Everwinter: The Forerunner Archives (33 page)

It looks like a cherry.

He holds the cherry and a throwing star in one hand, another star in the other. He strikes the stars together swiftly, creating a brilliant spark. Nothing happens. He tries again. This time the spark is larger, and immediately the wick on the cherry starts burning rapidly.

"Stand back!
" Altair warns, then he throws the object.

It bounces down the road, landing squarely at the center of the pack of
wolves. The animals sniff at it curiously.

Big mistake.

The cherry explodes, the sound loud and sharp, sending a crackle of sparks blasting outward. With a yelp, the wolves bolt, spooked completely by the miniature bomb, disappearing into the rocky landscape.

I smile wide at Altair. "That's a new one," I say, gesturing to the blackened patch of ground where the bomb landed.

"It was my
only
one," Altair reveals. "I hate wasting it."

I look off into the distance, the wolves hardly visible now. "I'd hardly call that a waste," I say.

Altair shrugs and I roll my eyes at him.

Would he have rather fought the beasts hand to paw?

With the danger passed, we approach the vehicle containing the pile of bodies. Luckily, the smell isn't too bad; these corpses are old, already rotted.

Traylor, ever curious and without fear, approaches the bones on the ground, looking at them with his head tilted. "There's a shooting iron in there!" he exclaims, poin
ting. We all look at each other then approach as well. 

Altair pushes Traylor back, who huffs in indignation. "Hey, I found it!" he complains.
 

Altair crouches by the pile, eyeing the shooting iron clo
sely. Indeed there is one, and it looks to be in good shape. Cautiously, slowly, he reaches a hand out for it...

"I wouldn't do that!" a sudden and completely strange voice soun
ds from somewhere off the road. We all whirl, Altair on his feet with his throwing stars raised in milliseconds. 

The silhouette of a man approaches from the dark, climbing do
wn a rocky bluff at the side of the road. "It's a trap," the man explains as he gets closer. We have yet to see him clearly. Altair pushes everyone behind him, excepting Glamis, who is just as threatening as the Assassin himself.

"Stop right there," Altair orders as the man comes onto the road proper. He's tall and thin, with pale, rash and boil covered skin, and gaunt features. It looks like he hasn't eaten much lately. He has a nice crop of blonde hair though, neatly combed, and he wears a pair of
grease smeared bib overalls like some of the farmers back in Krakelyn.

"Hey," the man says with more than a hint of indignation at Altair, "I'm just trying to save your life. Or a limb at least." He pauses. "But if you wanna risk it for yonder shooting iron, be my guest. I won't stop ya."

Altair sighs, lowering his throwing stars. "How do you know it's a trap?" he asks. "Is it yours?"

The man shakes his head. "No, t'ain't mine. Belongs to the gang that cont
rols this territory. The Grimms they call themselves. They showed up here shortly after the Final Judgment. They had weapons. Lots of 'em. Forerunner stuff. They drove off or killed most of the people in this area, but they kept me around 'cause I know how to fix things. I'm a mechanic." The man hesitates, seeing Altair scowling at him. "Hey, don't worry, I ain't one of 'em!" he explains. "I just do what I have to to survive. I fix their machines, they don't kill me. Seems a pretty fair trade, if you ask me." He smirks.

"What's your name?" I ask, stepping forward now. "I'm Juno. This is my brother Tray
lor." Traylor waves.

The man's eyes go wide. "My gods but... It ain't possible! You'se... You ain't mutants!"

"That's right," I confirm. "Traylor and I are the last humans left." I gesture to the others. "This is Ursa. Grumpy here is Altair." Altair grunts at me. "And this brute," I finish, "is Glamis. Don't worry, he's not the monster he appears."

Glamis straightens himself. "I is no midgets either!" he exclaims.

The man eyes us all, as if weighing his options. Finally, he extends a hand toward me. "Ativan," he says, "pleased to meet ya, Juno. And the rest." He nods at the pile of bodies by the Forerunner vehicle. "You's're lucky I heard that banger you set off. What was it, a shooting iron?"

Altair shrugs. "Something like that."

"We had to scare off some wolves," I explain.

"Aye," Ativan nods. "I seen 'em. I was out scavenging nearby. I always carry an iron out here." He turns, revealing a shooter hanging in a holster at his back. "Don't take much to spook wolves."

"Thank the gods," Ursa grumbles behind me, finally warming up to the newcomer.

"Well," Ativan says, "you might as well come by my place for the nonce. You won't be getting much further up the road today."

Altair stiffens. "What do you mean?"

Ativan shrugs. "That gang I told ya about, the Grimms, they'se got a
roadblock about another click ahead." He points. "They been camped out there the past couple weeks, not lettin' anybody by. Not without a hefty toll anyway. They got all their firepower set up there. Tanks and such." He hesitates. "You'se know tanks?"

I shake my head, and so does Ursa, Traylor, and Glamis.
 

Altair, of course, does the opposite.

"A Forerunner death machine," he answers, almost whispering in disbelief. "How in the hells did they get their hands on one of those? Does it even work?"

"Aye, it works," Ativan confirms. "I'se the one that got'er runnin'." Altair curses. "Hey, I had no choice," Ativan explains. I nod sympathetically at that, but Altair stays stony. "As to how'se they got
it, I can't say. They don't tell me nothin'. I just do my work, keep my head down. Only way to survive out here, my friend."

Altair finally relents. "Where's your place?" he asks. He turns to us. "You guys can stay there while I reconnoiter this roadblock, see how we're gonna get around it."

Ativan laughs at that.

"What?" Altair asks, annoyed.

