Lycan Fallout 1: Rise Of The Werewolf Page 3

CHAPTER 2 - Mike Journal Entry Two

  “Where to?” I asked him as he had patiently waited for me on what was left of the road that led to Ron’s house – now it wasn’t much more than a game trail. Growth had pressed up through the hard, compacted ground, and trees had created a canopy overhead. I dragged my hand over the rusted out hulk of something that had meant so much to me once-upon-a-time. Just for luck I put a piece of the red painted flecks that had come loose into my pocket.

  Purpose bounded ahead as we walked. I feared he might become extremely dehydrated as he desired to mark everything. At one point, I had even gone up to a tree to check. “There’s nothing even coming out, you crazy dog,” I told him when there was not a hint of wetness where he had just lifted his leg. He came back to me, smelled again and lifted his leg. I laughed, “Any dryer, pooch, and you’ll be shooting powder.”

  He didn’t care and trotted off; tongue lolling about wildly.

  We had been walking maybe twenty minutes or so, when Purpose began to bark excitedly. I ran up to see what had him in such a fuss. Two black mares were dancing around, their hooves stomping on the ground as Purpose kept running in quickly, barking, and then dashing out from the giant animals. The two horses were tethered to a small cart.

  “This yours?” I asked Tommy as he approached. He nodded. “I wondered if we were walking the entire way.”

  “No more Jeeps,” he said smiling.

  “Yeah, I know,” I told him as I fingered the small piece of metal in my pocket.

  We were bumping our way down the road; Purpose had finally settled down in a small bundle of blankets that appeared suspiciously like a bed. It had taken him a while to get used to being around the horses. But when he realized his barking didn’t scare them, he had given up.

  “Pretty sure about how this was going to go?” I asked after turning from petting Purpose’s head.

  “I still had my doubts, but I figured I might as well be prepared.”

  The silence was welcome; it had become something of a friend to me over the years. I knew it well.

  “I thought man would be on other planets by now,” Tommy said to me. “When your kind got to the moon I figured it was only a matter of fifty more years. I would have found a way to go.”

  I don’t know that I liked how he distinguished himself from ‘my’ kind, but that was overshadowed by thinking about Tommy the Star Traveler.

  “I read so much science fiction, I swear I could taste some of those other worlds, I wanted to travel so badly,” he told me.

  “We could still get there.”

  “I’ve got a feeling that if it ever happens it will be past my time,” he said in an unusual morose tone. The kid was usually the living embodiment of a cheerleader, so it was strange to see him down. “Did Azile say something?” I asked.

  “What? No, but even vampires have a shelf life.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing written in stone, but after around a thousand years we kind of hit the wall. Immortality has its limits. The world around us changes so vastly in that time frame that vampires simply cannot adapt, and they seek ways to die. That was partly why Victor turned my sister and treated her so cruelly.”

  “Suicide by vampire…wow,” I told him. “You should be alright then.”

  “How so?” he asked.

  “Shit, man has done a complete reboot. We’re almost two hundred years in arrears at this point. Maybe by the time we get our shit together you’ll still be around to take that trip.”

  He smiled and urged the horses on.

  “Not buying it?”

  “It’s a nice thought.”

  “What am I getting into, Tommy?”

  “Maybe exactly what you need,” he told me, and that apparently concluded all discussion for the remainder of the night.

  As vamps, sleep wasn’t absolutely necessary, I suppose I needed it more than Tommy did, and really only because it was such an ingrained human habit that I still even did it. I stayed up most of that night; maybe I cat-napped a couple of times, but I did it while sitting up and with the cart rocking back and forth – no easy feat.

  As the sun came up, I could tell we were on what was once some major thoroughfare. “This I-95?” I asked, breaking the easy silence.

  “It is. What do you think they do with all our tax dollars? They sure don’t use it to fix the roads.”

  “Funny. Are there governments?”

  “Nothing like there used to be. There are regional types of governments. Some are ruled with an iron fist, more like dictatorships. Others are almost lawless like the early Wild West.”

  “I always fancied myself a cowboy,” I told him.

  “That means you’d have to ride a horse.”

  “Okay, so we’ll pass on that.” I’ve never been a fan of any animal that’s bigger than me. Time and frost heaves had completely ravaged the thoroughfare. Larger trees had still not completely cut through the eleven inches of roadbed. But refrigerator sized chunks of the broken material was pushed up at odd angles everywhere. The carriage was constantly cutting back and forth among the mini monoliths. It got so bad at some points that I was convinced that for every mile the horses walked we had only gone a tenth of that in roadway.

