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Anthracite City: The Mountain Men Cometh

An Anthracite City Story

By Psion

All Rights Reserved

To the east of Anthracite City lied the ruins of what was once Central Pennsylvania. Like much of the highlands of the Appalachian Mountains, this part of the state once consisted of sleepy farm valleys nestled between majestic forested mountains. Then the Rik-Tah invaded the world from whatever other parallel reality they inhabited and brought an endless winter with them. Weather control machines belched huge plumes of a cloud-like substance, artificially chilling the local climate. Where there were once dairy farms, vineyards, and Amish homesteads was now endless snow-covered plains and mountains. Those that didn't die in the invasion or the calamities that followed were either rounded up and forced to work in the aliens' fortress-cities or huddled in ruined settlements. Every day was a battle against something; the cold, starvation, disease, raiders either human or otherwise. Most days ended in a victory if only just but some days... some days the Children of Columbia kicked down your door.

The Children of Columbia, right-wing American ultra nationalists from a world where anthromorphs of various types became the dominant lifeform instead of humans. Rabid, gun-toting savages so enamored with "Guns, Glory, and God" that even the staunchest pundit of the modern neo-conservative doctrine would look at them and shout "Dudes, chill out!" before he was ruthlessly gunned down for his "disloyalty." Dressed in uniforms and armed with weapons from the Second World War, a conflict they romanticized to the point of obsession, the Children were a brutally effective if somewhat inefficient shock trooper unit. While imposing, there were a handful of weaknesses in the doctrines they were slavishly devoted to, weaknesses that could be exploited by properly equipped military remnants or particularly cunning war parties.

Yet the village the Children of Columbia attacked was neither of these. A small encampment of thirty some survivors trying to scratch sustenance out of the permafrost earth at the edge of a huge forest, they were little more then a rare victory where Major Drums and her fanatical minions managed to take a settlement without firing a single shot. Those were becoming rarer every day it seems, almost like these inferior furless creatures were actually getting better at fighting...

The leonine leader of the Children of Columbia frowned as her minions rounded up the villagers, beating up those who resisted and dragging them all into what passed for the town square in a clump of about ten crudely-built log cabins. Normally she would just have her minions shoot the townsfolk and burn this pitiful excuse for civilization down to the ground; humans were a crude, disgusting species that deserved little better except perhaps a continued existence under her firm boot heel. Unfortunately keeping her forces at fighting condition had put a strain on her line of credit with the aliens that had agreed to shelter her on this forsaken planet after the local authorities on her own world became... persistent in their mission to dismantle her organization. Curse them all, from that liberal-commie Megavixen to that traitor Rivetgal! They haven't heard the last of her; not yet, she still had to make them pay for that embarrassing defeat on the outskirts of Silicon City. But she was getting ahead of herself; to make sure she could maintain lines of supply she needed to march these furless vermin back to Anthracite City where she would get reimbursed for making sure they learned their place in the world through hard toil making arms and armor for her continued crusade, God bless the military-industrial complex.

Speaking of industry though, there was the tiny matter of bringing the newly "acquired" laborers to the Rik-Tah's factories quickly before they froze to death. Unfolding her topographical map and tracing what appeared to be the fastest route with her finger, she considered her options briefly before giving her troops their marching orders. Empowered voice ringing true, she ordered her righteous soldiers to gather up the prisoners and march them through the forest to the ruined highway on the other side. Once there, they would continue to march on to Anthracite City. The look of terror that appeared in the children's eyes was intoxicating but curiously the adults seemed to just have this look of resignation to them, as if they thought they weren't going to survive the journey to Anthracite City and accepted it. Could they really be afraid of the forest? Oh of all the rich superstitious silliness, clearly the humans were of an inferior species...

<And this is coming from a bitch that doesn't believe in transistors or microchips.> A voice in her head interrupted telepathically... her contact, she thought with a scowl. One of the locals, a human with latent gifts that would have been left to slumber wastefully and how did he thank his masters for these gifts? Of all the obstinate, insolent furless creatures... what she wouldn't give to break this one under her boot heel.

<Love you too sweetie. Sorry, I don't go for the whole BDSM thing.> The human cackled. Why if he weren't sealed in that alien alloy tank then she would show him the instant she... <You know this wouldn't be even half as fun if you weren't such a Puritan tight-ass. I'll tell the bosses you'll be back soon.> And like that, he was gone.

Shaking her head, she signaled the procession onward with a wave of her hand. Reluctantly, almost too slowly for her personal tastes, her prisoners let themselves be led into the overgrown woods. Bare deciduous trees and brushy evergreens extended for miles ahead of them as Major Drums and her troops marched on, unaware of the shadowy figures that darted from tree to tree. Apparently not all of the forest's inhabitants were dumb, feral beasts...

Three of her regular foot soldiers were the first to vanish. One minute they were there, bringing up the rear to keep the captives from sneaking away, the next they weren't. At first Drums wanted to leave them behind, they were not empowered like her or her inner circle so they were not as valuable to her crusade but eventually curiosity won out. If they disappeared they had to go somewhere.

