J.B Marshall in ACID ARROWS!
The Founding Father of Wasteland Civilization
Just as he conquered the petty tribalism of his urban neighbors to the west, James Baron Marshall turned strongman diplomacy into volcanic furor, aimed squarely at the atomic children of this fallen world. With patches of white fur splotching the gray frontiersman’s face, vitiligo brought on by the last remains of fallout, the haggard wolf cut through any room he stood in. His trek westward was marked by the slaughter of inconceivable beasts, reptilian monstrosities beyond even his wildest hallucinations. It seemed that with each dozen he culled from the irradiated earth, two dozen more arrived to test him all over again. Not that he took it personally, of course. The journey to his settlement was one to steel any hound worth their salt, and Marshall was such a hound.
The bodies of the dead were buried the day he set out. He had seen the teeth marks, seen the damage done to flesh and fur by the devil’s acidic tongues, and was armed with everything he ever carried across the rarefied earth. Laser guns, flares, all the usual amenities. Then came the most puzzling of all to his son Edward: an antique bow and a quiver of arrows.
“What Stone Age shit is this?” he asked flippantly.
“The killing blow,” the patchwork gray replied. “Lasers’ll drill into them, we’ve chucked plenty of plastics down their throat and set them off, but if I got the formulation right, the poison on those arrows will drop them on sight.”
Edward helped his father load up the old, doe-eyed Dodge truck, but was kept from getting in the cab.
“You can’t do this alone, Dad!” he pleaded.
“I have and I will!” he snapped back. “What I can’t afford is losing a son and village leader. What I can’t afford to lose is what’s left of Joan on this here Earth!” Just as soon as he snapped, he pulled his 30-something son in tight to him. “I love ya, son. I love what we built, and I love seeing folks rebuilding. What I don’t is losing it all to them devils in the hills. Future’s with you, pal. If I do it right, I’ll be back by sundown.”
He patted his son’s shoulder and climbed back inside the old pickup. With a kick of his boot and shot of desert dust, the Dodge ripped away from the small cabin and off into the distance.
The elder road warrior clung tight to the pickup’s wheel as he tore away towards the distant mountains.
“Just keep it up, Doe-Eyes.” he grumbled to the metallic steed. “We’re gonna get this creep like all the rest.”
The creep in question he called the “Maw,” not just for its apparent appetite for wolves, but for the description of its split bottom jaw from those seeking sanctuary in the settlements. He had seen these overdone iguanas with quills along their back, parasitic desert bugs, but this split-jawed creature was news to him. So was the sight of those travelers when they came careening into town, all bloodied and with only enough life left to tell their sordid tale.
The half-albino wolf mulled the details over between bites of ration, eyes flitting about from the desert road to horizon ahead. The most wildlife he saw were those parasitic bugs; foot-long slugs he made sure to run over every chance he got. He’d seen what a bite could to the wolven body, damn-near turning the thing inside out, and knew to slap his cowboy boot down on the gas the second they appeared. He left a trail of the creeps as he made his way further up the mountain.
“C’mon girl, c’mon.” he’d soothe. “I keep my leg stretched, you keep them wheels spinning.”
The truck gained speed as she barred up the mountain, and old J.B. clinging to the wheel. When he reached a plateau, the truck stopped on a dime, and the wolf stepped out. He drew a Geiger counter and swept across the ground.
The static increased further up the trail, meaning one of two things. “So you got eggs that hatched, or you found yourself a fresh source of radiation.”
The wind began to whip through the leafless trees; the dead, petrified forest a net of shadows as the sun began its descent. Though not all the trees were without foliage; a peculiar clumping of ash and char topping the high branches off in the distance. Marshall looked to the sight with withered eyes before returning to his task.
The half-albino hound tapped the Geiger counter to the hood, threaded the wire back through the gap in the driver's side window, and climbed back in.
Marshall took things at a steadier clip, gauging the beast’s nearest locale by the readings. He had his rifle in hand, laser cartridge charged and loaded, and was just waiting for a sign now. Any sign; from a thump beneath the pickup to a distant wailing scream. A scream that had haunted his settlement for weeks. Always beyond civilization’s crest, but always slaughtering those in search of a better life, of better things. Not the scream of its victims; no, it left them no time. The blood-curdling scream of the beast itself, triumphant over the wolves it devoured.
“Not this time.” Marshall growled, slamming the gas down. “Not this time.”