  “This gets worse every year,” Tommy replied.

  “I guess it’s a little late in the game at this point, you already told me that where we’re going is a surprise, but can you at least tell me how long we are going to enjoy this hard-ass seat?”

  “You could always get in the back with Purpose. He doesn’t seem to mind.”

  “And miss all this?” I said, pointing to the trees.

  “We’ll be in Portland tomorrow.”

  “Two days for a normally two hour drive? Is that it, is that where we’re going?” My heart dropped for a moment when I realized I sounded like my kids when they would ask ‘Are we there yet?’ Seemed so damn aggravating at the time. The stupid shit we got mad at meant nothing when you get right down to it. There’s family, there’s love…that’s it. The rest is bullshit that we heap on ourselves. ‘We’ complicate our lives. We’ve always striven to make the world a harder place than it needed to be. Family and love.

  “You alright, Mr. T?”

  “Fine, sorry. I’m fine. Must be allergies or something.”

  “Vampires don’t have allergies.”

  “Then can we get dust in our eyes?”

  “We can,” he answered.

  “Then that’s what happened.”

  “Portland is one of the places that most resembles the Wild West.”

  “Portland, Maine? Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s actually called Robert’s Land now.”

  “Do we really need to stop there? I don’t really play well with others.”

  “There is no way around it. Robert’s Land is pretty much the last outpost in Maine, not many people live north of it. We just stay low, get a room, some supplies, and leave in the morning.”

  “Have you met me? I’ve been tossed from Chuck E. Cheese, and once I’d even had a priest try to punch me out…then, to top it off, he banned me from his church. How does that happen with a religion that preaches forgiveness?”

  “Do your best, please.”

  “I’m not promising anything,” I told him as I folded my arms across my chest. “So, about this Robert’s Land, talk about an egotistical bastard.”

  “That’s the kind of thing that’s going to get us in trouble. The people of Robert’s Land love him.”

  “The bastard is still alive?”

  “Mr. T, he saved Portland when it was attacked by the Micmac.”

  “Indians attacked Portland, Maine? I spent way too much time in my yard. Is it alright to call them that now? Or should we go with something like Pre-Apocalyptic Indigenous Peoples?”

  “I really should try to find another way,” Tommy replied.

  “Are there Indians around now?” I asked, spinning in my seat.

  “We’ve been
surrounded since late last night.”

  “What? And you decide to tell me now?”

  “I’ve made a tentative peace with them. They let me travel through their land.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “I don’t destroy them.”

  “Really?”

  “They know what I am and they leave me alone. They know who you are as well.”

  I looked at him incredulously.

  “Not much happens in the woods that they don’t know about.”

  “Would you really hurt them?”

  “If they tried to hurt me, what choice would I be given?”

  “Makes sense. So they’re really not going to bother us? No arrow to the back or anything?”

  “They would have to get too close and I’d be able to tell. Had a brave once that was trying to make a name for himself.”

  I had opened my mouth. Tommy answered before I could ask.

  “I took no pleasure from what I did to him, but it was a clear message of my capabilities. It will not be tried again.”

  I doubted that seriously, there were stupid young men born every day who thought they were invincible and had something to prove. Back in my day, you just joined the Marine Corps.

  I was looking around as casually as I could, which was about as pronounced as a third grader getting ready to lift a box of crayons from his drawing partner. So, not very, if that visual wasn’t clear enough. I hadn’t spotted one Micmac when Tommy spoke.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you, Mr. T.”

  “When are we going to be done with the revelations, Tommy?” I asked as I sat back down, convinced that Tommy was incorrect about us being followed.

  “It’s about Purpose.”

  My beating heart skipped a beat, even the half that technically didn’t have a heartbeat (yeah… I don’t know how that works either, not like there was another half-vamp around that I could ask). “What about him?” I asked, not ashamed at all to let him hear the panic in my voice.

  “It’s nothing bad, I promise, I just thought you should know.”

  “It’s nothing bad…you promise?”

  “I swear,” he told me.

  “Alright out with it then.”

  “It’s about his name.”

  “I get it, no need for explanation. He was the purpose I needed to get out of that house.”

  “That’s part of it, Mr. T, but you missed something.”

  “What? What did I miss? Is there something more philosophical?”

