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| Dead Men Walking | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 28 2014, 02:20 AM (70,811 Views) | |
| Make-7-Up-Yours | Aug 23 2017, 02:46 AM Post #3976 |
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Is that so?
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"Falling is necessary so that we can learn to get back up." Antonio said to Brandon. The priest leaned back in his chair and glanced towards the ceiling. "I cannot condone the things you have done. However... I do understand them." Antonio paused once again. "But now that you've fallen down, what kind of person do you want to be when you get back up?" * * * * * Kelsey winced under the gaze of the two strangers, her body still tense. Somewhere, she was worried her hesitance might be misinterpreted. These guys seemed alright, but so had the guys at Salt Lake City. Trusting strangers, after everything they had been through, was far from easy. This was especially true after losing Nolan so recently. She eyed the two men warily, then shifted her gaze quickly to Eli for non-verbal affirmation that it was okay. Once she had that, she looked back to the two armed men. "He's telling the truth." She finally told them. "My family is... they're dead. Eli has been taking care of me. His temper is a little short, but he's not a sicko or anything." She still didn't know why they were accusing him of being a sicko, but it was best to be clear on these sorts of things. "He isn't gross or weird or anything." |
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| DoctorYerishi | Aug 23 2017, 05:11 AM Post #3977 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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Eli was thankful for Kelsey’s answer. The bit about his temper was maybe unnecessary, but she had otherwise cleared him. He hated to think what would have happened if she had been asked the same question a couple days ago, when he was still trying to drag her kicking and screaming to Elko. She might not have been so honest. But this was now, and she was honest, and it seemed to have an effect. Boulet’s expression softened. “Taking care of her, huh?” he looked to Eli. “Looks like you could be doing a better job.” Eli had to stomach the judgment, as annoying as it was. He tried to keep his reaction as steady as possible. “Been a rough couple weeks,” he said. He looked up at Boulet’s face – there was a big purple bruise on his forehead that Eli didn’t notice at first, but seemed obvious now. “Maybe you can relate,” Eli added. “Maybe I can,” Boulet said. “You can put your hands down, by the way.” Once again, Eli was thankful. His arms were starting to get tired. “You did pretty well with those monsters,” Boulet said. He was looking to looking to the rotter in the passenger’s seat – the one with the seatbelt around his neck and the ice scraper sticking out of its face. “Gracias,” Eli said, in a tone that was cautious but polite. “We’ve had some practice. An’ that was nice shooting.” “We’ve also had some practice,” Boulet said. “Are you two okay?” “Better than the car,” Eli answered. “Not bit, if that’s what you’re asking. Kinda stuck, though.” He pulled at the seat belt to demonstrate that it wouldn’t budge. “I see that,” Boulet said. “Hold on.” He bent over and disappeared from sight. Eli heard a grunt and a wet sound, and when Boulet rose again, he had the chef’s knife. He leaned in to present it to Eli. On the other side of the car, Eli noticed Alan shift in place. He got the hint. One wrong move, and so on. This was clearly a test. He accepted the knife by the handle, sawed away at the seatbelt, then – once he was finally, mercifully free – he gripped it carefully by the blade and offered the handle back to Boulet. “Gracias,” he repeated. Boulet studied him for a second, then said, “It’s yours. Keep it. And come on out. Stretch your legs. Eli was pretty sure now these guys weren’t planning on killing them, or robbing them for what little they had. If that was their goal, they could have done it by now. It didn’t mean they were good people, but it was a hopeful sign. He took Boulet up on his offer and exited the car. He took the moment to stretch out, as Boulet suggested, and test himself for injuries. Besides the headache, a minor cut on his finger from the broken glass, and a few other minor cuts beside, he seemed to be okay. That didn’t surprise him. He was invincible, after all. “So I gotta ask,” Boulet said. “What were you doing in this neck of the woods, anyway?” Eli was too busy to notice before, but looking around now, he could see the sign he had crashed into had been painted over. Apparently this neck of the woods – which was more like a stretch of the desert – didn’t want to advertise its name. “Besides getting into car accidents on an empty road,” Alan chimed in nearby – his first words since they’d been introduced. “Yeah,” Boulet agreed. “Besides that.” |
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| Strompy | Aug 24 2017, 08:11 AM Post #3978 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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Alive. That had always been enough. That he was alive. That the people around him were alive. It didn't take long on this trip, odyssey might be more appropriate, for him to stop being surprised by the depths people would sink to in the name of staying alive. At first he'd been appalled that they'd turn on others so quickly and now he expected it. Maybe there was room for more than just staying alive. "Better, I guess." he decided. They'd trusted the wrong person before and lost a friend because of it. And afterward in Salt Lake City they hadn't exactly trusted but had still been lulled into a false sense of security by underestimating their enemy's brazenness, they'd been fooled by their false civility to an extent. Now they found people they could trust and his own distrust had soured relations with them. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. He could never decide how other people's actions, he could control his own though. Doing things the way they had they'd still lost people, and he'd still come closer to death than ever before. Maybe he should trust try to act the way he wished everyone else would if the danger was the same anyway. Maybe that's what everybody needed, somebody to lead by example. "Anyway, I needed to talk to you about something else. I'm fucked up. I'm gonna be laid out for a while I think. I don't know how much good I'm gonna be for the immediate future. I'm good at fighting, real good. Even with one hand I know some techniques for shooting and reloading I can use to stay in the fight, but like I said, I don't make good choices. I need you to take the wheel. We all do. If you'd been calling the shots from the start we wouldn't even be in this situation." he explained. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Aug 25 2017, 12:20 AM Post #3979 |
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Is that so?
