Since they had departed Firebend just one day previous, they had encountered two different storms on their way to the Temblor Traverse, they had a run in with coyotes, a pack of feral dogs, and two wild black bears. Now to top it off, just off to the eastern horizon a third and even more ominous storm loomed in the distance, this one seemed to hold the promise of being even worse than the other two, Trip had been monitoring their situation from the top of the cabin of the wagon with Mox’s spyglass, they estimated that they were still a full twenty-one miles from the Temblor Traverse, and they were going to be needing to seek a safe place to secure the oxen who would most certainly become spooked if forced to pull the wagon in a full-blown thunderstorm. From his perch atop the cabin of the wagon, Trip made out the figure of what appeared to be a lone structure that for the most part at least looked deserted, it was about two miles to the southwest of them, there were also scattered thickets of trees which were a lot closer- but trees in a thunderstorm, especially those that produced a lot of lightning were not the safest bet in concerns of finding safe shelter from a storm. This particular storm was drawing dangerously close as Pilgrim turned the oxen team toward the structure and prodded them forward, the closer they drew to it, Trip could then plainly see that it was an old barn which stood in a grassy clearing by itself, there were trees scattered about on all sides but nothing close, the barn now was the safest bet.
The wind was picking up as the dark clouds began to block out the sun to the rear of the wagon, and then came the rain that pelted them from all angles, making the top of the wagon slippery and a treacherous perch for Trip. Pilgrim pulled rein on the team just outside the entrance to the barn, there were no doors that hung on it anywhere, but it would provide adequate shelter from the wind and rain, and most certainly the lightning that was sure to follow. Pilgrim stepped down from the driver's board and guided the team into the barn cautiously, when it was determined to be safe they secured the wagon itself with wooden blocks but left the team attached to it for the time being. Pilgrim’s two young companions were set about looking around the barn for anything useful when Trip made a very grim discovery. A very young man lay in the straw, he was bleeding from several fresh cuts and was badly beaten as well. Upon closer inspection, Mox and Trip had both recognized him as a boy they knew from a neighboring settlement a few miles from Firebend called Fester’s Needle, the boy was a recurring hunting and fishing acquaintance of theirs named Tucker Quimby. A small group of men came to Firebend seven weeks ago looking for Tucker, who at last report had disappeared from his lifelong home without so much as a trace, and now here he was lying in an abandoned old barn, perhaps on the very edge of death itself. He began to stir as Mox bent down to check him for a pulse, his eyes parted and when he looked up at them a small smile spread across his dry weathered lips. Trip could hardly speak a word, but Mox simply had to have answers, answers that couldn’t wait-not even for death.
“Hey. Mox? Trip? do you guys have any water on ya? I’m really thirsty. Ya Know?” He asked.
Pilgrim brought over a container of water and held it to his lips while the thirsty teenager drank in as much as he could.
“Tucker-what happened? who did this to you?” Mox asked.
“It’s a long story Mox, I- don’t know. how-much time do I have?” He answered.
“Just tell me what you can, my friend.” Mox told him.
“Awhile back I went hunting for rabbits, out in the wild fields, made it all the way to Devil’s Fork. Followed a big Jack there, I met up with a small group of raiders about a group of ten or so, Leaders name was Stickley, he wanted me to join up with them, so I figured what the hell? why not? They all thought they were ruffian’s I guess, turns out they were talk mostly. Didn’t do much raiding, talked about it a lot, though. we were set up, by a small lake near Gregaine, these three guys showed up a couple of hours later, all on these huge fucking horses. These guys-all- dressed up real fancy like, long black hooded cloaks. armed to the teeth. From the looks-they weren’t from anywhere around here. They said that they were just looking for somebody. That’s when Stickley fucked up, he tried to bluff them into giving us the horses. said he would cut them all down if they didn’t comply, the guy… on the black horse dismounted… Pulled back his cloak he had a two-edged battleaxe, he cut through six of us by himself, the other two got off and finished the job, I got cut- pretty bad I guess, tried to run… made it- this far. Couldn’t run anymore, Mox, I guess-the three just left me to die here.”
His voice drew silent and his eyes rolled to the open sky, his chest no longer rose and fell struggling for each precious breath. Trip and Mox both sadly looked away, Pilrigim reached down with his hand and closed Tucker’s eyes for the last time. He stood up and solemnly looked down at the boys.