  “No. His name was A. Purpose.”

  “The ‘a’ is long? I’m not getting it.”

  “On the card there was an A and then a period.”

  “Yeah, I guess there was, I must have figured it was just a handwritten typo.”

  “No, the A is for his first name.”

  “Purpose has a first name?”

  “Augustine.”

  “What? Augustine Purpose Talbot?” I asked. “Apt?” Purpose stood up barking merrily at me, I turned to pat his head. “Well, I guess he knows. Can I call you Oggie? Short for Augustine, because otherwise that’s a mouthful.” I asked him, his tail wagged crazily in reply.

  “I told you I’d tell him,” Tommy said to Purpose, or Oggie.

  Purpose barked once in response to him.

  “You can talk to animals? Forget it, I don’t want to know.”

  Tommy smiled and was looking forward. “We’re getting close. Do you want to start practicing your lines?”

  “You should take your show on the road you’re so funny. I still don’t see any damn Indians.” I told him as I whipped my head around as fast as I could trying to catch one of the slower ones off guard.

  “They’re starting to pull back.”

  “Is it because I’ve almost seen one of them?” I asked puffing my chest out.

  “Not so much. We’re getting closer to Robert’s land.”

  “Nice ego bruising,” I told him. We passed the burned out husk of a log cabin. “Raiding party?” I asked, not taking my eyes from it, wondering about the panic the man of the house must have had trying to defend his family from the advancing savages as they tried to kill his kin or take them into their tribe. The fear must have been overwhelming as he did all in his power to keep them safe. I thought I could just make out a swath of blood on the remnants of the door. Most likely the final resting place of John Q. Settler.

  “Lightning strike.”

  “Well, you ruined that story.”

  Tommy looked over at me with a queer expression. (Hey, it’s my journal, they used to use queer and gay all the time in literature from the 19th century and there was no negative connotation associated with it - I figured it was far enough in the future to bring it back, fashion always cycles around. Besides, the likelihood that anyone from the 21st century was around and going to be able to read this was very slim).

  It was a mile or so when we came upon another house, although to call it more than a shack was being optimistic. There was a small plume of smoke funneling out of the hole in the chimney. A severe-looking man stopped doing whatever it was that he was doing in his field of rocks (if you had ever lived in New England you’d know what I was talking about) to stand and look at us. Even from this distance, I could see his hand tighten on whatever farming implement he was carrying. An even more severe-looking woman opened the front door (and I would imagine the only door) to watch as we passed. Now I knew why he looked so cross at least, then, from behind the wide skirt of the woman, came the biggest surprise of all, a cherub. That’s the best way I could describe him.

  Couldn’t have been more than five years old, fat cheeks and a plume of golden ringlets encircled his head. He was smiling from ear-to-ear as he peered around his mother. He waved mightily, which I felt compelled to do back. His mother grabbed his hand and ushered him back into the house.

  “He’ll be important someday,” Tommy told me.

  “He’s important now,” I told him, he nodded in response. I was now affixed with a lopsided grin which Oggie felt needed a licking.

  It had been a good ten minutes after we passed the house that I could see smoke on the horizon. “Robert’s Land?” I asked already knowing the answer.

  I was nervous. The world had moved on, life had moved past my existence, yet, here I was. Would they recognize me for the outsider that I was?

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I told Tommy. I was squirming in my seat.

  “You’ll get used to it, there’s just a little adjustment period.”

  “As long as my ‘adjustment period’ doesn’t get my neck on the gallows,” I half laughed.

  “That would be bad.” Tommy answered.

  “They have gallows?” I asked rubbing my neck.

  The town, for that’s what it was, was bustling. They had built a community on the ashes of Portland, and they seemed to be thriving. It was a strange interplay of the old and new, a hardware store owner was using the husks of old televisions to display his wares. Plastic had survived the ages and seemed to be in high demand if the prices were any consideration, but I had no idea what a ‘Robert buck’ was worth.

  “Provincial money? Do they not trade with anyone else?” I asked as the cart moved past the store. We had attracted some attention; most kept to themselves though. In a lawless world, going unnoticed is often advantageous.

  “Travel is difficult, and distrust runs deep. Many of the smaller settlements are mostly self-contained.”

  “Do they have beer?” I asked as our cart was approaching an establishment named Bradley’s Tavern. My mouth was watering at the prospect of the golden amber liquid.

