Avarice Blacksteel

Invisible Death

They had elected to remain in the underground bunker. Even this deep below the earth it was apparent the storm up top was not to be faced. Gareth was nervous to remain underground though with no light source; and needed to be very reassured that Dwayne could, even in the absence of torches find his way to the surface without question. Dwayne patiently assured him repeatedly that this was the case, and finally as the last torch sputtered and died the three settled down against a wall to rest.

Warren was dog tired, however he could not sleep. He was far too uncomfortable and cold. He envied his companions who seemed to be able to rest adequately in the field. He thought of Lucy all evening and wondered if she was safe and well, and how the others were weathering this severe storm.

The following morning with little rest, and some scant rations, the search was resumed. Dwayne true to his word found his way to the surface, kindled a fire and relit the brands.

“It’s strange up top,” he reported to his superior. “Storm was bad, lots of damage, some rain. I can’t find the horses, eerily quiet.”

Gareth’s mouth formed a straight, hard line, he truly hoped the animals could be located. It was a long walk home and how would they transport anything of use on foot? It would be terrible to come this far and be robbed of a sure victory by such stupid misfortune. “I don't think they were stolen.” Dwayne ventured. “Nothing touched in camp.”

“They probably ran in the storm, we’ll find em.” Gareth assured.

Slowly the installation revealed its secrets. Though some doors remained off limits to the trio, tightly sealed and impassable. Most of the facility appeared evacuated, many storerooms stood doors flung open, empty. Thus far the search seemed futile. Turning up plenty of memorabilia of another age but little of any real use.

“Shit, Gareth look at this!” Dwayne exclaimed.

They had all been about to lose heart, wondering what their leader would say to them when they returned before him empty handed. Each man was sure that ugly ramifications would ensue for failure, and each had his own private and dark reservations were they to return with nothing. Hence they had continued to stay and scour the complex with more zeal.

Warren teetering on his makeshift walking stick deathly tired, he looked up hopefully at Dwayne's outburst. The heavy door was partially open, it seemed that a pallet of stacked items had fallen against it, and to begin with neither man could push it inward.

Dwayne had decided to give it one more determined try and the door budged a little as a metallic canister bumped down the pile and hit the floor below. It rolled some way to come to rest at the foot of a pallet loaded with yet more of the numerous items. Sleek, gray, and pointed rods, row on row of them all identical.

“These are the innards of missiles.” Warren cautioned as he peered about the half opened door. “Payloads. Careful, we don't know how stable they are or even what’s in them?”

Gareth stepped forward, teeth showing in a triumphant, leering grin. There were hundreds of these things, just waiting to be seized, and used for the greater good of the clan. At last Gareth had that which he sought, something that would appease his leader.

But what exactly did these metallic housings hold? The tattooed man ached to find out. He already had one of the frightening looking canisters in his hands, and was examining it closely. Dwayne stood a cautious distance away, he was young and didn't too often feel his mortality, but today he was unwilling to press his luck.

Warren twitched nervously close by. “I wonder why they left them behind?”
Gareth pondered as he deftly examined the conical construct. “Looks like to get into it you unbolt it at the base.”

“Maybe they are empty.” Warren gave voice to his hope, he didn't want anything to do with this examination.

“Nope, these bitches are real heavy, there is something in there sure nuff.”

“Probably shrapnel, and a detonator. They won't be radioactive I know that.” Warren said scared.

“Well we don't have an easy way to detonate one.” Gareth rubbed his bewhiskered chin in thought.

Warren looked about at Gareth like he had lost his mind. “Detonate?” The frail mans voice held a querulous tremor.

“Yes, explode, you get the picture, dumb ass.” Gareth snarled.

The gruff man pondered the object further. Tapping on its matte gray sides. Warren had not at all remembered any of these being stored so close to the offices. Perhaps during the strife they had for whatever reason been relocated here? It was pointless to ruminate. Though the musing kept Warren somewhat calmed.

“I think we should try and get one apart. We should know what’s inside before we attempt to carry any of them home.” It seemed Gareth had decided the groups next move, and regardless of what the others thought this is what would be done.

“Err... I don't know.” Warren interjected. “These things really are designed to be deployed by missiles, they are not stand alone bombs you realize?

