The next morning, I rose solemnly from where I had spent the night sitting on the floor.  My joints felt stiff for a moment as I stretched them, but they quickly limbered up.  I still went through the full range of exercises, making sure that I had a full range of motion for all of my limbs.

Once all of my muscles were loose and ready for action, I began to dress myself.

I didn’t let myself stop to consider that this might be the last time I ever did so.

First, I pulled on the lightweight armored vest I had picked up.  It wouldn’t stop a direct slug, I knew, but it might slow down and deflect shrapnel or ricochets.  More importantly, it let me keep the flexibility and speed that I knew would be my best defense.

Next came the two belts of ammunition, bandoliers that slung across my chest.  I made sure to tighten the straps so that they wouldn’t catch on anything.  I couldn’t let them slow me down.  The bullets slid into their little leather loops weighed me down a little, but I knew that the belts would grow lighter as I expended their contents.

The revolvers slid snugly into their matched shoulder harnesses.  I made sure that they were loose enough for me to draw in a single, fluid motion, without any snags.

To cover it all, I pulled an item from the bottom of my pack.  I hadn’t worn my Priest coat in weeks, now.  To do so would be to draw attention to myself.  That wasn’t what I wanted.

But now, for my destination, it would serve as my camouflage.

And finally, finishing the ensemble, I pulled out my old black, flat-brimmed hat.  Its time in the pack had flattened and crushed its shape somewhat, but I smoothed it back out with my hands.  Only once it was once again somewhat crisp, as best as I could manage, did I carefully fit it on my head.

I was walking into the place where I would be most known, most likely to be recognized.  Every other man and woman in the building would know me, would instantly know the price on my head.  Each second of anonymity I could buy was precious.

I looked around the room, gazing down at the bed for several minutes.  I didn’t speak.  What else was there for me to say?

And then I left.

The sun was still barely a red shard above the horizon, and the streets were not yet filled with people.  It was nearly silent as I made my way through the maze of little back roads I’d mapped out.  My eyes remained up on the horizon, locked on the black tower that rose up from the other buildings, directly ahead of me.

The Organization.

My first challenge lay in front of the tower.  A large courtyard, covered in stone, with no cover, stood between me and my destination.  Even in building their headquarters, the Priests had thought defensively, strategically.

Despite my focus, my heart quickened slightly in my chest as I began crossing the courtyard.  Keep calm, betray nothing, I thought to myself.  Don’t let anyone question you.

I made it more than halfway across the courtyard before someone noticed me.

“Hey, you’re coming in early!” a voice called out behind me, nearly making me jump in surprise before I clamped down on my reactions before they could betray me.  “Wait up a moment!”

The other Priest jogged forward; I could hear his footsteps on the smooth stones.  It wasn’t until he came up alongside me that he slowed, and I saw his expression shift from open greeting to one of confusion.

“Wait a sec,” he said, his brow furrowing.  “Hold on, aren’t you the rebel-“

I spun towards him, my hand flashing out.  The knife blade extending from my fist buried itself to the hilt in his neck, silencing him forever.

But now, my cover was blown.  The man’s body sagged, his eyes already glazing over.  I pulled the bloody knife free, but the man was dead weight, and he sagged down onto the ground.  Already, blood spurted out from his body to puddle beneath him.

As soon as I’d released him, I broke into a run.  I was scarcely thirty paces from the front doors of the tower.  I could make it.

Thankfully, luck was on my side.  There were guards stationed outside the front doors of the Organization’s tower, of course, but their reactions were slowed, by some combination of the early hour and their surprise at a direct frontal assault by a lone man.  My knife cut deep across the left guard’s throat before he could even draw his weapon.

The right guard was drawing his gun, but I didn’t slow down.  I spun around, pulling my arm back in against my chest to increase my speed, and let go of the knife with my hand tilted sideways.

The blade flew true, disappearing into the other man’s chest.

I got to see the man’s eyes go wide as he tried to sluggishly comprehend what had just happened.  He looked down, down at the handle protruding out from his chest.  He opened his mouth, trying to say something, or maybe ask me a question.

I reached out and grabbed the handle of the knife, pulling it free.

It was as if I’d flipped a switch.  With the blade out of his chest, the other guard slowly toppled forward, falling to the ground like a felled tree.

I didn’t watch him drop.

My eyes were up, on the doors leading into the tower.  I didn’t see any panicked movement inside, not yet.

