Dusk Territories: Always Burning (12 page)

“I figured that you wouldn’t have gotten dressed otherwise.”

Wood gave a weak laugh, “Hell no. So, are we going to get this over with or not?”

Graham shook his head as he followed the wiry man into the door. Wood was only a few steps in before he plopped down on the floor, underneath the counter, his toe nails digging into the already chipped cabinets. Beside that spot were bottles upon bottles of beer, all empty and all scattered on the floor. There were at least twenty or more, yet he didn’t look drunk, hardly even buzzed. The stench of the beer on his lips was the only thing that made it clear it was him drinking in the first place.

“But, really, what do you want?”

The words were sharp, but they had no effect on Graham. He just scowled. “You have an entire Caravan frozen with fear. That deserves some clarity.”

“You saw what I turn into. You think they are going to invite that to dinner? I thought I was the one drinking.” Wood guzzled down half a bottle. “You think that people want me around? No. And I don’t care. All I care about is my Uncle, that’s all I need.”

“So what are you to him, some sort of pet?” Graham questioned.

Wood gave a laugh, the corners of his mouth morphing into a twisted and toothy smile. “A pet is accepted and loved. Why would I hate being one?”

“It doesn’t mean that they’ll be loved like a son.”

“Oh—stop it.” With an angry jerk of his arm, Wood slammed his beer bottle into the edge of the counter above him. Shards of broken glass danced in the air, raining down on the man’s stomach. “Just fucking stop it. You can’t even deal with your problems and you’re already tryin’ to fix others. This isn’t your Marines. This isn’t Afghanistan. You just got here.”

Face red with anger, Wood reclined back, popping open another dark colored bottle. “Don’t think you can fucking fix everything.”

“I wasn’t trying to fix your hopeless ass,” Graham said, raising his voice. “I was just trying to figure out how you tick. Why people stare at you with fear. So no. I’m not going to
stop.
”

“Oh, I get it,” Wood took a gulp from his beer, “Why are you so obsessed about us? Too busy tryin’ to figure out our problem, huh? Oh, that’s rich. Why can’t you figure out your damn own?”

“What’s with the animosity? I just got here about a few minutes ago.”

“’Cause why the hell not? You’re just going to judge me like everyone else. Hell you’re already doing it now.”
      
Graham took a step back, folding his arms and leaning against the closed front door. He was right. Almost unconsciously he had decided to fix this person. It was a habit. If a person was hurt, help them. If they needed someone to talk to, talk to them. It was a reflex, edged into his bones. Did he think it was a weakness? Sometimes, but that is what he did and was trained to do. Thinking otherwise felt impossible now, an instinct.

Discomfited that he even decided to deal with this, Graham shook his head. “What did you do before this?” he asked, remembering Raleigh’s words.

Wood almost choked at the question, wiping spittle from his mouth after the near call. “You—“he coughed. “You really want to know.”

The room went so quiet; Graham had the half mind to walk out.

“Y’know what I did, I killed people. Not like you, it was
much
more personal than that. I was that guy that y’all saw on television and thought: ‘that’s the lowest scum of the earth’. But were watching in, never knew the reason. Never knew the person. Just judged them by their actions,” Wood reclined back, “You aren’t here to save me, Graham. I’ve been gone way too long.”

Reeling back his residual anger, Graham took some steps forward. Yeah. This guy was the type of person that he swore he’ll burn in hell himself. Even now, he wanted to scream at him, and fill him with bullets from his weapon. But he didn’t. Something in the back of his mind told him no. Right now, he didn’t know if it was the angel or the devil he was listening to. “Wasn’t right for me to judge.” Graham flexed his fingers. “It’s your damn life.”

“Guilt-trip. Really?”

“No, I’m sincere. Whatever you’re doing is your business. Whatever you did, you have live with.”

“You don’t think I know that. I just don’t lose sleep over it. Can the same thing be said to you?”

“I’m not a murderer. I do what I do to protect what I believe in.”

“If that’s the case,” Wood yawned, “I can claim that same right.”

