Owl's Keep Four... The Maricopa, The Bethany and Onto The Pacific.

 

September 3rd, 2199.

The Maricopa Desert, New America, 55 miles east of the San Angeles Peninsula.

The hopelessness of the situation was clear to most, to cross any part of the Maricopa during the day, was certain suicide for those who came unprepared for the scathing one hundred plus degree temperatures that scorched the landscape there. And out of the few people that traveled through the region near the east bank of Lake Bethany, most of the locals knew better than to try and get water out in the open. Raiders and highwaymen watched it like hawks for fresh prey. And as soon as anyone who suffered the misfortune of letting their guard down long enough to try to fetch themselves a cool drink from the Bethany, they would swoop down on them like a swarm of angry locusts, sweeping them away and all they carried with them. In most cases the men were slaughtered on site with a brutal and ruthless efficiency, while women who were young enough would be taken hostage and were used for bartering amongst the outlaw gangs like a piece of livestock, and if they were older they would more than likely meet a swift death.

The Bethany was no place to be caught, especially during the day. But still, there were always those who were tempted to try their luck along its banks, a strong thirst after all-could make a person throw caution to the wind, and while most people were smart enough to realize that such a large body of water in the desert would attract a lot of thirsty visitors, they were also aware of the fact that it was more than

likely watched by groups of scavengers who would prey on unsuspecting strangers. Some of the drifters that passed through the region would break away from the Pacific Trail and scout the Bethany for hours on end, waiting for just the right time to slip in and fill their containers with water. Waiting until they thought the raiders weren't paying attention. But what most of the drifters that occasionally wandered into the Maricopa had to find out the hard way was something that the locals knew all along-Unless you knew how to slip in unnoticed, it was potential suicidal.

The one spot that was the safest part of the lake to get water from was at the north end, where there stood a wall of jagged rocks that towered some seventy or so feet almost straight up into the air along the banks. There was sparse vegetation, and precious little to be found in the way of shelter from the burning sun. So to even attempt it you would have to be borderline insane, which never stopped eighteen-year-old Moxley Kile and his seventeen-year-old accomplice Trip Anders. The pair of young adventurers would often make the forty-five-mile trek to The Bethany from the township of Firebend, and often had to outrun raiders and bandits who would occasionally mistake young Mox for a female. Now, Mox wasn’t female by any stretch- but he did possess this odd feminine quality in concerns of his boyish good looks, he had long blond hair and a long lean body with golden skin from many hours spent in the sun hunting for food, but he was all male.

His young friend Trip wasn’t quite as attractive, he was a bit shorter, while most who were familiar with him would argue that he was a cross between a tree stump and a boulder, while Mox was taller and leaner, Trip was short, with long black hair, and his middle was as wide- if not wider, than his already broad shoulders. Whenever Mox and Tripley went to the Bethany from Firebend, before continuing on to the Pacific Ocean, they knew enough from experience to take the northern route, to stay out of the raider's reach, the terrain was rougher, more rocks, more briars and cactus, more jagged cliffs to climb up, over and around but in the long run it was safer as the terrain proved too much work for the scavengers from the lake who were always on the lookout for easier prey than two nimble young men who could climb rock faces faster than most squirrels. From the top of the north cliff you could see every shoreline and Mox and Trip had their own special place out of the heat that they would patiently watch from until the sun was in the perfect spot before they would make their first move.

Once they had made it around the northern cliff face, they would carefully climb down to the edge of the Bethany and unload their packs. Then they would fill their near empty water jugs and retreat back into the shade, all the while keeping a watchful eye along the water's edge for any sign of movement. They would eat dried cacti for lunch and drink the cool, delicious water from their canteens, and after a brief rest they began the long, laborious climb back up the cliff face to continue on their way. They had just cleared the top of the cliff when something caught Trip's eye from across the water, which immediately brought to mind the stranger and the three horsemen that they had had a near encounter with on the Temblor.  Beads of sweat that were forming in his eyebrows began to roll down into his eyes, but he could still clearly see that there were dust billows puffing up into the air as though there were a great scuffle, and then as suddenly as they appeared they had once again died down. Now curious, Mox and Trip cautiously made their way around the north end of the lake to get a closer look, and what they saw wasn’t at all what they had expected.

