Hellfire Rebellion

Prologue

Reese Hunter had never seen a nation being born before, though he had seen more than his share of nations die. He had seen Rome sacked by Visigoths and he rode with Alexander as the Macedonian had carved his way across the ancient world. He was with Cortez when the Spanish conquistadores had descended on the unsuspecting Incas and he had watched from the cockpit of a bomber while Dresden was reduced to rubble and the Third Reich burned. He had seen governments fall and empires crumble, but he had never before witnessed a nation being born.

The English colonies in North America were about to be reborn as a new nation, and in a sense. Hunter was about to be reborn, as well. He was about to start a new life in a new universe, one that was almost a mirror image of his own. In his own universe, he had been a captain in the CIS., the elite Counter Insurgency Section of the Special Operations Group. Agents of the T.I.A. had captured him and brought him through a confluence point into their timeline. anxious to question him about the operations of his unit and, in particular, to find out how the C.I.S. had broken into their top secret Archives Section data banks. But the T.I.A. never had a chance to question him, because Hunter had stolen one of their warp discs and escaped into their past. Now there was no way back.

In many ways, this universe was a familiar one. His cerebral Implant programming gave him a detailed knowledge of this timeline’s history. He knew, for example, that in this universe, unlike his own, the Americans would win their war for independence, not lose and later have it granted to them by the British in the middle of the 19th century. However, his detailed knowledge of this timeline’s history would not enable him to get back home. He had been unconscious when the temporal agents brought him through the confluence, a point where their two timelines intersected, and he had no way of knowing how to find it once again. He was trapped here now and he would simply have to make the best of it.

He had carefully considered all his options. Though he would now be on his own, without any logistical support, he could continue to function as a covert agent of the C.I.S. and work to disrupt this timeline’s continuity. Or he could simply quit, leave the war behind and start a brand-new life. A simpler life, uncomplicated by the Time Wars. It was a very tempting option. Hunter had grown tired of fighting. The temporal physicists back home believed that the way to overcome the confluence phenomenon was to create temporal disruptions in the opposing universe. They believed that a timestream split would separate the two congruent timelines, but that was no more than a theory. It was also possible that a timestream split in either universe would only make the situation worse, creating still more parallel timelines that would intersect with one another, a temporal disaster that could ultimately lead to entropy. Hunter did not want that on his conscience.

He did not know what the answer was. No one in his timeline had even suspected that a parallel universe existed until that parallel universe attacked. The agents of the T.I.A. had claimed that it was all a terrible mistake. Their explanation had sounded very plausible, but Hunter wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore. He had been told that in this universe, a scientist named Dr. Robert Darkness had perfected a devastating weapon known as the warp grenade, a combination nuclear device and time machine. It operated on the same principle as warp discs. The device was hellish, a nuclear weapon capable of pinpoint adjustability, designed to use all of its terribly destructive energy or only a small fraction of it. It could be set to destroy a city, or a block within that city, or a building on that block, or just a room within that building. At the instant of the detonation, the surplus energy of the explosion would be transported by the weapon’s chronocircuitry through an Einstein-Rosen Bridge-a warp in spacetime to a point in outer space where it could do no harm. Or so the scientists had believed.

In practice, what had happened was that such incredible amounts of energy being clocked through warps in spacetime had brought about a shift in the chronophysical alignment of the universe. Instead of dissipating harmlessly in outer space the nuclear explosions had been clocked through space warps directly into Hunter’s timeline, where they had caused untold destruction. Hunter’s universe and this one had been forced into congruence, so that a confluence phenomenon was brought about. The timespace continuum was rippling and two parallel timelines were intertwining like a double helix strand of DNA. At various points in space and time, they briefly flowed together, so that it was possible to cross over from one universe into another. The two timelines were at war and Hunter now believed it was a war no one could win. Nor was he the only one who felt that way.

