Traveler, Book One of the Druid Chronicles by J. Paige Dunn

Author:J. Paige Dunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: witch, pagan, druid, pagan fiction, magic adventure, postapocalyptic speculative fiction, epic adventure fantasy, postapocalyptic fantasy, erotica adult fiction action drama and fantasy, adventure and fantasy

Chapter 13 – Ambush

Rules of Gunfighting #8:

In ten years nobody will remember the details of caliber, stance, or tactics. They will only remember who lived.

I rose with the dawn. That is, if it could be called rising when I hadn’t slept all night. I quietly packed all our belongings, and began strapping weapons to my body: boot knife, then slender belt upon which the tomahawks hung, followed by the machete on its wider belt, buckled about my hips. The Ithaca 37 was in its holster on my back. I stood there with the newly acquired rifle in my hands, unsure what to do with it. I laid it on Sinclair’s workbench; it added too much weight, so I decided not to take it with me.

“Glad to see you both survived,” said a rusty voice.

I turned to see Sinclair standing in the doorway.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He let out a snort. “Ain’t nobody gonna come after a blind old man. Kinda hard to tell who’s a witch or whatnot when you’re blind. People think I’m senile anyway. Come on, I want to show you something.” He gestured for me to follow.

With a quick glance at Angie to make sure she was still sleeping, I went with him. From a high shelf, he pulled down an object wrapped in oilskin. He unwrapped it, revealing a leather bandolier. The inside was lined with slick, polished leather. The outside was studded with leather loops for holding shells. It could hold a lot of them, too, many more than my shotgun holster.

“It’ll hold about twenty shells in the front and seventeen in the back” Sinclair explained, his hands sliding over the well-oiled leather. “See this?” He fingered a small toggle dangling from the strap, where it would lay over the front of someone’s shoulder.

“This is my own invention.” He slipped the bandolier over his head, adjusted it in place, and gripped the toggle. “Knowing you, you’ll go through twenty shells in no time,” he said. He gave the toggle a yank, and the smooth leather slipped over his shirt as the entire thing rotated, bringing the rear shells to the front. “This cuts a little off your reload time, ‘cause you don’t have to take it off to get to the shells in the back.”

“Volcanic,” I said. “Did you make it yourself?”

“I had it made for me.” His hands ran lovingly over the leather. “I want you to take it.”

It was then that I realized that this was Sinclair’s Traveling gear. I looked up, astonished. “You’re giving me this?”

“It’s not like I can use it anymore. I want it to go to someone who will appreciate and use it.”

“I can’t just take this,” I protested.

“You can and you will.” He tilted his head, as though listening for Angie in the next room. “If you two are about what I think you are, you’re going to need it.” He paused, handing the bandolier to me. “Druids are a force for good in this blasted world,” he added softly.

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