CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: AMBUSH
Carter left the road and journeyed into the woods after parting company with Mattu. He walked for about fifteen minutes through the trees until he came upon a small clearing. This location was completely out of the way and should suit his purposes.
He removed his cloak and laid it across a low hanging branch of a nearby tree. He then made his way to the center of the clearing and drew his gun. After checking his surroundings and finding nothing amiss, Carter pushed the cylinder release latch on the weapon causing the cylinder to swing out. He pulled out each round in the chambers and saw, unsurprised, that two of the cartridges were spent. Two empty casings from the two warning shots he had performed in order to scare away the mob earlier.
So the rounds won’t refill until I empty the cylinder, Carter thought. He tossed away the two spent cartridges and, within a second of them leaving his hand, two of the empty chambers in the gun were refilled with fresh ammunition.
Magic really is such bullshit, He thought. After returning the rest of the bullets into the chambers, Carter closed the cylinder.
He took up a firing stance, with legs spread shoulder-width apart and both his hands gripping the Witch Arm. He aimed the sights at a tree that was about five yards away. Carter took a deep breath, then held it. With a squeeze of his index finger, the trigger was pulled. The cylinder turned, the hammer retracted then dropped, and the loud retort as the gun fired was heard all across the woods. The bullet shot forwards faster than the speed of sound and splintered the surface of the tree exactly where Carter had aimed at: dead center.
The sights were perfect. No misalignment at all. He aimed at the trunk of another tree and fired again. The sound of the weapon discharging was loud in the quiet forest, and the tree trunk splintered as the bullet impacted the wood. Once again his aim was perfect. No deviation from the sights at all. Carter kind of wished that he was in a more open area, where it was more windy. He wanted to see how much the wind affected the bullets’ trajectories. Were they the same as on Earth, or was there magic involved that made these shots ignore such variables as wind, gravity, and even the rotation of the planet?
Carter shot the gun four more times until the hammer clicked on an empty cylinder. He pushed the cylinder release then used the ejector rod to pop the spent ammunition out. Before the empty cartridges could fall to the ground, they vanished into black smoke before six fresh rounds appeared in the empty chambers. Carter clicked the cylinder closed, then began to shoot once more.
Somehow, despite the light weight of the Witch Arm, the recoil was still the same as it was when he was firing his old revolver. He looked down at the black gun in his hands, a look of confusion on his face. Less weight should have equaled more recoil, but such was not the case here. Carter supposed it was just more magical bullshit. He shrugged, accepting the anomaly as just another mystery present with his mysterious new gun. He continued firing.
Carter practiced his shooting for over an hour. Several hundred rounds were probably fired, as could be seen from the ruined trunks of the numerous trees in the clearing, but not a single spent cartridge was to be seen laying on the forest floor. Piqued by a bit of curiosity, Carter tried to dig out one of the bullets from the trees using his knife. But try as he did, he could not find any traces of lead at all buried inside the wood. He dug quite deep in some of the trees, but there was no sign of any bullet fragments. Did they disappear into nothing like the empty cartridges did? If so, then for how long did they remain in the world before vanishing into black smoke?
Carter looked up at the sky through the thin canopy of leaves and saw that it was getting late. If he wanted to get back to Joston before nightfall then he should head back now. Just as he was about to put the Witch Arm back into its holster, he heard a loud whistling in the air. He turned around, following the direction of the sound, right before the long shaft of an arrow buried itself into the soft flesh of his neck. Carter gasped in pain and surprise as he stumbled, falling over onto the leafy ground on his back. He lost his grasp on the Witch Arm, and the black weapon tumbled through the undergrowth to rest on the forest floor just five feet away from him.
Carter gasped desperately, his breathing hindered by the wooden shaft of the arrow buried in his throat. He felt the blood leaking both inside and out of him, the red rivers not only dripping out of his neck and staining his shirt collar but also flowing inside him and down his throat, making breathing difficult. He coughed and gasped, specks of red spattering across his lips as his fingers fought to grasp at the arrow’s shaft. He heard several footsteps approaching, stepping on twigs and leaves, as he fought to breathe.
