The Pulver Chronicles – 50. ‘Sé Do Bheatha ‘Bhaile

A smell of urine.

As he crossed to the other side, Jackson had wondered precisely what he would find, what exactly would greet him back to Earth. He wasn’t expecting a welcome committee or anything like that, he simply wondered what his first perception would be like. Would it be the rays of the sun, warming up a patch of flowers? Would it be the feel of grass against his skin? Would it be the song of birds, or maybe of grasshoppers?

No. It was a smell of urine.

It wasn’t particularly strong, but, as always with such smells, it didn’t need to be for it to be noticeable. In fact, Jackson’s mind chose to focus on it, disregarding the rest of the scenery: the sound of leaves brushing softly in the wind, the almost full moon surrounded by stars in the night’s clear sky, the scent of pine trees… He didn’t even notice the signature sound of a plane above him until he saw two Hellhounds point at it with gasps of surprise, spotting it through holes in the forest’s canopy.

“Well, welcome home, Jack,” he said to himself.

His people were still gathered in groups, spread out a bit in the forest, each one counting its members to make sure none was missing. It was apparently late at night, and judging by the temperature and the state of the grass, it was summer. Jackson decided to venture further into the woods, looking for Ryan Park’s camp grounds and the road. Before he could go far, he was suddenly grabbed from behind by two powerful arms, bear-hugging him in a way he had become very familiar with.

“We made it, Jack!” Alizana said, her voice a mixture of excitement and relief.

“Hell yeah, we did,” Jackson replied. The happiness in his tone was partly forced; he hoped she wouldn’t notice. “Everyone made it through okay?”

“We’re still checking, but so far we’ve only lost two people to the Angels.”

“By the Armilus, that was crazy, wasn’t it?” Sathariel’s voice arose a few feet away. He emerged from behind a tree. “The whole thing was crazy. The Inquisition, Angels, Secret Arcanes, and a portal to another world! Where did you get that?”

His eyes had descended to Jackson’s right hand, which was still holding the Angel’s sword. He hadn’t even realized he still had it as he crossed the portal. Oops. I should probably hide that thing. A sword that can cut through steel… That’s gonna raise questions. He briefly explained to Jackson how he had managed to obtain it, then wrapped it in cloth which he bound with ropes. It was heavy, he noted, much heavier than the sword he used to wield. Alizana gasped as she noticed his wound, then dragged him to a secluded spot so she could patch him up.

“Guess our first order of business will be buying a first aid kit,” he joked. She didn’t find that very funny.

An hour later, the count was finished. In total, five people had not made it through, bringing down their numbers to one thousand and twenty-three. Jackson overheard Tezrian tell the other trinitarian priestesses that this number was a good omen -it was a multiple of three. The Hellhound who had been wounded by an Angel was expected to pull through, after she was patched up properly; the important blood loss meant she wouldn’t be able to move much for a while, however. 

Helped with a few scouts, Jackson found the camp ground and the 130 after a twenty minute walk south. Ryan Park looked almost identical as Jackson remembered it, with the only differences being the wear and tear affecting the houses: peeling paint, rust, a few broken windows… Everything was closed, of course, so Jackson elected to go catch some sleep in the trees and come back later in the morning. 

Before he did, however, Sathariel pointed out a detail he had neglected: his clothes. He was still wearing his dryadelle outfit, which was now damaged and soiled with blood. With a sigh, he took it off, wondering if he could find a tailor that knew how to mend dryadelle or whether he had worn his favorite outfit for the last time. This led to a second issue: all of the clothing his people had would look quite out of place in this world. They were evidently handcrafted and sewn, and much of it was made out of animal hide. Thankfully, Jackson had thought of that, and remembered to pack his old military fatigues -upon Alizana’s suggestion, he had even thought to clean them. Shopping for clothes will be our second order of business. I wonder if Liz will like shopping? In one of his pockets, he found some dollar bills he still had left from his last paycheck. He also found his old debit card, but it was several years out of date. So was the candy bar stashed in another pocket.

