Hudson stood outside his little cabin, watching the horizon and getting some fresh air. Tom joined him, deciding it was best to be away from the girl if they had any other ideas. He stood awkwardly next to him, staring out at nothing.

  “Damn.” Tom shivered. “Winters here get pretty bad don’t they?” he asked

  “Ain’t no winters.” Hudson replied, adjusting his wooden goggles to keep the snow flurries out of his eyes.

  “What do you call it here? This sure as shit don’t feel like summer.”

  “Wouldn’t know. I was born here, so I never saw a summer before. I heard about them from my daddy. He was an immigrant, an arrival. Good man, talked fondly of the summer and something called grass. It’s always winter here in Timber. It gets a lot worse then this here, not much better. That snow is packed 20 feet deep, and under it, solid clay and rock. Things found a way to grow anyway, rooted in snow and stone, but you hear new arrivals talk about thawing out and the warm seasons. This is it. You want warmth, find you a fire or dig deep enough in the right spots and hope for hot springs and volcanic pools. You don’t wait for seasons. Those who wait, die. Those who work, only sometimes die. I just got you 3 the best damn job a greenhorn like you could get, that gun may be shit to you but to someone just getting here that’s a lifeline. Most new folks die in a week or less

  The big boss sheriffs wanna keep everyone unarmed and obedient, but they also want meat and tusk and they aren’t getting their rich asses out there to hunt mammoth for it. So they’ll never make all the guns illegal. Now you could get a job in the mines, people die quick in there from the fumes, factory work is hard and my daddy used to say it was just slavery with a nice hat and lunch breaks. And he would know, he was a slave before he ended up here. Hunt and scavenge work is as free as most men ever get in Timber, of any color. See the first wave of people to show up didn’t agree on that. They didn’t like each other, but to survive here, you gotta adapt your prejudice from hating those who look different to hating those of different income brackets. Welcome to racial equality, where none of us mean shit to nobody unless you got money or metal. Black, white, Mexican, We’re all slaves, till we pay our way out, and they don’t let you do that.”

  “Bullshit. Spent my whole life working hard for a living and drafted to fight, now I get stuck at the bottom with you?” Tom huffed.

  “Oh you gotta rank up to get to me. See right now you’re just fresh meat and dumb pickins, lookin to get lost. You wanna get to my level of shit, you gotta prove yourself first. Now here’s lesson 1: Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You got a head start runnin into me. You’re damn welcome. Now I’m not the worst boss, but I ain’t your friend or your pappy. I will leave you to die in the snow if you try me too hard. So for now, if I say dig, you ask: how Deep Mister Galloway. If you do good work and wanna branch off, you can pay me back for the gun, and then go work for another boss who’s a lot meaner. Calls himself Chief Hunting Wolf, cocky son of a bitch. Sheriff of the hunting industry. I bet his granddaddy wasn’t even a chief before he got here. But you get rich enough you can call yourself whatever you want, I guess.”

  “How do you get rich?” asked Tom.

  “You don’t. First generation made sure of that. You get enough men together with a fresh start, first thing they do is pull rank and make laws. The ones that make the laws are the ones mean enough to back up the opposition by killing them. They also make the laws to suit themselves, and keep everyone else poor. Every society needs 3 resources: food water, and weapons. Water is everywhere, food is sometimes hard to find, but it’s there if you know where to find it. Weapons are kinda hard to make with no iron, but some of the first generation started industries and companies. Ritter family monopolized the mines and stonework, the Red family started growing and gathering the best wood. The Hernandez brothers didn’t like relying on big stone, so they started digging for clay and founded the ceramics and glass, and that requires fuel. Udo family figured out what wood burns the best and started competing for that. Hunting Wolf’s family gathered all the crops and farmable land and cornered the market on bone, leather and meat. All that food needs processed and preserved for sale. Morrisons got on their good graces and nobody else gets the raw foods. Pretty soon the Renic family figured out how to make plastics, kept the secrets and traded with the Udos for Nitro powder, which don’t do you much good without the plastics to make the cases. Buchanan family gathered up all the metal so nobody was makin brass shells, and his two top men had loyalty, so they became the military, with the only few brass guns that made it through, pretty soon the big plastics and ceramics were rivaling the wood industry for weapon materials. So the Donnovan and Prima families became the only gun brands the Buchanans would allow. Get caught makin one, you got to prison. He controls em both but lets them compete.