Instead of bandits standing over the bodies of more victims-there were two people, one tall thin wiry looking male who looked half starved, he had long stringy brown hair, and he was quite dirty looking, his skin was dried and weathered which made him look years older than he actually was.  The female on the other hand was much younger looking than the male, Mox guessed that she was probably closer to he and Trip's ages. She looked to be well groomed and slightly out of place, her skin was clean her clothes clean, and her long blond hair well kempt and tied back into a long ponytail, together they were going through the pockets of four dead bandits who lye on the ground with their skulls split open like ripe melons all four whom Mox recognized as being from a local gang of cutthroats.  From behind a boulder, they watched as the pair took everything of value and knelt down at the water's edge one at a time to drink while the other kept an eye out for other bandits. Mox climbed to the top of the rock in plain view where they could see him.

“You know those men were some of Morg Creel’s gang, don’t you?” He told them.

The male stood abruptly and turned to face him. The female also standing - pulled a long knife into full view.

“And just how long have you been sitting up there?” She asked, pointing the blade at him.

“Long enough.” He answered.

Now both Mox and Trip were moving towards them, cautiously inspecting the dead bandits as they walked. Three of the four were cut in various places, stabbed in others, all fours heads were split open by large rocks which now lay by the water’s edge covered in blood. The female slowly stepped forward.

“We were only after a drink of water.” She said.

Mox looked back down at the dead bandits, their pockets now emptied, had been pulled outside their trousers.

“From the looks of things, I’d say you were out for more than a drink of water.” He told them.

Trip nodded in silent agreement.

“So-  They were just bandits.  They would have killed us if given half a chance. So what’s the big deal if we killed them first and took what we could get?”  The female asked.

Mox stared down solemnly at the bodies.

“The big deal is, these were some of Morg Creels guys, and when they don’t go back to where ever they came from- Morg Creel is either going to send someone ten times worse to come looking for them. Or even worse than that, he’s going to come looking for them himself”  Mox told them.

“So we’ll be long gone by then.” She said.

“Morg is going to be really angry, and he will come looking for whoever he even suspects is responsible.” Mox told them.

The tall, thin, wiry male stepped forward.

“You keep saying the name Morg Creel-so who in the hell is Morg Creel anyway?”

Mox turned to look back at the mountains in the distance and then looked back at the two strangers with a look of growing concern.

“He’s the leader of a gang of cutthroats called the Thirsters. You see that highest peak up there in the mountains?” He pointed off in the distance.

They both nodded.

“That’s where Morg’s base camp is, from up there his spotters can watch this whole valley, and more in particular they watch the Bethany like hawks, anyone who stops to get water from it usually falls victim, because they’re careless and easy prey. They’re all bloodthirsty, those raiders, and Morg Creel himself is the biggest and meanest and most bloodthirsty of all of them. and when those four that you killed don’t come back, you can bet your life he’s going to come looking for them”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” The male asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Trip shook his head slowly.

“Well-seeing as how you don’t have much time, you’d best do like we’re gonna do.” He told them.

“Which is?”

“Get as far away from here as possible.”

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2014~

Owl's Keep Three... Onto The Temblor Traverse.

 

4:00 PM, September 2nd, 2199. Mile 10, The Temblor Traverse.

