CHAPTER 34: THE BACK ROAD

  SILVER FALLS—NOVEMBER 20th, 1992 | LATE AFTERNOON

  ?

  The truck was all but prepared, or so it seemed.

  Leroy gave the pickup a good look-over. It was a far cry from the typical transport vehicles used by the Order: repurposed, outdated military transport rigs that had been retrofitted with large Dyrchus metal cages. No, this was a real, red-blooded American machine, painted a deep burgundy with a singular white streak through the middle. Leroy envied it, but not enough to remotely consider trading in his black Cadillac.

  “A Ford?” Leroy asked.

  The towering figure of Eisenhower had just finished placing some supplies into the bed of the truck. “Yes. A 1990 Ford F150, Leroy Waters.”

  “She’s a hell of a specimen, Eisenho—ahem. Marshal Whitfield,” Leroy said, tipping his checkered flat cap at him.

  If he was smiling behind that visored helmet of his, Leroy didn’t know, but he liked to think that the man was. Leroy glanced over towards Cameron, who sat on a wooden crate staring at the caged sprite. He was more inquisitive than usual, asking questions where they mattered, and trying to make sense of where they were in the world, and who the key players were. Moreover, the kid only had half of an outburst, if that. Pride wasn’t the word Leroy would use, but it was a nice change of pace to see Cameron expressing more than a passing interest in something beyond himself. That, coupled with some of the insights he’d come to regarding the whole situation with Marcus Velvet, was slowly but surely convincing Leroy that he had real potential to do well as an arbiter.

  Only time would tell.

  “I will be taking my charge with me, Leroy Waters,” Eisenhower said, his deep voice only slightly muffled by the silvered visor-helmet he wore.

  “Your charge? As in, an apprentice?”

  “Of sorts. Arthur Yeager is his name. Marshals are required to take on a second, for whom they guide directly in preparation for one day assuming the title. One day he will be Marshal Yeager. You will like him, I am sure. He is a purpose-driven young man around the same age as Cameron Kessler, perhaps a bit younger,” Eisenhower explained. “I have already sent for him. He will be joining us shortly.”

  “Well, the more the merrier, I suppose. Won’t hurt. Especially if we’re taking this truck of yours through the Pines,” Leroy noted.

  “I do not mean to pry, but I must admit, I am curious what sort of arbitration note would bring you so far from the city. Regrettably, it has been far too long since we have last seen each other," Eisenhower said, closing the bed of the truck.

  “Fewer and fewer arbitration notes require me to be out in the Pines these days, old pal. Though, you and I both know that there never was much demand for arbiters this far out in the boonies. You and the wardens have things covered,” Leroy said. He leaned up against the side of the truck, and Eisenhower paced over to him, standing directly to his side. “It was, what, 84? 86?”

  “1986, I believe,” said Eisenhower with a nod.

  “The rogue demonologist from the College of the Arts, holed up that damned cabin with his so-called priceless grimoire,” Leroy laughed. “Pesky motherfucker.”

  “Pesky indeed,” Eisenhower said, raising his prosthetic hand. All silver, artificed.

  “A day I won’t forget, that’s for sure,” Leroy said with a smile.

  Eisenhower nodded.“Nor I. I only wished my fellow wardens saw what you did that day, if only to grant you the respect you deserve. An unfortunate thing is that they cannot look beyond their prejudices.”

  “You say that now. You were the worst of them, back then, calling me a heretic and uh—... what was it, a stain on this earth?” Leroy couldn’t take himself seriously. Another laugh escaped him, brief, curt, and more of a scoff.

  “You remain a heretic, Leroy Waters, and that will not change for as long as you walk this earth. I am glad, however, that you are an arbiter, and that your licensure allows for us to speak as we do now. You are an affront to God, yes, but it was His will which put you in my life that day. You saved me. Contractor or not, that is deserving of brotherhood.”