That would soon change.

The time for subtlety was over.  I drew one of my revolvers, wiped my knife blade clean of the blood and tucked it away.  I took a deep breath, several breaths, filling my muscles with oxygen.

And then I entered the tower.

To be continued . . . 

When I arrived in the Iron Range, finally reaching my destination, obtaining the supplies I needed proved to be surprisingly easy.

Gunpowder and dynamite both were in no short supply, and in these areas, a little extra money could ensure no questions about the purchase.  I still made certain to buy from several different vendors, not allowing any of them to know the true amounts of explosive I obtained, but the extra caution didn’t seem necessary.

Some of the detonators and other equipment proved harder, if only slightly.  I needed some specific equipment for delayed reaction, and that meant clockwork.  I had many talents, but figuring out how to re-jigger a little bit of clockwork for a new purpose wasn’t one of them.  I was instead forced to rely upon visits at night to little old men with a shop full of tiny tools, paying in cash and hoping that I could afford their silence.

It took a while, but eventually I had all the parts.  It was a series of heart-pounding trips to get them all assembled and properly stored, ready to travel, but eventually I had it all complete.  Everything on my shopping list had been crossed off.

And then I once again climbed aboard a train.

This time, it was easier to move without attracting too much notice.  I still made sure to take every possible precaution, but the Organization was looking for a man and a young woman, traveling together.

I no longer fit that description.

A week later, after several back-tracking trips (like I said, it never hurt to be cautious), I arrived at my destination.  As soon as I climbed off of the train onto the platform, I felt the bustle of Philadelphia hit me like an ocean wave.

The city!  For so long, now, I had been out of the urban environment.  For a moment, I felt overwhelmed as I stared around at the thousands of people, all rushing off on their own errands.  I felt like a million eyes were on me, too many to track.

I took a deep breath, using those techniques I’d learned so long ago to force down the fear, the emotion.  I carefully threw away each emotion, pushing it down and out until only determination and an inner void remained.

And then I retrieved my precious trunk, filled with its explosive cargo, and headed into the city.

I got a cheap room, but it wouldn’t matter much.  I had many trips to make, and I wasn’t planning on returning to pay my bill at the room afterward.  I just needed a place of safety, somewhere I could duck back to between trips.

It took three days to put everything into place.

The whole time, I felt uncomfortably aware of those eyes on me, watching.  I had done my best to alter my description to make sure I no longer looked like the Jasper that the Organization knew and remembered.  My long beard itched, and I’d lost weight in some places and gained it in others.  I had long since discarded my black coat for prospector’s brown, and my flat-brimmed hat had been replaced with a shapeless lump of leather.  It shaded my eyes, but it was anything but fashionable.

I didn’t care about my looks.  The bulky brown coat hid the two revolvers – mine and Danni’s – that I carried beneath it.  The hat kept the sun out of my eyes as I prowled through the streets of Philadelphia, and helped to keep me from looking up.

Whenever my gaze did wander upwards, however, I couldn’t help but hiss and suck in my lips against my teeth.  There it stood, a black tower, rising up into the sky like a middle finger raised against the Lord.

The tower of the Organization.

Inside, I knew, were files, desks, records, and more.  An armory with weapons for the Priests inside.  A vault, built into the basement, containing the most secure information.  The building was an armored bastion against the forces of chaos in the world, a heavy hand of order on this new and growing nation.

My fingers itched as I stared up at the tower.  Unbidden, my mouth twisted into a scowl.

They had done this to me, had put me up against Danni, and then wrenched her away.  I didn’t waste any time grieving.

Not when there was work to be done.

After those three days, after I’d carefully slid the last little brown oilskin-wrapped package into place, I spent one last night in the hotel room, sitting with my legs crossed on the floor.  I had taken apart both revolvers – I’d pulled Danni’s from the wreckage, had carefully rebuilt and restored it – and put them back together, fully oiled and gleaming.  I’d checked every bullet on both belts that crossed my chest.

I knew that I wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

Instead, I passed the long night’s vigil, staring at the bed in front of me and letting my mind go blank.  I embraced that blankness, the void.

It would serve me well tomorrow, until I could do no more.

To be continued . . . 

For just a moment, as the air turned to fire around me and violently threw me back, all I saw was blinding light.