The truck ripped back up the mountain trail, kicking up a cloud of ash and dust behind it as he went off road. The valiant pickup bobbed and wove between the trees, the static growing more and more frantic. The higher he climbed, the more ash he kicked up. The engine screamed, the counter shuddered with noise, until all the sound and fury was slashed by another tremendous ROAR!
His beast had arrived, head rearing up and blocking out the setting sun. The long shadow of a long-necked beast cast down upon the low-and-lean pickup as Marshall slammed the brakes. Out came the Remington, and out came the arcs of electric lead belting out of the Remington.
“DINE ON THIS YOU DEVIL!” he roared, emptying everything in the battery pack into the neck of the Maw. The beast turned towards him, its deep green skin beginning to bleed a heavy maroon. Timing was everything for Marshall now, and quickly he slung the quiver upon his back and drew the bow. He nocked the arrow, the tip colored bright red with the bizarre concoction, and steadied his aim, only to take a diving leap back in the pickup.
Bellowing from out the Maw’s split mouth came fire the likes of which he could only have imagined in the annals of Hell itself. A burning, bleak red that flamed the already charred and devastated forests. There was nothing left to burn up after the bombs all those years ago, but that still sent branches rattling and thundering down through the sheer force of the blasts.
Marshall gunned the pickup in reverse and whipped it back through the maze of charred trunks and volcanic ash. He found his spot, leapt out, and looked for the hole made in the beast’s neck. The blood trickled down the Maw’s thick scales, but with its back to the sun, the bullet wound was cloaked in shadow.
As its neck writhed and rocked, its body bounding towards the patchwork wolf, Marshall drew his bow and lit into the devil. One arrow flecked off the scales. Another, landed further up the blood trail, one that now covered the width of the beast’s neck.
Before knocking his third, Marshall drew the rifle and fired off to the East, lobbing rounds upon rounds of laser fire into the branches, only for the Maw to not notice. He climbed back into the pickup, furiously searching for his explosives. The irradiated lizard flexed its quadrant jaw, bellying up for another blast of flame from the depths of his slovenly gut. He could hear the drawing of breath, the rumble of flames coming down the length of its neck. Without a second to lose, Marshall found his plastics, and pitched the brick down the beast's throat.
The lash of flame sent the monster crying out in terrible pain! Its head thrown back, and the light of the setting sun revealing the drilled hole in its neck.
Marshall knocked the arrow, took his aim, and fired.
The spindly little projectile soared through the still air. Closer and closer it came to the cavernous wound, Marshall nocking one more should he have failed…only for it to land perfectly.
The arrow disappeared inside the cavern he had made, the beast wheeling back to finish unleashing its fury. It was during the wind up that the neck began to stiffen. Like the eyes of Medusa, the poison rocketed through its veins, the beast rigid to the point of stone. When it began to lumber and slump, still eyeing the hunter down, it caught its wound on the spire of a tree. With a final drop, the neck was ripped apart, and the Maw closed forever.
Marshall leapt back in the truck and gunned her in reverse, knowing that the acidity of the blood could still be in effect. Sure enough, it was; sizzling the ashen woods into a slurry. It carried on for a minute or two before finally slowing down.
The old patchwork wolf breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The deed was done. But he did seek to make sure of one thing, that it would be done for good.
Carefully, he drove past the great Maw’s corpse and traversed the heights of the mountain with the Geiger counter still on. As he climbed higher, the readings grew fainter. And when he found what he was looking for, he knew that his wolves would soon know a safer desert.
He found the children of the Maw stillborn. Without more radiation, the beasts could not sustain themselves.
“That fella from the research base was right.” he sighed to himself. “Thank the Lord he was. Let’s tell ‘em the good news, Doe-eyes.”
That twinge of regret that comes with the death of all rare beasts began to haunt the vitiligo-afflicted gray as he drove back down the mountain. It was only when he looked back to the glove box and saw the picture of his lithe woman and her newborn babe, now a man, that he knew it had to be done. And so it had.
THANK YOU FOR READING 365 INFANTRY #12! Hope you dig all the stories we told this issue. It was a fun back-to-basics experience for me, focusing on some tough action scenes and returning to the playful characters I love. While I don’t have the physical up yet, we do have the eBook and we are in the middle of getting all back issues up to our official 99-CENT price tag. If you want to help support the Force, but you can’t give much, we’ve got you covered. When the paperback is live, that’s when we’ll start SALUTING OUR TROOPS for the season. Be seeing you!
Wasteland Warriors, eh? Looks new.