  Leroy smirked. “Poetic, Marshal Whitfield. You always know how to make a girl blush.”

  A laugh echoed out from beneath Eisenhower’s visored helmet. “I must return to my original question, Leroy Waters. You require a guide to the Commonwealth Industrial Park, via the back roads. I take it your arbitration note is of a sensitive nature, else you’d commission the services of the Argent Group.”

  “Arbitration contract, not note,” Leroy corrected. “A multi-headed monster, this one is, and more complicated than some of my more recent ventures. Layers, you know. Like an onion. Sensitive, too. I need to disrupt Bluestein Philterwork’s manufacturing capabilities, put an end to the production of a certain alchemical concoction. The short of it? They’ve been using night-goers in Cyprus Alley as guinea pigs, cutting corners.”

  “Mh. It would be ill-advised, then, to arrange for an escort from the Argent Group, not unless you planned on being dropped off at the gates to the park itself,” Eisenhower noted.

  Leroy shrugged. “That, and they’ll never be as good as wardens. Private security is one thing, but they’re… commercial, you know. Entrepreneurial. Profit-motivated. For you guys, it’s a calling. A purpose that can’t be bought by money. I’d rather have you watching my back than some guy who could just as easily take my money and leave me for dead if push came to shove.”

  “The sentiment is shared, Leroy Waters, though, I am fairly certain you are what I would call profit-motivated as well,” Eisenhower joked.

  “Caught red handed,” Leroy said.

  “At any rate, it is all very troublesome—this mission of yours. Troublesome indeed, though, not unheard of. Brinehaven’s men of industry are hardly men of decency. I am glad to be of some service in getting you to your end goal, Leroy Waters. I take it you would prefer to be dropped off at the far end of the Commonwealth Industrial Park, then?”

  Leroy smiled. “If you can swing it.”

  “Consider it swung,” Eisenhower confirmed.

  Through the growling and bellows of the trapped lesser demons, the distinct sound of approaching footsteps shifted Leroy’s awareness to the side.

  A dark-skinned young man approached, no taller than five-foot-nine, with onyx hair styled into dreadlocks. He wore a tough gray sweater, a tattered red ascot, and had on desert-camouflogue cargo pants. A bandolier with more vials of pasteurized demon blood than Leroy had ever seen on someone was strung across his chest. Confidence radiated from his features, and he smiled a smile that came to him naturally and with little effort. A notable gap was between two front teeth, more endearing than distracting. One of his hands, his right one, looked like it was covered in scar tissue. Burn scars.

  “Your uh—”

  “Charge. Yes, Warden Yeager,” Eisenhower said.

  “What’s that on his back?”

  “A bow,” Eisenhower answered.

  Leroy raised a brow. Even by the Order’s standards, it was archaic. Some of them used swords, others used spears, hell, Leroy even saw a sledgehammer walking inside, and usually, all of that was usually paired with some kind of gun. But even from afar, Leroy was able to discern that the bow wasn’t normal. The wood was a dark red, accented with silver, and covered in engravings that he wasn’t familiar with. On either end of the bow were metal ornaments shaped like wolf’s heads.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “A curator,” Leroy noted. “That doesn’t go against Order policy, or edict?”

  “Curators are acceptable,” Eisenhower said.

  Leroy raised a brow. “Huh. Go figure.”

  ?

  “Say, why do I have to sit in the back?” Arthur asked.

  Leroy looked through the rearview mirror. Arthur sat next to Cameron, and his bow was awkwardly placed on the front of his lap, very nearly jutting straight into Cameron’s face. And as soon as Cameron caught wind of Leroy’s surveying glance, he made his displeasure known, furrowing his brows and embracing the not-so-subtle creases in his forehead that could only be born from a place of utter annoyance.

  A smile plagued Leroy’s face.

  “You’re right, Arthur. Might be better if you sit in the bed of the truck,” Cameron suggested.

