Riders on the Storm Read online

  “Get up,” she said to Jacob. “And don’t do anything your brother might regret. If you so much as wave your gun in my general direction, I’ll shoot you between the eyes. And don’t doubt for a second I won’t. Nobody will send a posse out to chase the killer of a would-be bandit.”

  He got off the floor slowly and dusted himself off, hate in his eyes. Jules thought she’d be better off knocking him out and working with the brother, but she suspected these two were a package deal, and she needed them right now. There really would be a posse after them after this little incident, and it was best if the lawmen spent their resources chasing these idiots while she got away. But for them to do that, they had to survive long enough to run.

  Jacob picked up his gun, but wisely aimed it at the direction of the tellers, who appeared just as stunned as when the robbers had walked into the place. Jules turned back to the first teller, who was still shaking. That was good. Maybe she’d be able to salvage this mission after all. Hell, the way things were going, she’d come out substantially ahead.

  “We’ll take everything you got: greenbacks, silver, and the contents of the entire safe back there,” she said. “Make it quick.”

  She was just about to relax a little when she heard the sound of someone running into the bank. Frankly, they’d been lucky customers hadn’t come in while she and the Brothers Stupid had been in their little stand-off, but it looked like their luck was changing.

  Jules turned as a young Indian woman rushed in, wearing men’s cowboy clothes and a panicked expression. She had dark skin, shoulder-length black hair and high cheekbones.

  “Miranda,” Jules said. “What the hell are you—”

  “Storm!” Miranda replied, pointing behind her. She was out of breath, as if she’d run into the bank as fast as she could. “There’s a storm coming!”

  Jules felt the world suddenly grow very small, so that it was just her and her sister. She asked the next question because she had to, even though she already knew the answer. This was what the dreams had meant. This was why Miranda had all but begged her not to come.

  “What kind of storm?” she asked.

  There were only two types of storms that would have brought Miranda here, away from the horses and a clean get away. The first was what they called a barker. It was a bad storm with fierce winds that could tear the roofs off buildings and lay waste to entire settlements. It was dangerous, but it was possible to survive it, if you were careful.

  The second was a tempest. That had all the violence of a barker, but with something else attached. Fell things lurked inside tempests, creatures that would haunt a man’s nightmare if he were fortunate enough to survive the encounter. A tempest meant only one thing—death.

  Miranda met Jules’ eyes.

  “A tempest.”

  Chapter Two

  “For at least two decades in the late 19th Century, many residents of what is now South Dakota talked about a forbidden area called the Maelstrom. According to legend, it was a place of constant storms, with a giant, churning cloud in the middle that moved in a circular pattern—like a funnel in the ocean. Few dared to go there. Those who did never came back.”

  —Terry Jacobsen, “A History of the Supernatural,” 2013

  Jules felt a brief flurry of panic.

  Almost as soon as she experienced it, however, she pushed it away. If she panicked, she’d die. It was that simple. She rushed to Miranda, calculating their options.

  “How long do we have?”

  “Five minutes.”

  Jules’ first preference was to run, but five minutes wasn’t nearly enough time to flee. Tempests moved fast, and the creatures inside them could fly.

  “The horses?” Jules said.

  “I set them loose,” Miranda replied. “They bolted.”

  Jules nodded. Somehow animals always seemed to know about the storms before people did. Or at least most people. The only person she knew who could sense a storm’s approach was standing directly in front of her.

  “What’s going on?” Seth asked behind her. “Who is that?”

  Jules turned, her eyes sweeping over the bank and its inhabitants. She did a quick head count. Including the tellers and the other two bank robbers, there were nineteen souls in this room. All of them were going to die, as was Jules herself, unless she came up with a plan.

  Her father had drilled into her five types of strategy, what he called “plays.” The aggressive play was out of the question in a situation like this, and the cowardly play—her father had called it that with no trace of judgment—wouldn’t work either. Of the three remaining, only the defensive play, the one he’d sometimes called the circle-the-wagons strategy, was relevant here.