In his own universe, as in this one, there were people who had fatalistically accepted the inevitability of an irreversible temporal disaster, so they had chosen to escape into the past. They had opted out of their society and gone over to the Underground, a loosely organized confederation of temporal deserters, fugitives from the far future. And Hunter had encountered yet another group at work throughout the past. It was called the Network, an offshoot of the T.I.A.-a secret agency within a secret agency. Only this group had its own agenda, independent of any government. These were renegade temporal agents, profiteers conducting the complex business of an underground. trans-temporal economy. And for all Hunter knew, there could be a similar organization in his own universe, as well. It was insanity. There was no way of knowing how many people in the past were really from the Future, no way to measure how fragile the timestream had become-in either universe.

In such a chaotic situation, the actions of one man seemed very small indeed. But Hunter knew that the actions of one man could often make all the difference in the world. And on the day that he arrived in Boston, the actions of one man, a man named Samuel Adams, were about to ignite a conflagration that would burn like hellfire as it spread throughout the thirteen English colonies.

Hunter had arrived in Boston unsuitably attired. He had hidden in an alley by the waterfront until an inebriated seaman of a convenient size had stumbled by. whereupon Hunter had rolled him and stolen all his money and his clothes. He then found a tavern called the Harp and Crown, where he had an inexpensive meal called an “ordinary.” a set meal served at a fixed price, and picked up a copy of the Boston Gazette. The date was August 14. 1765, and according to the paper, it was the birthday of the Prince of Wales. But the most newsworthy event of the day had occurred too recently to make the paper and it was the topic on the lips of everybody in the tavern.

That morning, the citizens of Boston awoke to see two figures hanging from the elm trees in the Common. One was shaped like a boot, with a devil peeking out of it, a play on the name of King George’s favorite advisor. the Earl of Bute. The other was an effigy of Andrew Oliver. a local man, identified by his initials and a sign that read. “What greater joy did New England see than a stampman hanging from a tree?” Beneath the figure was a placard with the warning. “He that takes this down is an enemy to his country!”

It wasn’t difficult for Hunter to get into a conversation with a group or citizens engaged in a spirited discussion about the day’s events. He approached their table and politely inquired what the fuss was all about. They stared at him with disbelief.

“Why, where’ve you been, man?” one of the men asked him.

“I’ve been at sea,” said Hunter. his stolen clothing lending credence to the lie. “Ten long years before the mast. I grew tired of seeing other men grow rich upon the spice trade while I worked like a dog without a whit to show for it. I heard tell that a man could make a good life for himself in the American colonies, but I have only just arrived in Boston and I must confess that I know nothing of these matters you’re discussing. What has this man Oliver done that his image should be strung up from a tree? And what exactly is a stampman, anyway?”

“A stampman, sir, is a plague upon our liberty,” one of the men said, “and if you plan to settle down in Boston, he shall be a plague on yours. as well Sit down, sir, and it will be our pleasure to enlighten you.”

They made room for Hunter and he joined them at the table

“What is your name, sailor?”

“I’m called Reese Hunter.”

The man offered his hand. “Ben Edes is my name,” he said, “and I am the editor of that newspaper you’ve been reading. These gentlemen are Jared Moffat. Thomas Brown, John Hewitt, and Grant Channing. And as you might have heard. not all of us are in complete agreement.” He scowled at Moffat. Brown. and Hewitt.

“Some of us possess a bit more sense than others.” Moffat said wryly. “And a bit more loyalty, it seems.”

“I’ll hear no more talk of that!” said rides, sharply. “My loyalty is not for you to question, fared Moffat! Besides, our friend has asked a question and we owe him the courtesy of a reply.” He turned to Hunter. “The matter concerns taxes, sir. Unjust and ruinous taxes imposed upon us by greedy and unscrupulous men-”

“You call the king greedy and unscrupulous?” said Brown.

“I’ve not said a word against the king!” snapped Edes. “It is the king’s ministers who are to blame for this! That has been my stand from the beginning, so kindly do not go putting words into my mouth, sir!”

“He has no need for that, Ben,” said Moffat. dryly. “You have a surfeit of your own.”

“Let him speak, Jared,” said Hewitt.

“Thank you, John.” Edes said, frowning at Moffat He turned back to Hunter. “Where was I?”