A dry swallow accompanied the thought of that truth. Graham sighed. He was right. Anyone could claim anything was right. It was a normal human thinking. But he knew there was a difference. He just didn’t have an accurate way of wording it. If he did now, he would sound self-righteous.
I “am” self-righteous
, he thought grinding his teeth together. It wasn’t a bad thing. But, it crippled men if used incorrectly. Even righteousness needed discipline.

He centered himself, staring at the pale man cracking open another bottle and almost completing it in one guzzle. “I’m not going to try to change you.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.”

“But, you keep Drifter safe, right? No matter what.”

For a moment, a brief one, Graham expected that he would transform into that monstrosity again.
He even touched the gun, fresh with rounds, ready for it. But, Wood
didn’t.

His demeanor was strong enough.

Wood stared with one hand clutched against the neck of his bottle. The sleepy eyes were ablaze, mouth tightly pursed together. He was mouthing words as though he was unable to properly say what he had swimming in his head. Graham couldn’t either. It was immeasurable, incalculable. Graham did notice something, however, something he hadn’t before. In Wood’s fist, all this time, was a ring. It was a single red-gemmed ring that danced in his free palm as he drank. He smiled, laughing off the foolishness of the question.

“No need to worry about him,” he said as he sipped at the dark liquid, “You need to learn that this world isn’t going to favor a Marine. No. I might even like a pet that much better.”

_

Graham found himself silent for most of the day after the discussion with Wood. The Drifter’s Caravan had made more progress to the Boneyard, being a little below which was once North and South Carolina’s border. Since he was sleepless and adept, patrol duty came to everyone’s mind for the first job. He didn’t mind. The time gave him something to do and some time to be alone with his thoughts. Even with the occasional scare from a mutated bear or wolf from the rest of the sentries, it was still a good time to get himself together.

He paced the roof of the armed truck, boots thudding against the thick metal.
His first thoughts were about Wood. Thinking back on it, the words stung like a swarm of bees protecting their queen. Graham knew in different circumstances, he would have never seen Wood at all. If he had, it would have been in his barrack or a living room on television with a lit cigarette in hand and a spiteful look on his face. His honor didn’t want to believe that he went from working with good honest men to the very hosts of moral ambiguity.
But, he knew that he couldn’t complain. Not in this world, not with danger lurking around every corner.
He had found allies before he had found enemies, and that was luck or a blessing at its finest.

Months ago, probably going on a little closer to a year, life was simpler. If he had heard himself say this on a deployment, he would have laughed. But, it was true. It was easier to know who the enemies were then. There were the people trying to kill you. Certain people were your enemy—targets if you must say that—and you needed to defend as many people, defeat them quick and clean, and keep your friends alive. Now, it was life or death by any source in your own country.
I hate that it’s come to this.

He took a deep breath.

At least his memory was returning. When he had first awakened, he hardly remembered anything. Now, floods of memories cluttered his already muddled thoughts. The corpses of his comrades flashed in his mind, hand in hand with the memories of them. They were really dead. Why couldn’t the force that brought him back, bring them back too. They had been good people. He wasn’t any more special than any of those young men.

Survivor’s guilt is what they called it, he knew. He had saw and even met fellow Marines that had went through this exact thing. They were broken men, with not nearly as much help as they should have gotten. Some went mad. Some dreamed and hallucinated images and sounds as though they were real. Others just panicked. Graham always thought that this would never happen to him, he would never have to deal with losing everyone. If it had happened, he would know a way to channel it to make himself strong and keen.

That was the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever thought.

If he was going to break, he was going to break. Hell if he was going to let this world bring him down.
Not like this. He inhaled through his nose, sharply. No. He wasn’t going to become a product of this world. The truth behind this was something he needed to find out.
Closure was something that needed to be found. He was at an unwilling funeral of a world without something of a eulogy. It would take him to write one, even if it takes going on this journey with the Drifter and finding any and all clues to that point.

“It appears that I can help with that.”