“Shut up! If they were gonna blow they would have when we prized open the door and they fell you idiot. Dwayne, go to that storeroom you found and get me some wrenches.”

Dwayne nodded and left in silence. Warren so wanted to flee, and may have if his legs could better carry him.

The young man was not gone long on his errand. Dwayne without report handed the tools he had recovered to Gareth, and the sturdy man stood a long time over the warhead he had now placed on the floor, shifting spanner in hand, powerful inked arms folded. Tapping at his chin with the end of the wrench, mouth drawn in a thoughtful line.

“Well let's move one.” He announced finally. “If it goes wrong we don't want it near the rest of em.”

Warren only nodded, his face a pale mask. If it went wrong why would it matter?

The device was carted a considerable distance, into a very sturdy room. Gareth set it down on the floor. Dwayne looked somewhat flighty and agitated. Warren was clearly distressed. “So how volatile do you think this is?”

“I really do not know.” Warren all but wailed.

“You are going to open it.”

“Warren shrank against the wall his mouth opening and closing in a silent shriek. He was shaking his head.

“It's simple.” Gareth growled, and slapped Warren hard, leaving red marks across his cheek. The action pulling the thin man momentarily from his stupor. “You take this wrench and loosen these two bolts. Then the canister should slide off. I’m going to go outside and lock the door. You do as I say or I will finish you myself and it will not be swift.”

The door shut behind him and Warren was alone. Just the payload, some simple tools, and his frightened physical self. In his terror he recalled a television show, it was called UXB, about some macho guy who diffused bombs all over England in World War two. It seemed cheesy at the time, but now Warren was living it.

He breathed out to try and calm himself, and got down carefully on his knees. I’m going to mess this up I know it. If it explodes my fate will be swift. I will have no time to even know I have died. It will be merciful. If I refuse, Gareth will kill me, I know that. It will hurt, No, worse, it will be unbearable.

He adjusted the spanner to fit snugly on the retaining bolt, and ever so cautiously began to turn the wrench. It released more easily than he had anticipated, the end fell away and he was still alive. That task completed Warren realized that it was not the most fearsome part of the mission. Gareth wished the contents removed from the cylinder.

This is where I die, he thought as he put his hand into the tube and began to pull slowly, eyes closed, ready for his demise. The contents slid from the tube. Three separate components that appeared to interlock when they were loaded into the warhead. The first alloy canister was the longest of the two but only by a marginal amount, and the final piece was quite small. It was possibly a detonator, Warren handled it with great care. He lay the prizes on the ground, and shouted to the others.

Warren had never been able to understand how some men could just sit with the most dangerous items on their lap or in their hands so calmly. However it appeared that Gareth had no fear of the objects Warren had retrieved. The coarse man sat configuring the three pieces trying to deduce how they worked and what was inside them. “They obviously somehow mix on impact.” He muttered. Warren just wished Gareth would satisfy himself and stop. All he wanted was to go home.

It was obvious though the man's questions were still not satisfied. Gareth was not going to be content until he found out just what was in the canisters. “Let’s put them in a room and shoot at them.” He finally suggested as he rose from the floor. Dwayne and Warren looked at one another worriedly. Gareth was not always so bright.

“I think we should probably go outside.” Dwayne offered.

“I guess.” Gareth agreed.

Warren felt a huge relief wash over him.


The test site they had chosen was tucked into the gentle overhang of a rock strewn slope, they had hoped to better control any explosion or shrapnel scatter here. The rain had already dried away, and though the storm had seemed severe perhaps it had only marginalized in this area?

Gareth and Dwayne had carried a complete payload to the surface. Deciding that it was probably best to attempt to detonate an intact unit for the most thorough test purposes. Warren was just glad to be above ground, even the weather today seemed more cheerful. It was still clouded, but the skies took on a more cheerful aspect than before, or perhaps after his brush with the reaper maybe Warren just saw things in a more positive frame of mind.

The mission, which he had seen as an impossible achievement was almost over and he would really be going home. Dwayne stood, long bow in hand resting his foot nonchalantly at the end of the lower limb of the weapon, a spectator. Warren had taken a more defensive, crouched position behind a boulder, he certainly did not trust the payload not to explode. Gareth pulled the .9 millimeter Luger from his waist band and aimed carefully.