“You were speaking of taxation.” Hunter prompted him.

“Yes, quite.” said rides. “Revenue. The king’s ministers want revenue.” He grimaced and shifted in his chair. “You see, sir, the matter stands like this. The end of the Seven Years War which we called the French and Indian War here in North America, has left England with a heavy debt of some one hundred and forty million pounds. A considerable sum, you will agree. And revenue is needed, not only to pay that massive debt, but also to provide for the garrisoning of troops here in North America to keep the French from regaining their newly lost possessions.”

“And Lord Grenville thinks it’s only reasonable that the colonies should share in the expense.” said Moffat. “After all, the troops are here for our protection.”

“We can rely on our own militia to protect us,” Eck’s said “Besides, have we not already paid our share? Or have you forgotten who financed lord Amherst’s campaigns during the war? The colonies bore that burden, sir, and it has not pleased Parliament to reimburse us. Yet it pleases them to dip their greedy hands into our pockets, to tell us how we may conduct our trade, and to deny us our own land-”

“Oh. Lord, are you on that again?’ said Moffat. with exasperation.

They took land from you?” said Hunter.

“Land that was never rightly his,” said Moffat. before Edes could reply.

“I paid good money for that land!” protested Edes.

“Oh. admit it. Ben, you stole it.” Moffat said “Why not tell him the truth? What he means is that he paid for it with trinkets; bits of pottery and looking glass is what he calls ‘good money.’ That is the princely coin in which he and other enterprising men have paid the Indians for land on which they hunted.”

“It was a fair bargain! They accepted it!” said Edes

“Only because you pressed it on them,” Moffat said. ‘You took advantage of them, Ben. The Indians know nothing of deeds and rights of purchase. They don’t know what such things mean. I lived on the frontier. I know them better than you do. I understand the way they think.”

He turned to Hunter. “They are a simple, savage people, Hunter. In many ways. they are no more than children. And throughout the colonies, speculators like our friend Ben Edes. and men of means such as Ben Franklin in Philadelphia and Col. George Washington in the Virginia colony saw a way to make an easy profit from them. They bought up large tracts of land from the Indians for trinkets and then sold them for considerable gain to westward moving settlers. Only the Indians didn’t really understand what they had sold, you see. They became alarmed at settlers pushing deep into their hunting grounds. Under Chief Pontiac, the leader of the Ottawa tribe, they rose up in rebellion and destroyed all the frontier settlements in Virginia. Maryland, and Pennsylvania. They were finally defeated by the British troops and our own colonial militia, but the ministry did not want a reoccurrence of the uprising, so they decreed that speculators could no longer buy land from the Indians, but only through officials of the Crown. And they further stipulated that no trading with the Indians could be conducted except with a special license from a royal governor. I think it was a very wise decision, made to keep the peace. but Ben and others like him have been resentful of it ever since.”

“That was not the real reason for the proclamation and you know it.” Edes said angrily. He has merely given you the Tory version of the truth. The real truth is that our British cousins seek to keep us from prosperity. They know that if we are confined to the Atlantic seaboard, our cities will grow and attract skilled artisans from England. They are afraid that we would begin to manufacture and compete with their production. On the other hand. if we continue to push west, our spread will soon take us out of British jurisdiction and we will cease to be dependent on the mother country. So their solution is to suppress our growth by acting to protect the interests of the Indians over our own. And it’s true that I am not the only one who is resentful of it. But they did not stop there, no. sir! They passed a law to keep us from our land and now they seek to stop our trade, as well!”

“The smugglers’ trade, you mean.” said Moffat.

And whose fault is it that we are forced to smuggle?” Edes said. “Do not the distillers need molasses to make rum? Do not the farmers need markets for their grain and cattle? Do not the butchers and the bakers and the lumbermen need markets for their goods, as well? You know as well as I that virtually all the produce of New England is barred from Britain to protect home trade. Yet we must import everything only from them! Is that fair. I ask you? Why should we import European goods only from England when we can obtain them far more cheaply elsewhere?”

