Dusk Territories: Always Burning (25 page)

“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.

There were however, a few that didn’t seem as disturbed. A man on the far corner stood bundled up in his rags, glaring at Drifter. Another was a woman on the other side, appearing oblivious but listening in. There were two children, almost too aware of the surroundings around Jacob. Any of them could be it. He had an idea, who it was but—

Bang.

A single shot soar through the air, smashing into the woman’s leg. She doubled over, crashing into the mud. Blood oozed from her shattered knee, wailing. Chaos ensued for a while, only for a few more shots to be fired, this time in the air. Stillness settled over the land as Graham emerged from the shadows.

Heron and Wood both scowled in surprise.

“A bit late, but right on time.”

Graham hardly recognized Drifter’s words, and went directly for his target. “Wood. Heron. Good call.”

“I don’t appreciate you taking the glory,” Heron snapped, eyes lowered dangerously.

“Or ruining our fun.”

Seizing the woman’s arm, Graham just gave a glance towards the company. That moment was different. Heron didn’t mock them. Wood noticed him. Both of them couldn’t deny how frightening he looked. “You aren’t the only ones that can hunt.” A grim, lifeless grin followed the icy words. “Now if you excuse me, this lady and I have some quality time to spend together
.”

Drifter sat up, and again didn’t say a word.

_

Ragnar found himself uncomfortably in the back seat of a truck, holding on to the edge. To his side, River sat whistling an unrecognizable tune. To his left was the enigmatic Lt. Brink.

Brink was a remarkably young man, no older than eighteen or nineteen. He was clean shaved with hair cropped close enough to be bald. Long and leanly muscled, he fit in his white armored uniform well. His face, a chiseled structure of high cheekbones and a narrow chin, was cemented in a hard line. Thinking consumed every moment of free time on this bumpy ride for him. He barely spoke. No one expect him to come along.

“I don’t see a reason for you coming along,” Ragnar admitted, shining his axe.

Brink cleaned his weapon well, a well taken care of FAL.
A frightful weapon, that.
He didn’t even seem to process the question, just continued to look forward. He always looked forward. “I trusted both of you with a task—River, specifically—to contain a situation in hope to curb some time from
this horrendous task.”

River stuck out her tongue. “It could have been done if you didn’t want to tag along like a drunken friend on a first date.”

The change happened at the last possible moment. River and Ragnar, accompanied by more of the Descendents from the Ancestor’s order, were well on the way down the Moonlight Marches. That was when Brink showed up. He appeared in a very simple armored truck, unloading with two other dangerous-looking men. They were much more equipped than any of the lesser soldiers, flanking their leader with a drone personality. Everyone knew that a Son of the Ancestors were dangerous in this new world. Brink was proof of that.

Now, they were traveling with them. Ragnar hated it. He would have liked nothing more than to stay back in his forest. These people were trouble. Blood and revenge for Drifter’s sin had to be paid. But, he couldn’t shake this feeling. A cloud settled over his mood.
These people can’t be trusted. These people are going to get you killed.
Death clung deeply to this mission. A doctor knew death better than anyone else.

Brink cleared his throat, noticing the change in Ragnar’s expression from his peripherals. “Why is an intelligent man like you coming with us, Doctor?”

“This world has changed me,” Ragnar admitted.

“Not as much as you may think. In the core, everyone’s the same as they were. So, I’ll ask again. Why are you coming?”

“It’s about your precious little wife as always,” River interrupted. “You can’t let it go. Puppy dogs can never let go.”

The truth stung pretty deep. The fact is that is the only reason he was here.

Drifter took the only thing in this world he cared about. The bombs and the weapons took his job, his stability, and his hopes. But, that caravan took a part of his humanity. Men raided them as they left their homes, equipped with fire power from that sly beast. They tore through his wife and unborn, injured him so badly that he could barely move. They left him to die.

He tried to save her. She begged for him to survive, survive at any cost to live. He survived on them by eating them. He dug through his own wounds, push through his own pain. Life granted him some strength to live…to figure out who bestowed these wounds. It had all led back to Drifter, that man that took everything by handing over a few weapons in the wrong hands.

Hate kept him alive. And hate would kill him.

“Yes, River. That’s the reason.”

River opened her mouth to speak; however, she was stopped by a simple hand gesture from Brink. Green flames rippled from the ends of her hair. “Don’t
ever
do that to me.”

“Don’t you threaten me, girl. This is no place for children.”

“Says the man-child,” River retorted. She reeled herself back, assuming her normal demeanor and quelling the flame. She crossed her legs, and put her hands in her lap. “I’m just here to enjoy myself. Please don’t
ruin
a good time for me, Brinkies.”

“Empty threats. But we can keep it civil. We all have a goal here: to rid Drifter and his rag-tag group of bastards. We have different reasons, but the point is that we need to handle this. Drifter is a good man, but can be cruel. I cannot let him live for obvious reasons.”

“Drifter isn’t your target, sweetie.” River giggled almost the moment she finished the sentence.

Ragnar turned his head towards Brink, who took the words better than a knight taking a blade in his armor. “You…aren’t after Drifter specifically?”

“I’ve gotten wind of someone. That someone knows they shouldn’t know. Ridding Drifter would be nice, but he would be chasing dead ends without this specific piece. I cannot allow that to be.”

“You’re after Graham-cracker. Oh!!!”

“Quick to catch on, aren’t you, River?”

The road seemed far less bumpy as Brink brought his head up. He placed the FAL to his side, glaring. There was nothing in that expression, yet those black eyes held all the emotion. Ragnar, to his side, couldn’t see them as River did. But he felt it. He felt a shift. There were no more games. No more laughing. This man wasn’t just dangerous, he was a plague.

“You’re astute, but stop playing in a pond that you don’t know the depth of. Little girls tend to drown in those.”

River backed off, lips pressed together. A drape of hair covered her eyes, but she was angry, so angry that she was trembling. Yet, she couldn’t find a rebuttal. Not with that glance, not with that power that he held over everything. So, she sat, looking incredibly smaller than the man about equal to her age.

“But—“ Ragnar began.

“Yes. I’m after Graham, Doctor. He has something, something that he doesn’t know he has. It’s a shame really. But it’s something that has to be done. I hope that the two of you…cooperate,” he spat the last word out like venom, “And listen. I’m going to need you to
listen.
Can you listen?”