Gareth’s aim was good, a keen ear could hear the projectile strike the metal clearly, a keener eye could see also where it had penetrated. Though there was no explosion as expected. Just a vague hiss from the canister, which continued for some time. Gareth and Dwayne looked quizzically at one another, neither man had expected this. “Perhaps it was a dud?” Dwayne just nodded and looked impassively on.

“Warren, go down there and look.” The thin man peered out from behind his protective boulder to see Gareth gesturing animatedly at him. The nightmare was not over yet, regrettably. “GET DOWN THERE!” Gareth shouted viciously, when the diminutive man had not moved immediately at his order.

Warren jumped and scrambled to his feet, picking his way into the protected alcove, cane ahead of him as though fending off a snake. He could still hear the audible hissing coming from the punctured canister, but he could see nothing. Not that his smeared and cracked glasses helped this observation in any way at all.

He sniffed at the air, no smell of burning either. This was most odd. He didn't wish to be anywhere near this thing, however the object seemed quite benign. Warren bent lower to inspect it more closely, quite possibly it had been a dud after all.

Then the sensation struck him, his eyes burned. Warren pulled off his glasses once more to rub them, tears were already clouding his vision and streaking down his face. Quite suddenly he felt his heart lurch in his chest, and his lungs involuntarily scream for air.

The sudden spasm made him fall forward on to the rocks, trying to yell, to at least warn the others, the words would not come. It was as though his body had gone into overdrive and his innards were melting. Saliva, tears, and mucus ran from his eyes, nose, and mouth, he had the terrible sensation he needed to vomit, and did so almost as soon as the reflex arose.

“Lucy...Lucy...” He choked out as his grip loosened on his cane and his insides dissolved into a tangled wreckage of useless tissue.

“What the fuck?” Dwayne expostulated as he moved further away from the grotesque spectacle, clearly fearful.

Gareth had backed up also. “I think we had better go back to camp, away from the direction of the wind. That’s some kind of chemical agent.”

“He’s dead.” Dwayne commented.

“Yep, very.” Gareth didn't look too upset. “We better let this dissipate, perhaps tomorrow we can find the horses and get some of those things out of there.”

“For sure.” Dwayne agreed. Though in his heart he was now not nearly as nonchalant after witnessing the grisly spectacle. That invisible stuff was sure deadly, it would not have been so scary if he could have at least seen the gas. “Will it stick about long?”

“ I dunno.” Gareth shook his head. “Best we get right away though, let's go.”


Later that evening the two men sat silently about the fire. Thoughts inward, they had eaten a good meal and could at last relax. Dwayne was as always silent, scanning the environs about him. Though tonight the young man who was for the most part usually carefree, had the added worry of constantly checking to see of he felt any touch of illness.

A gas one could not see, that killed with deadly efficiency, he had to admit he was scared. He did not like the idea of an invisible enemy and had begun to think it would be madness to retrieve any more of the terrible death canisters from inside the silo. Though he dare not vent this fear to his comrade.

What if they leaked during the transportation home? Surely they would both perish before they were even aware? No, Dwayne did not like this idea at all, and though he tried not to think about it he could not get Warren’s last ghastly struggles out of his mind. There were many ways to die, but Dwayne had never seen anything so inglorious.

If Gareth had seemed concerned at yesterday’s events he did not show it, and the next morning the two men set out on foot to find the escaped horses. They avoided the test site completely and decided the most likely place the animals may have fled would be toward the river, and the shelter of the trees.

Sure enough the horses were there, drinking from a sandbar that jutted out into the wide stream. It seemed oddly quiet to Dwayne without the complaining Warren in tow, he had not cared for the weak man really, but he had not disliked him either.

Gareth was edging towards the horses, making clucking sounds of assurance as he didn't wish the flighty animals to rush off into the brush again. It was at that moment the sharp eyed Dwayne spied a fourth horse still saddled, this animal was standing further back in the scrub almost camouflaged. He turned and raised his bow, warning Gareth who also turned and pulled his pistol.