“He means that we’ve always sent much of our produce to the French West Indies.” Moffat explained. “where it was traded for molasses and European goods. It’s long been a common practice for the captains and the owners of the ships to falsify their manifests and bribe the customs officers, but it was illegal then and it’s illegal now. The only difference is that now the Acts of Trade and Navigation are being rigidly enforced. Some people seem to think that it’s an imposition to obey the law.”

Ben Edes snorted. “You talk about legality,” he said. ‘What about the old principle of English law that upholds the right of people to be taxed only by their representatives? The Sugar Act was passed without anyone in Parliament remarking upon that. sir! They seek to bleed us dry and make it all seem legal! Now anyone caught smuggling will have their ships and cargoes confiscated, and instead of being tried in our own colonial courts, with juries, as is a citizen’s right, those cases are now heard in admiralty courts, which have no juries. Defendants are presumed guilty until innocence is proven, and even if a man should be proved innocent. he must still pay all the costs and cannot recover any damages. Meanwhile. the Royal Navy leaps at every chance to collect colonial prize money by seizing any vessel ‘suspected’ of being a smuggler, not only merchant ships. mind you, but smaller vessels. too, which are not required to carry manifests of cargo. The Acts of Trade and Navigation enable agents of the Crown to break into any ship. home, store. or warehouse suspected of containing smuggled goods. Where is the legality in that. I ask you? Where is the justice? And now they want to ram the Stamp Act down our throats!

“You want to know why Andrew Oliver was hung in effigy?” Edes asked Hunter. “It is because he has accepted an appointment as the local stamp distributor, to profit from this latest outrage visited upon us. Thanks to the Stamp Act, my newspaper must now be printed on stamped paper taxed at one shilling a sheet. A three-shilling stamp is required on any legal document. School and college diplomas are to be taxed two pounds and a lawyer’s license bears a ten-pound tax. Any appointment to public office must now be written on stamped paper taxed at four pounds. Even playing cards and dice are to be taxed one shilling! I tell you, sir, it is outrageous! And Andrew Oliver has agreed to become a party to this affront against our rights, to distribute the blasted stamps in Boston!”

He took the Gazette from Hunter. opened it. and stabbed a finger at a drawing of a badge-shaped stamp. It had “America” lettered at the top and around a Tudor rose ran the motto of the Order of the Garter, “ Honi soit qui mal y pense.-”

Shame to him who thinks evil of it,” Fries translated in a sarcastic tone. “An irony indeed, considering what most people in the colonies think of Parliament’s new measure! You saw that opinion expressed today upon the Common, sir!”

“The opinion of Sam Adams and the Loyal Nine, perhaps.” said Moffat. “But do not presume these radicals speak for everyone in Boston.”

“Well, certainly not for Governor Bernard,” said Edes. sourly. “But Adams speaks for many of us. The governor wanted the effigies removed at once, yet he was advised against it by the members of his own council!”

“Only because the council felt it would be wise not to provoke an incident.” said Brown.

“Precisely my point!” Edes said. “No incident could be provoked if the public sympathy did not lie with the demonstrators! I heard that Chief Justice Hutchinson ordered the sheriff to pull the figures down, but Sheriff Greenleaf said he feared he’d be risking the lives of his men if he tried to go against the crowd! He saw their mood and knew better than to interfere!”

“Undoubtedly. our fearless sheriff saw some familiar faces in the crowd.” said Moffat. “among them Ebenezer Macintosh, that hard-nosed cobbler who leads the rowdy South End Gang, and Samuel Swift, the leader of the North End Boys, who like nothing better than to break a head or two. I saw them whipping up the crowd myself. And if those two rival. brawling gangs of hooligans have come together for this demonstration. then Greenleaf knows there could be hell to pay before this day is through. I am not surprised that he wanted no part of it.”

At that moment. someone came running into the tavern to announce that the demonstrators were going to march on the stampman’s office.

This I’d like to see.” said Edes, pushing back his chair and heading for the door.