“Fucker’s still alive!” said a rough voice drawing closer.
“Good. I want the squint to suffer,” said a familiar voice. Soon the owner of the voice stood over Carter, and he saw that it belonged to the leader of the mob that had accosted Mattu earlier.
“We’re lucky we found him. Thought he might’a left with the frizz.” A second man came into his vision’s range. He looked like an ordinary man in rough clothing, but he carried a bow. He was obviously the one that had shot him.
Carter continued trying to pry the arrow out of his neck as his eyes glanced around him. Including the mob leader and the archer, he saw six men in the clearing standing around his prone body. They were all slightly familiar and were likely with the mob that he had chased away earlier. Carter cursed his stupidity; he shouldn’t have hung around thinking that these bastards had left. He should have at least suspected that they would stick around.
“It ain’t like it was hard to find the idiot,” said another of the men. He looked older than the rest, being in his late forties. For all accounts he looked like an ordinary farmer; he even had a pleasant, friendly face. “He was making a fucking racket with that device of his.”
“Damn. Look a’ this place.” One of the thugs was looking around the clearing in awe, noting all the wrecked tree trunks Carter had shot into. “That thing has ta be an Artifact! It has to!”
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“No, ya idjit!” said the older man. “I told ya, it’s a device from Dralov! Those frizz heads make all sorts of gods-forsaken things in their barbaric country!”
“I-I found it!” said a soft, high-pitched voice. Carter looked over and saw that it belonged to a young boy, no older than ten. He was standing over the Witch Arm. The boy reached down and tried to pick it up, but it stayed fast and immoveable. “It’s… it’s so heavy!”
“Outta the way, punk!” A thin, lanky man shoved the boy away and tried to pick up the gun himself. “Ugh! This thing weighs a ton!”
“Told ya!” said the boy.
“Shut up!” The thin man continued his attempts to pull up the black weapon, but it stayed fastened to the ground.
“Both of you, shut up!” said the leader. He pointed at Carter, who was still trying to pull out the arrow. “Search him! This rich fuck has to have some gold on him at least.” He then delivered a swift, hard kick to Carter’s side, causing the dark haired man to grunt grunt as a new pain rocked his body.
The boy rushed over and began searching through Carter’s pockets. He found the house and car keys, which he tossed away, then the cell phone. The child looked at its shiny surface, obviously wondering what it was, before deciding it was worthless and tossing it away. He then reached into his vest pocket and pulled out Carter’s coin purse.
“Da!” The kid shouted, a wide smile on his face, as he looked into the small bag. “Found ‘is money! He gots tons of gold coin on 'im!”
“Good!” The leader nodded. He then reached for the knife tied to his belt. “I told you all it wasn’t a waste to come back after this bastard.”
The boy stepped out of the way as his father drew near with the knife. Carter managed to get a grip on the arrow and yanked the shaft out of his neck. A gout of blood spurted from the ragged wound, showering the grass and leaves nearby in red.
“S-stop!” Carter gasped out as he tried to sit up.
The leader sneered. “You’re a tough nut, I’ll give ya that.” He then lashed out with a vicious kick, his heel connecting with Carter’s nose and breaking it. His sunglasses flew off his face, landing several feet away. The dark haired man fell onto his back, his face covered in red. The men around him laughed.
“Let’s see just how tough you are.” The leader straddled Carter’s prone body, then tore open his vest and shirt. With torso bared, the bald man plunged his knife’s blade deep into Carter’s belly.
Carter screamed.
“That’s it! Gut the fucker!” shouted the thin man with glee. Some others cheered with him.
Carter writhed in pain, trying to push the man off of him. The leader continued to cut, jamming the knife deeper into him before starting to saw the blade back and forth, cutting the wound open wider. Carter gritted his teeth, forcing his mind to clear from the agony. He grabbed for the knife at his belt and drew it. Just as he was about to stab it into the leader, the older man in the group shot forwards and grabbed his arm.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said as he held his limb down. The men cheered around him as the leader continued to slice him open.