In Ryan Park, the hot season was evidently about to begin. The shops’ inventories had been stocked, the seasonal advertisement was up, and several cleaners were making sure all the litter was gone. Jackson headed to a mom and pop store simply called Womack’s that sold a bit of everything. The shop had a wooden interior, and smelled of sandalwood. A radio on the counter was tuned to a sports station, relating the score on the latest Angels-Rangers game. The place was empty, save for an old, stout man with tanned skin working behind the counter, busy jotting down notes on a yellow pad. He was wearing a pair of jeans -when was the last time Jackson saw denim?-, an open flannel shirt, a white T-shirt, and a baseball cap covering his balding scalp. The sound of Jackson’s boots dragged his attention away from his pad.

“Good morning…” He did a double take as he saw Jackson’s fatigues, then smiled. “I’m Henry Womack, welcome to Womack’s. Pretty far away from the base, aren’t you, son?”

“Hello. Um, yeah, me and my friends are on leave. We wanted to get as far away from the drill sergeant as possible.”

The old man chuckled. Jackson went to find the clothes aisle, and picked up a bunch of articles, just enough to dress himself up, as well as Sathariel and Alizana. The latter might be a little tight in the pants and T-shirt Jackson had selected for her, but the shop didn’t have much of a selection in the larger sizes. Seriously, they don’t even have XXL? Has America changed that much while I was gone? While he was at it, he also bought several copies of a detailed map of the forest. He plopped the pile of clothes on the counter and waited for the man -Henry- to ring them up.

“You boys didn’t pack any change of clothing?” he asked with a knowing smile.

“We kinda had an accident in the car on the way. Something involving soda and bumpy roads.”

This made Henry belly-laugh, so much so it took him a moment to regain control of himself and give Jackson his total. Most of the cash he had ended up being used, in spite of Jackson trying to buy the cheapest things. He had just about enough left to buy some disinfectant and a few clean bandages. Henry raised an eyebrow at those purchases, but didn’t make any comment. Jackson also bought a newspaper, and checked the date. June 2nd, 2001. Damn, it’s the twenty-first century already? He pulled up a few dollar bills more, leaving him with only a few coins.

“Say, you wouldn’t know where I can find a pawn shop not too far from here?” he asked the old man.

“A pawn shop?” He scratched his chin. “Yeah, my daughter and her husband own one up in Saratoga. Or I suppose you could find a couple in Laramie, depending on where you’re headed.”

“Eh… We might stick around the forest for a while. Get away from civilization, ya know?”

“Uh-huh. You boys are gonna go trekking? Hope you got enough supplies. Cold season might be over, but it’s no walk in the park, son. But I suppose a private like you’s got training for that kinda thing.”

“Yeah, it’s… not our first time,” Jackson said.

“Well, you came just at the right time to get the sun and avoid tourist season. We don’t expect much of a crowd until the end of the month.”

“It actually gets crowded around here?”

“This ain’t Aspen, but we’ve gotten more popular these last few years. Couple hundred people, mostly campers. You boys looking to get away from crowds, too?”

“We, uh, well, yeah. Not much of a holiday if we have to swim through hordes of tourists, right?”

“Right, I guess not,” the old man said. 

Henry smiled again as he packed the purchases in a bag. Jackson felt weird. He knew that kind of smile; it was the kind that said: I’m not buying what you’re selling.

“Anyway, I should get going,” Jackson said, grabbing the bag.

“If you boys do head up to Saratoga, tell my daughter I sent you. Her name’s Jacklyn, but she goes by Jackie. Try not to deal with her husband Burl, though. That boy’s a dud, I’ve always said.”

“Sure, thanks for the tip.”

“And… If you do stick around the forest, come back and see me. My wife and I often have some good deals on camping equipment. We’re talking quality stuff, the kind that keeps. You know, if you decide to… extend your leave.”

Jackson remained quiet for a moment.