"Oh, you ain't gettin' around it," he says, still giggling. "Hells, a group a Deacons came through here not two days gone. They'se was armed to the teeth as well. The Grimms blew the crap right outta them. Saw it all myself. They'se got sentries posted for miles around too."

"Deacons?" I say
. I turn to Altair. "What the hells would Deacons be doing all the way out here?" He shakes his head.

He has no idea.

"Them Deacons was all killed, right then and there," Ativan says, "while the Grimms took only a couple wounds. I was there changing the oil on one of their big engines."

"They have wounded?" Ursa asks, seeming genuinely concerned for some reason.

"What?" I ask.

Ursa shrugs. "Nothing, it's just... Well, maybe we could barter with them. Medical care for safe passage."

Ativan shakes his head. "I wouldn't count on that,” he says.

Ursa scowls, but says nothing more. She's getting more and more agitated the closer we get to Everwinter.

I'm gonna have to have a talk with her about it soon.

"Look," Altair interrupts, "we're not doing anything 'til I get a look at that roadblock. Until then, Ativan, we gladly accept your offer of shelter." He holds his hand out, which Ativan takes gleefully.

"Excellent!" he says. "It's been ages since I'se had company! Gets pretty lonely out here. Come on!" 

And with that, Ativan leads us off the road and into the rocky hills.
 

48.

"What is this place?" I ask as w
e come down off a stone outcropping into a nestled valley. A large flat area lies before us, paved wide with crete, cracked and crumbling. A rusted, eight foot high razor wire fence surrounds the compound, but it's flattened or bent in many areas. Hardly secure. A number of dilapidated buildings line the compound, some leaning precariously, others looking ready to fall at the slightest touch. The largest building has a number of tall, thin chimneys protruding from its top.

A factory, of some sort
. 

The corpses of various vehicles, Forerunner and not, rot all over the yard.

"This is where I put my feet up," Ativan answers my question, leading us through a gate in the fence. He doesn't bother to close it behind us. "I know it don't look like much, but she's kept me afloat the past few years."

He leads us to the front of the factory building then
around the back where we encounter a pair of large, horizontally segmented doors. Ativan leans down and grips one of the doors at the base, pushing it upward with a gentle grunt. The door protests, but finally it slides upward on a side mounted track.

"Come on in," Ativan welcomes us.
"Hang just inside the door for a minute while I get the gennie up and running." He disappears behind a smaller building nearby. Seconds later, we hear the familiar rumble of an oil fired engine sputtering to life. Lights inside the factory suddenly flicker to life, giving off a weak but warm yellow light. A large open space is revealed to us, with a smooth crete floor stained with oil and grease. Machinery and tools literally crams the place, piled high in some places. A large, four-wheeled vehicle sits on a lift directly ahead, half its components scattered in a ring around it.

"This is the garage where I do most of my work," Ativan explains. "Come on, I'll show ya the office and living quarters." I grunt. This place is filthy. I shudder to think what the living quarters look like.

Ativan leads us through a door at the side of the garage into a room lined with windows on all sides. They're so filmy, one can hardly see through them. It's a large room, with a desk, chair, and
filling cabinet in one corner, sagging couch, cot, and water closet in the other. There are also shelves stacked with canned goods and other foods–nothing fresh though–and a sink that looks like it should only be used for washing up.

I imagine Ativan uses it for everything.

"Help yourselves to the sink and toilet," Ativan offers. "Make yourselves comfortable. I don't have much in the way of food, but you’re welcome to what I got."

"Thank you," Altair intercedes, "but actually we have some fresh stuff that
you
may be interested in." He unshoulders his pack, reaching in and producing the dry salted fish Navani provided us. Altair hands a chunk to our new friend.

The man
sniffs it warily then takes a bite. His eyes go wide. "Gods!" he exclaims. "If this ain't good! Fish, is it?"

"Yeah," Altair confirms.

"Gods damn! It's been a long time since I had such!" He plops down on his cot, then gestures. "
Please
, make yourselves comfortable!"

I shrug anxiously, but Traylor literally leaps onto the old couch, dust puffing up at his landing. I sigh and take a seat next to him. Glamis joins us too. The couch lifts off the floor a bit at the other end, causing Traylor to giggle uncontrollably.

"Oh 'tis goods to get off midget feets!" the hulking mutant exclaims.

Altair grabs a seat at the desk, the chair creaking madly.

"Might I use the toilet?" Ursa asks in an atypically meek tone.

Ativan nods
. "I said ya could, didn't I?"

Ursa shr
ugs and goes over the water closet, closing the door behind her. She's been so quiet lately; hardly her normal self. 

I wonder what's eating at
her?

We dig into our rations, Ativan partaking in some of it, cracking open his own canned food and offering
it around. To my surprise, he’s got something called 'Mela Fruit'.

Good. Sweet as sugar.
 

We all have a helping.

Once we're satiated, Altair is all business again, as usual.

"Tell me more about this roadblock," he asks Ativan, his eyes inquisitive and intense.

Ativan purses his lips. "Well, whataya wanna know?" he counters. I smile at his forthright attitude.

"How many are there, for starters?" Altair continues. "How many men? How many weapons?"

Ativan contemplates a moment. "About a dozen men, last I saw–which was last week. They got scouts though, all over the plains. They come and go all the time, so it's hard to know their exact numbers."

"Guess," Altair suggests.

Ativan sighs. "Fifteen if I'm estimatin', but only a dozen at the main camp at any one time. They come up here 'bout once a week if they need sumthin' fixed."

"When was their most recent visit?"

Ativan considers. "Couple days ago," he replies. "There's somethin' else you should probably know too." Altair turns his hands out, gesturing for the man to come out with it.

Ativan hesitates.

"Well, the thing is... They'se got slaves up there."