The figures began to wave, indicating that they’d seen us just as well as we’d seen them, and I lowered the binoculars to catch the faces of the children. “They know we’re here.”

“They might be able to help us,” said Andrew.

“Doubtful,” said Gemma.

“Doesn’t matter,” I interjected, “We ain’t got the weaponry to fight from a distance anyhow. We could run. We could parlay.”

“Parlay?” asked the boy.

“Like a gamble,” said the girl—she shook her head then spoke to me, “My vote’s no.”

A voice through a bullhorn met us and when we turned to look back up the road to the gathered people there, one of them called more greatly so the words were clear, “We see you. We won’t hurt you.” The strangers, probably wasters, stood between squat buildings on either side of the road.

“See?” said Andrew. The young man rose and took Trouble with him.

Gemma shook her head and me and her both followed the boy and the dog. “Bad idea,” said the girl, “Very bad idea.”

The voice through the bullhorn sounded again, “If you’ve any weapons, tell us now. We won’t hurt you, but we don’t want any misunderstandings either.”

I froze for a moment, called back, “I have a gun!” They didn’t need to know about my knife.

“We have guns too,” called the voice, “Do not be alarmed.”

With tepid steps, nearing Farmersburg’s epicenter, the group there came into greater focus, and I saw three men and a woman. They’d arranged cement blocks alongside the brick buildings on either flank leading into town. One man—the speaker with the bullhorn—stood directly in the center of the street, a man to the right hunkered behind their blockade and the woman and spare man stood to the left, their legs hidden behind the makeshift low wall.

The speaker, once we’d come within comfortable range, chucked the bullhorn to the man on the right and then swiped his fingers through his crew cut. “What’s brought the three of you this way?” Trouble clung to the boy and kept her head low, offering confused eyes whenever she dared look up.

“We’re only passing through,” said Gemma.

“Passing through?” asked the speaker, “There’s not much to pass through. We spent the last week or more picking over this place. If you’re scavving, this place is nothing but bones.”

“Scavvers?” I asked.

The speaker nodded. “This is our boon.” He examined the sky. “Getting dark in a couple hours and you might want the rest. As long as we understand that the bounty we’ve taken is ours, you’re more than welcome to bed down somewhere on the west end.”

The boy tugged on the leash faintly, perhaps from anxiety. “Find anything interesting?”

The scav leader chuckled. “Yeah. Not much in a dump like this, but there were a few overlooked tablets—books and diaries. Stuff those pointy hats might like back in Alexandria.” The man waved his hand, “Besides that? Nothing. Had a few muties that needed clearing out. Previous residents.” His hand came to rest on his holster; the gun there was unmistakably a .44. He noticed me noticing and withdrew his hand from his hip then laughed. “Habit,” said the scavver. He pivoted so that I could look at the gun there. “Pretty thing though, isn’t it?” He narrowed his eyes to my strap. “What’s that old barrel you got there?”

“Shotgun,” I said.

“Sure—what kind?” asked the scavver, gray eyes alight with curiosity.

“B-P-S. That’s Browning.” I adjusted the strap on my shoulder. “What’s that?” I pointed to the gun on his hip.

“Pfft. Some hunk of metal I picked up outside of Golgotha. But those tall buildings? They give me the creeps. Good place for ammo though. What direction are you headed anyway?”

“West,” I said.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Just west.”

The leader’s eyes traced from me to the children then to the dog then back to me and he smirked. “Fair. Like I said.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, “West end and we won’t bother you.”

“Fair,” I said.

The look of the other scavvers was lethargy, an easing as they realized there would be no fight and the man that was ducked below the low wall rose to expose that he’d been perched there with a pistol drawn in his right hand, ready to use it if things became unfortunate.

The leader stepped from the center of the street, to meet his comrades to the left, and motioned us on, and we began to move, but Andrew spoke, “There’s something following us.” The scavvers tensed and even though the poorly hidden gunman had put away his weapon, his shoulders squared, and he spat.