Hunter followed with the others as they hurried toward the Common. It was growing dark as they arrived and the crowd had grown quite large. The demonstrators had pulled down the effigies and nailed them to boards. They hoisted them up onto their shoulders and paraded shouting through the town, followed by the growing crowd of onlookers. Hunter went along as Ebenezer Macintosh led the noisy march to Kilby Street. where Andrew Oliver. the stamp distributor, had established his new office. It took them less than five minutes to demolish it completely.

“And they shout about liberties and rights.” said Moffat. shaking his head as he watched the demonstrators ripping down the building. “Well I’ve seen quite enough.” He turned to Hunter. “I fear that you have pot found Boston at her best, sir. Good fortune to you.”

When the demolition was completed. the crowd moved on to Oliver’s home. The stamp distributor had fled when he heard the crowd approaching, but if he thought they would disperse when they didn’t find him home, he was tragically mistaken.

The rioters used rocks and clubs to smash out all his windows of imported English glass, then they broke open the stables and vandalized his handsome coach. They tore down the garden fence and started a fire in the yard. Most of the onlookers just watched, but a good number of them joined the rioters as they stripped every single fruit tree on the grounds, tore off all the branches, and fed them to the flames. Then they broke into the house itself.

Hunter followed them inside, where they smashed all the furniture to kindling and scattered Oliver’s possessions all about the house. Many of them helped themselves to whatever valuables they found, and not one to waste an opportunity, Hunter stuffed his pockets with jewelry and cash. When in Rome. he thought, do as the Romans do.

There was a lot of celebrating in the taverns on the waterfront that night and Hunter cemented some new friendships by standing men like Ben Edes and Ebenezer Macintosh to drinks, in some cases with money he had picked from their own pockets. He took a small room at an inn and the next day he joined some of his new friends in a delegation of “concerned citizens” who went to visit Andrew Oliver in his shambles of a home, where they convinced him, “for the good of the public.” to resign his royal commission as the distributor of stamps.

Buoyed up by their success, these concerned citizens then decided to further influence their local officials by trashing some more houses. They built a huge bonfire on King Street. the better to attract a crowd, and in a proper festive spirit, they then proceeded to lay waste to the home of William Story, an officer of the vice admiralty court. A few of the more festive souls among the crowd cried out for Story’s life, but he had made good his escape, and they were forced to settle for burning the admiralty records and stealing all his valuables. After Story’s house was burglarized, the mob proceeded to the home of Ben Hallowell, a customs official, where once again they smashed a lot of doors and windows, broke up a lot of furniture, scattered all the books and papers, helped themselves to the contents of the wine cellar, and took away whatever valuables they found. Hunter came away with about two hundred pounds in cash, which he had discovered locked in Hallowell’s desk. He decided that things were going along quite nicely, but they went even better at the home of Chief Justice Thomas Hutchinson.

Hutchinson fled with his family just in time. Shouting “Liberty and property.” the demonstrators demonstrated their respect of same by working diligently through the night to demolish the entire mansion. They first broke open the wine cellars, for it was thirsty work, and while most of them were busy getting drunk and smashing up the furniture. Hunter and Macintosh made a quick search of the house. Their efforts rewarded them with some jewelry and nine hundred pounds sterling, which they divvied up between them.

“Patriotism is its own reward, eh?” said the grinning Macintosh. clapping Hunter on the back. In the short time they had known each other, they had become fast friends. Amazing what a little civil disobedience and alcohol can do. thought Hunter. After the mob finished demolishing the furniture and smashing out the windows, they started tearing up the floors. There was no stopping them. Sheriff Greenleaf arrived and made a token effort at exerting his authority. but a barrage of rocks and bricks made him decide that he had more important things to see to at the office. Having thus repulsed the sheriff, the rioters celebrated their victory by smashing all the dishes and the crystalware. then tearing up the library. They destroyed the books and ripped up all the documents, including the manuscript for

Hutchinson’s history of the Massachusetts colony, which he had been working on for thirty years. Throughout the house, the rioters were going berserk like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. slashing all the mattresses and pillows, tearing down the drapes, smashing through the walls, and ripping down the chandeliers. When the interior of the mansion was completely gutted, the rioters tore the slate shingles off the roof and even dismantled the cupola. which took about three hours, but provided them with no end of satisfaction.

