“What’s wrong with her?” Graham asked.
“Z-12,” Tyrus responded. “She’s either going to become a demon or she is going to die a very horrible death.”
If Graham could go pale, he would of. Instead, he growled.
“Anything that we can do?”
“We have some pain killers that may help in the—“
Forrest didn’t finish his sentence when Wood had brushed past him. “Where are you going?”
“Gettin’ some medicine. Be back.”
“Wood?” Graham asked turning to him. “What did you do before all of this? Before you killed those people even?”
Wood grinned, lazily. “I taught science.” And with that, he was gone.
Forrest and Tyrus stole glances at each other, amazed at that revelation. Graham just nodded.
“We need people like him,” Jacob said, wiping the little girl’s brow clean of sweat. “We need people like all of you. Hell. People that can protect us, get us back on our feet…no matter the cost.”
No matter the cost, Graham’s mind whispered. He looked over to the girl. She was frail and quivering. Pain, she was in pain. She never wanted this. Heck, months ago the worst pain she might have had was a paper cut from her homework. Then why was she becoming a casualty in this? Why was this world so messed up? So messed up that a little girl has to struggle through life without a chance. She didn’t choose this life, so someone, somewhere had to make it better for her.
The dawn had to start with him.
_
“Samson.”
Celine entered the old club with a clean sweeping motion, ignoring all the patrons. Old music from the fifties and sixties played in the back as people gathered to get a drink. Or a different type of pick me up. A dance floor was in the middle, only touched by the loosest of people. Unsteady benches and stools sat in the club, but only a few people used them. The rest of the throng stood and talked in the haze of smoke their cigarettes huffed. Samson sat on the edge of the room, drinking his beer alone. A few unclothed women and men surrounded him, but he paid no mind to them. He was too in love with his mug.
“Samson,” Celine repeated, pushing the women and men aside. One scoffed.
“Excuse me, do you belong here?” The dark haired woman said, looking at Celine with angry glares.
“Leave my presence.”
“Don’t tell me what to—“
The woman’s words came to a cold stop, eyes caught into a trance-like state. Celine didn’t use her power often like this, it was demeaning. However, she hadn’t the time or the patience to deal with a two-bit hooker with a chip on her shoulder. “You will leave us. If your girls and men cannot follow the same directions, I want you to kill them.” Everyone in ear’s length went pale. Samson just sipped his beer.
“Yes…” the dark haired woman said in response.
“Got it. Get along, now.”
The thrall of a woman quickly grabbed her associates and disappeared back into the throng of people, leaving Samson alone. Celine pulled a seat for herself, and crossed her arms.
“You could have just asked them to leave,” Samson said, taking another sip.
“At least I didn’t kill her.”
“It crossed your mind.”
“It doesn’t matter what crossed my mind, Samson.” Well, it did crossed my mind but that’s not the point. Celine took a deep breath. “Do you know what is going on with Conjurer and River?”
“And Brink,” he added.
Celine glared, mouth twitching angrily. Samson put down his mug. “Brink was there. Why was my brother there?”
“Apparently, he has taken interest in the Drifter.”
“Does he know about Graham?”
“I couldn’t tell you. All I know is that Conjurer and Brink are conjuring something nasty for the Drifter at the Tear. I couldn’t tell you what that was. Whatever the Drifter is trying to find out, they want to bury it.”
Celine nodded, rubbing the small white jewel on her necklace. “They don’t know what they are getting into.”
“And you do? Last time I checked, we should be considering the Drifter’s pursuit for the truth as a threat as well.”
“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, Samson.”
“Don’t understand or unwilling to be shared?” The man took the scorn with pride, picking up the beer again. “You’re going to have to choose a side before he finds out.”
“He’s not going to find out…” Celine leaned in forward, eyes fixed on Samson. “He won’t find out, right, Sam?”