Dwayne went cautiously toward the animal, hand extended. It let him grab the reins, and stood calmly, as he stroked the geldings white blaze buried beneath its ebony forelock. There seemed to be no sign of any human here, though he noted there was a fine rifle in a case attached to the beast’s saddle. Perhaps it too had broken free of some traveler and run far in panic during the storm?

They caught the string of horses and led them up to the campsite tying them to a sturdy tree stump. Neither man wished the imposition of chasing them again. First the stray dog, then the saddled horse but no rider.

Both men were now very much on the alert. They needed to get on with the mission, and depart from this place. This afternoon they would retrieve what they had come for, and begin the journey home. Dwayne though was secretly dreading going into the silo again, a thought he refused to share with the hard headed Gareth, understandably.


They had intended to transport at least four warheads, maybe as many as eight if they chose to walk, and with the leanness of their mounts it was probably best they did. Two per animal, the horses could handle that, though Dwayne had noticed the animals didn't seem so spry. He was fearful to mention this to Gareth. Whether it was they were tired from running about panicked in the storm, or had lacked good food for a long period. However maybe it was something more sinister?

Dwayne was becoming uncharacteristically afraid, could the gas have affected their mounts also? It had begun to seem to Dwayne at least, that every boulder and shrub could house an invisible killer.

They had been on their way to the silo entrance when Dwayne had noticed the disturbance in the sand, footprints of the human kind. The individual was of reasonable size, but appeared to be staggering by the unevenness of his step. At times a handprint had touched the ground signaling to Dwayne this man was struggling with an injury or sickness. They followed the trail aborting the original mission.

Gareth and Dwayne did not have far to search. There he was crouched by the river, a young male, topless even in this cold. Dark brown designs of a tribal nature sprawled over his upper torso and arms, and a longbow not unlike Dwayne's own slung across his back over the top of an ammunition belt full of bright brass cartridges.

The man swayed and wet his face with the water raking his fingers through his abundant chocolate mane. It was obvious he was feeling most unwell. Could the gas have affected him also? Dwayne and Gareth looked at one another, Dwayne balanced a flight on his bowstring aiming carefully and Gareth withdrew the Luger and advanced.

“Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head.” Gareth warned. “The young man turned and swayed even on his knees, he looked most unwell.

Dwayne held his steel tipped shaft poised to pierce the man’s heart. Slowly and clumsily their captive divested himself of his weapons and after doing so fell onto the sand, hands on his face and elbows in the dirt. Gareth kicked the man's weapons away.

“Who are you?” Gareth demanded bluntly. Giving the stranger no quarter, though it was most obvious the young man was in great distress, and potentially harmless. At least for the present.

“You killed my fuckin....dog.” The young man vomited on the sand.

“It’s got him too.” Dwayne burst out.

“Shut up!” Gareth ordered.

Dwayne went silent. He was sure now everyone was dying from the frightening, invisible nemesis they had unleashed here.

“Are you alone?” Gareth continued the interrogation mercilessly, kicking at the wild looking man with his boot. The captive nodded an affirmative convulsing in sickness.

Gareth’s questions satisfied at least for the present. He tied the man’s hands roughly behind his back with twine he always carried for this purpose. Then as a further precaution secured the arms at the elbows, knowing an agile captive could quite easily slip bound hands to the front and escape.

Though vital and strong this young buck seemed in no condition to fight his fate. Gareth examined the insides of the mans mouth and peered closely at his eyes, as though he was a kangaroo or a wild pig they had just caught.

“I can't see any of the blistering Warren had, and his eyes are clear, but his nose is bleeding, maybe he fell? I really think he's just sick, he has a fever. Perhaps he ate something bad or drank tainted water?”

Dwayne nodded, but he was not totally convinced.

“Let’s get him back to the campsite, and maybe we can get some more sense out of him when he recovers?”

Dwayne retrieved the man's knife from the shoreline, gathering up the precious ammunition that blazed brightly against the well oiled brown leather, then plucked the fine bow and quiver of arrows from the sand. At once needing to test the well crafted prize. Dwayne was surprised at the tension of the bowstring, the exertion required to draw it back made his arm shake. It was far more challenging to draw than his own bow. This lean man must be very strong, and the arrows fired from this lovely weapon would greatly exceed the distance of his own.