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Immediately, Antonio opened his mouth to say no. A straight, flat no. But the sound didn't escape his throat. It was true, Brandon was in absolutely no condition to do anything right now. His injuries were severe and he had lost a lot of blood. He would be out of commission for some time while he recovered. And if Brandon was out of the running, who else was left? Annie could work; she was levelheaded and reliable. But she wasn't really leadership material; she didn't strike him as someone that could take the helm of a life-or-death operation. Plus, she already had plenty of responsibility just patching everyone up. Willow would probably make a good leader if she could get her head out of her ass, which, to her credit, she was starting to do. But at this point in time, she was far from capable. Emmett was tough and reliable, but, like Annie, he was not leadership material. He barely spoke more than a few words at a time. But that did still leave one person besides him who was capable. "I am not saying no, but... why not Emily?" He asked. "You two are old friends and, as a former police officer, she is more than qualified to call the shots. Why are you entrusting this to me instead of her?" * * * * * These guys -- Boulet and Alan -- didn't seem like bad people. Kelsey was still hesitant out of habit, but if they were just out to kill and rob from people, then both she and Eli would already be dead. At the very least, she owed them the benefit of a doubt. "We're, uhh..." She couldn't think of a convenient lie on a spot; she hadn't ever considered needing a cover story at any point. "Looking for some people. They were driving a truck and we thought they might have come this way." Telling half of the truth felt weird. But maybe it was okay this way. It was possible one of them had seen them driving by at some point. Then they would know they were going in the right direction. Though how they were even going to follow them without a car was another matter entirely. |
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| DoctorYerishi | Aug 25 2017, 01:40 AM Post #3980 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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Eli wasn’t sure what he thought about Kelsey’s admission. There was probably merit to discovering if these people had noticed a truck coming through, but at the same time, he dreaded the follow-up question they would surely have. He was worried about how ‘We’re trying to track down and murder a couple of people,’ would sound to strangers, regardless of the circumstances. The look that Boulet and Alan shared, however, gave Eli pause. There was something knowing in their expressions. There was also the hint of alarm. Boulet kneeled, so he was eye-level with Kelsey. “Tell me more about this truck,” he said. “And these people.” |
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| Strompy | Aug 25 2017, 01:50 AM Post #3981 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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"I honestly didn't want to put that pressure on her. I'm not doing you any favors here." Brandon admitted. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Aug 25 2017, 01:52 AM Post #3982 |
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Is that so?
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"They..." She hadn't thought this through very well. She hadn't thought this through at all, actually. "They, uhh..." What was she supposed to say now? She knew better than anyone that she wasn't a good liar. And even if she, it wasn't like they would believe any of the stupid lies that were popping into her head. "They..." Kelsey pursed her lips together -- exactly like her father used to do -- and grit her teeth. "They... killed my big brother..." She admitted finally. "He wasn't even armed when they shot him... * * * * * Antonio chuckled despite himself. Brandon sure wasn't mincing words. "Very well." He answered with a bemused smile. "I'll accept that." The truth was, there was a point where he had considered stealing the cure; getting it out of the hands of these violent people. But they were becoming a better group. He was glad that he had not abandoned them back then. |
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| DoctorYerishi | Aug 25 2017, 02:14 AM Post #3983 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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Boulet’s expression turned sympathetic. From his kneeling position, he exchanged another knowing look with Alan, before looking right back at the little girl a few paces in front of him. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. On Eli’s part, any annoyance he might have had at Kelsey spilling that info to strangers was mitigated by his own sympathy. Kelsey hadn’t said much about Nolan since he saved her life a couple miles outside of Salt Lake City. She had mostly talked about what she needed to do, and not why. He understood how painful a memory it must have been to reveal. So he suppressed a sigh, and simply added, “It’s true. We’re lookin’ for the people who killed her brother.” Boulet looked to him next, studying him for a long, silent beat, as if to gauge his honesty. When he was satisfied, or seemingly satisfied, he stood up again. “And these people drive a truck?” Eli nodded. “Teeth painted on the front? Eight wheels?” Eli’s heart skipped a beat. Through stunned, he managed another nod. “How’d you know that?” Boulet let out a short chuckle. Eli was taken aback his new expression – a disbelieving smile. “Let me ask you folks something – do the names Lowell and Noah mean anything to you?” |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Aug 25 2017, 02:23 AM Post #3984 |
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Is that so?
