Bab 69: Wall of War
Jostice gave Krix a 'ready' nod and the bounty hunter returned the gesture.
The Ace turned, lifted a boot, and drove it through the hinged slab of wood. The door shrieked, swinging with force, and hit the wall rattling. An eerie gloom smoked the inside of the farmhouse. And the smell of decaying flesh filled the room.
Brugar, the crooked lipped man, and two other deputies climbed the porch, dodging bullets that sunk into farmhouse beams and walls. The horses ran circles. The deceased four were used as target practice. Their bodies shaking with each bullet that ate into flesh.
Jostice moved through the threshold between the outside and the farmhouse. Flies circled blackish, raw meat. Dried, red splotches on the walls, table, and chairs.
The crooked lipped deputy said, "Yurks were known to be brutal, but this was something else…"
"Are we too late," Brugar's lower lip rolled like a caterpillar.
Krix stood at the back of the room. He pointed into the kitchen. "It looks like they turned this place into a butchers shop; the old man and the farmer's boy being on the menu."
The men approached him cautiously, guns raised.
With many eyes in the room that'd seen man disturbing things, the men had never seen such a sight. Savage did not describe it. Skinny, brown spotted legs, severed horned heads, and racks of muscle-covered ribs hung from hooks from the roof. The blood raining on the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. One may forget the smell and the sight, but could never rid the ring of dripping blood from their ears.
"Cows. They're all cows. They'd knew we'd come here first," Jostice said, moving around the dangling flesh, careful not to slip on blackish-red pools that surrounded his boots. He turned and slid between two heads, finding the back of the kitchen. A door was left open at the rear, allowing warm, fresh air to circulate, while the scent of decay brought more flies to the uninvited feast. "Just as I feared. They've gone out the back and rallied at the barn."
"What now, Boss?" Krix asked. "Them savages are going to keep that barn heavily guarded."
"We could burn them out," the crooked lipped deputy suggested.
"Nah…" Jostice shook his head. "If the old man and boy are in there then they could be killed." I should've brought the Yurk prisoner, he thought, his hand fondling the slick gold and sharp-edged gem in his pocket. He slipped the ring onto his finger. But who says I can't still use that to my advantage. He turned to the men. "I've got an idea … Yurks are full of pride … we just need to stir the nest."
He walked out the back door where the air was muggy, yet cleared his nose and lungs from the foulness he'd been breathing. Behind him the deputies and bounty hunters kept their guns raised while a handful more deputies circled the rear of the farmhouse. Eighteen in all, armed and ready for the final showdown.
He raised his hands and the Mayor's ruby ring shimmered in the moonlight. A blackish-red glow that matched the pools inside the kitchen. "Don't shoot!" The Ace yelled, twisting his hand, allowing the gem to spark. "You see this ring? Well this ring was used to beat the brains out of your Yurk Kin … it's why he's not here tonight … thought you wouldn't recognize him."
Jostice made the decision after Olivica came into the jailhouse. He'd seen what the Yurks did to the girl. How she trembled like a rabbit that'd been caged and tortured for too long. He'd seen it once before. That cold, frightened look in her eyes. The days of the Prod Trials, he remembered. A dark time in the country of Texoniya. And a dark time in the world of Civiland. One of many nightmares he'd never forget. It was that moment he decided to leave the Yurk to his cell. Let him rot or be hung, but never allow him his freedom.
"I'm sure that you've done the same to my Pappy … maybe worse," he clenched his fist. "And damn did it not feel good? Hearing the bone break. The teeth shatter. And blood fall like droplets from a wicked storm—"
Suddenly the barn doors crashed open. At the front of a stamped of Yurks was an older man, with hair knotted, white, and long, draping down past his shoulders to his waist. A tall, black hat matched the ones of his fellow companions while red, war paint matched the red stains on his button shirt and trousers.
Warfrok raised two sharp-stoned and wood-handled weapons in the air, clanking them together. Jostice drew his steel-long knife from its scabbard. Time seemed to freeze while the two groups of men watched with twisted faces. Their hearts beating heavy. Nerves rattling. Breath labored.
A loud, monstrous cry came from the lead Yurk and he charged. His men rallying behind him. Hooting and hollering. Jostice yelled, raising his knife into the air. He ran across the field, fire in his flesh, ready to greet them. The deputies rallied.
Thirty paces away. Twenty-five paces away. Twenty paces away.
Their feet hammered in the darkness while the moon peeked over the northern peaks. Afraid yet curious. Illuminating the battlefield in a stream of glowing blue light.
Fifteen paces away. Ten paces away. Five paces away.
The hollars and war cries blared together in one thunderous clamour that echoed for miles in every direction.
Three paces away. Two Paces away. One pace away.
Guns flashed and bullets whistled. The two sides collided in loud thuds and clashes. Every man for himself: Knives, tomahawks, rifle stocks, and clubs swinging with killing might.
Jostice ducked. A stoned axe sliced above his hat. He spun, moving around a large Yurk while swinging with short, accurate precision. He opened skin in the Yurks leg causing the man to collapse like a tree. Another skinny Yurk leapt, two hands around his spiked club, a daunting, hammering swing aimed at Aces head. Jostice pivoted at his hips, feeling the wind as the blunt object blew past nearly taking his hat. Out of position, the Yurk turned too slowly as Ace blade bit at his ribs, spilling his insides across the ground.
Strawthorn and Clout were nearly as good with their bows and rifles as they were with their knives and clubs. Krix wielding two short-toned knives, spinning and tossing them like arrows, finding their targets while Brugar hoisted a man and drew down his club until the Yurk faces was gone, leaving on a cavity of torn flesh and bone.
The crooked lipped deputy wasn't much with the stock of his rifle. Over swinging Warfrok who stayed on his toes, spinning and pivoting, quick for an older man, moving like a panther. The deputy arms screamed while he gave a final, hip twisting throw. Warfrok dodged with ease, making the deputy pay; the Yurks two stoned tomahawks sinking into the man skull. He tore them free and the mans head split and sprayed like a coconut.
Warfrok grinned at Jostice, licking the deputies fluids from his face. He pointed the tomahawks at Ace, blood falling from the blades. "Come now … one of us shall meet their pass."
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone