Arc 3 - Chapter 62: Man Amongst Men

(Reverence 6, 59 / 7:45PM)

On a road with one lane, a brown van prowled.

Wheels spinning, engine roaring, not even the heavy wind affected its course. Through the black asphalt, the driver and passenger scanned their surroundings. Going double the speed limit, the speedometer barely reached 5 RPMs. Going too slow would burn time, but going too fast would increase the risk of overheating the engine. Glancing to her left, Pacifica put on a calm tone.

“No need to fret, we’ll make it there.”

“But it’s better safe than sorry.”

“Well it’s better if we don’t push this darn thing to the limit. That red-haired boy would curse us for damaging his baby.”

Raising her feet toward the dashboard, she kept them there while staring into the road. Her hands clutching her stomach, the sun glowed a mahogany orange, which glittered her cheeks. Christian kept his eyes peeled at both the speedometer, and the road. His body hunched forward, he felt a hand, one that pressed firm on his shoulder.

“Hey, easy there.”

“I just want this plan to succeed okay. It can’t fail…”

“And that boy will get it done. I know of it.”

Pulling her boots away from the dashboard, her eyes gazed once again on the shifting landscape. He slightly loosened his foot on the gas, leaving the RPMs to tickle four rather than five. He saw a green sign, with letters written with white.

{Buellford - 10 Miles}

{Marston Bridge - 15 Miles }

Passing the sign, Christian nodded to himself while hearing the engine roar.

“One final stretch.”

Sand blowing from the outer banks of the road, the van created its own sandstorm as it rode. They were tasked with one mission, one that determined the outcome of success or failure. Failure not being an option, all of Christian’s fingers dug into the leather wheel, while the sun settled into the neverending horizon.

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(Reverence 6, 59 / 7:56PM)

“There it is.”

The engine stalled its roaring. Both getting out, Christian and Pacifica closed their doors before walking out. The two of them gazed at the wooden yet metallic bridge in front of them. Large metal legs holding up the train track, the legs stretched down to the canyon floor. On the opposite side of the canyon, was a tunnel, where red rock and stone shifted to comfort to train usage. And below the track, was a catwalk, one that housed only metal railings.

“Wonder where it got its name from.” Said Christian.

“Don’t you know the old legend?”

“About what the bridge? No.”

Releasing a scorn of dry air, she parched her lips with CO2. Swaying her head back and forth, she stopped walking as she stared at it with warm eyes.

“The bridge was named after a man, after something that happened 60 years ago. He died in some shootout, all to defend his home from a brigade of outlaws.” The wind began to fasten in speed, leaving hair to ruffle their foreheads. Throughout the endless dunes, they didn’t match any sights elsewhere, not even the buttes from up north. Hot wind blowing upon their faces, sweat glittered their faces. “They said he got shot twenty-one times, all from the chest rather than the back. As long as every outlaw was gunned and killed, he couldn’t kick the bucket. Crazy ain’t it.”

“Jesus. But why though?”

Dying down, the wind pushed Pacifica to muster up a smirk. Raising a hand toward her forehead, she pushed away strands of hair, all the while the evening sun burned into her clothes.

—“It was to protect his family. What other reason would he do it for?”—

Christian relieved a single breath of air from his mouth. Feeling his lips crackle, he puckered them softly, as the heat finally began to crevice them. Something about the bridge gave him a sense of comfort. A man defending his wife and son, and sacrificing in the process. As the flames of the orange sun barely tickled the horizon, Pacifica herself sparkled her eyes on the star. So did Christian.

“Guess he was a man amongst men.”

“And he lived amongst them at one point.”

She trailed the words from her lips. Giving her the need to push forward, she patted Christian’s back before walking forward. Both of her hands settled in her pocket.

“Come on. We got to check up on those boys of ours.”

“G-Got it.”

The two of them saw a ladder. Climbing down with gripping palms, and squeezing boots, the old wood mellowed out noise. And above all, it gave her miniscule specks of splinters. As soon as she reached the bottom, she turned to see…

“What the…”

She glued her boots to the metal walkway. Once Christian was at a given height, he thumped the metal walkway upon his landing. Turning around, he furrowed his brow, before gluing his eyes to the same sight she saw.

“Holy—”

Bodies littered the endless walkway.

Upon every man who wore khaki attire, three to four holes were the common injury. Blood gushing out from them, the smell they excreted wasn’t strong. Brown thick jackets, brown slacks and boots, they trailed the bodies until they started walking. The edges of his boots sunk in that wet blood. Same with Pacifica, as she had her arms and hands motionless against her. Stopping right in front of the bodies, Christian bent his knees.

“These wounds, these holes, which blade has three to four spikes on its tip?”

It didn’t take long for Pacifica to tighten. Digging her teeth deep into each other, her eyelids succumbed to a crippled darkness. She stared at one of the bodies, her head tilted down and stiff as a board.

“So she’s here…”

—“About time you guys arrived. I was waiting forever.”—

The two turned their heads toward the other end of the catwalk. Out of a corner, was a woman wearing a long dress and heels. Carrying with her a javelin, the tips still carried red. Pacifica stood still, and stared at Vivy with wide eyes. Like a predator, she didn’t let her eyes trail off her for one second.

“Aww, don’t tell me your brother meant that much to you. All men are useless, you know?”

She noticed a glint of a barrel. Turning her attention onto Christian, his upper and lower jaws clenched hard against one another. Keeping it in his stomach, it boiled and swirled the longer he steamed. His finger was already on the trigger, all he had to do was pull. Vivy laughed.

She moved her left hand toward her stomach, as every crackle cracked her vocals. Hot air soaring through her throat, her eyes were the same as Pacifica, but with a different emotion. Hunching her body forward, she wiped a tear from her eye.

“Oh… I just love to see angered faces. The way people get so emotional, is what tickles down below~”

Just before Christian could pull the trigger… he remembered metal. Metal bars, right in front of him, all around him. Bitter coffee on a table, the man who drank it wore a uniform. All blue, with a badge stationed on his right chest. But then a shadow appeared…

[One of these days, you’re going to pick a fight with the wrong crowd…]

He moved his finger away from the trigger. Keeping his barrel firm on Vivy, he didn’t dare take a step back or a step near. In and out, he heard his breath shingle with his vocals.

‘I can’t fight with fists any more, not like before.’

And it was then he remembered what his mission was. Glancing from behind, he noticed stacks of crates all crafted in wood. Knowing what was in those wooden crates, he felt his eyes largen.

‘She hasn’t touched the dynamite yet.’

Taking a step to his left, the three of them were still at a standstill. Luckily for them, Vivy was waiting for their move, leaving Christian to lean his lips toward Pacifica.

“You’re going to deal with Vivy alright? Keep her distracted, while I finish what our brethren started.”

Pacifica didn’t nod, as her first course of action was to walk. Her hands low to her sides, her fingers trickled against the fabric of her pants. Droplets of liquid tickled the metal. Vivy twirled her javelin with one hand.

“Someone’s finally ready~”

She didn’t smell it, but Pacifica already imagined the rotten breath Vivy drew out. The two readied for battle, Christian tread the walkway toward the wooden crates; as they had to finish what they started.