They had found themselves in the unlikely position of sitting atop of Pylar’s Peak, at mile 10 of the Temblor Traverse, lying in the tall grass on their bellies like a couple of lizards staring down into the small valley below them at the three riders on horseback calmly making their way along the trailhead leading toward the southwest. Even though they were at least by Mox’s estimation a full two miles above the riders, they remained perfectly still. He studied them for a time before turning to Trip, who seemed deeply disturbed at the very thought of being detected by the three. Mox said nothing but instead returned his attention to the three riders who had then stopped, the lead rider dismounted and was kneeling down to inspect the trail in front of them, they did appear to be tracking something or someone, the boys lay still in the tall grass as they continued to watch them until they eventually turned away and began to move in the opposite direction. When they disappeared from view, Mox finally rose to his knees and collapsed the spyglass.

“They definitely match the description of the guys that Tucker was talking about.” He said.

Trip said nothing in response but nodded his head in agreement. They both got to their feet and resumed their trek along the Temblor, the closer they drew to the Maricopa, the more the temperature rose, soon they would be needing to seek shelter from the sun. They still had plenty of stock left of dried fruit, dehydrated beef and jerked chicken, but they would be needing to turn off the trail soon to head to a secluded spot further along a narrow cutoff path that not too many people traveled to from the Temblor, it was a rocky narrow cavern along the side of the trail called Pestal Gorge, it would take some effort to get down to it, but the reward would be a cool spot out of the sun, a place to build a small fire after dark, and cool pools of fresh clean water to replenish their supplies with before they made it to Lake Bethany in the Maricopa. Carefully, they made their way down into Pestal Gorge and climbed along the rocks to get to the pools, once in the shade they stopped to unload their packs, They gathered wood from a dead ironwood tree that had uprooted, and built a stone fire pit along the rocky side of the cavern walls and settled in for the night. They were now just about nine miles away before the Temblor would be turning into the Pacific Trail.

The sun rose over the rocks at their backs the next morning, and Trip rose to find Mox hurriedly putting out the fire. He held his forefinger to his lips and motioned for Trip to be still. He pointed up when Trip began to realize that something or someone was moving along the rocks above them, they both pulled on their packs and unharnessed their crossbow’s and loaded them. The wait wasn’t long as a short, thin dirty looking young man made his way down the rocks toward the water's edge, both Mox and Trip instinctively stepped back into the shadows and waited, he staggered forward into the cold pool of water and began to drink feverishly, Mox trained the crossbow on him, watching his every move.   When he finally began to realize that he had stumbled upon someone’s campsite he slowly lifted his head from the water and slowly backed away turning completely around to look at Mox and then at Trip. he slowly hoisted both hands in the air at the very sight of two high tension crossbows pointed in his direction, Mox stepped out into the open, all the while keeping the crossbow trained on his target, Trip moved slowly to his right, neither letting their guard down.

“I don't want any trouble, I was just needing a drink of water, I haven’t had any in quite a while.” He said.

“Who are you? and where did you come from?” Mox asked in a suspicious tome.

“My name is Hiram Midler, I came down here from Coppers Mill, I’m just traveling through, and I got a little lost.  Please- I don’t want to die, I just needed some water!” He answered nervously.  

“Coppers Mill? Isn’t that all the way past Klamath to the east of here? That’s a long way to be traveling alone on foot, mister, so who are you with?” Mox asked impatiently.

“No! I’m not with anybody-well… I was, but he went his own way a day and a half ago, he said some guys were following him, and he was going to try to lose them by heading southwest up into the rocks and desert. But I don’t think it worked, though.” He answered, sounding more nervous than ever.

“Why do you think it didn’t work?”

“Because I hung back and hid, and waited to see if they would follow him, about an hour later three riders on horseback showed up, and it took them about two minutes to pick up his trail, they went right up behind him, I don’t know for sure if they caught him or not. I didn’t stick around to find out, neither.”

“So who was he? and who are they? where did they come from?”

“I don’t know who any of them were. I met up with him outside of Coppers Mill, and he said that he was headed to a place called Sawtooth up near the coast, it wasn’t up until about three days ago that we first figured out that those three riders tracked him from where ever they were from.”

“So you travelled over 180 miles with a man on foot, and you never once caught his name? or knew where he was from? Sorry, man, but I’m not buying that.” Trip added.