  “Hell no,” Arthur retorted. “Do you realize how cold it’ll be once we get outside? No can do, no sir.”

  “Throw your damn bow in the back then,” Cameron insisted. “I mean, shit, if your chaperone can do it with that sawed off he was carrying, you can do it with that stupid piece of wood you’re lugging around.”

  "That is not what I put in the back, Cameron Kessler," Eisenhower chimed. "I have entrusted my sawed off to Leroy Waters. Perhaps you saw me put an an extra rifle in the back."

  Leroy briefly took hold of the sawed-off and waved it around, and Eisenhower cautioned him under his breath, stating that it was ill-advised to be so careless with such a piece of equipment. Leroy smirked.

  Blatant offense washed over Arthur’s face. “Stupid piece of wood? Canis. It’s called Canis.”

  “And I’m called Cameron, and Cameron doesn’t want Canis stabbing into his ribcage,” Cameron said, grabbing hold of the bow and shoving aside as much as he was able to. Poor kid. He was seated directly behind Eisenhower, and given the sheer size of the man, Cameron had little in the way of legroom.

  Their babbling continued. It was an odd mixture of slights and insults, which, in Leroy’s experience, meant that there was a potential for camaraderie. They weren’t at each other's throats yet, which might have well been a testament to Cameron’s growing capacity for patience. A few weeks ago? That version of Cameron would’ve sucker punched Arthur the second he introduced based solely on the fact that he had a name like Arthur. Progress was progress, however small.

  “Seems they’re getting on well,” Eisenhower said.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Leroy retorted.

  It felt odd not being the man behind the wheel, and Eisenhower’s stature didn’t make him the best of drivers. Even with a singular tunnel occupied by only their car, he drove like he was hesitating, which didn’t exactly inspire much confidence in his ability to guide them through the twists and turns of whatever backroad awaited them.

  When they exited the tunnel, they were greeted by sheets of mist, and rows upon rows of enormous pine trees that stood there undisturbed by their arrival. Semi-mountainous crags and graystone rocks littered the surrounding area, and the swathes of undergrowth and moss bombarded Leroy’s eyes with muted greens, browns, grays, and blues.

  “Headlights.” Leroy couldn’t help himself.

  Eisenhower lifted up the eye-shielding section of his metal visor, which slid into place atop of the helm. His eyes were a dull blue, and one of his pupils was larger than the other. Only a small portion of his skin was visible, but it looked pink and raw. “Yes, Leroy Waters. I was getting to that.”

  The marshal switched the lights on, and the high-lumen beams pierced through the mist like two oversized swords.

  “How far is this place?” Cameron asked.

  “Far, townie,” Arthur said with half a smirk, almost like he knew where his words would get him.

  “Townie? Where the fuck do you get off calling me a damn townie—”

  Leroy’s eyes shifted to the rear view once more, and he saw Cameron turn towards Arthur, face shadowed in indignation. “Half an hour, Kessler, if that.”

  “Longer than that,” Eisenhower claimed.

  Leroy exhaled. “The roads change since last I was here?"

  “The last time you were here, Leroy Waters, we took the main road, and walked on foot to where we needed to be. The back roads are called what they are called for a reason. They are lesser known, absent any asphalt, and lacking in concrete. There is only dirt, rock, and a beaten path.”

  “And some other things,” Arthur pointed out. “Worse things. Worse than what you’ve seen in that city of yours.”

  Leroy glanced over his shoulder, and looked directly at Arthur. “Maybe. But you don’t know it quite like I do.”

  Arthur smiled. “Touche, arbiter. Touche.”

  As they proceeded, the only music kind enough to greet Leroy’s ears was the sound of gravel and the creaking of the old pine trees. There was evidence of life in the pines by way of foliage, creeks, and half-bloomed flowers that were bright enough to stand out through the fog as Eisenhower took them further along the beaten road. But even still, nature’s bounty was too quiet for Leroy’s liking, and the further they treaded, the more Leroy wondered if they had enough firepower to get them where they needed to be.