  Hunting was back on top when someone figured out the Mamoth tusk was some tough shit and made better gun barrels than anything else. Better than Buchannan brass. So you buy yourself a cheap gun and permit on loan and they own you. You scratch enough scavenged loot to get independent and find dealers willing to vouch for you and now you can scavenge metal and tusk and teeth without getting arrested. The Donnovan guns keep the people just armed enough to feel safe, not enough to fight back. Only a serious man gets a Prima custom. Of course now they sell overpriced commercial guns as well as custom ones for the rich, but they cut corners now. Most people don’t know the quality difference unless they test it, shootin hot-loaded shells.”

  “That why you looked at the guns so close?”

  “Yep. The old ones are the good ones. Before they started using cheaper parts, Prima meant quality. Genuine Ignius wood, scrap tusk liners means thinner barrels with tougher chambers that shoot the stronger rounds. They’re trying to undo that right now. Get a good one while you can, and stock up on ammo before they dumb down the gunpowder again. You can’t get the red stuff anymore, blows up too many cheap guns. Makes the guns look bad. Dumb down the ammo, the guns work, they just don’t kill as hard.”

  “Neutering the people in increments so they don’t notice.” Sighed Tom.

  The Prima factories dye softer woods red and cover plastic in nicer wood, use tooth instead of tusk. In a few years the Primas are gonna be as shitty as the black Donnovan shitters and only the richest rich will have anything worth owning. You watch, they’ll loan out the last good guns to rent, and kill you if you don’t give em back when you’re done huntin. They don’t care of you get killed hunting, or spend your life savings renting a gun that won’t get you killed. As long as enough tusk comes in and the population holds and stays poor, the big ten families stay rich and happy. The Sheriffs live like kings. So you can die in the mines or get sick off fumes and bad air in some factory that works you to the bone; you can steal and get killed doing that, or you can get you a piece of paper and hunt. Live off the land free while that’s still legal.” He said as the pipe went empty. “So honest question. How blind are you?” Hudson asked.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Without my glasses… I can see just fine out to here.” He said holding out his hand. “After that things get iffy, and after about 12 feet, I’m just guessing what’s a tree or a shadow or a hole in the ground.” He admitted. Hudson grabbed back the revolver.

  “Yea, you need something a little more personal and less dangerous to us. How good are you with a cavalry sword?”

  “Damn good. I used to say I could kill any man with a sword blindfolded…guess now I get to prove that, one way or another. Luckily anyone far back enough that I can’t see anymore, we ain’t hittin anything with a sword. They get close enough to hit me, they’re close enough to see.”

  “Well adjust your expectations on what a sword is here and you might have a use after all.

  Tom stood, holding a dark purple bladed wood and resin sword, the carbon-fiber weave visible under the glossy outer coating, and the very robust thickness contributing no weight at all to it.

  “Needs sharpening.” He noted.

  “Always needs sharpening. Shit goes dull after every use. Forget about chopping or slashing and think of it more like a stabbing weapon. You hack a man with a thick coat, that’s gonna bounce off, but a good thrust will pierce cloth and organs.”

  “Great.” He muttered.

  “Either of you ladies ever shoot a gun before?” Hudson asked.

  “We grew up in Kentucky.” Blurted Jen.

  “They have.” Nodded tom. Practicing some jabs on a cloth target.

  “Well, list your credentials.” Hudson said, placing the guns on the table. Jen picked up the big 45 and shouldered it.

  “Pretty good with my boyf- my Exes lever action. This is pretty much just a lever action that revolves and has no lever.” She shrugged, taking aim at the target Hudson placed.

  “Just cock the hammer, sights are dead zero at 50 yards. Now, there’s gonna be a little kickback.” He said as she fired, barely moving, cocking the hammer and firing again, he stopped her after the 3rd shot.”

  “Slow, down girl. Them bullets ain’t cheap…But you don’t seem to mind the recoil much.” he said squinting at the target.