“Look-we weren’t on foot the whole ways, we HAD horses, but they were stolen in the middle of the night about six nights ago. Look- I think he was from some place way up in the mountains, I never knew exactly where, though. now- I’m just trying to stay alive.”

"Do you have anything to carry any water in?" Mox asked. 

"Just my bota bag. it holds enough, I reckon." He answered.

"Fill it." Mox told him flatly. "And then get up to the top of this trail right here, when you do- head to the south, stay on that trail, and it'll take you to the next water which is about a seven-hour hike from here if you're lucky. And don't even think about turning back to follow us. Trip here already put an arrow through one man, one more wouldn't make any difference to us."

After deciding that he needed to go on his own way, Mox and Trip let the stranger get a good way ahead of them before leaving the safety of Pestal Gorge they still didn’t know who he was or who the three men following him and his friend were, only that it was a potential danger that they didn’t need.  they kept him ahead of them where they could keep an eye on him, for they still weren’t completely certain what he was up to, if anything more than trying to stay ahead of the three riders. They rounded the top of the gorge and when they were confident that he was out of reach they followed the path that would lead them off to the northwest in the direction of the Pacific Trail and inevitably the Maricopa desert. Now they had plenty of water until they would reach the Bethany, and with the morning sun at their backs, they decided to travel on throughout the entire day to get to the end of the Temblor before heading due west to Fishbin.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2014~

Owl's Keep Two... Across The Ash Valley.

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~

Owl's Keep one. Hello From The Edge of The World

 

August 18th, 2199. 9:22 AM.  Quailman's Flat, The Birdcage Trading Emporium, 22 miles from The Void.

The Birdcage wasn’t the kind of place that most people living within the borders of The Void would ever intentionally seek out unless you lived on the other side of Quailman's Flat, and the closest place there that had people coming over to do business of any kind was from on the other side of the Ash valley in one of the dozen or so settlements there.  They usually came from either Blackridge, Blighton or to the east of those in Firebend or Bartertown.  Being in the exact spot that it was in though, people in the Void wouldn’t risk long distance traveling to the Birdcage trading emporium because of the often unstable air currents in the desert would cause rather violent sand swarms, and it was too dangerous to risk unless you had covered transportation to wait out the storms in, like the wagons that were mostly used by traveling professional hoarders. Most trader’s though-at least those with any sense, would take the long way around The void, and use the Pacific trail to go to the coastal town of Fishbin to do their trading. Traveling at any lengths in the Void was often too dangerous. Still, though, the small trader’s den known throughout the region as the Birdcage not only survived in the often hostile wilderness amongst the sand dunes and palm trees, but it thrived.

 If there was one thing that Birdcage proprietor Thadeous T. Rosenbloom could count on was that the same two young men every two months would travel from Firebend across the Ash valley to trade for leather goods, glass marbles, various sizes of steelshot bearings, and smooth round stones, although steelshot was over time becoming quite rare, all of which could be used as slingshot hunting projectiles, in the right hands a slingshot was still a very effective hunting weapon on most small game, not to mention in the right hands they could be lethal to human beings as well. But most people in the area-including the boys, were armed with crossbows to deal with larger threats, such as people.  Almost as if right on cue, the two young men showed up and spent an entire morning trading with Thadeous, exchanging pleasantries, telling him in great detail about their journey from Firebend. They came with bags of dehydrated beef and jerked chicken, and various dried fruits from the across the Ash valley on the far side of Firebend where their families still farmed their own land, and on their journey to the birdcage as they traveled across the Ash, they would spend the hottest time of the day beneath nut trees picking shelled nuts to bring with them to barter for supplies for an even longer journey that they were planning to Fishbin.