“Following you?” asked the leader.

The boy nodded. “It’s an Alukah.”

I shot a look at the boy.

Andrew shrugged, “I thought they should know. In case it comes knocking for them.”

“A vamp?” asked the scav leader, “Never seen one.” He turned his attention to me, “Alukah though. That’s a strange name you’ve given it. Like those religious fanatics out in Golgotha. That where you come from?”

I nodded. “It’s safe in the daylight.” A sigh escaped me, and I continued, “If it knocks on your door, ignore it.”

The scav leader waved his hand at the notion. “I know about vamps—never seen one, but I know the stories. Besides, if it’s after you, I don’t need to worry so much. You didn’t mention it though.” He rolled his tongue around in his closed mouth, protruding a cheek, then continued, “You weren’t hoping it’d get me and mine and forget about you, were you? Setting us up for it?” The man and woman to the left side of the road reached for their hips, but the leader put out a hand to quell their fighting spirit.

I shook my head, “No. I just didn’t think it was pertinent.”

Gemma stepped in, “Yeah. There’s no reason to start a fight over something so trivial.”

“Little girl,” said the leader, “You planned on feeding us to a monster, I think. Nothing trivial about that.” His gaze went from the girl to me. “That is right though. You were going to let it get us unaware, isn’t that right? Weren’t even going to let us know about it?”

“No,” I said, “We’re just passing through. Don’t let a snap judgement turn this into something it ain’t.”

It seemed an eternity while that man watched us through his slitted, suspicious eyes. Then he shook his head. “I’m not in the business of killing old men and his kids. Dogs neither. Go on.” He once more hooked his thumb west. “Don’t bother us. We won’t bother you.”

We took through Farmersburg at a quickened pace and far spaced houses with low peaks passed us by on either side; the occasional vacant house or brick sundry shop was there too. Downtown was a descriptor that wasn’t befitting of a place so desolate and small. Looking upon the half-destroyed homes, I imagined the excess in space that ancient man had at their leisure, and I was all at once envious and quietly angry.

The roads were worn from rain and age and dipped in places and although we moved on without much issue, I continuously shot glances back the way we’d come till we met a broken rail line; the old tracks stretched northbound and southbound and though the wood had long rotted away to brittle streaks, the metal lines remained. With the scavvers well out of eyesight, I eased, but not much. The potential for them to have someone perched high was a lingering thought and as we passed a half-ruined church on our left, my eyes strayed to its intact tower—there’d possibly been a bell there once (or speaker boxes)—and I could imagine the sight a sniper might have. We’d be easy. Open.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Only once we’d passed the patches of land where vehicles lay strewn about, where houses were closer, where sideline walkways remained, did I let go of the tightness in my stomach. It seemed a curse was lifted from the group as Gemma began to scold the boy loudly.

“You are an idiot,” she said, “How could you? You could have gotten us killed!”

“I didn’t mean nothing by it,” said Andrew, holding onto Trouble’s leash with his only hand; the dog darted in front of our path as much as the line would allow her—it seemed she too had relaxed. “I just thought that I’d want to know if there was something like that out at night. I thought I’d want to know it. Seemed right.”

“I don’t care what seems right,” said Gemma, “It doesn’t matter what seems right to you. You could have gotten us killed! Does that not register to you?”

Briefly, I questioned myself silently how either of them had ever been in love with the other. Then I recalled what the scavver had called us; it was such a moment that I hadn’t even allowed it to sink in. He’d called me an old man. Fair enough. He’d called them my kids.

I shook my head. “Save the arguing for when we’ve found a place to bunk down. Should be listening. Should be watching.”