Carter screamed, the pain was unbearable. His wild eyes searched the clearing, looking for anything to stop the agony he was suffering. His attention suddenly became drawn to the black shape of the Witch Arm, which was barely five feet away from him. If only he could reach it!
His right hand reached out for it, desperately trying to touch it. His fingers pushed outwards, each digit stretching to their maximum, muscle and bone determined to feel the cold, black metal. Suddenly, without warning, the gun leaped up into the air. It sailed forwards, flying like a bird, directly towards his reaching fingers. Carter caught the black weapon in his hand and before he could even think, the dark-haired man roared. He viciously shoved its barrel into the leader’s mouth, the metal cracking the man’s teeth, before pulling the trigger.
The blast caused the back of the big man’s head to explode, showering the clearing and everything in it in brains and blood. His cronies stopped laughing and shrieked in fright, turning from frenzied hyenas delighting in the kill into scared, helpless little rabbits in the blink of an eye.
The leader's large corpse slumped over, blood from the gaping head wound spilling across the grass. Carter turned his attention to the older man who was holding his other arm down. The man’s wide, surprised eyes caught Carter’s, and he screamed in terror. Carter brought the Witch Arm towards him and fired, blasting a hole into the man’s cheek. Chunks of flesh and bits of teeth exploded out of the wound. An inhuman shriek of pain and fear erupted from the injured man’s throat as he fell back, his hands clutching at his ruined face.
A dense, unrivaled fury took hold of Carter, allowing him to ignore the pain of his injuries and the weakness of his limbs. He pushed the heavy weight of the dead leader off of him, then sent another bullet into the older man, who was writhing in pain on the ground. The shot got him in the ear, causing an explosion or blood and bone. The man’s shrieks fell silent as the bullet fragmented in his skull and red-hot pieces of lead shredded his brains into mush.
Carter slowly forced himself to stand, blood dripping steadily from numerous wounds. Stinging pain erupted in his gut as sliced up intestines fell out of his open belly wound, but Carter ignored his body's grievous state to focus on the remaining dead men in front of him. The four stepped back, fear and terror shining in their eyes as he raised his gun towards them, nothing but pure, unadulterated rage fueling his movements.
The men turned and ran. Carter aimed his gun at their backs and fired. Down went the thin man, a round smashing the back of his head open like a ripe fruit. The hunter had dropped his bow as he fled. Carter sent a bullet into his neck, just as the bastard had sent an arrow into his. The last adult had turned around and opened his mouth, possibly to beg for his life. Carter sent a bullet into his open maw, shutting him up permanently.
The last one alive was the boy, who was running madly out of the clearing. His head was turned back, his young eyes shining with absolute terror as he ran for his life. Carter sneered as he raised his arm and took aim at the fleeing child. Rage and hatred filled his blood. He vowed that none of these fuckers would make it out of here alive. None. His fury sparked, his eyes burned. Carter directed all his hatred at the boy as his finger pulled the trigger.
Click.
The chamber was empty. With that final click of the hammer ringing in his head, all the anger and hate filling Carter suddenly vanished. When the swelling heat of rage disappeared, the pain and weakness in his body returned. As did clarity. His mind, once lost in the haze of frenzy, now began to focus. Realization dawned upon him, the weight of his actions suddenly feeling denser than all the pain and agony he was suffering.
Jesus Christ, he thought. I almost shot a kid.
With that thought, he lost his grip on the Witch Arm which fell softly onto the bloody grass beneath him. The strength in his limbs quickly left and he found himself falling onto the forest floor face-first. Blood continued to leak from his numerous wounds, the pain from which was all-encompassing. Carter felt his lungs fill with blood as he began drowning from the wound inflicted by the arrow in his throat. He tried desperately to breathe, but all he could take in was blood. He tasted it in his mouth as it leaked out of his lips and onto the ground. His insides hurt, most of which was currently outside his body. He was a mess, and he was probably going to die.
His eyes closed and he stopped breathing.