Lycan Fallout_Rise Of The Werewolf

by Mark Tufo

  “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-va

  “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. se express(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.

&nbs
p; “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 soe mived whme 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.

  ***

  “There’s only one bed,” I said to Tommy as we walked into our room. “And that thing they’re calling a mattress looks like it’s been steeped in seminal fluid.”

  t>“You know you’re impervious to germs now, right?” Tommy asked, putting down his small saddlebag.

  “Doesn’t mean I like them. Who knows, maybe there’s a new vampire super strain out there.”

  “How has so much time elapsed and you’re still the same?”

  “It’s a talent,” I told him.

  “I’m going to make sure that what we need will be available. If I leave you here alone, will you be alright?” Tommy asked with concern.

  “I’m not a child.”

  “You are to me.”

  “Fair enough, I’ll be fine.”

  When Tommy left, I sat in a wooden chair in the corner somewhat secure in the knowledge that there shouldn’t be too much microscopic swill swimming around on its surface. Oggie was pacing about; he kept looking at the door. I knew that look; he had to go. It wasn’t usually a problem because he would just wander about until he found a decent clearing and let loose. But now, he was confined and the dog really did like to crap in peace and quiet. So much so, that if he even thought I was looking his way, he’d move behind a tree or bush.

  “And so it begins,” I said as I opened the door and we went down the stairs and out into the burgeoning night.

  Purpose seemed a little out of sorts with no soft grass in which to take care of his business. I led him down to the tavern, mistakenly thinking there might be some grass down that way. He dropped his offering in a small alleyway. I wondered if there was a city ordinance that required me to pick that up or not. I figured I hadn’t seen anything, so I would go with ignorance of the law. I opened the door to a ramshackle establishment; slightly bummed it wasn’t the double swinging door from the movies.

  “We don’t serve them in here,” the bartender said as we walked in.

  “It’s alright, the dog will vouch for me,” I said.

  “The dog, we don’t allow dogs in here. What are you…stupid?”

  “Apparently, but I have money.”

  “Let me see it first, and then I’ll decide if he can stay.”

  I really should have gotten clarification from Tommy before I flipped the man a gold piece. When his eyes grew to twice their size I knew I had showed too many cards.

  “Dog can stay then?” I asked.

  He quickly dropped the coin in his pocket. “As long as he doesn’t disturb my other customers.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t want to wake the guy up in the corner.”

  “What do you want?”

  “My friend here will take the finest bowl of water you have and what the hell, I’ll try this mead stuff,” I told him.

  Oggie hopped onto a chair at an old card table and I pulled a chair up next to him. He waited patiently as the man dropped him a bowl then handed me a cloudy mug of what I guess was mead. It looked like oatmeal and smelled as bad. He was headinghe was he away.

  “No chance you’ve got a nice pilsner or lager hanging out back there do you? Shit, I’d take a stout right now,” I said, lifting the mug up, trying to look through the liquid.

  “I don
’t know where you’re from and I don’t care. I’ve never heard of those drinks so don’t ask me again,” he answered brusquely.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” I said as I ate through the top layer.

  “I like the dog more than I like you,” he said when he got back behind the bar.

  “Most people would probably agree with you.”

  He went back to pretending to clean the glasses, but the rag he was using was dirtier than anything he was attempting to clean. I hoped my halfling blood was as strong as Tommy said, or that the mead had some anti-bacterial properties. Although looking at this crap, I bet mushrooms could grow in it.

  Maybe it was because I’d gone a hundred and fifty years without a drink, or the mead was particularly strong, but I choked down three of them and I had a decent buzz by the time I pushed back my chair. Well, ‘push back’ isn’t quite right, more like fell over. Hey, it was a cheap piece of plastic lawn furniture. Oggie jumped down nimbly to lick my face as I rolled to get up.

  “You should go,” the bartender said with a slight hint of nervousness. I saw him look through a window before he said something. My dulled senses were still able to pick up on it.

  “You call someone to way lay me? Take my money perhaps?”

  He nervously licked his lips.

  “I’m telling you right now if you value any of the people out there you should call them off.”

  “Get out,” he said sternly.

  “When I’m done with them, I’m coming back here.”

  “Get out!” he shouted loud enough to wake his only other customer.

  “Oggie,” I said, getting down to the mutt’s level, I grabbed his face. “I hope you don’t think any less of me for what I’m about to do.” His tail was wagging. “And whatever you do don’t get involved.”

  I had a slight stumble as I headed for the door, even missed the knob the first time I reached for it. I had no sooner stepped onto the wooden plank-way when I heard the door lock behind me.

  “That won’t help you,” I told him as the shades were quickly drawn. “Douchebag,” I mumbled. “Bet you never heard that word before either. I’ll have a few more for you when I get back.” I heard the crack of a bullwhip. I, at first, had mistaken it as a firecracker it was that loud. I turned to see the origin of the sound. A large man with a whip flanked by two good-sized men approached.