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind. Bye.”

Back in the woods, the groups were already getting reorganized into tribes, and preparing to begin moving again. The scouts were about to get out to find good spots to make camp. Jackson distributed the maps he bought, then asked Sathariel to clean his wound and put on a new bandage. It took a few tries before the Demon figured out how to use the disinfectant spray; the first time, he dropped the bottle in surprise. He had an easier time with the clothes, and particularly liked the jeans. Alizana was less of a fan, openly wondering that the material was, and giving it a skeptical sniff. She still put them on, and both Jackson and Sathariel had to stifle a laugh when they saw the result. The chieftain of chieftains, veteran of the Second Southern War, victor of many battles, who only ever wore dark brown clothing made out of animal hides, was now wearing a pink T-shirt with yellow letters saying: “I had a lot of FUN in the Wyoming SUN!”, with a smiling sun in the middle. She sighed and rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

While the tribes were moving deeper in the forest to find temporary places to live away from the trails, Jackson and Sathariel decided to start selling parts of their treasure to get some more money. That pawn shop in Saratoga the old man mentioned seemed like a good bet. Given that Jackson had no money left for a bus ticket, let alone rent a car -there was no rental place around anyway-, their only option was to trek there. The Neha tribe’s scout, Joanni, offered to guide them there, estimating that it would take most of the day, based on the map.

The trek was punctuated by Joanni’s and Sathariel’s comments on many things they saw which surprised them, or occasionally weirded them out. The trees, the bushes, the few animals they saw… Everything was new to them. In particular, they were intrigued by the asphalt road which went through a portion of the forest, and which they followed from a distance. Astonished, Joanni actually went to touch it, running a hand over its grey, rough surface. On the map, she had assumed it was a simple dirt road like on Varda.

“What manner of paved road is this?” she asked. “Why is it so thick?”

Both she and Sathariel were later spooked by the sight -and especially the noise- of a passing pick-up truck. By the sound it made, Joanni had initially thought they were about to be attacked by a very big boar. Sathariel’s fear was quickly replaced by amazement as he watched the vehicle drive away.

“That was a car, wasn’t it?” he said. “They’re bigger than I imagined.”

“They’re not all that big,” Jackson said. “But some are actually much bigger than that.”

Sathariel let out a silent “damn” -with the proper American inflection, Jackson noted to himself. For the rest of the trek, the young Demon insisted they stayed closer to the road, so he could see more cars. He then proceeded to look giddy as a child all four times one drove past them.

They reached the limits of the forest some time after noon, and the landscape turned into hills, then into a prairie. Finally, in the late afternoon, they reached the outskirts of Saratoga. Sathariel and Joanni were curious of the houses they walked by; Joanni in particular was fascinated by their lawns, their gardens, and their decorations.

“That is the Am-ricun flag, yes?” Joanni said, pointing at the banner on a porch. Her English was getting better, but Jackson still thought she sounded like she had a German accent. “I remember you talk about it.”

“American, right. You’re gonna see it a lot…”

Joanni elected to wait outside town, owing not only to her outfit but also to her decision to bring her bow and arrows. People will think she’s nuts, Jackson said to himself. Or worse: that’s she pretending to be a Native. Heh. Reflexively, he looked above his shoulder with a little smile, as he often did to gauge Byron’s reaction to his jokes. It took him a second to remember, and his throat suddenly felt very tight.

Sathariel and Jackson managed to find the pawn shop quickly, with the directions of a helpful young woman who congratulated Sathariel on “learning to speak English so good”. The shop was simply called Saratoga Pawn and Estate, a classic mortar-and-brick building painted white, except for the front which had a huge decal representing a bald eagle on the Star-Spangled Banner.

“Wow,” Sathariel muttered as they entered.

The display was typical of pawn shops: varied and cluttered. A few customers were present in the aisles. The Demon looked around him like a child in a candy store, fascinated by the numerous items, asking many questions about them in a hushed tone. He was particularly impressed -and a little scared- by what was on display on a wall behind the counter.