  Most of the customers looked scared, casting anxious glances at the Brothers Stupid and Jules. That wasn’t surprising. Barkers weren’t common out here and she’d never heard of a tempest this far east. These people had no idea what was coming.

  Even as she had that thought, her eyes met those of the black man at the back, and she saw something different. True fear, and not of her. He knew, Jules realized. He understood what was happening.

  Jules turned to Miranda. “How much did you bring?”

  Miranda slung a sack on the ground, where it made a metallic clatter.

  “All of it,” Miranda replied.

  Jules closed her eyes. Even if she survived what was coming, she was going to lose money on this job. No way around that now.

  “Okay, here’s what we need to happen,” Jules said. “How many guns do we have among us?”

  Seth looked confused, and his brother appeared angry.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” Jacob asked. “Let’s just take the money and run.”

  “We’d never make it,” Jules said, projecting her voice throughout the bank. “Listen to me carefully. There’s a tempest coming. Some of you may have heard whispers of storms like this. Whatever you’ve heard doesn’t do it justice. When that storm arrives, it will be your worst nightmare. And unless everyone in here does exactly what I say, you’re all going to die.”

  The anxious looks in their eyes were replaced by ones of uncertainty. Likely some thought she’d gone crazy. Others, though… Jules saw a young girl of roughly fifteen whispering to a woman who was probably her mother. The mother’s eyes grew wide.

  “Oh, come on,” Jacob said. “This bank is as good as robbed. You don’t need to spin a ghost story. I’ve heard the rumors. A bunch of stuff and nonsense.”

  “It’s not a story,” Jules said, meeting his eyes. “I’ve seen ‘em. I know. You best trust me.”

  He scowled at her. “Trust you? That’s the last thing I’d do.”

  “She’s right,” said a deep voice from the back of the bank. Jules was unsurprised to see the black man step forward. “The stories are true. There’s a storm coming, but it’s not the wind, rain or lightning that will kill us. It’s what hides inside it.”

  The other customers drew back from him, as if he was a madman whose crazy might be catching. Jules nodded at him. More than his words, what she really appreciated was the aura of calm he projected. He was scared, sure, but she’d only seen a passing trace of that emotion in his eyes earlier. He seemed to have wrestled that fear and defeated it. It was also worth noting that he’d just watched two bank robbers break in, followed by an armed woman turning the tables on them, and he didn’t appear the least bit surprised.

  “Can you shoot?” she asked, already knowing the answer. This man, she suspected, could do quite a lot of things. She knew a fellow gunslinger when she saw one.

  He nodded at her. Jules walked over to the dead bank guard and scooped his rifle off the floor. She tossed it to the black man. He caught it with one hand and she pointed to the sack that Miranda had dropped to the floor.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Luke,” the black man replied.

  “Find the right kind of ammunition in there, Luke. Mostly the shells are for revolvers, bu
t there’s some that should fit that rifle. Stock up. And don’t miss.”

  “I won’t.”

  She believed him.

  Jacob came storming forward. “Wait just a goddamned minute. I’m not adding another partner, certainly not one of his kind.” Jacob spat on the ground as if to emphasize his point.

  Jules smiled. “But you’re okay taking orders from a woman?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply, and Luke opened the sack and began pulling out the ammunition from it. Jules looked again at the crowd. They appeared properly frightened. She was a little surprised they didn’t fight back harder, and then she glanced outside.

  It had been bright and sunny when she entered the bank, but the weather had turned. Daylight was already fading, though it wasn’t even noon. In the distance was a rumble of thunder. The storm was coming—and even if tempests didn’t normally head out this way, odds were that many of the people at least heard of such a thing. Bad news traveled faster than the wind these days.

  “I need any man with a gun to come forward,” she said.

  She pointed at the fat man at the back, who she’d seen fumbling with his weapon earlier.

  “You,” she said, beckoning to him.