“Weather breaks, we should find a nice spot to bury this young feller. he deserves a proper resting place.”
When the rain stopped the next morning, they found a spot by a beautiful mesa oak tree, and laid Tucker Quimby to rest beneath it. Pilgrim said a few words as did both Mox and Trip, before deciding that they really needed to press on to stay ahead of the next storm, they were now about nineteen miles from the Temblor Traverse, and they needed to cover some serious ground if they were going to get there before being derailed by yet another storm. There was a fresh water pond another mile and a half up the trail where they briefly stopped to refill all of their water containers, they let the oxen drink their fill, all the while keeping one eye on the horizon at all times. They’d burnt up another 45 minutes at the pond before pressing on. Mox began to plot their course along the Temblor, and did so aloud so that Pilgrim might offer any insight as he saw fit. The first five miles or so would be easy, mostly flat surfaces with an occasional hill or two, but the closer they would get to the Maricopa desert, the more difficulties that would arise. The temperatures and well as the terrain would no doubt elevate quickly and the ability to travel during the day would be cut in half, luckily though for the two young travelers, this wouldn’t be their first trip into the Maricopa desert. They knew where to go and how to survive.
For as lush and green as the Ash valley was-the Maricopa was vast, dry for the most part, unforgiving, the desert terrain in places were very nearly uninhabitable, aside for cactus, dry weeds, desert grass and lizards, not much else survived there for long periods of time. The plan was to keep it as simple as possible, stay as close to the edge of the Maricopa as they could get away with, The Pacific trail all the way from the Temblor would go through the edge of the desert by six miles or so, taking them close enough to the one water source that they would be needing to restock their water supply in, Lake Bethany. From there they would be close enough to take the Pacific Trail all the way to Fishbin, the closer they would get to the Pacific Ocean the cooler the air would become, and the greener the terrain, there were fresh fruits trees scattered all throughout the hills that stood inland from the pacific. Luckily, the boys knew where most of the good trees with plentiful fruit were located, and it made them hopeful for an adequate food supply. Fishbin, however-as well as the rest of the plan, was still a long ways off. With the wind lashing at their backs they made their way along, inching their way closer to the Temblor Traverse, Pilgrim, Mox and Trip all remained eerily silent for most of the way until Trip decided to break the silence.
“So where do you think those three riders that Tucker was talking about came from, Pilgrim?”
He stared straight ahead for a time offering no imediate response. until finally after giving the question careful pause he decided to speculate.
“Well, I’ve been as far away as Klamath, and a bit farther than that too, and I reckon I’ve seen a lot of peculiar things in my travels, but I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen folks dressed up in hooded cloaks, and carrying double edged battle axes.”
He pulled rein on the oxen team and drew the wagon to a rolling stop. He looked straight ahead, blinking rapidly as if calculating some complicated equation.
“But the way he described them cutting right through them fellers like that, my guess is they’d have to have a great deal of experience in small arms combat.”
Mox leaned forward giving Pilgrim a sideways glance.
“Like maybe one of them crazy military sects? like that one that killed those people in old Sac town a couple of years ago?”
Then Pilgrim gave him a look, trying to piece it all together.
“Maybe kinda like that, but these fellers, they sound organized, maybe well trained even. Now your friend Tucker said that they were looking for someone, now to me, that sounds like a three man tracking team. Highly mobile, only three on horseback, they can cover ground quickly and are skilled swordsmen? That there Moxy- that don’t sound like no run of the mill militants to me. that sounds like it could be something much worse.”
“From where though?”
He didn’t offer an answer instead snapped the reins prompting the oxen on their way, they exchanged light banter the rest of their journey together, and kept the conversation casual and cheerful, laughing amongst themselves more often than not, and before long they arrived at the Temblor Traverse just before nightfall, the storm that had been trailing them for the past day had turned north and headed farther inland, and so they found a nice group of trees near a small field of wildgrass, and they spent one last night in each others company, while pilgrim tethered the oxen close by to graze at their leisure, they shared supper while sitting around a campfire, the next morning after saying their goodbyes, The Temblor Traverse would take Mox and Trip to the Pacific trail, and Pilgrim would drive the oxen and his wagon north to Dewfork. The Maricopa and everything lost in between loomed in the distance.
~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2014~
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