The Postman Ep.2 (Trouble)

Read the first episode...

Rylan tossed a pair of work pants, an extra pair of boots, and a pile of at least semi-clean clothes into his back pack. He was almost ready for the long walk from Sablebrook to Imperial Post #142. He almost hated to leave the farm. He would miss the sweet smell of wet grass. The long, quiet walks to town to buy grain. Most of all, he was going to miss...

"Rylan, get your ass down here. We're going out shooting."

Rylan rolled his eyes to the heavens. He looked out his window to see Leam in the field, glass bottles lined up on the fence post. He hated shooting lessons with Leam. He laced his boots and trudged through the mud to meet his already inebriated uncle.

"Alright kid, you only get six shots. That's how it works out in the real word, in a gun fight, ye ain't got time to reload-"

"Do you have time to talk? 'Cause your kind of making it seem that way." Rylan grinned at Leam, but Leam did not find his quip quite as funny. Leam reached out to smack Rylan on the head, but Rylan ducked under it with ease. He had been in trouble before, his uncle wasn't half as fast as some of the punks he'd tangled with.

"Alrigh' then, if yer goin' to talk smack, let's see what ye got." Leam took a cumbersome old revolver off his belt and handed it to Rylan. Rylan always felt a bit of anxiety when he the weight of the gun was in his hands. It felt like permanence.

"Go ahead then, shoot the damn bottles. I won't teach ye anything since you're so smart."

Rylan scanned his targets, there were seven of them. The revolver only held six rounds. "You put up too many targets." Rylan raised the revolver and started to fire, but Leam cleared his throat. It was a wet, rough sound, like gravel being drug through the mud.

"Too many, eh? Lookit mister 'I ain't got time to talk.' What're you gonna do when there's seven men tryin' to take yer cast iron? Tell 'em there's too many and politely ask one to step aside? Is that what's gonna happen, when they got their long rifles aimed at yer skinny chest? Eh? One's just gonna step aside?"

Rylan fired the first five rounds, each bottle shattered with the crack of the revolver. "What would you recommend I do about the last two then?"

Leam took the revolver and shot the sixth bottle, then, flipping it in his hand with the sort of deftness that one wouldn't expect from a drunk shepherd, hurled it at the last bottle. "Yeh gotta hit 'em right between the eyes Rylan. Elsewise they'll cap you good. That revolver belonged to yer grand daddy. He was once a great marksman and perceptualist in the Western Branch. He was the only law out there, until a man blew his knees out with a chain gun. Taught me everythin' I know propped up on an old tree stump."

"A chain gun?"

"Yessir. Fires off fifty-eight rounds in a minute. Better hope you don't face no one like that on the trail."

Rylan gulped. "Show me how to do the thing where you throw it."

Leam laughed and pointed for him to run after the revolver. "You can't master it in an afternoon, but we'll get ya started."

***

Vinnie could smell them from a mile away. She couldn't see them yet, due to the slope of the plains over the distance. They were probably just beneath the horizon. "Linwood, we've got trouble. I smell Railguard rations, and an alchemist. Burning canther and black bile suggest he's ready for combat. They're on foot." They'd known the Railguard would catch wind of their assault quickly, but they had barely had time to find the box.

"He?" Linwood asked. "How do you know it's a he?" Linwood was amazed at Vinnie's senses, even after knowing her for years.

"They smell like men." Vinnie wrinkled her nose. "Winds shifting, and I can't hear them. What are we going to do?" There was nothing she hated worse than losing one of her senses to environmental factors. She'd be able to see them soon if they were approaching the wreckage, and she had a long enough whiff of them to guess that there were seven of them.

Linwood grabbed his side and winced, "Let's retreat. They won't approach us until they've searched for survivors." Linwood started walking along the tracks but Vinnie put a hand on his shoulder.

"No good. I see two on the horizon. Definitely not Railguard." She procured a round grey tin from her pocket. She popped the lid off and smeared black gook beneath her eyes. The goo drew more light into her field of vision, allowing her to see at least a hundred yards further than normal. She was careful not to get the tar like stuff in her eyes. After years of surgeries and training, they were far too valuable to damage, even slightly.

A bald man with a row of stitches closing a wound over his brow, and a tall man dressed in a black coat walked side by side. The bald man had the same penetrating eyes as Vinnie; she could just make out a tattoo on his neck. The black coat man was carrying a long, one edged blade, unsheathed.

"Linwood, we've got head hunters on one side, and Railguard on the other."

***

"I can't wait to cut them." Black Coat Man said. He hadn't unsheathed his sword yet, but he ran his fingers over the ray skin wrapped handle. It was a beauty of a blade. The pale blue metal was forged in the Far East. Legend held that it was a seven-body blade.

Tattoo man sighed. "Why do I always get stuck with you? I've worked with cleverer horses." He touched the thirteen on his neck and felt the prickling charge of energy course through him. "I should just put you down, don't you know it?"

Black Coat Man laughed, "I'll cut you too, once Linwood is dead. Damned traitor."

"Quiet now, we don't want his harlot to hear us." Tattoo man rubbed his palms together, the air crackled from the charge. The black clouds above began to rumble. "I'll take care of Vinnie right now." He thrust his toned arms into the sky, sending a jolt into the clouds. Rain poured down from above.

Black Coat Man giggled. He couldn't wait any longer. He drew the sword, and the hate began to build up. "There's a story behind this sword, but I'm forgetful. Something about it won't be sheathed until it has spilt blood."

Tattoo Man raised an eyebrow at Black Coat Man. "Sounds gruesome."

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