strength Carter had left. There was a loud clap, sounding almost like thunder, and Weasel’s body remained still. Taking in a deep breath, Carter pushed up and raised the stone again. And once more the stone slammed down. There was a softer thud. The stone was raised once again, wobbling a bit in Carter’s shaking arms. One final drop. The loud, deafening boom of stone hitting stone sounded throughout the cavern.
Carter leaned back and tossed the blood-covered stone away. He heard it roll and land somewhere behind him. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. As he rested, Carter looked down to behold his work.
There was nothing left. All but some parts of Weasel’s lower jaw had been pulped. Blood, bone, skin, brain; all splattered on the stone floor in an outwards spreading spatter. It almost looked like the petals of a flower.
Satisfied, Carter stood up. He looked over to Fatso and saw that the man was still lying on the floor, either knocked out or dead. He strode over towards him, his socks getting wet from the spreading blood. Red footprints followed him as he went to stand over the bandit. Carter leaned down and brought a bloody hand to Fatso’s neck. There was still a pulse.
That won’t do. There were four of these bastards still out there, who would most likely be after him once they get back. If he left Fatso alive, then that would be five bandits after his ass. That just wouldn’t do.
He walked past the fire pit to where he had kicked Weasel’s sword. He picked it up, then unsheathed it. The blade looked good, shiny, and well cared for. Carter strode back to Fatso, leaving more red footprints on the floor. He tossed aside the scabbard and then knelt at Fatso’s head. Fingers gripped the man’s hair and lifted, tilting his head up and baring his throat. Carter pressed the blade of Weasel’s sword tightly against the skin, then slid the blade across. The flesh parted, painting the stone floor red once more.
Carter stood up, dropping the sword onto the stone. He backed away from the body and its ever-expanding pool of red. His eyes scanned the cave, looking for more threats. There was nothing around. Just him and two cooling corpses.
As his heart slowed and the adrenaline haze lifted, Carter collapsed to his knees. He then began to cough and heave, his body trying to vomit the contents of his stomach.
Maybe it was a good thing that he hadn’t had anything to eat.