“Those are firearms!”

They were, and quite a number of them as well. Not just pistols and revolvers, either: a dozen of rifles, both hunting and assault, were also proudly displayed.

“Yeah, that’s not uncommon,” Jackson said. “There’s probably a few hunters in town.”

A middle-aged woman with bleached-blonde hair in a denim skirt and a denim vest was manning the counter, talking with a customer, a pot-bellied male Orc with a pointy chin, wearing desert camo pants and a red T-shirt. From what Jackson could overhear, the latter was trying to trade an old hunting knife for another shown under the glass counter, but the store employee wouldn’t accept a straight exchange. Eventually, the man relented, and very reluctantly slapped some cash on the counter, muttering all the while. Another customer, a Human male with long hair and bad teeth, approached the cash register after him. He bought some 22. long rifle ammo, ignored the employee’s attempts at small talk, and walked away. Jackson and Sathariel waited until they were the last customers, then approached the counter.

“Wanna try practicing your English some more?” Jackson said to his friend.

Sathariel hesitated, a bit of red adorning his cheeks. “Um, no. You do it.”

“Hi, how can I help you?” the employee said.

“Hi. Is Jacklyn working here today?”

“She sure is, hun!” The woman smiled brightly. “I go by Jackie. Wait, you’re the two guys who’ve met with my dad this morning, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, we are,” Jackson said. “How…?”

“He called me earlier, told me about you. Also…” She pointed at the T-shirts they had bought at Womack’s.

“Right. I’m Jack, this is Seth.”

“Pleasure to meet you. What can I do for you today? Buying or selling?”

“Probably both, but let’s start with the selling.” 

He took off his backpack, and retrieved two rings and a pendant, which he placed before Jackie. She picked one of the rings, the one with an incrusted ruby, with two fingers to look at it more closely.

“My word, is that actual gold?”

“Sure is. The stone’s real, too.”

Jackie observed the other ring, then the pendant. “Beautiful. How did you get those?”

“They were my aunt’s,” Jackson said, telling the story he had rehearsed. “She passed away last month.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Are they certified?”

Jackson understood she was asking whether the jewelry had received a certification of authenticity.

“Err, no, I don’t think so.”

“Ah. Well, in that case, you understand I can’t give you full price for these.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Jackson sighed. 

He hadn’t expected to get much anyway, he only wanted to have some funds to get started. Hopefully, it would net him enough money for a bus ticket to a big city, where they could find some actual jewelers, possibly get some of the stuff appraised -and certified-, and…

“Twelve hundred. That’s the best I can do,” Jackie said.

“For all of these?”

“For that ring,” she said, showing the ruby ring. “The rest… How about we say twenty-six hundred for the whole thing?”

Jackson tried to control his excitement. Twenty-six hundred?

“Yeah, deal.”

He wasn’t naive: he figured the woman had offered such a high amount because the jewelry was worth even more than that, but he also knew that was as good a deal as he was likely to get. With a nod, the cashier opened a safe beneath the counter, and retrieved the cash, mostly in fifty dollar bills. Jackson stashed them in his pockets, slipping a couple to Sathariel. His friend looked at them with confusion, and Jackson realized it was the first time he saw paper money, and possibly didn’t even know the concept of it.

“I heard tell that some C’fan merchants in the eastern Leagues used something like this,” he explained in a low voice, “but I’ve never actually seen it. Is it valuable?”

“Sure is.” Louder, Jackson told Jackie: “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Jackie, please. Now, how about you spend some of that money here, uh?”

Jackson and Sathariel and chuckled.

“Sure, why not?” the former said. “Hey, do you know any place in town that sells used cars?”

“Not in Saratoga, no… But my husband’s aunt has got a whole bunch in her backyard, and she’s looking to sell some of them.”

Jackson looked at a clock on the wall. It was almost five in the afternoon.

“She’s at home, right now,” Jackie added. “I could give you the address.”