At some point during the night, Governor Bernard had given the order for the drummers to beat the alarm for the militia. but Sheriff Greenleaf had to disappoint him once again. The drummers. he reported sadly, were all part of the mob. It was dawn before the last of the rioters finally dispersed, leaving behind an utter ruin. Nothing remained standing of Boston’s finest mansion except a wall or two and a huge pile of rubble. It looked as if a tornado had touched down upon the spot.

The Boston riots touched off similar events in other cities. Throughout the thirteen colonies, stamp distributors were pressured to resign. With no stamps to pass out, ships whose papers were not stamped were suddenly engaged in smuggling. They could not unload in England without the risk of seizure. In Philadelphia, one hundred and fifty ships had jammed the port. Without stamps for legal documents, courts had no choice but to close down. Writs could not be issued. Land titles couldn’t be conveyed. Trials could not take place. An enterprising man could profit from such a climate of confusion and Reese Hunter found himself among enterprising men.

They called themselves the Sons of Liberty and their leaders met in a tavern called The Bunch of Grapes. Ben Edes had joined the Sons of Liberty and the Gazette became the most radical newspaper in the colonies. Sam Adams used it as his forum. Writing under a wide variety of pseudonyms such as “Determinatus,”

“Brittanicus Americus.”

“A Son of Liberty.”

“A Bostonian,” and “Candidus,” Adams kept up an unceasing barrage of invective against the ministers of the Crown and even against King George, himself, which many citizens of Boston thought was going much too far.

It was one thing to speak out against the ministry and Parliament. but it was something else again when Adams dared to criticize the king. to lecture him in print like an impatient schoolmaster. But most of the citizens of Boston were still unaware that what Sam Adams really wanted was nothing less than total independence from Great Britain, an idea whose time had not yet come, though Hunter knew that it was drawing closer. In another decade, the colonies would declare their independence from the mother country. Hunter intended to be long gone by then. He had no intention of being caught up in the war. But in the meantime. Boston was a fascinating place to be. And Hunter was in no hurry to go anywhere. He had all the time in the world.

It was growing late when he arrived to meet the others at the tavern. The feisty Macintosh was already reeling from the effects of all the wine he’d drunk and he was being twice as loud as usual, which made for a considerable amount of volume.

“An’ I still say it was a mistake,” he slurred angrily. his mind still relatively lucid, though his mouth lagged a bit behind.

He was referring to the collection that had been taken up to repay Thomas Hutchinson for the destruction of his mansion. It had been done at the instigation of Sam Adams. who had spoken out in the Assembly and expressed his outrage at the actions of the mob. Needless to say, the money would not replace the mansion or its precious contents. and Hutchinson was reported to be heartbroken over the loss of his priceless History of Massachusetts Bay, thirty years of work undone in just one night. The morning following the riot, he had appeared in court among his fellow red-robed justices, wearing only what he’d escaped in the previous night. He had borrowed an ill-fitting coat from the neighbors he was staying with and he was a pathetic sight, indeed.

Sam Adams. unlike Macintosh. was fully able to appreciate how the sympathies of Boston would lie with a proud. distinguished citizen so humbled and he had sought to prove that the Sons of Liberty. while opposed to men like Hutchinson in principle, were not a ruthless bunch of thugs-which was precisely what many of them were. And despite the fact that he had organized the demonstration. something he prudently did not admit in public. Adams sincerely sought to make amends. Much like Col. George Washington of Virginia. whose family crest bore the Latin motto, “ Exitus Acta Probat “ (The End Justifies the Means). Adams was not above utilizing any means he felt were necessary to achieve the end he had in mind. but he fully understood the subtleties of propaganda.

Macintosh did not appreciate such tactics. “We taught that royalist bootlicker a proper lesson!” he shouted, slapping his palm down on the table and upsetting his glass of wine. “I say he had it comin’!” And now Sam Adams goes to him with hat in hand and humbly begs his pardon. sayin. ‘Please, Yer Worship, forgive us all the trespass and kindly accept these monies by way of reparation.’ Apologizin’ to the likes o’ him!”