 Thadeous liked the boys, and they were amongst his favorites to trade with, so whenever he would come across something special that he knew that they might be interested in, he would set it to the side and give them first crack at it.  In this particular case, he’d come across two full pouches of steel shot bearings and even more various sizes of marbles.  He traded them along with three replacement slings, leather pockets and a newly acquired cache of steel shaft crossbow arrows that he’d come across in his dealing with some of the locals.  The boys-happy with the trade, headed back to Firebend in early afternoon.  What Mox and Trip hadn’t noticed, right from the start, were the three distant figures that had picked up their trail just two miles inland from the Birdcage near Ford’s fork. It was Trip Anders who picked up their silhouettes in the distance, he immediately alerted Moxley Kile to the possible danger.  They headed to higher ground and nestled into a small thicket of bushes, where Mox dropped to one knee and pulled out his telescopic spyglass to assess the situation. There were three shirtless males of varying sizes, all rather on the skinny side, Mox ventured a guess that it was perhaps food that they were after.  It seemed as good a guess as any, they were going to have to fight to keep everything that they had, so they quickly outlined a plan and a place to make their stand if necessary.

 

They opted for an abandoned township with plenty of empty out buildings to provide them cover, Mox and Trip had both hunted in the area some time ago, and they were familiar with the layout, and if they did it right they could easily get the upper hand quickly in any possible skirmish.  The township was a long-deserted place the locals knew as Burnt Ends with long narrow moss covered streets, oddly placed empty buildings, one two story at the end of what once was the main street offered them a perfect vantage point to see the targets if they were indeed being followed. They carefully made their way to the rooftop and took cover at the building's edge and patiently waited to see if the three strangers would appear, just fifteen minute later their suspicions were confirmed as three figures slowly turned onto the main street.  Mox Kile had already loaded a medium shot steel bearing into the pocket of the slingshot, had it locked into place along his wrist and was drawing a bead on the lead target, when an idea struck him, there was a metal sign about twenty feet in front of them, if he could hit it with the steel shot, the noise might make them think twice about engaging the boys as the three strangers did not appear to be armed. Six feet across the roof, Trip Anders had already removed his crossbow from his back harness and had it loaded, and was drawing a bead on the second male in line behind the first. They were ready.

 

 

Mox moved his aim toward the metal sign and drew a deep breath and held it until his aim steadied. He let the steel shot fly, and it struck the sign with the desired results, when the steel shot struck it, it made the most obnoxious clanging noise and as expected scared the wits out of the three strangers, but in reality it was Trip Anders shot that convinced them to abandon the search for their prey, also true to its mark, Trip’s crossbow shot struck the second man in the chest taking him down immediately, causing the remaining two to run the other way without even considering to look back.  They waited until almost twenty minutes had passed before making their way to the still body of the fallen stranger, Trip had loaded another shaft into the crossbow and provided cover for Mox while he checked the body, he placed two fingers on the neck of the man before turning his head slightly to look up at Trip, he ran his hand in a knifing gesture over his own throat indicating that he was indeed dead. Trip had made a clean kill with one shot. He moved in behind Mox to recover the arrow, while Mox checked to see if the other two had tried to take cover or doubled back on them, and they were nowhere to be seen. the boys then retreated into one of the empty buildings to take stock of their supplies before pressing on to Firebend.

 

They left Burnt Ends behind them with early evening approaching, they knew that they had about two and one half hours of daylight left to burn before they would need to seek shelter for the night. They traveled east towards Coker’s mounds, and a series of high rolling hills, some high and wide enough to have small caves in their sides, caves big enough for two people to rest comfortably and to even have room to build a small fire if needed. Behind them on the western skyline dark ominous clouds began to form, and rumblings of deep thunder echoed across the entire Ash valley, Moxley and Trip knew that they didn’t have much time, the storm was gaining on them but fast. The terrain became rocky mixed in with the sparse vegetation, grassy hillsides and briars, the pathways became thinner and undefined and much harder to see once the storm had blocked out the remaining sunlight. It was almost completely dark when they made it to the first cave, midway up onto the first hillside. The first drops of rain began to pelt their skin just as they got inside a small opening just big enough for both of them, there would be no fire built, however, as the storm moved in quickly and a virtual downpour, squashed any hopes of gathering fuel for a proper fire.    