We walked and shadows grew long with evening, beyond where structures became even further spaced and the scavver’s area was well and from us. Upon coming to a two-lane highway, which stretched from left to right, we pushed to a station; its pumps were dry, and the overhang was dilapidated, fallen away to the concrete square where the station sat, and the glass was gone from the windows entirely so that the thing looked like a creature itself, poised for some unsuspecting travelers to rest there. Night coming, as it was, we went to the building, stepped through the doorless threshold, and took note of its layout. Dusty corroded shelves stood empty save rotted boxes where inventory once sat, and a skylight over the counter exposed an open window to the sky; Gemma braved the recesses further, finding an office and though the door was hollow and thin, we took account of the small windowless room, and the children began unpacking camp while I went to the shelving units in the main chamber with my prybar. After dismantling a few of the rusted shelves, I took two elongated rectangular pieces to the office and boarded us in, hammering salvaged nails through the metal; it wouldn’t stop anything, not really, but seeing the makeshift slats there, across the doorway felt safer.

“You could’ve killed us,” repeated Gemma.

“I didn’t know that’s how they’d react,” said Andrew.

There was a bitterness in the girl’s voice like poison and the boy’s responses came weaker with each thing she said.

“I wanted to see the world,” said the girl, “I wanted to find a place that’s good.” She scoffed. “Ridiculous.” Gemma turned on me. “You were right, Harlan. There’s nothing in this world. Nothing worth saving. A piece of me wishes I’d stayed home, but it’s no good there anyway. My father—” she froze mid speech for a moment then continued, “He wasn’t a good man. Tell me, is there any good in this world? Or is it just travelers on roads, vaguely threatening each other? Is it all vile places? Can’t there be a place? A good one? Or is all this travelling only hiding? Is travelling looking at the dirty walls of the next place we take refuge? Home—I could look on starry skies there. The best thing you could do is use that gun. Shoot me. Shoot him. Shoot the dog. Shoot yourself.” Her voice was like stone; she moved through the small dark room, fell into an old plastic office chair. The object creaked as she rocked on it. She seemed to be thinking aloud, “Maybe Andrew’s right. Maybe he’s good.” She stopped in her rocking, swiveled around so the chair offered a low howl. Gemma looked at Andrew; her brow was angled, and she frowned. “Maybe you’re good. Maybe that’s why you warned them like that. Because you’re good. I’m sorry.”

Andrew took to the arduous task of removing Trouble’s leash with his singular hand and he shook his head in doing it, frustrated. “Since when did you get so hard?” he asked her, “When did you get so—”

“So what?” snapped Gemma, “Evil? You think evil matters here? You think evil matters at home? You’ve seen evil just as well as I have, Andrew, and you know it’s a load. I know what you think. You think I’m some tainted thing—maybe no better than a mutant. You think I’m some heartless monster. What sort of person could kill their own dad?” She cried; tears came abruptly down her cheeks, and she attempted to dry them with the back of her sleeve, leaning forward in her chair. “You knew the man in passing. I lived with him.” She shot a glance at me. “Harlan knew him too. Knew him well enough. He was a bastard.” She choked on her words, catching the sobs.

I pulled my mouth tight and nodded.

She continued on Andrew: “You said you didn’t love me anymore! Okay. Fine.” Gemma dabbed her eyes then pushed her sleeves up to reveal the scars left there by Baphomet and yanked them down again to cover the twisted skin. “Fine,” she pointed at Andew; he’d stood from the dog and Trouble looked on, just as skittish as him, “But I saw it in your eyes when you were sick and hurt. I saw that you couldn’t mean it. I saw those eyes and knew you still cared for me. There was hope maybe.” She sniffed, “Now though I see the way you look at me with those eyes. Since you’ve seen that awful blood on my hands. I know you mean it now. I know you’re good and I’m not and you couldn’t love me because now we can all be certain of how terrible I am.”

“No,” said Andrew, taking the small room in a single stride to hunker beside her, “No, you’re not evil, Gem. You couldn’t be evil. Is that what you think?”

Initially she jerked from the hand he placed on her shoulder then stopped and let him massage the spot.

“She’s not evil, is she, Harlan?” He cocked his head to ask me.