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At the mention of their names, Kelsey's eyes widened and she turned her head to the newcomers. He knew their names! And their truck! That must mean... "Where are they?" She asked, her tone colder than it had been mere moments ago. |
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| Strompy | Aug 25 2017, 02:27 AM Post #3985 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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"So then, what's next, boss?" Brandon asked. |
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| DoctorYerishi | Aug 25 2017, 02:41 AM Post #3986 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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Upon seeing the look in Kelsey’s eyes, and hearing the tone in her voice, Boulet’s smile dissipated. “There’s something you should see,” he said. “But you got a story to tell me along the way.” He turned and started walking down the road. Eli looked to Kelsey, and then they followed. Eli felt nervous all over again. * * * They walked about half a mile down the street, with Boulet leading the way. Eventually, they arrived at the parking lot of what turned out to be a trailer park. At first glance, it wasn’t obviously occupied. It wasn’t until Boulet gave a signal, and a pair of previously unnoticed lookouts stood on top of their trailers, and gave Boulet a signal back. “This way,” Boulet said. He led them to a lone trailer, one with no immediate neighbors. He had to dig into his pockets for a ring of keys, and then find the right one. When the door unlocked, he looked over his shoulder. “Come on in,” he said, and led the way. Inside, the trailer-home had been stripped bare of all furnishings. Eli couldn't see it from outside, because the curtains were down, but the windows had been painted black. The only light came from the sun that filtered through the door, and a single candle-powered lamp. There wasn’t much to illuminate – just a trailer was split into two sides. On one side, there was a sparse kitchen. On the other, a cot and a bucket. Between the two sides were cast iron bars. This was a prison. And there was a prisoner. He was sitting on the cot, but stood up straight at the sound of visitors. Eli recognised him. He looked like hell – his skin was pale, his eyes were bleary, his hair greasy and dishevelled even by post-apocalyptic standards. His arm was in a sling. When he took a step forward to investigate, Eli noticed he was limping. Boulet put a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “I believe you’ve met.” * * * For most people, the world went to hell a couple months ago. That’s when their lives came crashing down – when the things they cared about went up in flames, or were abandoned; when the people they cared about died, and maybe were reborn, and maybe died again; when everything went irrevocably wrong. For most, that happened awhile back. For Noah Peltier, hell came more recently. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the descent started, exactly – maybe it was the prison break back in Salt Lake City, or maybe it was when Lowell attacked Emily and got locked up in the first place. It could have been when he broke the news to Lowell that he planned on leaving him and Alma behind, and sent him on that path of destruction. Maybe it was sooner, even. Maybe later. Noah didn’t know for sure. All he knew was at some point there was nothing around him but fire and there was no way up. The only direction was down. Further into the flames. Noah didn’t care very much about the people in his life that died during the outbreak. Mostly everyone that cared about him, and that he cared about in return, were already gone. His grandfather, his mom – long dead. His dad – who the hell knew where he was? They had barely spoken since Noah moved out. He didn’t care about Noah, not really, and Noah didn’t care about him. Noah cared about Alma. She had survived through the outbreak. She didn’t survive three gunshots to the stomach, though – not for very long, anyway. All she could do after that was mumble for a minute, unable to form coherent sentences through the shock and pain. Noah couldn’t even comfort her a little. He was too busy driving away from the scene of the fight, and enduring the pain of his own gunshot wound to the shoulder. By the time Lowell took over behind the wheel, Alma was passed out. She never woke up again. After Alma stopped breathing, there was quiet. Noah remembered that. For a few long moments, he could hear the truck’s engine and nothing else. Then Lowell screamed. Through his fog of grief, Noah couldn’t make out the words he was using. He couldn’t tell if he was screaming at him or at the world. Then Lowell punched the dashboard – then punched it again, and again, and kept punching until his fist was bloody and the glass was too cracked to see beyond. Then there was quiet again, except for the engine. Noah drew his stainless steel knife and clutched the ironwood handle. Tears welled in his eyes, and then streamed down his face. He made eye contact with Lowell through the rear-view mirror, just long enough for Lowell to recognize what he was doing and then look away. ‘I’m sorry,’ Noah mouthed the words for her benefit only. He cradled her body in his arms as he made sure she didn’t come back. Hours passed after that point. There were several times Noah tried to talk, but no words came out. He didn’t know what to say. Lowell didn’t either, not for a while. Eventually, he figured it out and broke the silence. “This is your fault,” he said, his tone as hateful as Noah had ever heard it. Noah didn’t argue. He could have said ‘Fuck you – I’m not the one that killed Nolan for no reason. I’m not the reason his little sister stowed away with an assault rifle. I didn’t kill Alma. Kelsey killed Alma. And you did your part, you bitter, raging, crazy asshole.’ But he didn’t say that. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He was too numb, partly, and too much of him believed that Lowell might be right – that everything that had happened was on him and his choices. That if he had just made different ones, Alma would still be alive. Maybe if he hadn’t broken her heart, none of this would have happened. Maybe nobody would have had to die. Maybe they could have been on the road to Sinaloa. He looked back and wondered why he broke up with her in the first place. How could he do that to her, after everything she had done for him? She had stuck by him through everything, and he had thrown her away – and for what? One night with Ruby was really all it took? He was as disgusted with himself as Lowell was. In the middle of the night, when Lowell was satisfied they were free of Eli and any other pursuers from Salt Lake City – for real this time – he pulled over. “There are shovels in the back,” Lowell said – his first words since blaming Noah for Alma’s death. Noah grimaced as he exited the truck, which required pulling a handle and pushing the door open. Both actions sent flares of agonizing pain up his arm and into his shoulder, where he had very recently been shot. Noah had tended to his own bullet wound after Alma passed out. Kelsey had clipped him just once in the shoulder after she mowed down. His injury wasn’t as serious, obviously. After enough pressure had slowed the bleeding, he saw that the bullet went straight through. The pain was about as bad as anything he had ever felt – worse, even, than the pain he felt after fracturing his leg weeks earlier – but he saw no room to complain. He got off easy. He knew that. When they opened the back for the second time, no little girl came out shooting. Noah was free to climb aboard and search for the shovels. Eventually, he found two and grabbed both. When he turned around, Lowell’s pistol was in his face. Noah froze. He looked from the gun to Lowell – his friend was grimacing, his expression pained and angry. Neither of them said anything. Seconds passed, and Lowell’s wrist started shaking. His expression grew angrier and more painful. This is your fault. Noah squeezed his eyes closed. He let those words – maybe the last he’d ever hear – drift through his mind. He wasn’t going to fight back. If Lowell wanted to kill him, all he’d have to do was pull the trigger. Noah couldn’t escape that. And even if he could escape it, even if he could somehow disarm him, he couldn’t take Lowell on his best of days, never mind the sorry condition he was in now. A day ago, he never would have believed Lowell would harm him. Now, after everything that had happened, he knew Lowell was capable of anything. But nothing happened. When Noah opened his eyes, Lowell had put his gun away. Wordlessly, he reached out and grabbed one of the shovels. When he turned around, Noah let out a long breath. They buried Alma on the side of the road. Every time Noah planted his shovel in the ground, he was rewarded by another flare of pain. He pushed through and kept digging, keeping pace with Lowell. By the time Alma was fully in the ground, Noah couldn’t move his bad arm anymore. At the time, he didn’t worry about it. ‘If that’s the price,’ he thought, ‘then that’s the price.’ Before moving on, Noah and Lowell both said a few words. Noah spoke for longer. He told the story of the first time he saw her, at a party he attended his first week in a new town. There was something about her that caught his eye. It wasn’t just her looks – there were plenty of pretty girls there. It was her spirit. Her toughness. He noticed it right away. He was going to miss that most of all. Lowell looked away as Noah spoke. When it was his turn, he said “You deserved so much better than this. You shouldn’t have risked your life for mine. You shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I’m sorry. I’m so…” Lowell got choked up after that, and his speech was over. Noah had never seen him get choked up before. After giving their eulogies, their relationship continued to fray. The devolution started as soon as they got back on the road, when they had no choice but to discuss their next move. Noah wanted to go west, to California. There were probably other surviving settlements out there, maybe with people less crazy than the freaks in Salt Lake City. They probably spoke English, too. Lowell wouldn’t hear it. As far as he was concerned, the plan hadn’t changed. They were going to Mexico, to Alma’s hometown in Sinaloa. They were going to deliver the bad news to her family. Noah daring to suggest anything different just made him angrier and more resentful, so Noah eventually shut up and accepted his ruling. The truck’s fuel gauge was indecipherable after Lowell’s tantrum a day earlier. Neither he nor Noah noticed they were running low until the engine started to sputter. Noah chastised himself as soon as they started slowing down. He should have realized how much of a guzzler their monster of a truck would be. They came to a rolling stop somewhere in Arizona, in a place Noah still didn’t know the name of. Lowell muttered a storm of curses once he realized the engine wasn’t going to turn back over. “We need gas,” Noah offered from the passenger’s seat. “No shit we need gas,” Lowell shot back. “You got any other brilliant fuckin’ insights?” Noah responded by opening the door on his side and hopping out onto the highway. His arm hurt to move, even a little, but he squinted through the pain as he looked around. Their truck was one of the only vehicles stranded on the road for as far as his eye could see – and the horizon was flat, and the trees were short, so he could see