  “Not my proudest group. No offense grampa, but compared to a 12 gauge this thing kicks like a damn toy.” She scowled.

  “Well you hit the dinner plate sized square all 3 times, that’s not half bad.” Hudson nodded “Try on that holster and see what you can do on a quick draw.” He said as she attached the belt. “When I say go…GO!” he yelled. She drew and fired.

  “Well that answers that question pretty clearly. You’re about as good as me on the long gun but your quick draw is slow as shit. So that stays with me and you can carry big Bessie, unless your friend here is crack shot.” He said looking to Carol. She stared back nervously.

  “Uh, I shoot a black powder pistol for the muzzle loader club. I’m not that good. I’ve never shot a long musket.” She admitted.

  “Donnovan it is, and what luck it is, because that’s all I got left and y’all not getting my new pistol.” Hudson grinned. “Now if you’ll excuse me ladies, my old ass is going to bed. We got a big day tomorrow. Get familiar with your weapons cuz come nightfall, we hunt.”

  “Wait…” Tom corrected. “Nightfall? It’s been night since we got here.”

  “I forget you greenhorns ain’t used to this place. You see that moon up there?” he asked as he got 2 ”yea”s and Tom just refused to admit he couldn’t see it.

  “Well you won’t see it soon, when it goes down. That’s when it gets REAL dark and cold. Welcome to Timber.” He said, shuffling off.

  “Why are we hunting at night?” Carol yelled as he went. “And what are we hunting anyway?”

  “We’re hunting at night because the wolves hunt by day and we don’t wanna run into them. And we’re either huntin for mammoth, or anything you can eat, or if that alley bastard saw that shiny leg, we’re huntin the first sonsabitches to come lookin for it.”

  Ned’s face slammed his own gun store counter with significant force as a strange face loomed over it, followed by an absolutely massive revolver, gleaming gold with silver inlay, barrel and cylinder a gleaming blue and ivory colored tusk, polished heavily. The gilded hammer cocked back, as the gray bearded man exhaled smoke from his yellow nicotine stained teeth, his waxed mustache curled like mammoth tusks as he put out the cigar in Ned’s neck.

  “Okay! I got it from Hudson Galloway. He found some new arrivals and one was wearing these as jewelry.

  “What kind of person wears titanium like jewelry?” growled the raging bull of a man with the golden cannon.

  “I don’t know, he just said one of the new arrivals had them.”

  “Same girl who a man claimed is walking around with a silver leg?” He asked, reheating the cigar.

  “Mister Buchanan, I don’t know who told you that, but he’s a damn liar. I’ll say it to his face.” Ned claimed as a severed head plopped down on the table facing him.

  “Then say it to his face.” Buchanan growled.

  “Jesus, I just bought some jewelry, nobody had a silver leg. Nobody ever has had one. That’s absurd. I would have seen a little gal dragging around a 40 pound creakin metal leg now wouldn’t I? They all came in and stood around, this…man on the table was either lying or just drunk and mistaken. Hud had some gun brass, some buttons, lead, and that was it, normal shit, until the rings.”

  “This man on your table was one of my best scouts. If he said he saw a silver leg, he saw one. A girl carrying this much titanium in jewelry walkin around with a silver leg, is mighty interesting to me. Smitty here wouldn’t know the difference between silver and titanium if you asked him. Silver would make a heavy and awkward leg, but a light titanium one would be real tough. So you tell me where to find this Hudson Galloway and his million dollar bitch, or I’ll take your head too.”

  “I don’t know. I swear. He won’t tell where he lives, He’s a paranoid man. I’m not lying, I got nothing else to tell you.” Ned promised.

  “Well then you’re just a liability and another man who knows too much, like Smitty here.” He said, drawing a very curved blue cavalry sword from his belt and decapitating Ned with a hefty strike. He wiped the red from his wooden saber, the edge gleaming in the same blue and ivory patterned tusk as his gun. “Take his papers, his records of inventory, and burn the building down.” Buchanan huffed, the black tribal tattoos on his face scrunching with his anger lines. “I want Hudson’s silver legged lady by moonrise.”