Lord of Order by Brett Riley (the reading list book TXT) 📕

Bushrod stumbled over to him. Name’s Bushrod, he said. Sounds like you got somethin in your lung. Here, let me help.

He shot Listerall in the throat.

Listerall gargled and spat and crawfished. Then he lay still, his eyes open and staring.

Bushrod shot one of them out, just for fun.

Then he turned to the mobs near the wall, still locked in battle. He waded into them, shooting anyone he did not recognize.

Minutes later, the Crusade’s ragged survivors ran for the city. No one relieved them. Up on the wall, the ranks had thinned, but they still fired into the Troublers.

Bushrod fired into the air six times in quick succession, and his reserves ran from the woods, hauling bundles of weapons, ammunition, water, bandages from their hidden caches.

On the wall, Crusaders shouted at each other to defend the gap.

Bushrod grinned and turned to those around him. Charge, he said, and don’t stop shootin till they beg for mercy.

He ran for the city, his people roaring as they followed.

45

When the Troublers raised their battle cry, Babb seemed ready to vomit or cry or both. The man is useless, Royster thought.

Gordon, the envoy rasped. Perhaps you should help me up that ladder.

Boudreaux looked old and broken down. You could almost hear him creak. I reckon so, he said.

Royster’s bandages were nearly black. That whole side of his body felt both sticky and slick. His brain had grown too big for his skull.

Boudreaux helped him to the ladder.

Over at the gap, Crusaders saw them taking the high ground and disengaged, sprinting for the other ladders.

Royster climbed, step by agonizing step, pulling with his good arm, Boudreaux pushing on his hindquarters from below.

46

One block from the lake, most of the Crusaders had garrisoned themselves inside houses and buildings. Some hid behind trees and hedges. Others hunkered on their knees in the open, guns shouldered.

Long wiped sweat from her eyes. They still got all those people across the river and some at the wall. Given that probably eighty percent of our people are starvin and just outta their chains, this is gonna be close.

Someone on the other side must have been noting the numbers. Long never heard the order to open fire, but the Crusaders’ initial volley struck somewhere upward of a hundred Troublers and freed people. They fell, leaking blood and spinal fluid and brains.

Cover up! Cover up! Long shouted as she ducked into one of the old buildings, bullets thucking into the wood and brick, shrapnel spraying everywhere. Her Conspirators kicked in doors and smashed out windows and took positions inside, where they returned fire. If they had followed orders, those behind her would be seeking cover or waiting to relieve the front line, but with untrained troops, you never could tell.

Many of the Crusaders who had been standing in the open were already dead. Some had run off, terrified. Long grabbed the nearest person, a ragged Troubler with a filthy beard and clothes that seemed to have been stitched from dishrags. Go find Hobbes and Stransky, she said. You know who I mean?

The Troubler frowned. We’re all familiar with your officials. What else did we have to do while sitting in the streets and starving to death?

Stransky wasn’t on the streets. She’s about as tall as you. Real skinny. Long, floppy dark hair. You’ll know her cause she’s got a big mouth and a lotta followers.

The man glared at Long and spat. We’re fightin beside you because we hate those Crusade bastards, but we didn’t sign up to run errands for a bootlicker who kept us in chains.

Long shook the man by his shoulders. We can blame each other later for a whole host of misdeeds. Right now, though, I can’t be in three places at once. You want to kill Crusaders? This is how to make that happen.

He pulled free and looked about, seeming to consider the situation—the incoming fire, the structural integrity of the building, which seemed about to fall in. All right, he said. But I’m not doing it for you.

Tell Hobbes to fan out to the east, Stransky to the west. Another pincer movement. We gotta engage em all at once. You got it?

I’m not stupid, he said, running outside.

Long hated to put their fates in the hands of a malcontent, but she had to do something. The Crusaders were outnumbered but entrenched and determined.

Splittin our forces a third time’s like swimmin with a hungry gator. If you get away with it twice, you probably ought not to test God’s patience again. But it’s better than walkin this skirmish line and hopin.

She grabbed two more Troublers, a man and a woman. To the man, she said, Run east and tell every officer you meet to be sure of their targets. If a stray shot sets off the explosives, we’re all dead. Then she turned to the woman. You run west and do the same. Go on now.

She returned to her window and fired at the house across the thoroughfare. A Crusader bullet struck the wood to her left.

47

From their position at the storm wall’s central explosives cache, Ford and McClure had watched Crusaders ducking into buildings along the street. Now the kid sat against the concrete with a sniper rifle at her feet, her six-guns holstered.

Ford knelt beside her, one hand covering his wound. They’re makin their stand, he said. Some of em will come for these caches directly.

Bandit lay on his side, as peaceful as he would have been at McClure’s hearth. If she had a hearth. So what do we do? the girl asked. Sit here and pick em off as they come out, or assault em from the rear?

Both. And hope LaShanda gives us some help. If she don’t, we’re like to get mighty wet.

McClure nodded. She took her binoculars out of her poke. She swept them back and forth. Look to the east,