Chapter 1

“Relax,” Eron raised his hands, “see, no weapons.”

“Shut up, chink! You’re in my land and I don’t remember saying you could come here.”

“Oh. That’s how it’s going to be?” Eron dropped the smile from his face. He’d experienced too much of the same ugliness on his journey down the 5. “You assholes never get it right either. I’m not Chinese, though your kind isn’t smart enough to realize there are differences amongst humanity. Judging by the furrow on your neanderthal-ish brow… that’s caveman for you laymen. I mean, I’m guessing you didn’t learn real evolution in school? What’d they teach you? About Adam, Eve and Jesus horses?”

“Yo, Brett, my Danger Sense is going off like crazy,” one of the truck-riding young men said.

Eron counted them for the first time.

Two lifted pickup trucks and nine young men. Armed to the teeth with long guns, shotguns, hunting rifles and assault rifles. He wasn’t well-versed on real world guns. His knowledge was video game-based. He wondered if they actually had functional ammunition.

“Danger sense? Spell or Skill?”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, kid!”

That must’ve been Brett. He of sloped brow and bullish neck.

Eron ignored him. He had enough of a first impression. The guy looked pretty young, probably in high school or just out of high school when the spires appeared almost two years ago. Probably missed his high school football glory days when he scored four touchdowns in one game.

“Alright, listen up assholes!” Eron raised his voice. “Y’all might be dicks, but you haven’t done more than annoy me a little. I’m looking to deal, barter, trade. I killed a drake a little ways back and if you lend me a flatbed I’ll bring it back here and we can haggle over the meat and other stuff. I’m hoping you happen to have a blacksmith or maybe like a leather worker type hanging around.”

“You ain’t doing shit!” Brett snapped.

“Look, tacticool Rambo… just shut up, man. Are you deaf? Or just dumb? I’m offering a literal ton of meat for a reasonable price. Would you turn that down just cause of your racism?”

“Fuck you, bitch.”

“Such eloquence,” Eron sighed.

“How bout we just get this, drake-whatever, ourselves? Don’t need you at all,” Brett narrowed his eyes at Eron.

“Well… that’d be unfortunate.”

Brett nodded at his guys.

Subtle.

“Motherfucker’s coming right for us!” Brett shouted as he leveled his shotgun at Eron and fired.

Eron was already moving. He covered thirty yards in a split-second and thrust his hand out to the gun barrel.

He held his closed hand out in front of him in Brett’s face and opened it.

Pellets plinked on the ground.

The other men were too stunned to open fire.

Eron ripped Brett’s shotgun away before they could get over their shock. He bent the barrel back and tossed it aside. He then grabbed Brett by his tactical vest and held him up like a shield.

“How much do you weigh, Brett?” Eron sneered. “Like two-hundred, two thirty? I can’t really tell how much things weigh anymore. Two hundred might as well be two.”

Brett stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers.

“Meh… guess it doesn’t matter,” Eron peeked around Brett’s wide body. “Listen up, hillbilly militia! I don’t care about your bullets, but I’m not about to let you ruin my clothes. So, drop those guns before I actually get angry!”

No one moved. They kept their guns pointed in Eron’s direction, which meant that they had Brett in their sights.

“Jesus. You guys really are idiots,” Eron said conversationally to Brett. “Do your buddies not realize that you’re a human shield? I’m no expert, but even I know it’s a bad idea to point those guns at your back. One twitchy finger and…” he ran a finger across his throat. “I was serious about the clothes. I’ve already lost a bunch of my favorite shirts to monsters and trigger happy dumbasses. If your blood gets on this…”

Eron heard the third truck before he saw it screaming up the off-ramp and head in his direction. A quick glance told him that this new group probably wasn’t with the first group.

“Oh… great. Three-way standoff. Mexican standoff?” Eron raised a brow at the completely befuddled Brett. “What? Did I trigger you? The mere mention of other nationalities caused you existential terror?”

Eron knew that Brett’s shock probably didn’t have much to do with that. He didn’t bother to hide the disgust he felt. “This is all your fault, Brett. All you had to do was to have a sense of self-interest and preservation and you could’ve had a literal ton of meat. Now, you and your buddies are probably going to die in a wild, pointless shootout. Poor life choices, dude, poor life choices.”

Eron wondered if the same could be said of him. He supposed it didn’t have as much weight for him considering he was pretty much invincible.

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The third truck turned and skidded to a stop some forty-fifty yards away. The men and women jumped out of the bed and kept the truck in between them and the other armed men.

Despite outward appearances, Eron didn’t actually want anyone to die… yet. Although, Brett and his buddies were definitely well on their way to that status. Dude had opened fire on an unarmed and nonthreatening man. That was a definite bad guy move.

This new group was an unknown and if they all died then he’d have no one to trade his dead drake to. The beast was decomposing a few miles back up the freeway and he didn’t want to waste this one like the others he had killed on his journey down south.

Eron roughly tossed Brett aside like a dirty napkin and strode purposely towards the closest truck. He glared lasers at the young men, half of which had pointed their guns at the new group down the freeway. “Shoot me and I’ll do bad things to you,” he said. He grabbed the truck’s front bumper, which looked to be an aftermarket one that was all metal. He peeked under the carriage and was delighted to see that it was welded directly to the frame. Perfect.