Finding this man had pushed their plans back at least another day. Though the warheads would wait, and should the stranger recover they would have an additional strong back, expediting carrying the heavy items to the surface.

Dwayne had played nursemaid, neither man was terribly good at this art. However Gareth was so callous even Dwayne could not stomach the seeming indifference for another’s suffering. He made the stranger comfortable on his own bed roll after washing him off with water carted from the nearby river.

The captured man had seemed by evening more lucid, the nosebleed had slowed, and the fits of vomiting seemed to have passed. He lay quietly drifting in and out of an exhausted sleep. Shifting restlessly to alleviate the irritation of his bound wrists and elbows.

Dwayne sat most of the night watching Gareth poke at the fire, there was little small talk. Though at least both men felt better that perhaps the bothersome watcher they had sensed, had at last been apprehended.

The next dawn there was a slight pinkness present in the eastern sky. Dwayne gazed up at the sight, as he poked the fire into new life, feeding it eucalyptus leaves which it devoured hungrily, increasing in size and intensity. He could hear bird calls down on the river flats, as he added twigs and larger fodder.

A small smile crossed his face, this could almost be a normal chill, winter’s morning. The clouds continued to blanket the sky but he could see small gaps in places, and thinness in coverage. As the sun rose there were even traces of cotton candy blue. Dwayne stood up and surveyed the heavens above him, it was a reprieve from the cold and terrible death that the world had seemed to promise. A new beginning.

Jormugar stirred, he still felt weak but the confusion and headache had vastly receded. He shot bolt upright like a wild thing captured. He had never been on this side of the bindings before, and he feared it.

He struggled against the rope that was biting into his wrists and elbows making to rise, almost doing so before Gareth pushed him hard, back onto the bed roll. The young man lay on his back, hair strewn, eyes wild, still struggling and trying to kick.

“I would not do that.” Gareth warned. Though Jormugar did not heed him.

Dwayne who had still been regarding the new dawn had risen from his place by the fire, to also gaze on the captive.

Gareth sidestepped another kick and bent to pick up a stout length of wood that lay nearby, destined for the fire. He immediately set about beating the prone man with it. The thud of blows to flesh carried in the quiet morning. Dwayne observed with a learned indifference. He had seen many a slave beaten in just this manner, a good bruising would serve to calm him down.

To Gareth's surprise the wild man continued to fight him, and even cruelly tied managed to deftly avoid a number of his blows. “You killed my dog you cunts!” The young man cussed.

“Yea, heard that all yesterday, he tasted pretty fine too.” Gareth goaded and struck him hard in the side. The man coughed winded, and spat like cornered tiger.

“Who are you?” Gareth demanded, with a grimace of yellowed teeth, and hit him once more.

“No one!”

Gareth smacked him again for the insolence, this time across the back. The brown haired man kissed the sand and came up spitting. White boars teeth glinted in his ears. “Don’t play funny buggers with me. Now who are you?”

Dwayne sighed and crossed his arms. This didn't have to be this painful. He wondered if the young man understood that?

“I live out here, always did.” Jormugar finally conceded. He sat back panting, staring up at his adversaries.

“Well wild man you may live out here, but I damn well know you didn't do those yourself. So you've seen civilization.” He pointed a stubby, broken nailed finger in accusation at the myriad of tribal designs that adorned Jormugar's arms, chest, and back. “Not only that, but you also don't ride about with a fine rifle and live bullets if you don't interact as you say. So... Who do you work for, or what do you do?”

Gareth bent over his captive pulling him about by the hair, he had plenty of it, and somewhat predictably the man attempted to bite. Gareth slapped him viciously.

“I wouldn't try that either. It means nothing to me to knock your teeth out.”
Jormugar paused, his predicament seeping in. He had no concept of being taken prisoner, in all his long years hunting in the wastes this had never happened.

Gareth could sense his victim’s dawning realization. He was winning, and it had not taken as long as he had anticipated. The man was ill and in shock, and very obviously had never been captured before. Despite his fierce exterior Gareth could see he was afraid, years of jail time had taught the old campaigner to read a new comers fears easily.