  To his recollection, Eisenhower had stocked the bed of the truck with some odds and ends typical to the wardens: clusters of holy-water bombs, not unlike those attached to Eisenhower’s hip, a rifle, a crossbow, hand-carved stakes. Frankly, it wasn't much different from what the marshal already had on his utility belt, but more of the same wasn't a bad thing. Especially in the Pines.

  Cameron had his new sprite, too, which remained untested. Only time would tell if Silvio’s so-called gift was worth the trouble of keeping.

  Leroy ran his hand over his brown leather jacket. Inside, he had three waterskins, his P89, and four vials of pasteurized demon-blood to match the four that he’d given Cameron. And, Cameron had more bullet magazines for his Reign 18; he’d need them. Their encounter with Rachel Chen and the rest of Marcus Velvet’s security had shown Leroy that, at one point or another, he’d need to teach that kid how to aim a damn gun.

  Conversation quieted into a pervasive silence as the truck continued along the path, and not too long after that, Eisenhower slowed the car into a sudden halt. Leroy jerked back in his seat, and behind him, he could hear the groans of annoyance and displeasure leaving Arthur and Cameron in equal parts.

  “Why’d we stop?” Leroy asked.

  Eisenhower put the car into park and gestured out the front windshield with his prosthetic hand. “A tree, Leroy Waters.”

  “A tree in the middle of the road,” Leroy said, allowing himself a small laugh. “Right. Classic.”

  “I must admit it has been a bit since I have taken this road in particular,” Eisenhower admitted.

  “And this wasn’t here last time?” Leroy asked, inhaling sharply.

  “Not to my recollection, no,” Eisenhower said.

  Cameron shoved Arthur’s antique-looking bow out of his lap, and lurched forward between the driver and the passenger seat, squinting at the large pine-tree. “Maybe you took a wrong turn.”

  “He didn’t,” Arthur said, shoving Cameron aside to get a view for himself. “We haven’t had the need to take this route in ages, and if you look closely, you can see all the moss on the tree. It’s been here for a while.”

  Cameron shouldered Arthur back to the opposite end of the backseat. “Just cut it in half, Leroy, or move it or something. Plenty of fog around for you to pull that off.”

  Leroy was halfway out of the car already. “You’re full of oh-so-bright ideas lately, Kessler. Keep it up, and I’ll make you a snowcone.”

  Cameron sneered at him.

  Eisenhower departed after him, and so too did Cameron and Arthur, and the four of them clustered up in front of the fallen tree. A dim-blue glow leaked out from the symbol on Leroy’s neck, and he raised a hand in preparation of freezing some of the surrounding fog, only to just barely turn his head to the right.

  “The hell are you doing, Leroy?” Cameron asked.

  Leroy turned and held a finger to his lips, his eyes half-furrowed in concentration.

  It was subtle, but it was there—a chittering, like someone or something was cold. It was low, but not low to the ground, and Leroy’s head swiveled in an effort to try to locate the source of the sound. Something was watching them, and whatever it was, its confidence was growing. Chitters twisted into low and gargling growls, prompting not only Leroy, but everyone present to turn towards the treeline. Mist blanketed over their silhouettes. Even from afar, he could see tufts of brackish fur—black, mangled, uncouth—and multiple pairs of yellow eyes that glared through the fog, latched onto the sides of trees and squatting from branches.

  He’d been mistaken. It wasn’t something, it was things.

  Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Next one I will be sharing an expansion to the map showcasing the broader scope of the Pines, as well as the Commonwealth Industrial Park here in the post-chapter author note section! After that, I'll also amend the chapter titled 'Map' as well.

  LEROY WATERS

  CAMERON KESSLER

  MArSHAL WHItFIELD

  ARTHUR YEAGER

  Enjoying BRINEHAVEN? If so, please a review or a rating, it helps this story gain much needed visibility!