The storm raged on throughout the night, rain continued to pelt the entire valley and occasionally thunder would erupt with flashes of lightning that illuminated the sky as they slept inside the small cave. They were dry even though there was no fire and slept undisturbed until the first rays of light began to peek through the clouds the next morning. It was still raining when some distant noises woke them both up, it was still very early and they  had difficulty seeing, but they could plainly hear a distant voice from out in the storm yelling, followed by what sounded like a crack of a whip. Trip pointed out about one hudred yards or so in front of them down on a narrow stone covered path, there was a hoarders covered wagon, stalled in a small rut, two large oxen were out in front of it, but they didn’t appear to be moving.  Mox looked at Trip and then back down at the wagon.

“It’s a hoarder from the looks of the wagon, looks like they’re stuck, If we help them, it could be a ride back to Firebend if they’re headed that way.”  He said.

They both agreed and pulled their hoods up over the tops of their heads before gathering their packs and weapons to head back down the hillside. It was still raining, although not as heavy as before, still the ground was quite wet and slick and footing was tricky in places. It took them upwards of  thirty minutes to reach the the back of the wagon, a very large man was underneath clearing out debris from under the wheels cursing loudly at the top of his lungs, both Mox and Trip fought back a smile. It was one of the bigger hoarders wagon’s that either of them had ever seen, to Trip it looked like something out of one of those old picture books that he used to have as a child that Mox’s mother taught them both to read from. The wagon itself was well over nine feet tall on the sides  and was made of wood with four large steel spoked wheels on either side,  forward and to the back, it was painted on the sides in bright colors and had huge fancily written words that read, Pilgrim’s Trade Goods. Neither Mox nor Trip recognized the picture of the animal that was brilliantly painted on each side, but Mox guessed that it was some sort of wolf.  He leaned down cautiously to offer the hoarder their assistance..

“Excuse us sir, but do you need some help?”  He asked, tentatively moving back toward Trip.

When he heard the voice he quickly pulled himself out from under the wagon to see who was addressing him. He was an older fellow, maybe as old as fifty or sixty years perhaps, well over six foot tall he was, a mountain of a man to be certain, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, long salt and pepper hair fell down his upper back. His face was well weathered and his cheeks round and full,  his eyes were of the sharpest hazel color that Mox had ever seen, He wore a long brown coat that appeared to be made of leather, his clothes looked strangely neat and clean and he almost seemed menacing, and for the briefest of moments Mox considered that perhaps he and Trip made a grave mistake approaching the strange looking hoarder. He looked them both up and down and then past them up at the hillside. He nodded toward Cokers mounds.

“You two young fellers come from up there did ya?”  He asked.

They both nodded.

“And did anybody else come with ya?” He asked suspiciously.

“No sir we came alone, well together,  but- alone.” Trip tried to answer.

He lowered his chin to his chest, and gave them both a stern look, his eyebrows slowly arched in suspicion.

“You two young fellers wouldn’t lie to ol Pilgrim now would ya?” He asked.

Again both boys shook their heads no.

“Well alright then, from the looks of things my rear axle got itself high centered on that tree branch that came loose in last nights storm, now ol Bull and Tak up there can’t seem to yank it free, and it’s still too dark under there to see exactly what’s going on. But I reckon I'm really stuck here.”  He told them.

Mox offered to go under the wagon to have a look. and when the older hoarder was confident that the boys weren’t trying to hoodwink him he reluctantly agreed. Mox cautiously made his way under the wagon, moments later he stuck his head out from under it and looked up at them both.

“Sir? It looks like you rear wheel on the other side is stuck in a pretty deep hole,  and the fat part of that tree limb is right in front of it, I think if we had something to saw with we could cut through and clear  it and then the oxen could pull you out from the hole,  but we need a saw.”  Mox told him.