An instant later, I hit the ground, the violent blow knocking the air from my lungs and splaying out my limbs.  My brain was already racing, however, and I scrabbled like a spider to get up.

Once back on my feet, however, my hand dropped away from my side, away from where it had rested on the butt of my revolver.

There was nothing left for me to fight.
All around me, little charred unidentifiable scraps rained down.  Of any other living soul, Danni or the old man, there was no sign.

The house that had stood before me only seconds previously was gone.  Only a few charred beams remained, canted at crazy angles, blown out by the force of the blast.  Most of the cabin was little more than rubble.

I shook my head, my brain not yet comprehending.  I was still in fight or flight mode, not able to reason or think logically.  I ran forward, ignoring the heat radiating up even through my boots or the little guttering flames that curled up around my footprints.

A half dozen steps closer to the house, I heard a groan off to one side.  This time, my gun did come sliding out of its holster, but as soon as my eyes fell upon the man, I knew that it wouldn’t be needed.

He lay up against a tree – what remained of him, at least.  Ash already fell across him and hid the full extent of his injury, but where his legs should have been, only a dark stain persisted.  He coughed, however, and I saw his eyes flicker sluggishly.

I stepped forward, my gun coming up beneath his chin.  “What happened?” I demanded, trembling with energy coursing through me.

He coughed again, and I saw the little dribble of red from one corner of his lips.  “She’s smart,” he rasped, his voice unsteady.

“What did she do?”

He just shook his head.  I could see his energy ebbing quickly.  “Didn’t know that she could draw that fast,” he wheezed.  “Should’ve hit her first before trying.”

But then, the man’s lips quirked up into a smile, revealing bloodstained teeth.  “But she didn’t know ’bout the gunpowder behind me,” he spat with vicious enjoyment.

My eyes tracked down the man’s chest.  Sure enough, I could see the hole where Danni’s bullet punched in through his ribs, clear even despite the other damage of the explosion.  Glancing past the man, I realized that the tree against which he lay was likely the only thing still holding him together.

I stood back up, looking down at the man for a moment longer.  He let his head sag back to look up at me, still grinning and showing the red droplets staining his lips and teeth.  “Can’t get away, Priest,” he hissed.  “Can’t ever get away from us.”

I didn’t respond.  But my leg swung around in scything kick, knocking what remained of the monster in front of me sideways.  He hit the ground with a grunt of pain as his shattered spine tore away from the tree, but I was already turning away, towards the house.

The man in black paused here, and with a start, Jenny realized that the storyteller was shaking in his seat.

She didn’t even think.  She leaned forward and threw her arms around the man in black, pulling him in up against her.  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispered in his ear as she hugged him fiercely.  At the corners of her eyes, Jenny could feel tears of her own welling up.

For several seconds, she hugged the man, feeling him shiver.  Beside both of them, Old Hillpaw looked more awkward than ever, although even he reached out and uncomfortably patted the man in black on the back.  “Sorry,” he murmured as well, knowing that the words brought no comfort.

A good minute passed before the man in black was finally able to suck in a shuddering breath and speak once again.  “I can go on,” he finally said, reaching out blindly for his sheaf of typewritten pages.

“It’s okay.”  Jenny surprised even herself with the strength of her voice.  She let go of the man in black, but kept her hands on his upper arms, trying to somehow draw off and lessen his grief.  “You don’t have to keep going.”

But the man in black, even through the little drops of liquid shimmering on his cheek, managed to look determined.  “Yes, I do,” he stated, with gentle finality.

Old Hillpaw touched Jenny on the shoulder.  “It’s good for him to finish, to get it out,” he suggested.

Reluctantly, Jenny let go of the man.  But she looked more watchful now, like a mother anxious about her young offspring playing outside for the first time.  For the first time he could remember, Old Hillpaw didn’t think of her as childishly young, as he watched her expression set itself.

The man in black picked up his notes once again, although he had to set them down once or twice and wipe his eyes clear so that he could read the carefully typed words.  He opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come, even after several attempts.

Finally, Old Hillpaw decided to give their speaker a break.  “Maybe jump ahead to the next chapter,” he offered with uncharacteristic kindness.

Their storyteller didn’t argue.  He shuffled through the papers, setting the rest of that chapter aside.  Neither Jenny nor Old Hillpaw had any inclination to pick it up and read the rest for themselves.  Whatever tragedy lay in those pages could remain unseen.

To be continued . . .