Gareth squatted, making eye contact, now that he had the mans undivided attention.

“Okay, this is how it is. I can make life either easy for you, or damn hard. You tell me who you are and why you come to be here? If I like what you have to say I may even free you. If you refuse to cooperate I will bind you, we will go about our business here, and we will take you as a slave to our clan. Simple, right?”

Jormugar just stared at his assailant, breathing hard, licking the fresh blood from his lip. It was obvious to Gareth that he was thinking carefully of what he wished to say.

“So what is your name?”

“Jormugar.” His voice was surprisingly full and rich.

“That’s an odd name.” Gareth smiled to appear more congenial.

“It was our last name, a family name.”

“Ah, yes, I see. Well, Jormugar how do you live, if you live out here alone wandering as you say?”

Jormugar thought for a moment, he would tell a half truth, though even that scared him. It was obvious these men lived as he did but in a tribe. He was not sure what they would think of a bounty hunter? Perhaps they would embrace his skills? He had to risk the presumption that none of them were officially wanted men, or at least knew they were. He dared not tell them he was a tracker for a slaver, that would be too threatening to reveal.

“I’m a bounty hunter.” There, he had let it slip. He sat and waited for the reaction.

Gareth was silent for a time, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t say? Yes, well that would explain your well equipped self, and you being alone. I will accept that.”

Jormugar was relieved, though he tried hard to hide this from his tormentor, albeit unsuccessfully. “So,” Gareth continued. “Are you looking for anyone currently?”

“No.” Jormugar shook his head. The answer was partially true as he had no precise persons he was seeking.

“So when you are not out hunting what do you actually do? Do you have a woman, or a family, or a place to go to?”

“No, not so much, not now. I grew up out here on my dad’s farm. I don't have anybody any more, my dad died some years ago from a bad turn. Mum had left years before, she didn't like the country life.” Jormugar looked down at the sand and maneuvered his shoulders, wincing in pain. The bonds were very restrictive, and it bothered him to be telling this stranger who had killed his dog, about his memories.

“Well are you feeling better, do you think you can do some work?” Gareth inquired.

Jormugar was not so much, but if it meant being freed of the ropes he would do the work he was asked. So he nodded yes.

“I’m going to untie you, but if you try anything stupid I will make your life hell, or maybe even dead, you got it?”

“Yes.” He answered quietly, all traces of earlier fight gone.

“You do right by us and we will return your weapons to you in time, maybe even a place in the tribe? But you have to prove yourself first. Understood?”

Jormugar nodded again as Gareth released the ropes. He rubbed at his flesh and his fingers and hands tingled. His skin was crisscrossed with deep lines the cord had carved. It felt good to be free. He rose from his place careful to stay well away from the weapons, and not antagonize his hosts.

He still felt mightily ill. The bounty hunter was not sure what had happened. He had simply been caught out in the storm, his horse had bolted, he had gotten somewhat drenched and then just like that he had begun to feel nauseated. He seated himself by the fire observing the two men, he tried to make sense of exactly what had lain him low.

“I’m Dwayne and this is Gareth.”

The dark youth with the stark white bone ornaments in his hair had spoken for the first time. He was of a similar age to Jormugar, just into his twenties, a few inches shorter, and not quite as powerful in physique. He appeared friendly. He handed the bounty hunter some meat but Jormugar still a little bilious waved the food away, he took the water proffered though.

“I’m sorry.” Dwayne continued. “It was I who shot your dog.”

Jormugar stiffened, and glanced at Dwayne sharply, hazel eyes that burned almost gold. “I saw it, and reflexively shot it. Dogs mean people usually, and other people mostly mean danger. I really am sorry man.”

The apology seemed sincere enough, and Jormugar decided to let it go, revenge in this matter would not serve any real purpose. This was set back, nothing more, he'd pay his dues, be amenable, get his gear returned, then leave. A simple transaction for his careless capture, and he would be more careful next time.


With three able bodied men the retrieval of the warheads went swiftly and without incident. They loaded the horses and broke camp, though there were only a few hours left of available light, they were eager to be away. Jormugar trailed the rear of the procession, he was still somewhat ill, and as a result he moved slow. He hoped that tomorrow would be a better day.