pretty far. Across the neighbouring lanes, he recognized a sign indicating a church, and the outline of some other buildings beyond it. Hopefully there was a gas station just out of sight. There probably was – what else would a podunk spot like this be good for, if not helping road trippers fill up their tanks? Noah started walking, dragging his leg slightly, as he’d done ever since the fracture. Lowell quickly overtook him and led the way into town. Soon, they were at the intersection they would have turned into, had their vehicle still been working. On one side of it was the church and its empty lot, on the other was an auto service and towing spot with a few abandoned junkers out front. “I don’t see any biters,” Noah said. “Can’t have biters without people,” Lowell muttered. “Who the fuck would live here?” Soon enough, they would get their answer. Before that, though, they looked around. The junkers had no gasoline and the office was cleaned out. There was nothing useful to find. They moved across the street to the church, intending to search that next. Lowell hesitated before entering. “I fuckin’ hate these places,” he said quietly. It wasn’t the first time Noah had heard him express such a sentiment. Noah had always gotten the sense there was a story there, but Lowell had never divulged it. He certainly wasn’t going to divulge it now, so Noah left it alone. “You could wait outside,” Noah offered. “Fuck you,” Lowell said, and took the first step through. The church was even emptier than the auto-service place, it turned out. It was almost too empty, even. The stenches that Noah had grown so accustomed to since the outbreak weren’t as thick inside. There were not only no dead bodies, there was no hint of death at all. It was like it had been cleaned up. “I think someone was here before us,” Noah said. “Yeah, it’s a church, not a…” Noah didn’t let Lowell finish his jab. “I mean recently,” he interrupted. “I mean, maybe this place isn’t abandoned.” It wasn’t. Confirmation of that came the moment they stepped back outside. Back under the sunlight, they were greeted with a trio of guns aimed in their faces. The guns were wielded by three people they didn’t hear coming. There was a scruffy young guy with glasses and blonde hair on one side, a thin balding man in ray bans on the other, and in the middle, an old round guy with white hair and a thick gray eyebrows and a busy gray moustache. Noah reached with his good arm for his sidearm. As he did, the old guy pulled back the hammer of his weapon – a shining .357 Magnum revolver. “Easy there, chief,” he looked to Noah, then Lowell. He had a deep voice: “You too, son.” Noah stopped reaching, and then slowly raised his hand up away from his belt. He looked beside him – Lowell had his gun drawn already. He didn’t stand down. Noah was suddenly afraid. Did Lowell not recognize the math of three against one? Did he not care? “Careful now,” the old man warned. There was a long pause in the action, and Noah braced himself for the worst. Lowell had recently opened fire on Nolan for no reason. Before that, he attacked Emily. There was no telling what he would do now. “Sorry,” Lowell said, finally. “You surprised us, is all.” Then he lowered his weapon, and then held it out for the strangers to take. Noah was shocked. Clearly, there really was no telling what he would do. The older man lowered his revolver in turn. His balding associate reached out and confiscated Lowell’s gun. The younger guy did the same for Noah, taking the gun right off his belt while Noah kept his arms raised. “That your truck on the road? The one with the all them wheels, and the teeth?” It was unlikely he was referring to a different vehicle with eight tires and a portrait of bared teeth on the grille, so Noah went ahead and answered truthfully: “Yeah,” he said. “That would be us.” “You’re not that big on subtlety, then,” the older man said. “We heard that baby comin’ from miles away.” Lowell responded before Noah could. “We’re not trying to sneak up on anybody, sir,” he said – sounding downright respectful. “We’re just looking for some fuel.” Noah blinked, confused by Lowell’s tone. He was dark and moody on a good day. He’d only ever said the word ‘sir’ before sarcastically. He was clearly playing these people, setting them up for something. Probably something bad. Noah didn’t see it ending well. “Is that so?” the older, bigger man asked. He gave both Noah and Lowell a suspicious look-over, and his gaze settled on Noah’s limp arm. He hadn’t changed since he’d been shot, and the sleeve was coated in the brown of his dried blood. “What happened there?” “Long story,” Lowell answered before Noah could. “And your beak? Same story?” the man looked to Lowell’s face – in particular to the nose, which had been made crooked and bruised by Eli’s beating a couple days ago. Neither injury could be explained by biters, Noah realized. Biters didn’t carry guns and they weren’t known for their right hook. The old man must have known by looking at them that they’d recently been fighting the living, not the dead. “And we’ll be happy to tell it,” Lowell answered. “If you you’re not gonna shoot us first, I mean.” The old man smirked at that, and then looked to the others, who were clearly his subordinates. “Fellas,” he said. “I think we can save our bullets.” They lowered their weapons. Noah let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Let’s all of us get out of the sun,” the man said. “And you can tell me that story.” The old man turned and walked away. The other two men stood aside so Noah and Lowell could follow, and when they did, they followed them. While on the move, Noah tried giving Lowell a look: a sort-of-’What the hell?’ expression. Lowell gave him a much more familiar look of darkness back. They were led south – or herded, more like – to a trailer park near the church. As they walked, Noah had the feeling there were other sets of eyes on them than they realized. He didn’t see any of the observers, but somehow he was pretty sure they were out there. The old man entered one of the trailers. Noah and Lowell followed him inside. It was empty, but like the church, there were subtle signs of maintenance. Noah thought it hadn’t been empty long. The leader took a seat on a comfortable-looking couch. He gestured to a pair of chairs opposite him. Lowell and Noah sat, the others did not. “Ronald Boulet,” the man introduced himself. “But everyone calls me Ronnie. Or Boulet. Dealer’s choice. Whatever you do, don’t call me Ronald. My friends here are Alan, and that’s Parker.” Noah looked back to the two men – Alan and Parker. They both gave him a nod. “Hey,” Alan said. “Hello,” Parker offered. They were standing guard by the door; their arms at their sides. They had put away their guns, but Noah couldn’t help but notice how close their hands were to the holsters. He figured he was supposed to notice. “I’m Lowell, this is Noah,” Lowell introduced them back. Noah’s gaze returned to Boulet. “It’s, um, good to meet you.” “I hope to say the same,” Boulet said. He sunk into the couch and crossed his leg. “You were going to tell me a story.” And that’s exactly what Lowell did. He told a story – a crazy story, but true enough to be believable. He talked more than Noah was used to, and gave a performance Noah didn’t know he was capable of. Lowell told them about Salt Lake City, and the painted signs that led them in that directio. The people there seemed chill enough at first, he recalled, but then they wouldn’t let them leave. He skewed a few details. For example, he left out the true reason for his imprisonment – his attempted assault of a girl – and made it seem like he was locked up for trying to escape the compound. He also said it was the cultists that had laid the beating on him, and that they had shot Noah during the getaway. There was no mention of Nolan, Eli or Kelsey. Alma’s name came up, but in his version, she was shot dead in Salt Lake City by a burly bald guy with prison tats on his sleeves and neck. Boulet, Alan and Parker absorbed the story in silence. When it was done, Boulet scratched at the scruff under his chin and considered the story he had been told. “You know, I heard of those signs,” he said. “’Alive in Salt Lake City’. Didn’t trust ‘em for a second. Guess I was right.” “You definitely were,” Lowell said. “Those people are nuts.” “I’ll remember that,” Boulet replied. “Huh. You didn’t mention, by the way, how you two boys know each other.” For the first time in the conversation, Lowell wasn’t quick to answer. Noah felt pressure to fill the silence. “We’re friends,” Noah said. “We go way back. To before all of this.” Boulet considered that, and was quiet for a moment. Then, thankfully, he seemed to visibly soften. Noah felt some of the tension ease from the room. “That’s good,” Boulet said. “It’s good to have friends.” “Yeah,” Noah said. He looked sideways at Lowell. Lowell didn’t look back. “So,” Boulet started up, changing the subject. “Where were you headed, exactly, before your fuel problems?” “Mexico,” Lowell answered. “Alma has family there. They deserve to know what happened to her.” “I respect that,” Boulet said. “That still the plan?” Lowell didn’t hesitate before nodding. “Yes, sir.” “Good,” Boulet said, smiling from underneath his moustache. “Now, I’m not usually in the business of giving free stuff to strangers. But since you been through hell and back, and since you got a worthy cause, I feel like I can make an exception.” “That’s… generous of you,” Noah said. “Damn right it is,” Boulet said. “So here’s what I’m going to do – I’m going to fill up that truck of yours with precious gasoline and I’m going to send you on your way south. If you need a night to recuperate, you can have it. I can put you up in this very abode we’re enjoying now. But come tomorrow, I expect you to be on the road. How’s that sound?” “Um, good,” Noah said. “I mean – really good. Thank you. And thank you for the offer to stay, but I don’t think…” “We’ll take the night,” Lowell cut in before Noah could finish declining. “We’re pretty tired. A night in an actual bed sounds pretty good.” “Thought it might,” Boulet said. “But come tomorrow…” “…we’ll be out of your hair,” Lowell finished his sentence for him. “I promise.” Noah had to suppress a frown. Lowell delaying their trip to Mexico, even by a night, worried him tremendously. “Nothing against you boys, you understand,” Boulet said. “We’re just not looking for any new residents at the moment.” That was confirmation that this place was a settlement, and that Noah hadn’t been imagining things outside, when he felt himself being watched. It didn’t confirm much else, however, and Noah chose not to pry. “We get it,” Lowell said. “Like I said, we have someplace to be.” “Good,” Boulet said, giving them another big smile. “Then you’ll get your firearms back in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll have your monster truck gassed up and parked nearby. I’ll even have some dinner sent this way; you boys look like you could do with a bite. And hell – Noah, right?” He looked at Noah, and Noah nodded. “Someone should look at that arm. You let infection set in, then you’ll really be in trouble. I can send someone over.” As soon as Boulet brought up food, Noah realized how much he wanted some. And if they could help him avoid a fever from the bullet wound in his shoulder – well, that would be great too. It was more than he would have dared to ask for. It was way more than he deserved. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely. “That’s very…” “Generous?” Boulet smiled. “That’s right. And I never get tired of hearing it. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” He stood up and headed for the door. Parker and Alan had to take a step to either side to clear the way. Before he was all the way out, however, Boulet turned around. His smile was replaced by a more serious expression. “One more thing – when you get to Mexico, don’t mention us, or this place,” he said. “This is a quiet town. We’d like to keep it that way.” “Understood,” Lowell said. “We don’t even know where we are,” Noah added, which was the truth. Boulet’s smile returned. “Even better.” At that, Boulet left the trailer for real. The next time Noah saw him, he was in a far less friendly mood. In the meantime, everything Boulet promised came to be. A young man came by with two plates of food, and two bottles of water. Then a middle-aged blonde woman with a serious and somber vibe came by to check on his shoulder. She cleaned it, bandaged it, and wrapped his arm in a cast. She introduced herself as Daisy, but didn’t say much else – maybe that was on Boulet’s orders, maybe she was just the quiet type. Alan and Parker both stayed a while. Noah asked if he was allowed out – he was, to go to the bathroom, but Parker stayed close the entire time. They clearly didn’t want him wandering around by himself. But the truck had been delivered to the street in front of their trailer, as promised, and the keys were on the seat, so it wasn’t the same vibe as Salt Lake City. Those people were too friendly, they didn’t want them to leave. These people – these Arizona people, from whatever town they were from – were standoffish outside of Boulet, and Noah got the sense that they would rather have them gone. Their disapproval was actually kind of comforting. And understandable, Noah thought at the time. If they knew who Lowell really was, or who I really was, they never would have let us stick around even a single second. Back in the trailer, Lowell’s talkative streak had ended. The façade he had put up for Boulet had crumbled outside his presence. The bitter scowl from before was back in force. It was all he had to offer Noah before turning in for bed. There was no conversation, no explanation about what they were doing here, no debriefing about what just happened – there was just a sad, dark look. Lowell slept on the couch, leaving Noah the bed. When Noah put his head down to rest, he thought he heard Lowell break the silence from the other room. “We had a plan,” his best friend said quietly – so quiet that Noah could barely hear him, that he couldn’t be sure if the voice was coming from Lowell or his own head. “Why’d you have to ruin it?” Noah didn’t have an answer, so he didn’t open his eyes. He hated that he wanted to cry. Not long after, he fell asleep. When he woke up, Lowell was gone. He was replaced by Alan and Parker, both of them standing at the foot of Noah’s bed. Both of them wielding handguns. Noah was shocked into alertness by the sight. Instinctively, he reached for the surface near his bed, where he had left his knife – the one he’d had since before all this started. His grandfather had given it to him, and it had long been one of his most treasured possessions. The blade was four inches of stainless steel; the handle was inlaid with natural ironwood and mother of pearl. It was admired by most he showed it to. It was gone. Noah climbed to a sitting position, and scrambled backwards into the wall of the trailer. Alan and Parker were unmoving. A few heavy footsteps later, and Boulet appeared between them. There was a large purple bump on his head that wasn’t there the night before. His expression was downright mean. “Get up,” he said. “You’re coming with us.” * * * Eli stared at Noah. Noah stared back. Neither said anything. “His buddy abused our generosity, to put it pretty goddamn lightly,” Boulet said. “He jumped the guard we had on their trailer and choked him out. Then he found my trailer and gave me this to remember him by.” Boulet tapped at the bump on his forehead. The expression on his face – much like the tone of his voice – was dripping with disgust. “Then he cuffed me, stole all the guns from my locker and all the beers from my cooler,” he continued. “When I came to and got free, the kid was gone. So was his truck. His buddy Noah here, though… Right where we left him.” Eli refrained from telling Boulet that in the grand scheme, he got off lucky. Lowell was a murderer, and who knows what else – Eli hesitated to even think about what he might have to done to Emily, if she wasn’t so capable of taking care of herself. Boulet had suffered an unwanted nap, some missing guns, and some missing drinks. Eli wished he and Kelsey had been so lucky. He didn’t say that out loud, however, because Boulet – for the moment – was their host. There was no upside in antagonizing him, even a little bit. Plus, the fate of Noah was in his hands. Eli turned and addressed the prisoner. “So Lowell left you behind,” he said coldly. “He abandoned you.” Noah didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. His expression gave away how much he hurt. Physically and mentally – he was clearly in pain. Eli turned to Kelsey next, looking for her reaction. The way she had been thinking and acting these last few days, he couldn’t be sure how she would take this latest development. He was just glad she didn’t have a gun, and couldn’t do anything rash. Not that he could have blamed her for that. He’d been in the same situation, multiple times. He’d chosen the same path every time. Maybe, though, Kelsey could choose another. Maybe she could be better. He hoped she could. He was about to find out. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Aug 25 2017, 03:30 AM Post #3987 |
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Is that so?