Eron lifted until the front wheels were about three feet off the ground. “Best get off unless you want to find out what it’s like to fly.”

The young men scrambled off in panic.

Eron was magnanimous. He gave them plenty of time.

Once they were off he threw the truck toward the grass and dirt hills on the side of the road. It spun around like a frisbee and landed a good two hundred to a two-hundred fifty yards away with a large cloud of dirt and dust.

“Hmm… thought I could get further,” Eron frowned. Oh well. It was nice to get a baseline. His brothers hadn’t allowed him to try it out with the cars back in Davis, even if those were all but abandoned. Something about respecting other people’s property. Cal had mentioned something about being ‘down with O.P.P.’ No one had gotten the reference and Cal had been too embarrassed to explain.

Eron raised his hand up. “Yes, you may believe your eyes. I have thrown that mighty lifted truck a significant distance yonder. Such will be the fate of any doth dare to raise violence upon another.”

The people didn’t move their guns.

“Lower your guns or I will throw you!”

Everyone slowly lowered their weapons.

“Good. Now, as I was saying before the rude interruption. I’m trying to get some bartering going on.” Eron raised his voice for the benefit of the people further away. For some reason he had a feeling they’d be more receptive to what he had to offer. “I’ve got some drake meat. Not going to lie, doesn’t taste that great, but totally edible. You cook it well and I’m confident you won’t have any stomach issues. Also parasites. Can’t be too careful nowadays. Probably some bullshit magical monster parasites just waiting to be discovered. So, my price is—”

A hammer clicked behind Eron. He sighed.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Eron counted seventeen tiny impacts on his back. “Brett! You dumb son of a bitch. Why you gotta ruin the moment?” He spun and covered the distance before anyone could think to move. He grabbed the pistol and tossed it over the hills in the distance. He tapped the young man on the head and rendered him unconscious. “Oops.” He thrust his foot out to catch Brett’s head before it slammed into the concrete. “See… I’m trying not to be an asshole here, but you keep pushing.”

Before Eron could say another word he caught the sound of another truck. This one was coming up the ramp on the other side of the freeway. “So many trucks,” he sighed.

The truck disgorged just two people this time. Aside from the driver. There was an older man, Eron guessed in his fifties. He was big and broad. He had a grizzled look about him thanks to a thick beard, gone white. Like a mix between a farmer and a soldier. The other man was younger, probably in his thirties. He resembled the older man, so Eron pegged him as the son. The two men where about the same height, the younger was thinner, more wiry and lanky than stout.

Eron glanced at the unconscious Brett down at his feet. The resemblance was readily apparent.

“Well… shit.”

The younger man barked orders at the rest of the other young men and they lowered their weapons.

Eron glanced at the people down the freeway. They, too, were no longer pointing their guns. That should lower the chances of a massacre.

The older man made a show of pulling his revolver out of its belt holster and handing it to his son.

“I’m unarmed,” the old man raised his hands. “Can I check on my son?” he cast a worried look at Brett.

Eron waved him over and took a few steps back as a courtesy.

The old man quickly checked Brett over and satisfied gestured for Brett’s buddies to take him and load him in their remaining truck.

“I’d like to get him checked.”

“Sure, why not,” Eron said lightly.

The old man signaled and the truck peeled out across the dirt dividing the northbound and southbound lanes and made for the small city.

It didn’t escape Eron’s notice that they kept as much distance away from the other group of people as they drove by.

“So, what’s this all about?” the old man said.

Eron opened his mouth to explain, then shut it. He owed this man nothing. “Your boy shot me, an unarmed man. That’s about all I feel like I need to explain.”

The old man puffed up his chest. “You did that?” he gestured to the broken truck, which was now on fire, in the distance.

“After your son shot me. I was about to explain, but I realized that it doesn’t really matter. Your kind equates me life with a truck. There’s no conversation, nor understanding to be had with your sort of people. Your son was a racist shit. And as science has proved racism isn’t inherent. It’s learned. I reckon the apple don’t fall far from the tree, pardner.” Eron smirked as he walked past the old man toward the other group of people.

Eron gave his best smile at the hard-eyed men and women.

“Man, I hope you guys are cooler than those a-holes.”

No one reacted.

At least they weren’t aiming guns at him.

“Well… you guys want a literal ton of meat. I’m not asking for much, just—”

A tough, gritty-looking man raised a hand and laid his rifle in the truck bend before coming around the back to stare down at Eron.

The man’s brown skin had been weathered by frequent exposure to the sun and elements. He could’ve been twenty or forty in Eron’s estimation.

“We can’t make any deals. You’ll have to come see The Abuela for that.”

“Alright, that sounds cool,” Eron nodded.

“Gonna have to check you out for weapons,” the man said.

Eron could see the fear in his eyes. He had to give him credit for bravery. Either this Abuela was a beloved figure or a feared figure.

“Suit yourself,” Eron held his arms out wide. He had left anything even remotely weapon-ish back buried near the drake’s corpse, “but we shouldn’t waste time. Perishable goods and all.”

The pat down didn’t take long.

Eron was in the truck bed driving down to the western half of the city.

He tried to maintain a nonthreatening demeanor. Back in the old world he wasn’t at all intimidating. He was thin and one of the smaller people there.

None of that mattered after they had seen him throw a truck.