Samson knew better not to test Celine. He could already feel the cobwebs cluttering in his mind. Her power was frightening. In one moment, your mind could be in her possession. One moment, she can crush it. All she needed was a space as small as a crack in the door. More often than not, like a draft, she found away in. Then you were gone. She had you. Only the strongest of the strong minds and some mutants could resist her power. Samson was neither of those things, especially after his third beer. “Do you understand? He won’t find out about my involvement.”
“I-I understand,” Samson choked.
And with a simple toss of her hair, the needles in Samson’s mind was gone.
“I would never betray you, Celine.”
“Brutus might’ve told Caesar that plenty of times. Yet, it didn’t stop his knife.”
Embarrassed and a little frightened, Samson drained his mug dry. Looking down, he asked: “How did that other one come back? Graham was it. Why are you looking after him?”
Celine didn’t feel she needed to answer this, but she did. “There are things that I have not been told. However, I supposed that Graham knew. He doesn’t remember. I doubt that he ever will now.”
“So you tried to get them from a dead man?”
“And what resulted was him getting up. An unexpected turn of events of my power, I guess. His resolve to live must have been unique. Now he’s part of this horrid game. If Brink or higher members of our organization finds out about Graham’s state, they will become threatened. They will work hard to kill him. We need his part of the truth. We need to figure out how this…exactly happened. Even if that means—“Celine took a deep breath. “Even if that means waking the giant. That’s why. Happy.”
“I would have been happier if you didn’t just try to brain rape me.”
“Oh please. That could have been plenty worse.” Doubtless, it would have been. Tapping into the brain was simple work for her now. Yet her potential lied mostly in a much more dangerous part of the mind. So in fact, she took it easy on him. Things could have been A LOT worse. She dove into her pocket, producing a key. “Give this to the bartender. It’s for the supplies to the north of town. That should pay for any more rounds you might want to take up. But, I do expect you back watching Conjurer tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I’m glad that we understand each other. Now if you excuse me.”
Of course, she didn’t need permission. Celine shoved herself from the seat, leaving the man alone collecting the fragments of his pride. She had too much stuff on her mind now to help him pick them up. What was a single man’s self-esteem in comparison to the problems she had to fix? Graham, she thought. Somehow, his piece of the puzzle was still missing. Everyone’s running out of time, the countdown has begun.
14
The Countdown
“The road less traveled is the best road. What if that road was a dead end; what if it only led to gnarled trees and a bottomless swamp, what then?”
Endless pushups helped him keep his sanity.
Graham slept the previous night, something that eluded him in the past few. He thought the taste of human flesh in his mouth would have finally settled in. It didn’t. Honestly, he hardly felt anything on that front. He did feel something else. That dream, an ambient rain in a dark wooden room with only a chair and a few windows, stayed with him through the
morning. Even now, the non-existent pattering caroled in his eardrums.
So, he trained to get it out of his system.
Still unsure if it helped his body any, exercise was the only way he knew how to cleanse his system. He had gone through several different routines. He broke many of his human limits by a significant amount of sets. The thought of the sheer power felt intoxicating. If not for the hunger, he would have pushed harder. But, then again, if he had something readily to eat, that wouldn’t have stopped him.
Finishing his three-hundredth push up, Graham plopped backwards on the floor. There he just sat, staring up at the sky above him. This was his home now. Somehow through all of this, he wished that his squad—at least one—was alive. That hope, like many others, crumbled into dust in his mouth. Now, he was surviving like the rest of the world. The only thing that was pushing him was his objective. At first it was just finding the truth. That wasn’t all he wanted now, was it?
Blood is what he wanted; it is what he always wanted. He took his military job seriously in the past, almost to the point that his social life crumbled. Corporal Graham was a good soldier. But, David was a horrible civilian. His biggest fear was what he would do after he was out. That fear was misplaced. What really bothered him lied somewhere else. He didn’t want to leave the military for one reason. I never made a difference. There were too many people being hurt, too many people that needed protection to sleep soundly at night. Someone needed to make that happen for the masses. Someone had to get their hands dirty. That I’m willing to do.