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"As soon as you are strong enough to move, we are leaving. With everything that has happened, Saxon wants to close off Elko from the outside world. Us included." Antonio let that unsurprising revelation hang in the air for a moment before he continued. "We'll be relocating to Battle Mountain to wait for Eli and Kelsey. It's a small town a couple of hours down the highway west of here. Saxon has agreed to send us on our way with some supplies, as well as point Eli and Kelsey in our direction when they come through here looking for us." * * * * * Kelsey approached the prison bars and gripped them tightly with her little hands. The man inside -- Noah -- looked like a shadow of himself. He looked so sad and pitiful that it would be easy to feel sorry for him. But she didn't. Every time she she tried, all she could see was Noah, standing alongside Lowell and Alma, firing their weapons into Nolan. Murdering him in cold blood. Any pity she might have felt was marred by that image burned into her mind. "You should be dead." Her tone of voice was nothing short of frigid. "Like Alma." |
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| DoctorYerishi | Aug 25 2017, 06:19 AM Post #3988 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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Noah flinched at Kelsey’s words, as if physically struck. Then he looked away, likely to hide his hurt. Eli could understand the reaction. What Kelsey said was harsh. Deserved, but harsh. He also couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction seeing Noah in pain. He remembered being back at that prison in Salt Lake City, when Noah and Alma burst in and let Lowell loose. The next thing he knew, Nolan was dead. That was on Noah, whether he pulled the trigger or not. Eli watched Noah’s next moves carefully. Kelsey was awfully close to the bars; if inclined, Noah might have been able to reach out and grab her. If he tried, Eli was ready to break his fingers. He didn’t try, though. He didn’t try anything. Instead, he remained silent for an uncomfortably long time. When he was finally ready to turn and face them again, he had wrestled his expression into something neutral. Expressionless, even. With his good arm, he gently lifted the arm in the sling. “You should have had better aim,” he said. His tone wasn’t taunting. It was sad. He took a few steps back, receding into the dim light of the dark trailer. He sat back down on the cot. |
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| Strompy | Aug 25 2017, 06:50 PM Post #3989 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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Brandon nodded at the news. Even if they hadn't been busted snooping they may have ended up being moved along anyway at least. "I'll need a little help but I think we can get moving right away. We know this place is safe for Eli and Kelsey when they come, if the next place isn't it might be better to find out sooner." Brandon said already propping himself up. "Where are we going anyway?" he asked. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Aug 25 2017, 10:04 PM Post #3990 |
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Is that so?
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"I don't know much about Battle Mountain." Antonio admitted. "I just said it because I remembered its name off the map we were looking at." The priest knew that it hardly sounded like the well-thought out plan that it probably should be. There were better ways to pick their next destination than just recalling a name from memory. "But," Antonio made sure to follow it up. "I spoke briefly with one of Saxon's men while I was out there. Apparently there is a small Native American community living there of no more than 10 people. They are cautious, but amicable. Saxon's people seem to be on friendly terms with them, since they told us we should get in contact with Billy Church if we have any problems over there." * * * * * There was something about the dull expression in Noah's eyes. There was something about the way he spoke. She could tell there was a hint of sadness there, but more than that... there was an almost apathetic air about him. That sad husk of a man looked like someone who had lost everything he had ever held dear. But something about that didn't sit right with her. Kelsey should have been happy to see the bastard locked in a cage and looking defeated. But she wasn't. Even when she stabbed him with the harshest words she could think of, it barely seemed to have an effect. It was like he was already dead. And it was extremely unsatisfying. In her mind, she imagined seeing the anger in Noah's face and the fear in his eyes as she shot him in the chest. She had hoped that he would cry and beg for his life. She imagined so much more out of this meeting. But this was nothing like she had imagined. For her, there wasn't an ounce of satisfaction in this. The young girl grit her teeth and hit the prison bars with her fist. "Well, your aim was shit too!" Kelsey shouted at him. The coldness that had been in her voice before was completely gone. "You just had you damn friends to help you!" She grabbed the bars and started trying to shake them. Her hands were shaking more than the bars were. "Your damn friends! Your damn... damn-shit-ass-fuck-MOTHERFUCKER-BASTARD!" She didn't know what else to say, so she unceremoniously shouted every bad word she knew at him. Afterward, the teary-eyed Kelsey started kicking the bars. Not because she expected to break them down, but because she needed to hit something. Anything. "I HATE YOU!" She roared. "I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!" |
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7:27 PM Jul 10