  “Mead and some rot gut they call whiskey that’s more likely to make you go blind.”

  “No beer then?” I asked longingly as we passed. Oggie was standing up and surveying the entire scene. I had to imagine seeing so many two-leggers was unsettling. He didn’t bark, which I was thankful for. Unlike when we were passing through Micmac
territory, I now felt that we were being watched and scrutinized.

  “We don’t like your kind here!” someone shouted. It was difficult to follow the voice as it echoed off some of the buildings.

  “I didn’t say anything,” I pleaded to Tommy. “I get the feeling it would just be better if we passed on through.”

  “I know you’re right, but I need to get things for the horses, and for us, and we’ll have to wait until morning. Getting a room at the hotel is the least suspicious thing we can do.”

  “Camping outside the city and waiting until morning would have been the least suspicious thing,” I told him.

  “Didn’t even think of that.” Tommy answered.

  “How old are you?”

  “Here,” Tommy said, handing over a small bag.

  I opened it up. “Is this gold?” I asked looking up at him.

  “Why don’t you shout it? That ought to make us real popular.”

  “Sorry.”

  “How old are you?” he asked me.

  “Fine…we’re even. But why are you giving me this?”

  “I’m sure at some point you’re not going to listen to me and go try that mead. If you don’t pay for it, they’ll flog you.”

  “Flog? What is this Thailand?”

  “You’ve got to be careful with the words you use. There is no Thailand anymore and none of these people have ever heard of it. You start talking about airplanes and satellite TV and they’ll start calling you a witch.”

  “Boston Bruins?”

  “No, Mr. T.”

  “What am I going to talk about? Tumbleweeds?”

  “They don’t have those either. I’ll say it again, we should just get a couple of rooms and you should rest.”

  On one side, that sounded like the most sage advice I’d ever been presented with; low key meant no trouble. On the other side though, I was curious, how many opportunities did one have to see the rebuilding of civilization?

  Tommy gave a stable boy some coins and he led the horses off to be housed and groomed. We walked into a house that Tommy told me, at one time, had been a funeral home and was now the only hotel in Robert’s Land. It was not a thriving business as the town did not receive many guests. My guess was its primary revenue was derived when some local citizen wanted to have a roll in the hay with a woman of ill repute. Might be a new world, but men had been paying for sex since Cathy Cavewoman decided she wanted new deer-skin boots. A thick layer of dust covered the cloth that was draped over what I was sure was once the steel table that cadavers were drained of all their internal fluids.

  “Ambience is everything,” I mumbled as we approached.

  “I don’t want no trouble,” was the first thing out of the concierge’s mouth.

  “How is this place for amenities?” I asked. “Three star, four stars perhaps?” I asked looking around.

  Tommy smacked me in the shoulder. “We just want a couple of rooms for the night.”

  “Full up,” he said as he looked down to a shelf that I’m sure housed weaponry of some sort.

  “Comic-con?” I asked.

  The man looked at me with a sneer. “What’s wrong with your friend?” the man asked, stooping lower so his hand was within grasping distance of whatever was down there.

  “He’s got the dumbs,” Tommy answered.

  The man relaxed somewhat – but not completely. “He don’t look like he’s got the dumbs.”

  “Trust me, he’s got the dumbs. He ran off into the woods nearly six months ago and his mother paid me a handsome reward to bring him back.”

  “She would have been better off letting him roam.”

  “I agree,” Tommy stated. “A mother’s love...” he let trail off as if that explained everything. And I guess it did. “I’ll pay for two night’s stay for the night, if anything opens up.”

  The man did a good show of looking at the nearly full rack of keys behind him. “I think we can muster up one room. It’ll cost you two nights for two rooms though. Especially on such short notice.”

  My blood was boiling and I was about to let loose with a litany of abusive terms that no one on this side of the apocalypse had ever heard. I would have too, had Tommy not gripped my forearm so hard I thought he was going to grind my bones into meal. Oggie could sense my distress and barked once.

  “The dog will cost extra.”

  “Of course,” Tommy said, smiling. Tommy handed over the coins and the man handed over a key.

  “Out by first light or I’ll call the Judge.”

  “Again…understood. Thank you.”

  The man had already stopped paying attention to us as he looked greedily at the money in his hand.

  “Dick-head,” I mumbled, his gaze shot up. I rolled my eyes and twirled my finger next to my temple. “Twas the dumbs!” I shouted.