The voice had taken Graham by surprise, but quickly shot him into defensive action. He turned his entire body, whipping his light machine gun (which was anything but light in weight) with deftness. He knew in his training that this was ill advised, and relatively impossible for a normal human to do, but he had no choice. He had to react. This person might be an enemy and if so, they would receive at least fifty from his two hundred round belt of ammunition. However, the woman didn’t seem an ounce impressed, even with such a dangerous weapon between her eyebrows.

“Hello. David Graham, I presume.”

Graham didn’t respond, only readied his shoulder. He was prepared to fire, even if it was point-blank.

“If I
truly
wanted to hurt you, Mr. Graham, I would have done it already and you wouldn’t have even known. So, put that down. Both you and I know a battle this close range with that would be hazardous…at best. So stop fooling yourself and wasting my time. I’m just here to talk.”

The woman pushed aside the barrel of the weapon as though it was a toy. “It would be smart to hear me out before you make an enemy, right?”

Graham lowered the SAW, staring at the woman before him. He looked around for a moment; no one else seemed to notice her. She wasn’t mixed in with the night. She wore a long white cloak, a simple grey shirt, long grey pants, and boots. No. He would have seen her come up if all possible, especially in the weak moonlight hanging above them. Yet, he hadn’t. He was unsure whether to blame his thoughts or her skill. She smiled as though she was reading him.

“You have already seen a demon before. So let’s get pass the how do you know me and how did you get here phase? Besides, your rotting flesh gave it away. You’ve become sort of popular. Beastmaster was found in a nearby village, ranting about fighting against a living corpse. I just pieced together the rest.” She tossed back the hood of her cloak, revealing her blonde, almost white, hair. “I am Celine Collette, Truth-Wielder and Memory Follower...and you…you are going to help me with my goal.”

“What makes you believe that?”

Celine gave a sullen chuckle. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know anything about you.”

“Why does that matter? You don’t know anything about the Drifter or Wood or anyone in this…band really. But you stayed. I’m not sure if that’s your pride, loneliness, or some sort of twisted ethics that you swaddled yourself in like a babe. But I’m not here to entertain you, because you don’t entertain
me
, David Graham. You are a novelty in this world, bound by invisible laws and honors that can change anytime. You require living flesh to survive, correct?”

Graham’s pale eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

Celine tossed her hair. “I thought we got passed this, Mr. Graham. I just
know
. But the real question is, what type of undead would you be if you didn’t eat humans?” She laughed, pressing her fingers against her chin. “That’s right, a novel one. What are you going to do about it when those precious eyes become riddle with veins and hues of red?”

“You know how my hunger works?”

“Of course, I do. I know a lot. It’s
you
that is walking around without a head. I need you alive, David Graham. You, Ragnar, Wood…others…” Celine trailed off in an annoyed breath. “If that means pushing your hand and telling this Caravan that you need living flesh and blood to survive, I will. You would want to do a different route, I’m sure of it.” Celine circled around him, walking dangerously close to the edges. “You possess something that I want and you don’t know it yet. I’m not going to risk you killing yourself over something as silly as rights and wrongs.”

“I’m not going to eat a living person.”

“Then maybe the Caravan can help you when they go hunting. Unlike you, you don’t have to worry about contaminates…” She shook her head. “I’m not here to talk about biology with you. I’m here to tell you something important.”

Graham shifted, still keeping a good firm grip on his LMG. “What do you want me to know?”

“That’s a much better tone.” She smirked, but it didn’t reach her silver eyes. “You are going to meet three foreigners in what we call the Boneyard. You are going to need to make sure that those three survive.”

“Why can’t you?”

Celine rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “It’s not advisable for me to. Let’s leave it at that. Can you just pretend for a moment that I’m some sort of superior in your Marines? Take orders. Don’t ask questions. Can we manage that?”

Anger fumed in Graham’s chest. Somehow, he maintained his collected demeanor. The Marines had different orders, carefully executed. Were they always right? No. But, they had a reason. Graham didn’t have any clue what this damn woman wanted. She could have some ulterior motives. This could be a trap. She could be leading him to a death, but she needed him. Just like the Drifter needed him right now. He squared his shoulders. “Alright, let’s say on this fucking make believe situation that I do meet with these three foreigners. Why would I help them?