Graham pulled himself to his feet, using the metal railing of the bunk as leverage. The Moonlight Marches were tough territories. He needed to be equipped lighter than he was before. His choice kept it simple: a black tank-top, light body armor, grey cargo pants, and boots. He chose to abandon his SAW. It was an effective weapon, especially in a squad and preemptive strikes. It wouldn’t work in these conditions. He needed something quicker light weight. Raleigh provided him with almost any weapon under the sun. After plenty of thought, he swapped his LMG for a M4 Carbine and a pistol his secondary. The weapons felt comfortable in his hands. Some may say too comfortable. Only a few guns felt this right.
After getting a few things from his truck, he headed back to the hamlet. They were still in the general area of the village they delivered rations to earlier. Jacob showed them hospitality. This time the caravan wasn’t comfortable. Everyone was stiff, almost like statues. Perhaps they had gotten relaxed before. A mistake that cost 35 lives. Don’t act like you weren’t in fault, Mr. Protector. Drifter drilled into their heads not to be. Yet, it happened. They were never as sharp and aware as they were now.
Morning still hugged the world with its reddish glow. The air was dry, tasting of metal and oil. Sentries saluted Graham as he briskly headed for the Drifter’s caravan. Much to his surprise, the white-haired man was sitting outside having a morning snack of crackers and water. He abandoned his normal broken lens glasses for a pair of round, classic sunglasses. His long white hair was messy, sitting under his straw hat like a shaggy curtain. Drifter pushed the glasses on his face, preparing to sip the mug. “Mornin’ Mr. Graham.”
“Drifter.”
“You have some questions, I take it? Or rather a question. ”
“Why did you take the risk?” Of course you’re blaming him. He couldn’t ask before, not in front of everyone. Now, Graham could. He needed to know why Drifter would take a risk with someone as unstable as Conjurer. “Lives were lost for what?”
Drifter just sipped his water in response, his blue eyes unmoving. “Can you tell me that you wouldn’t have?”
Graham thought about it for a while.
“I would have taken the risk…” he admitted.
“Of course you would’ve ‘cause I don’t misjudge people.” Drifter’s voice took that coolness that he expected. “You don’t think I care. But I do. I’ve known these people much longer than you. I regret they lost their lives, but they knew the risk as well. Everything’s not easy and clean cut as any of us wants it.”
“How do you explain that to the dead?”
Drifter chuckled at the irony. “Do the dead listen, boy?”
“I listen.”
“Not as good as you think you do.”
Unarmored against the wits of a master, Graham stood down. There were fights that you just couldn’t win, no matter how hard you tried. I know that I’m wrong here. Whatever happened at Rootgrove couldn’t be avoided. He shouldered his weapon, leaning against the metal behind him. “What do we do now?”
“What we’ve always done.”
Words didn’t seem to matter after that. Graham knew exactly what he meant. He planned to leave, but Drifter seized his arm. “By any chance, did you see a man by the name of Jacob in the town we visited earlier,” he asked him.
“Yes,” Graham answered. “Any reason?”
There was no response, only Drifter draining his small glass dry.
_
“Jacob.”
It had been a moment’s notice, but Drifter called him for an emergency. Wood, like always, obliged.
Drifter, looking as casual as he had ever been in these situations, lied reclined on a half torn loveseat around the barrel fire. His legs stretched over the remaining arm. He had even taken his boots off, stretching out in the sun. For him, it appeared that he found some paradise. If not for the rest of the world, no one could contest that he didn’t. “Jacob,” he repeated, grinning. “Do you have a minute?”
Heron, on her own accord, led Jacob by the hand to sit in a rusted chair across the flames. She stood beside him as relaxed as an office assistant, with the impassive expression to match. Wood sat, crouched like a monkey, beside his uncle. He had been up all night, so he knew he looked sleepy. Everyone looked so casual. Everyone except Jacob, he looked really nervous. Wood knew that even battling his eyelids.