I shook my head. “You’re not a bad person, Gemma.” Suddenly I felt silly trying my hand at wisdom like I was an authority on anything. Then I thought to add something that could be wise—maybe, “Whoever fights monsters should be sure not to become a monster.” It was tough remembering the rest, but it came—the kids looked on quizzically, Gemma with tears frozen in her eyes, Andrew with a look of desperation, “It’s a quote and the rest of it’s the part you should know, ‘If you gaze long enough into the abyss, it’ll stare back.’. Something like that.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Gemma.

“I think, in this instance, I want it to mean that you should remember that if you linger on the bad in the world, it’ll consume you. You’ll make something be that ain’t and it’ll come for you.”

The girl pushed the last cries away, swept a hand through her thinned hair. “Since when are you such an optimist?”

“Optometrist.” I said, removing my pack—my hands shook as I rolled a cigarette and after a spell of silence and smoke, I rubbed the tobacco dead and prepared us some dinner.

Andrew consoled the girl and Trouble sat alongside me, watching the pan as I warmed pickled sausages—I put the last bit of our hardtack to soak; a meal, a sad meal, should sit heavy at least.

The haggard expressions of the children mirrored my feelings, and I could not remember a time I had not felt an ache in my bones—the falter of spirit was greater still. A road, no matter the direction, had not so long ago filled me with curiosity or with the promise of thoughtlessness. All I’d been doing in recent memory was thinking, perhaps staring into that abyss too much.

I watched them while they slept on their bedrolls, keeping the lantern low; Trouble joined me, resting across my lap where I sat on the floor, and I whispered to the dog sweet forgetful things and for a moment I thought of Dave, and I was glad he was kind enough to take in the mutt. Trouble watched through slitted quivering eyes, yawning, stretching, jerking in her slumber. Sleep evaded me and I waited for the knocking.

Surely, it came gently, the great beast, the Alukah (vamp is what the scavver called it) exhausted audible breath from the other side of the door and I scooted nearer it and listened to its pained animal-like protests from the other side the thin barrier.

I need help. Let me in. There’s something after me.

The voice, for all its muffled snarls, retained a surreal quality and I spoke back to the thing, first glancing at the children on their bedding where they remained sleeping. “Leave,” I muttered lowly, nearly kissing the door as the words left my mouth.

Ah, so you speak. A pause followed and a slow scratch, like the creature traced a great clawed hand across the surface on the other side. I’m scared.

“I know what you are.”

Do you?

“I do. I won’t let you in. You can leave.”

But I’m scared.

“I’ve told you already I know what you are. Leave us be.”

I smell you. An inhalation of breath came. Give me that treat of a boy. Give him and I’ll let you go. The voice became like a low growl.

“I don’t make deals with your kind anymore.”

Who says? That intake of breath followed once more—a long sniff. You’ve the stink of Mephisto on you. You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.

“No more.” Trouble arrived by the door and gave me a curious look then fell onto my shoulder where I sat, putting her head there and licked my cheek and lowly groaned; I petted the dog and she fell onto my lap; it made me feel secure, if only a bit. “You should go on.”

You burned me. I can’t let that go, but I could. The boy was mine rightly. Your interference—that other human man too—you stole him. I remember you. He’s mine; he’s owed to me. You’re lucky I come offering deals.

A shiver touched the base of my spine and went to crawling and even with Trouble there I felt chilled and sweaty, and the sense grew that I could give up Andrew and go on my way.

“Fuck off,” I whispered.

Harlan?

I bit my tongue. Hard.

Harlan, we know you. We’ve friends waiting for you.

With that, the creature left us for the night, but sleep was a near impossibility and even when I curled small and held the dog in my arms and buried my face in the neck of the animal, I could not rid myself of the coolness that’d passed to me.

“Maybe we lost it,” said Andrew, as we packed our things the following morning.

“No,” I said, then followed with, “We should cut hard and straight to Babylon.”

Gemma remained dejected that day, holding her eyes to the ground or the sky and muttered responses to whatever was spoken to her.