He walked around to the back of the wagon and opened two double wooden doors and pulled down a set of steps and then lifted himself up inside, moments later he reappeared with two long blade hand saws, Mox and Trip each grabbed one and went under the wagon and began to work on cutting the tree limb into pieces to free up the rear wheel. With their backs to the wind they began cutting through the limb, reducing it’s size a piece at a time, all in all it would take them almost an hour to clear the entire underside of the wagon. Pilgrim went under to inspect the rear axle and when satisfied that it was undamaged he tended to the Oxen and within a few minutes time the massive beasts had pulled the rear wheel clear of the hole. Pilgrim had indeed been heading in the direction of Firebend and told the boys that he had more than enough room for both of them to ride along with him and Mox sat on the driver’s board on the passenger side, and Trip sat behind them in the opening of the cabin. Through a thick curtain he could see various odds and ends that were typically found in a hoarders wagon, empty oil lanterns hanging on the wall, various hand tools neatly stacked and catagorized, wooden boxes and some empty mason jars, a food bin more than likely filled with  his personal supply, along with stacks of old blankets and clothing and different types of hats. Oddly though the one thing that he didn’t see were weapons, although hoarders were typically known to keep those hidden from prying eyes,  as most were usually armed to the teeth which was why few people were crazy enough to mess with them.

The storm had slowly pulled away and began to move westward as Pilgrim guided to two oxen team in an eastern direction, the stone trail had smoothed somewhat the further they moved into the grasslands, and as trees became a more frequent sight  Mox knew that they were getting closer to Firebend. The wagon bobbed and swayed  as it moved along the trail rolling over small ruts and stones and the occassional puddle left behind by the previous evenings rain storm. As they rolled along Pilgrim regaled them with stories of his life as a professional hoarder, and in turn Mox shared stories about their home and he and Trips travels through the neighboring lands and their dealings with bandits, grifters, road agents and in general bad people of every sort as well as a few of the good ones. Finally in the distance the familier sight of the small township of Firebend began to take shape on the horizon, and before long they were rolling down the main street which had several old two story brick buildings, some abandoned, with broken dirty glass windows, others with the windows boarded up entirely, and a few that seemed like they were well maintained, some had bartering signs, others were private residences. They finally stopped in front of a long three story brick building set in the middle of what looked like two long broken lines of steel rails that ran along either side of and past it, the rails seemed to reach out for miles and Pilgrim guessed that it was once part of a great railing system that he’d read about in books years ago. The rail house as it was called, served as the townships central hub and visitors center.

They were met by a tall, thin older gray haired fellow whom Mox had identified as constable Kirkland, he met briefly with Pilgrim to discuss the reason for his visit to Firebend and once satisfied that the hoarder wasn’t out for trouble he told him about a safe spot to rest his oxen  at the edge of town by the Andreas river. Mox and Trip rode with him to the site to the very edge of the farming district where they both lived and once Pilgrim found a good spot to rest the team they helped him secure his wagon before heading home to Stonegate farm. Later in the evening as it wasn’t a long walk, the boys returned to Pilgrim’s encampment  to offer him  some fresh chicken and vegetables that Mox’s mother had prepared that evening for supper, which he happily accepted and thanked them for. They sat and discussed each of their plans for the near future and Pilgrim told them that he would be headed northwest  to the hoarders base camp near the township of Dewfork, and Mox and Trip discussed their plans of going to Fishbin near the ocean, where they were to barter for supplies and a couple of horses before continuing on to the foot of the Diablo mountain range to hunt for larger game. Somewhere in the conversation they had all mapped out a plan for the three of them to travel a good part of the way together as the trip to Dewfork would take Pilgrim across the Temblor Traverse, a winding, narrow, and in places, a treacherous pathway that would take them to the Pacific Trail. Once there the three new friends would part ways, with Pilgrim heading to Dewfork and Moxley and Trip taking the Pacific Trail to Fishbin.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2014~