  He stepped out of the crowd. He attempted to puff himself up as he did so, as if he were volunteering. Normally, she’d send him packing, but she needed every gun she could get, and unfortunately, she couldn’t fire them all herself.

  “Name?” she asked.

  “Clayton,” he replied. “Clayton Drury.”

  “You had a Colt, right?” she asked, and didn’t even wait for him to nod. “Reload your ammo from that bag.”

  Clayton looked down at the gun in his holster. “I already have ammo.”

  “Nothing that would do any good against what’s coming,” she said. “Those are silver bullets. Replace all of yours and stuff a few handfuls into your pockets to reload with. I guarantee you’ll need them.”

  “Silver bullets?” he repeated.

  “Anyone else with a gun?” Jules said to the crowd. “Don’t be shy. I’m not turning you into a bank robber. If we survive, your fellow citizens are likely to hail you as a hero.”

  Two more men came forward, one in his mid-sixties who was so thin it looked like a breeze might blow him over and another swarthy-looking fellow whose callused hands and sunburned face marked him as a rancher. They gave their names as Harland and Ogdon. Both had revolvers. She nodded to the sack.

  “Take what you can carry. Don’t be stingy,” she said. “You don’t want to run out of silver bullets when you need them.”

  She looked back at the crowd. She had six gunmen, not including herself. She wasn’t sure that was enough, but it would have to suffice. She glanced at Luke.

  “Grab a few men and shut up the place as best you can. Start with the windows. If there are storm shutters, use ‘em. We don’t want to make it easy for them to enter.”

  She turned to Miranda.

  “Round ‘em up, get them into the back room,” she said.

  The place where the bank kept the safe was the perfect hiding place. There were no windows and several strong locks on the outside of the door for when the tellers closed the bank for the night. Jules wished they were stronger. She’d heard of large rooms with vaulted ceilings where banks kept their gold and other valuables, but she’d never actually seen one. This was as close as she was liable to get.

  “To hell with that,” Miranda replied. “I’m fighting with you.”

  Jules met her brown eyes. “You bring your bow?”

  Miranda’s expression turned angry. “I can shoot almost as well with a gun.”

  Jules gave a snort of laughter. “We don’t have time for fairy tales. Get them in the back room, Miranda. I’ll lock it up behind you. Let’s not waste precious minutes arguing about this.”

  Miranda scowled, and then brushed past her, heading toward the crowd.

  “I need everyone else to follow her,” Jules said. “You’ll be safe back there.”

  A few started moving immediately, obviously grateful to be assigned to any allegedly safe zone. They hadn’t realized the downside yet. Jules wondered whether they would.

  The bank teller with spectacles stopped in front of her.

  “What if you don’t come back for us?” he asked in a whisper, evidently not wanting to panic others. “If you lock us in there and don’t open it back up, there’s no way out. You can’t undo the locks from the inside.”

  So somebody had realized the drawback after all.

  “When it’s all over, we’ll open the door up,” Jules said.

  “And if you all die?”

  “Truth be told, I don’t think those locks will keep what’s coming out of that room,” she replied. “If we don’t survive, they’ll come for you next.”

  The teller visibly gulped. Jules held out her hand.

  “I need the keys to those locks before you go,” she said.

  He didn’t resist her. He handed over a ring with six different keys on it and then went off with the others into the room.

  In a way, she was almost envious. What would it be like to ride out the storm, letting others handle it for her? She’d never know. She wouldn’t meekly go somewhere because some bandit with a gun told her to. Cowering in a hole wasn’t the kind of death she wanted.

  A woman broke off from the crowd, her face streaked with tears. She was in her forties, old enough to be Jules’ mother. For all she knew, she was Jules’ mother, a disturbing notion that she pushed away as soon as it flitted through her mind.

  “My husband,” the woman said. “He was buying grain down the way. I should go to him.”

  As she said it, there was another clap of thunder, this one much closer than before. Jules stepped aside.

