Davey Boy was uneasy. They had made it almost a quarter of the way to Las Vegas and he still had not thought of a way to talk to Graham’s sister. “Diane, you’re a woman.”
“Uh yeah,” Diane said, brushing her red hair from her face.
“If I were to ask you something, how would you want me to go about asking it?”
She moved in close to him, “Well…”
A shout stopped her answer, and she grabbed for her gun.
Davey Boy fell into step behind her, unslinging the shotgun from his back as he ran. Finally, they encountered someone running the other way. “What’s going on?”
“False alarm,” the teen, whose name Davey thought was Jimmy, said.
“I need more than that.”
“Oh, sorry. More of Graham’s men just showed up, we thought we were under attack.”
“More of Graham’s men? How many?”
“I don’t know, one, maybe two hundred.”
Davey Boy started to thank the boy, but his head exploded and panic broke out as all of the Others turned on the Gargoyles. “Shit!” He grabbed ahold of Diane and began running back the way they had come. She tripped, or fell, or was gunned down, he chose not to look back to see what, and he let go of her and continued running. He pulled the trigger on the shotgun twice, emptying both barrels into Others that strayed too close. He ducked as shots began to ring out closer to him and he managed to make it up a hill as other Gargoyles fell around him.
Graham watched from atop a nearby car, through the eyes of one of the newly arrived Others. He pulled the trigger on the gun he was holding, killing a man in a black leather jacket that had made it to the car. Graham began to look through the corpses, placing bullets in the heads of those that were still moaning or moving. He lifted each corpse up, slamming them to the ground harder and harder as the possibility that Davey Boy had escaped became more of a reality. “Find him,” he shouted, and the Others fanned out, looking for the disgraced man.
Davey Boy hid in the small depression at the foot of a tree, quickly stuffing shells into his shotgun. Once this was done, he was up and running again. He tripped and fell, tearing the sleeve of his leather jacket on a jutting tree branch. He looked at his arm, thankful that it was just his jacket and stood back up. He bolted off, darting around trees and jumping over fallen logs. As he moved around one such tree, he heard a shot fire and felt the explosive spray of splinters in his face. He ducked behind it and peered out, catching a glimpse of two men running in his direction through the forest. He ducked back behind the tree as another bullet flew by.
Davey sprinted to the next big tree, hopping back and forth to try and throw off their aim. Another shot flew by his head, close enough that it nicked his ear. Davey Boy dropped to the ground and spun, bringing the shotgun up in line and taking careful aim. He hit the closest of the two but had to dive out of the way as the other fired a pistol in his direction. His side landed hard upon a rock hidden beneath the litter of fallen leaves and he felt a rib crack. Wincing, he took aim again and managed to hit the other shooter. Taking a deep, painful breath, Davey Boy took the last two shotgun shells out of his jacket pocket and loaded them into the weapon. As he stood up, he took one last glance in the direction of his camp and saw more bodies weaving through the trees. Despite the pain, Davey Boy ran further into the woods, his breath coming in short gasps.
Moving in sprints of no more than fifty feet at a time, Davey Boy managed to stay hidden from the Others searching for him. The sun was high in the sky, well past it’s pinnacle, when he collapsed, the pain in his side more pain than he could handle. He clawed his way to the nearest tree and propped himself against it, waiting for his pursuers but they never came, at least not while he conscious.
The Other that was Graham roared in frustration. They had managed to kill four Gargoyles that had escaped the original onslaught, but not one of them was Davey. As far as he could tell, three more were still on the run, but were avoiding either picking off their pursuers or deftly avoiding capture somehow. It was well past noon when he finally called off the search. “Go, join with my sister’s army, and then return to me in White Sands.”
He released the Other and found himself back in his, well, the convicts body, in the jersey that was bleached white by time and the sun. He smiled as his car was brought before him for the first time, the six horses pulling the convertible Mustang. He hopped in and nodded to the man behind the wheel. A whip cracked and the horses whinnied, but complied, moving forward. Lines were run from the lead horses to the steering wheel, and with a little practice, Graham and his driver began to get the hang of controlling the chariot. “Very good,” Graham said as he sent the call out to his remaining army, telling them they would move within the hour.
As the time to depart grew closer, Graham, flanked by his torchbearers, took up position in the middle of the column of soldiers. With another crack of the whip and a mental command from Graham, both his horses, and the rest of his army, resumed their march westward.