Excerpt

PART 1: WEST RIDGE

CHAPTER 1

Melinda never missed, not in her 29 years on this earth. But then again, she never dealt with giant, flying scorpions before.

She aimed at the two shapes above a cactus several hundred feet away, fired, and watched as one of the bodies dropped.

Aside from being bigger than any insect on this earth ought to be, the scorpions' six back legs were webbed, giving them the oh-so-handy ability to become airborne. A calf-sized one flew through the air with its green-tipped tail poised directly toward her head.

She slid behind a toppled boulder, dust whipping up and stinging her eyes, as the scorpion soared past, pincers outstretched. Its back legs brushed the tip of her wide-brimmed hat, caught a draft, and swept back toward her like a giant leaf in the wind.

Four sets of white eyes alongside its orange head fixed on Melinda as it came back around. She sucked in a breath and fired her pistol again, praying the wind wouldn't shift.

The bullet tore through the insect's shell, ripping open its soft insides. Its chitin shattered like it was made of fine china. Bright green goo splattered on the cacti and rocks around her.

"These bugs ain't joking," Lance huffed as he crouched next to Melinda, his brown hat askew. The grooves along his mouth deepened as he rooted in his knapsack for a weapon, the blondish stubble on his chin dark with dust. "Never seen this many air scorpions before in one place except in pictures. Looks like their guts'll sting something awful."

"Poisonous, no doubt. Aunt Beatrice would sure love a sample. Bullets?"

"Almost out." He hoisted his rifle.

"Bombs?" she asked.

"Just the one," Lance said as they both peered over the edge of the hill at the sharp drop leading to the mine. Hundreds of the orange and beige insects scuttled out of the mine entrance, agitated, it seemed, by Melinda and Lance's presence. The gash in the side of the hill was flanked by a steep rise in the earth around it, creating a bowl into which the scorpions poured.

One of the creatures lifted its webbed legs to catch a gust of wind blowing toward them. Before it could take flight, Lance's shot rang out, exploding the bug into green goo. The rest of the scorpions in the pile chittered and clanked their pincers. Though they'd seen plenty of odd creatures in their line of work, this sound was one Melinda was sure would haunt her dreams.

"Shouldn't have used them all up in Old Rivers." Melinda tucked an escaped dark strand of hair back into her hat as Lance passed her the tacky bomb, one of Abel's inventions.

"It did a pretty good number on those fire cattle though. Splattered their guts like fireworks. Want me to toss?"

"Who has better aim?"

Lance chuckled and handed her the air-pressured blaster, in the shape of a clunky gun. She set about the tedious process of loading it with the tacky bomb, a trap of hammered metal housing a custom explosive.

Hooves thundered behind them. The local sheriff who had summoned them, named Gatsum or Garry or something like that, Melinda couldn't remember which, scrambled off his horse. He stared aghast at the mine, his badge flashing like a beacon in the morning sun.

"What do we do?" The sheriff shouted, his eyes wide as his mustang's spots. He peered at the pit. "Lordy help us. We got to evacuate. We're ruined. I told that goddamned Carson not to blow a hole into this godforsaken land. Couldn't wait for his hermit of an uncle to die so he could start mining. Dammit Carson."

"Easy, partner," Lance said. "We've dealt with bigger bads than this, believe it or not. Any bug can be squashed, and we're the ones to do it."

"What do they want?" The sheriff wiped his forehead before replacing his hat.

"Sometimes critters get it in their heads to look for greener pastures," Lance said. "So, they wander out from the Edge."

"We don't know much about that here," the sheriff sniffed. Melinda understood. Some folks didn't want to say the Edge out loud from superstition; they did the best they could to ignore the no-man's land of monsters nestled in the northern mountains. Even so, plenty of creatures swarmed out from the Edge, taking up residence in the pockets of hills or lakes, or wherever they could find food.

But never this far south.

"First time we've seen critters this big way out in the dustlands," Melinda said. "You got any idea why they ventured so far? Or how?"

"Something disturbed them, maybe," Lance mused.

"Don't matter none. We'll teach them," the sheriff huffed. He reached toward his saddle and yanked out a mallet nearly the size of the horse's leg.

"Mighty fine-looking hammer, but wouldn't do that," Lance said. "Their blood's got a sting."

The sheriff moaned. "They're coming out!"

Melinda turned her sights back on the pit of squirming scorpions, more of which poured out of the entrance. She breathed, the tiny muscles around her eyes relaxed. She fired the blaster, sending the tacky bomb soaring through the air. It stuck along the top of the wooden frame of the mining entrance.

Melinda pulled out her rifle and steadied, putting the explosive in her sights. The mix of Abel's unique concoction of compressed gunpowder cake and one of his experimental potions would make the tacky bomb consume everything—natural or unnatural—in its path.

So long, suckers. You picked the wrong place to nest.

"Hurry," the sheriff said as a fresh wave of scorpions crawled out of the mining entrance. A few lifted themselves up as the wind picked up again. "What are you waiting for!"

"One thing," Melinda said. "Got our payment?"

"You gotta—they're about to swarm—"

"Let's see it," she said without moving.

"What in the Lord's name is she waiting for?" the sheriff shouted. "I'll do it myself."

Lance spat out a small glob of tobacco. "Most people can't make that shot there. Surprised if I could."

"Your money's right here, goddammit." The sheriff pulled out the envelope wrapped in twine. Melinda waited until she heard Lance rip it open and the sound of his satisfied breath.

She took the shot.