  “It’s your choice, ma’am,” she said. “I’ll be straight with you. You go to him, you’re likely to die together. And that would be the happy ending. These things that are coming… they ain’t natural.”

  She looked pained, obviously torn. “But Eddie—”

  “Eddie’s dead already, he just doesn’t know it yet,” Jules said. “It’s best if you don’t join him.”

  She thought the words would make the woman retreat. Instead, there was a spark of fire in her brown eyes and Jules realized she’d said exactly the wrong thing. The woman rushed past without another word, running to the door. It was now nearly as dark as nighttime outside. The wind had picked up, blowing debris past the door.

  The woman gave one last look back at the bank, clutching her hat to her head, and ran out of sight. There was another clap of thunder that made the building shake. They were almost out of time.

  Jacob came up and grabbed Jules’ arm. “Are you crazy? She’ll bring the law!”

  Jules met his eyes. “Good. I could use some extra guns. You best get this into that thick skull of yours—thievery is no longer our business today. It’s survival.”

  She pushed past him. She’d known Jacob less than ten minutes and she was already mighty tired of him.

  When she examined the bank again, she saw Luke had been busy. The three windows in the bank were shuttered. Luke slammed the front door, and Harland, the thin elderly man, and Ogdon, the rancher, moved one of the thick oak tables from the back to stand in front of it.

  As they closed it up, the inside of the bank went almost completely dark. While she still could, Jules rushed through the building, lighting three gas lamps. It wouldn’t do to be shooting in the dark—they were apt to kill each other.

  When she finished, she turned to the back room, which stood a crack open, her sister’s face peeking through. Jules rushed over.

  “Get inside.”

  Miranda put a hand on her arm. “Don’t die, okay?”

  Jules gave her a big smile. “That’s what I’m best at.”

  Miranda stepped back and Jules shut the door. There were three heavy locks on the door, all shut with different keys. Jules fiddled with the keyring the teller had
given her, using it to lock up.

  She took a step back and looked at it. It seemed solid, but she doubted it would be enough to keep the creatures at bay.

  Still, if Jules fell, there might be a slim chance the people inside would survive—and someone would come along and free them later, if they didn’t die of hunger, thirst or a lack of air first. Maybe Miranda would make it. Jules could hope for that, at least.

  There was a flash of lightning outside, followed almost immediately by another crack of thunder.

  The storm had arrived.

  Chapter Three

  “Abbie was crying in the corner, yelling that the wind was going to tear the roof clean off. I told her it was nonsense—and then we heard the noises. They came on the storms. I didn’t see them at first. It was a growling sound outside, somehow even louder than the wind. When I found enough courage to look out the window, all I could see were red, glowing eyes looking back at me. I managed to make it to the cellar before they broke in. Abbie wasn’t so lucky. When the storm passed, she was gone. I never saw her again.”

  — From the personal journal of Mildred Woot, 1879

  Reprinted in Congressional report on the “Unusual happenings in the Dakota Territory,” dated 1881. Stamped SECRET.

  It started with the rain.

  Jules had heard plenty of wind and thunder already, but not even a hint of drizzle. When the rain finally came, it was as if a torrent had been unleashed from the heavens above. A raging downpour sounded on the roof. Water began leaking in almost immediately, streams of it coming from the ceiling some twelve feet above her.

  Jules stepped toward the men now by her side, motioning for them to take up positions against the back wall.

  She hurried over and grabbed the sack of ammunition, throwing it toward the door to the back room, where she intended to make her stand. She crouched down and reloaded her revolver, then yanked her spare gun from the pocket of her dress. She had long ago learned how to sew a larger, sturdier pocket into her petticoat to accommodate the weight of her guns.

  She reloaded the spare weapon as well, and stuffed a handful of extra shells in her pockets. She also checked the two silver knives tied to her ankles. She was glad she’d put them on. She normally wouldn’t have done so, but Miranda’s nightmare had spooked her enough to include them as an extra precaution.