I was at the location John told me to meet him at.
He was late.
The reflection of the city on the lake reminded me of the sparkling city of Sandor. Its walls of silver and gold used to be a beacon across the realms. Until a rogue spy infiltrated its walls, and brought them down.
Perhaps this is what that thief felt. The city across looked almost foreign, as the buildings were not only taller but more ornate. I glanced back at the part of Stanlowe I currently hailed from to find no such lights.
I found a dry patch and sat down, inspecting my gun. This was the first time I touched it since the altercation with DD. Before I left, I took a couple of days to make sure I knew how it worked. I had no holster, rather, I was forced to get rid of it. Q and Rod made it abundantly clear that I do not want to broadcast the fact I was carrying a gun. Rod kept his in the front of his pants which made me fearful. One mistake and the child he has would be the only child he has. Q kept his in the back, but that too made me wary. Will offered a way to carry it on the side that felt the most comfortable.
Personally, I missed the holster.
The faint slapping of water against itself pulled me from my thoughts. It was too dark to see who was disturbing the lake, but I surmised it could only be one person. The moment I went to call John's name I froze. What if he did not come alone? What if it wasn't John?
I moved behind a tree and waited for the figure to come closer. The dingy they rode in could hardly be called seaworthy, but they were able to make it on to the muddy crop of land. A lone figure stepped out, out of breath.
"I told him to meet me here…shit."
That was his voice. I stepped from behind the tree and made myself known. John's heart nearly jumped from his chest.
"Don't do that! I'm already jumpy and you got me rowing a boat at 3AM! Don't play!"
"I appreciate the sacrifice," I snidely replied, "What took you so long?"
"I was asleep."
I blinked once.
"It was you who decided on this time."
"I know."
He blinked once.
"Let's just go, John."
"Give me a minute! I just rowed over here, damnit."
I found another dry spot and sat down. John told me of his concerns in great detail about the task given to us. I reminded him that all we were there for was a picture, nothing more.
"And the next picture you'll be in is when they want your body identified, son!"
"Then we'll be quick."
John's break was over. As we got closer to the boat, the low faith I had in the vessel dropped to none. A patchwork job had been done on all sides, and even now, water leaked into the bottom. The moment John placed his foot in it, it creaked with an awful sound.
"John?"
"What?"
"Can you swim?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"When this vessel eventually goes under, I want to know how much of my energy I'll waste attempting to save you."
He laughed and slapped the edge of the boat. Another terrible noise emanated from its hull.
"It ain't gonna sink! I've had this boat for years! People bigger than you have been in this boat."
"That's probably why this boat is in this condition."
"Let's go! We ain't got all night. Sooner we do this sooner I can go back to sleep."
After a performative exhale I slid one foot on the boat. It trembled sharply, then eased into a lull as I put more weight on it. That was one foot now secured. I steeled myself, and moved the second foot further on the boat. The brief moment where I balanced on one foot nearly gave me a heart attack. By instinct I overcompensated to where I was unbalanced and nearly kicked John in the face.
I finally found balance. With my arms stuck out, I slowly descended onto the seat of the boat. The bottom of my shoes were already covered in the murky lake water. With a heavy grunt, John began rowing us across.
"How far?" I asked.
"Gotta pass the little island and a bridge and we're there."
I felt the moment the boat dislodged from the bank. The opportunity to turn back and remain dry had passed. Each stroke of the boat gained momentum, and soon we were gliding across the water. About halfway, at least, what I could surmise to be, we had to take a detour around a strip of land.
"That's where the others are," John said, "Ben's watching."
I stared between the trees and dense bushes by this isle's shore. There was no man I could see. I did not enjoy the feeling of being watched.
"You're sure?"
"Sure I'm sure. Ben's always watching."
I kept my eyes on the line of trees that outlined the isle there. Nothing moved. Every so often I found myself looking back.
We were now underneath the bridge. The muted rumblings of cars could be heard between the lapses of rowing. I was wrong about the boat. She had proven to be seaworthy thus far.
At the very least, lakeworthy.
The water only rose when the paddles carried it in. John's rowing technique was getting sloppier with each minute. His breathing turned to wheezing, each stroke carrying us fewer feet than the last.
"Do you want me to take over?"
John glanced up.
"You know how to row?"
"It's a boat."
"That didn't answer my question."
"If you want to row, continue. We'll be there by morning if you keep your current pace."
John handed the oars to me. The moment I touched their handles I regretted offering my services. These had obviously not been maintained. With gritted teeth and a renewed resolve, I started my shift as helmsman.
John wasted no time in relaxing. From his pockets he took a blunt and lighter, immediately putting it to use.
"Put that away."
"I smoke when I wake up–"
"You want them to smell us coming? More than they already will?"
John took a deep inhale before wringing the end of it off. The rest of the trip was made in silence. It took a while to find a suitable docking point that gave us a place to hide the rowboat. Once we set foot on the ground, the realization finally hit me.
I'm on North Forest's territory. There are no allies–
"Ready?"
John walked by me, the smell following him.
One ally, then.
My arms were a little sore from completing the second half of the trip.
[ATHLETICS: 20]
Perhaps some time could be invested in bringing that number up. We made our way past the rocky outcrops of the bridge and hit the street.
"We got about…half hour walk? This is the shitty part of North Forest," said John, leading the way, "Once we cross the tracks we gotta be careful."
The homeless of North Forest looked no different than my own. The occasional beggar would approach me and each time I would turn them away. I spied several vantage points in abandoned buildings that could make a decent base of operations.
"Do you know of any underground trails?" I asked.
"Sewers. But I'm not walking in shit. Why?"
"Having multiple routes is always a wise idea."
"Walking in shit ain't wise either."
I could tell the distance from the railroad tracks by the density of the vagabonds. Should I say, lack thereof. Once across the tracks, the city started to feel cleaner. Less store fronts used dark bars to guard their front doors. The glow of the city buildings started to shine upon us from the sidewalk.
John took a turn down an alleyway. I noticed his limp had gotten worse as of late. When I asked why he does not use a cane he simply replied he did not need one. After watching him hobble for the half hour we finally made it to the tracks.
"North Forest fuckin' hates homeless people. Anything past here gets arrested," John warned.
"So it is true. They keep lawmen on payroll. What must they be selling to afford them?"
"Could be anything. All I know is they got it like that."
"For now."
After another bit of walking we came upon a chain fence. Through its holes I saw massive heaps of metal and scrap. A dimly lit sign from across the yard read, "Fuller's Scrapyard". Partitioned from the rest of the junk were a row of cars with beaten exteriors.
"Over there," John pointed, "Those cars there? The guns are in the back."
He peeled a corner of the fence up, exposing a passage inside.
Neither of us moved.
For an entire minute we did nothing but stare at the backs of the scrap heap. Finally, John broke the silence.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Get the photo! I'm not going in there."
"I'm not going in without knowing there's no one around!"
"I'll watch from here!"
I shook my head and clamped a hand on his shoulder.
"We've already come this far. Go in first, and I'll follow after."
"Why am I going in first?"
"Because I know I'm not going to run. Or limp off."
John grumbled and slipped through the opening of the fence. After taking a moment to calm myself, I followed through. We took turns moving between the piles of waste. With each movement came a period of halting, eager to know if we were the only ones here.
We were moving efficiently. Now about halfway through the yard when he hit his foot and caused a pile of scrap to hit the ground.
We froze.
The junkyard had no reaction to his blunder. I crept over and carefully removed the lighter pieces of metal from around him. When enough space had been created around him to stand, I assisted him.
"Shiiiiiiiiiit. You think we're good?" he asked.
We took another look around.
"It looks like–"
A light turned on in the main building. John and I scrambled behind massive hills of scrap and held silent. Seconds later, we heard the sound of a door opening. A gruff voice spoke moments later.
"I swear if it's another stray I'll blow it's fuckin' brain out. Stupid dogs."
John's eyes were bulging from their sockets. From his pile, I saw him mouth the words the scrap warden just said and shook. My hand wavered over my gun, not knowing if I would need to use it.
Not knowing if I would.
"Anyone there? Hello?"
The steps got closer. John searched the ground and picked up a pipe, clutching it to his chest. I opted to grab a blunted piece of junk from the ground.
Something cocked into place. The scrap warden held a device that projected the sun in the direction he pointed.
"Last warning if anyone's out there!"
John's steady breathing turned into a heave. I peered from around the pile to see him with his back facing away from us. I turned back to John–
I saw then why John claimed he did not need the cane. His stride was impressive for a man with a limp. If only I did not have to witness it at the worst possible time.
"What the–?! You trespassing homeless motherfucker!"
I heard the scrap warden start to chase after John, who was now screaming. When his foot snagged against a bar sticking from a pile, he fell to the ground and began crawling. From my pile, I could see the scrap warden aiming at John. He would pass right by my pile if he continued on his current path. The beam from his portable sun stick grew more intense with each step.
Suddenly, he fired.