"Because if you do what I say, I let you take them into the safety shelter. If you don't, I blow your brains out and find your pal Johnson. Maybe he'll be more accommodating."
"No! No, I'll do it. If you promise to let us live, I'll do it."
He heaved a sigh of relief when the gun lowered from his head. Gunner seized him by the collar, pulling him to the door.
"Make it fast. I'm not here to kill time."
"I got something!"
Tucker Gibson adjusted his nightvision goggles, zooming in on a distant figure walking directly toward the Town entrance, nearly obscured by the heavy rain. His long duster fluttered in the blustery wind, his hat slung over his eyes, walking with purposeful gate, almost a march. Tucker snatch up his radio, yelling into the receiver.
"We got company up front. Copy that? I got movement coming right at me!"
The radio crackled. "Don't piss your pants, Tucker. We're right behind you."
He leaned out the guardhouse, getting immediately soaked. A line of gunmen stood at the gate entrance in raincoats, plastic ponchos, and oilskin dusters, behind the sizzling laser bars and atop the wall, rifles in hand."
"That you, Gus? Where the hell is the Marshal?"
That's Constable to you, Tucker," Gus said. "Far as the Marshal goes, that's none of your business. I'm in charge here."
"Hell, I had to ask, Constable. Just doin' my job. Can't fault a man fer doing his job."
"You just keep your fat ass in that guardhouse, Tucker. We'll take care of your little one-man invasion. Take the shot, Gary."
One of the men lay behind a mounted sniper rifle, peering down the scope. He pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the intruder before the sound of the retort. The man fell to the mud, flat on his back. The men laughed and hi-fived one another.
The amusement died when the intruder got to his feet and lurched forward, moving purposely toward the gate. The deputies murmured in disbelief.
"The hell…"
"He ain't human!"
Gus peered through his goggles. "He's human, all right. Gotta be wearing some kind of body armor. Fire again."
The command was obeyed. The intruder sprawled backward from another booming shot. The men held a collective breath, falling completely silent, heavy rain and thunder the only sounds.
The intruder rose again like a corpse from the grave, moving even faster toward the gate.
"That ain't no man. It's a ghost I'm telling ya!"
"Ain't no such thing as ghosts. Open fire and I'll prove it."
The sound of gunfire exploded in the air as they fired single-shot and automatic rifles, muzzles flashing and steaming in the rain, cartridges glinting as they fell to the wet ground. The figure jerked and staggered, struck by multiple rounds. Limbs flailing, he fell face-first into the red mud a hundred yards from the gate. Gus smirked in satisfaction.
"You see? Ain't no armor made that can shake off that kind of shooting."
The figure pushed himself up and stood, standing in the sheets of glittering rain like an apparition. The men exclaimed in shock, edging backward. Gus swallowed, snatching up his radio.
"Baron? We got a problem at the gate. A major one."
Carson Putnam was the first do die.
He watched the storm approach with increasing worry, seeing the massive thunderhead grow larger, bubbling like a pot full of boiling water, becoming dark and fearsome, rumbling within with flickers of forked lightning and rumbling thunder as though gods warred behind the clouds. The wind and rain blustered in, howling and shoving, swaying his watchtower so forcefully that he desperately wished to abandon his post. But the Baron wanted eyes on top, so he had to stay, not wanting to risk her wrath. But with rain lashing in his face and lightning flashing all around, he cursed her and everyone else safe and warm below.
He never saw when Gunner slowly clambered over the railing behind him. He didn't know anything was suspect until Gunner slammed a hand over his mouth and slit his throat, a terrible rush of white-hot agony and paralyzing terror. He gurgled, flailing helplessly as Gunner seized him and with one strong hoist, threw him over the railing to the ground below, blood mingling with the rain. A rush of wind and water, the ground hurtling toward him, and then the crushing impact ended it all.
Gunner turned, squinting into the stinging droplets at the main entrance of the Town, where crowds of men ran to the gate, joining the others firing at the figure in the distance. A grim smile touched his face. Then, unhooking the rope attached to his belt, he pulled, yanking up the bag with the launcher and rockets.
The number of men at the gate had doubled, the second group joining the first in continuous gunfire as the figure advanced toward them. The man's duster was shot to shreds, exposing a metallic glint underneath. When the hat was final shot off his head, the men gasped.
"Lookee there — it ain't no man at all."
"It's a goldarn robot!"
The automaton continued walking toward them like a living scarecrow, staggering on damaged limbs. They shot it at close range, finally bringing it down a few yards from the humming laser bars. It hissed in the rain, smoke wafting from the bullet-riddled body. The men cheered, raising their weapons.
The Baron's voice crackled over the radio. "What's happening over there, Gus? I hear a lot of gunfire."
"Had a disturbance at the gate, Baron. Thought we was under attack, but it was just some kinda robot. Didn't have a gun or nothing."
"A robot?" The radio crackled as if the Baron paused to think. "Get your men away from there right now."
"We got it covered, Baron. Ain't nothing else out here but the rain. Whoever sent the robot wasn't thinking straight. Should've known it wouldn't have gotten inside without being shot down."
"That's the point. If you're all at the gate, it's because he wants you there. Get out."
He glanced around in confusion. "Who wants us here?"
Standing where he was, he might have been the only one to see the flash of light from the watchtower, watching something streak through the rain toward them. But it wasn't until the rocket struck that he realized what had happened. The missile exploded against the ground right in the thick of the group of deputies, ripping some of them apart in a grisly shower of body parts and pink mist. Dozens of other men were flung backward by the shockwave, taking substantial damage from flying debris.
Gus found himself ten yards away, ears ringing, the screams of the injured men muted. He tried to get up, but his legs refused to cooperate. He looked down — his pants were shredded and smoking, darkened by blood in several places, his boots blown off, three of his toes missing. He didn't feel anything. Dragging himself through the watery street, he felt only the inherent need to escape, get away from the carnage. Several men staggered past him, as dazed as he was. They rounded the corner, then stopped, backing away with hands upraised and protests sputtering from their lips.
Gus looked up at the cause of their trepidation. Janey walked out of the alleyway with a fuel pack strapped on, a flamethrower in her hands, and a crooked smile on her face.
"Hello, boys. Welcome to hell."
She fired the torch. Liquescent flames streamed from the nozzle, the last thing that Gus and his men saw before sizzling agony overwhelmed them.
The Baron slammed a fist against the wall, buckling the sheetrock. "Dammit! I warned him." On the screen, fire blazed, engulfing the buildings around the main gate. Several men ran in the rain, tripping over themselves, flailing as they were eaten alive by the flames. She picked up the radio, resisting the urge to scream over the mike.