“It’s not like that at all Mac,” Edes reassured him. “Sam Adams knows what he’s about. What’s the point of all we’re doing if public opinion turns against us? This way. Sam, stands by his principles and the Sons of Liberty have demonstrated that while our zeal is undiminished, we still have a concern for justice. And the lesson on Tom Hutchinson isn’t lost, believe

“Well, maybe so,” Macintosh admitted grudgingly, “but I still say we shouldn’t give the bastard one damn shilling! Tom Hutchinson is Massachusetts born an’ bred an’ I say he’s a traitor to his own! An’ I dare any man who thinks I’m wrong to stand up an’ say so to my face!”

At that precise instant. something came crashing through the window of the tavern. struck Macintosh full in the chest, and knocked him and his chair backward to the floor. Stunned. Macintosh sat up and stared at the object that had felled him. It was a pumpkin carved into a jack-o-lantern. Its smashed and pulpy pieces lay splattered all around him. Chairs fell to the floor as the Sons of Liberty leapt to their feet and a bellowing Macintosh led the charge outside.

For a moment, they saw nothing, but then they heard the rapid beat of iron-shod hooves on cobblestones. A black-clad rider with a long, billowing cloak came hurtling at them from the shadows, scattering the group. He turned, reining in sharply, and the handsome, jet-black stallion reared up. its forelegs pawing at the sky as the rider’s screeching laughter filled the air.

He had no head.

His keening laughter echoed through the night as he came thundering at them once again. His horse struck a gaping Jebediah Stiles and sent him sprawling as the rider plowed through them like a juggernaut, wheeled around, pulled in his reins, and reared up once again. Ransome Howard swore. pulled out his sheath knife, and hurled it at the horseman.

It went right though him.

With a maniacal screech, the rider bore down upon them once again and as the others scattered. Hunter stood and stared. astonished, as both the horse and rider vanished right before their eyes. leaving behind nothing but the echo of the horseman’s wild laughter.

“Holy Mary Mother o’ God!” breathed Macintosh, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Is it the drink. or did I really see that?

“I saw it. too!” said Dudley Brenton. “He had no head’ The rider had no head! “

“Your knife went right through him!” Eli Cruger said to Howard.

“No, he missed,” said someone.

“I didn’t miss.” insisted Howard. “I never miss.” He swallowed hard and crossed himself. “It was a ghost, sure as I live and breathe! A demon straight from hell!”

“ You saw it. Reese!” said Macintosh. his eyes bulging. “You saw! He vanished straightaway, before our very eyes! That was no man, Reese! Men don’t just disappear! It was a ghost! You saw!”

“Yes. Mac, I saw,” said Hunter. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“A haunting!” Macintosh said hoarsely. “A haunting. that’s what it was! You all saw it same as I did, every man jack of you!”

Hunter bit his lower hp. His fingers felt the warp disc on its bracelet, concealed under his left sleeve. He turned and started walking quickly down the street.

Macintosh ran after him. “Reese! Wait! Where are you going’?”

“Go back, Mac,” Hunter said. “I have to go and see someone.”

“I’ll go with you!”

“No, Mac, I must go alone.”

“You’re going to tell Sam?”

“No, you go and tell him if you wish.” said Hunter. “But you’d best take some of the others with you, for I’m afraid he’s going to need a good deal of convincing. I have to go see someone else.” He paused. “They’ll take some convincing. too, but somehow I must make them believe me.”

He turned and walked away from the bewildered, frightened Macintosh and entered a dark and narrow alleyway. He looked around, pushed back his sleeve, and quickly programmed a sequence of transition coordinates into the warp disc. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily.

“I sure hope I know what the hell I’m doing,” he said.

A moment later. Macintosh came running after him into the alley. “Reese, wait!” he cried. He stopped suddenly and looked around. “What the devil…”

The alley ended in a cul de sac. hut Hunter was nowhere in sight.