She found them less then five minutes later, dead at the foot of a massive oak tree. One had his throat cut from cheek to cheek, the other two died of puncture wounds when something about the thickness of a pencil went into their backs and through a lung on each of them. All three were stripped of anything valuable that wasn't soaked in blood, coats and trousers were left behind but their boots were stolen, as were their weapons and any spare ammunition they carried.

The feline radical fought to keep fear from gripping her heart as she ordered the rest of the procession to resume their march. Her slain men would be taken care of later; likely the aliens and their infernal machines were already on their way. As much as she was loathed to admit it, her forces would have been completely eradicated a long time ago were it not for the aliens and their borderline heretical knowledge of medical science. Even still, most of her fighting forces were currently hospitalized, the price of her incompetence her telepathic contact would likely say. Still, whether her fighters were permanently killed or not, they weren't here. They were not here to help her fight whatever liberal trickery was afoot here and there most assuredly was something foul going on. And with eight left between herself, her trusted lieutenant War Mare, and a handful of Thompson-armed foot soldiers, she didn't have many to waste on further ambushes.

Continuing on though, the Children of Columbia soon discovered why the locals were afraid of the forest. Several species of lifeforms engineered by the Rik-Tah, some of them known colloquially as "Frankenstocks" for their origins as domestic livestock and similar creatures, had nested in the forest. Major Drums' first clue about this was several wild boars, each the size of a motorcycle, charging out of the brush and running all out towards the marching procession. The humans with them panicked and tried to flee; a few of her loyal purists opened fire and tried to stop them. A costly mistake as it took their attention away from the feral porcine goring them with freakishly oversized tusks. Fortunately the rest of her troops were intelligent enough to remained focused on the real targets, War Mare and Drums stood back to back, knocking aside the giant wild pigs like they were made of paper while her remaining foot soldiers fired at the animal pack with Thompson submachine guns firing on full auto. The rest of the battle passed in a blur of weapons fire, super-strong punches, and sonic screams, ending with the Children surrounded by the battered corpses of slain boars. Now to recollect their scattered prisoners...

No sooner had the wildlife been killed then the mysterious individuals returned. Flickers of movement in the fading light of the setting sun lingered just out of sight as the shadowy strangers continued picking off her troops. This time they were less subtle about it, an arrow or a crossbow bolt exploding from the darkness to imbed itself into one of her troops and her surviving soldiers returning fire only to hit empty woodland. One by one they were whittled down until only War Mare and Major Drums remained.

A towering, positively ripped equine anthro woman endowed with super-strong muscle, the statuesque War Mare remained nonplused despite being confronted by a still unknown number of foes. Steel blue eyes regarded her surroundings carefully as her long blond mane flowed freely in a slight winter breeze. Muscles bulged and grew taut as the magnificent mare impulsively flexed inside of her winter combat fatigues... and took an arrow squarely to the throat. Falling over as blood spurted from her neck, the mighty equine warhorse was defeated. Major Drums suddenly wished she hadn't picked a target so far away from the nearest base, where were the scarab robots to collect her fallen soldiers?

Separated from the rest of her zealots, the firebrand lioness watched as six heavily clothed figures emerged from hiding. Compound bows and crossbows were slung over their shoulders, each hunter twirling a knife, machete, or hatchet menacingly. Each woodsman was clad in thick winter clothing; boots, snow pants, parkas, scarves, balaclavas, and gloves. Both pants and coats moved stiffly, Drums immediately realized that both garments had been coated with white paint to better camouflage them. Her foes were so heavily insulated against the cold, gender and ethnicity were impossible to determine. Yet there was no mistaking those flat faces, these were humans, every last one of them.

Opening her mouth and unleashing a piercing scream, the lioness discovered to her horror that her opening attack did not have quite the impact she expected. Having heard the stories of Major Drums the sonic screamer, her attackers braced themselves and covered their ears. Not the most effective protection, she still knocked a few off of their feet and sent them flying into the trees. But it was effective enough, four still stood to challenge her. Their ears may still be ringing but they had no need to communicate their purpose to her or each other. The battle was as short as it was brutal; Drums fought fiercely with her metallic maces and so did her opponents with knives and machetes. Once their blades found purchase and drew blood, her foes did not let up...

By the time the carrion drones arrived with their usual robotic escort, the Rik-Tah found that Major Drums and her entire troop had been slaughtered. Weapons and ammo were looted, equipment was gone, and there was no sign of either the human villagers that Drums had captured or the mysterious force that apparently rescued them. Cross-referencing data extracted from Major Drums's soul crystal with similar attacks in the area confirmed initial suspicions...

Locals of the Pennsylvanian tundra tell each other stories of a group of nomadic hunters known colloquially as the "Mountain Men." No one knows if that was their real name or if they even had one but all the stories told of six individuals, all survivalists of some sort. Details varied, some believed that they were six defectors from a right-wing militant compound while others thought they were a band of Eagle Scouts fighting to stick to their code and beliefs in a broken world gone mad. Regardless of how they acquired their skills, the Mountain Men were hardened hunters and woodsmen, modern-day woodland ninjas in the post-Invasion world. And while most stories portrayed them as insular people that largely kept to themselves, avoiding contact with other groups except to trade fresh Frankenstock kills for leather and furs, at the end of the day the Mountain Men did their part to sabotage the enemy's continued hold on their home....