“Drifter. I expected you to be gone,” Jacob said, coolly as he could.
“I would be,” Drifter began. “But, I might’ve caught wind of something.”
Wood knew this to be true as well. Jasmine, the small girl from yesterday, awoke last night. He took the liberty to give her medicine and nourishment through an IV when she awoke. Almost instantly, she liked him. She kept mentioning one thing through her fevers and flashes in and out of consciousness. “They’re going to take me. I don’t want to go.” He hadn’t known what she had meant. That was until he looked deeper into the village. There was something going on here.
“Jasmine mentioned they are gonna to take her,” Wood said, watching Jacob’s face go pale. “Who’s gonna to take her?”
Drifter yawned. “There’re only a few options. Marauders are a good guess. Yet, I doubt with the arms I provided that they would be a problem. Some local faction perhaps. Doubt it.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “They usually leave a sign that they’ve been here. Ego is a pretty big thing for them, don’t you think?” Drifter chuckled, as though this was some sort of game. “That leaves one thing.”
Jacob gulped.
“The Ancestors are taking people, specifically potential demons and mutants away. Correct?”
Heron and Wood both knew that Drifter didn’t need affirmation. His guess was correct.
“As a trust-worthy contact, I expected you to tell me about this mishap. Expected, but not guaranteed. Take this as a lesson, both of you. Nothing’s guaranteed….” Drifter took off his glasses, but still remained relaxed. “Even safety.”
Jacob cringed, sweating bullets as Drifter reached inside of his pocket for something. But nothing happened, just the insane guffawing of the mad man’s humor. He just pulled out a cloth to wipe his face dry of sweat.
“I’m an understandin’ man. I’m not blind; I see that you are in a bind. Oh that rhymed. Hahaha, the cleverness in it all...but please…make your next move wisely. I wouldn’t want to kill you.”
“I—yes, they’ve been coming to take our
family, our friends. Anyone that has been affected by the sickness or showed any resemblance of becoming—“Jacob looked at Wood, then Heron. “Becoming like them. We tried to fight them off, but that only led to more dead. So….we just gave up. I was starting to think maybe…” He coughed, trying to calm his nervousness. “I didn’t want to ask your help.”
Something wasn’t being told. Everyone could feel it. Drifter could’ve caught the feeling, even formed the words on his lips. But, he didn’t. He just reclined until he was completely on his back.
Heron flicked a hair from her face, grinning. “You aren’t going to chase that.”
Drifter didn’t answer.
“He already has his answer.” Wood knew why he didn’t chase the topic. There were people here, watching. A lot of the people stopped. Standing in a circle, the mob of weary faces waited for the next topic to be said. Everyone could feel it. There was one person in the group that was more than just a villager: a watchdog. Up until this point, they been able to speak quite freely, no one seemed to notice. Now, they were drawing a crowd. Drifter disliked crowds, especially ones with a faceless danger.
Heron sighed in annoyance.
There was someone here. Someone, the moment they left, would go running to the nearest Ancestor. But it was finding them. That was their job.
Wood surveyed his surrounding, swiftly. His eyes flicked back and forth. Find a pattern. That is what he was always told. Drifter was a master at finding a weakness in people. That trait he had inherited. He brought himself to his full height. Intimidation was the first key, just something subtle like standing suddenly. An experience person wouldn’t flinch, they would know better not to. Immediately, members of the drove were weeded out.
Hunting’s what Drifter called it. After the initial weeding, it was no different than a bloodhound searching for a deer, minus the barking of course. His eyes searched for details. Something usually didn’t match. Even the best person masquerading as a peasant wasn’t an actual peasant. Small details were usually missed, stuff that they couldn’t fake. A woman with weather-beaten eyes or a young child with an adult expression, those couldn’t be faked if looked deep enough.
Dusk Territories: Always Burning Page 19