She wrote it down on a scrap of paper, and handed it to Jackson. Before leaving, he and Sathariel browsed the aisles for a little while, making good on their promise to buy something here. Sathariel got some more clothes, while Jackson bought a wallet and some 9mm ammunition for his pistol. He had no plan on using it any time soon, or ever again, but having a lot of cash on his person made him a little nervous. He also bought a pair of digital watches, one for him, and one for Sathariel. They would come in handy, Jackson decided, and it would be easier than to teach his friend to read an analog clock. Spotting some strange, small, rectangular objects under the counter’s glass, he asked:

“What are these?”

“Cellphones,” Jackie said. “They’re last year’s models. If you’re interested, I could give you a good price.”

“Those are cell phones?”

Jackson had never seen any outside of a few movies, and those were pretty big and bulky. From what he had been told, they were also expensive enough that only white collar types could afford them. The phones he saw under the glass were small enough to fit in a pocket, and the price tags next to them said they only cost a couple hundred dollars. It seemed there had been a lot of progress in the past six years. What else had changed, Jackson wondered?

He passed on Jackie’s offer to get one, at least for now. He still needed to save on money, and furthermore he figured a cell phone wouldn’t be of much use in the woods. Sathariel asked him about them, and Jackson did his best to explain, and the difference with regular phones.

Jackie’s aunt-in-law lived a few blocks away, in a small house with a large terrain. The front yard was unkempt, with high grass dotted with old, rusted objects, while the backyard was pretty much just dirt. Jackson counted seven cars there, all of them looking pretty old. He went to knock on the front door, but it seemed the porch’s slats creaking under his steps was enough to inform the resident that she had a visitor. The aunt-in-law, named Margaret but going by Maggie, was a woman about as large as she was tall, with grey hair partly dyed pink, short, strong legs, and small blue eyes hidden behind square glasses. She wasn’t much of a talker, and went straight to business, showing the boys her cars, quickly giving their technical details and price.

“They’re all in working order?” Jackson asked.

“Yup,” Maggie said. “Won’t win any races, but they drive.”

Jackson’s attention was caught by an old third generation Ford Bronco. About half of its black paint was gone, and a lot of rust covered the bottom rim, especially around the wheels. The seats’ fabric was damaged, leaving the padding exposed in a few places. Also, there was a strange smell lingering inside; Jackson couldn’t put his finger on it: it didn’t smell bad, just not good. But it was still sturdy, and it looked like it could drive on bumpy roads and even off-road without much trouble.

As for Sathariel, he wasn’t difficult: he looked at every one of the cars with the same awe, even the old Toyota that was more rust than paint and which was missing its passenger seat. The Bronco was more than fine with him.

Maggie was not one for haggling, but Jackson still tried to get a good price from her. Luckily, it soon became evident that Maggie was looking to get rid of these cars cluttering her backyard, especially the Bronco, which had been sitting there for over a decade at that point. In the end, it cost Jackson and Sathariel most of what they had earned selling the two rings and the pendant, and leaving them with less than a hundred dollars. They went to pick up Joanni, made a stop at the nearest gas station, and soon they were on their way back to the woods.

Sathariel was very excited by his very first car ride, although his excitement briefly turned to fear when they got on the 130 and Jackson demonstrated that these vehicles could go much faster than a horse. For fun, Jackson even gunned it on a straight, remote part of the road, reaching almost a hundred miles per hour. His friend shrieked and practiced his English curse words, then dissolved in laughter. Sitting in the back, Joanni paled, clenched her teeth, and grabbed on to whatever she could. The look she shot at Jackson when he went back to a more normal speed was not happy.

“Holy shit, this is incredible!” Sathariel said.

“Remind me to introduce you to car races one day,” Jackson said. “Just not NASCAR, that’s fucking boring. I think you’ll like the Knoxville Nationals, though. And I always meant to try the Pikes Peak Hill Climb.”

This immediately led to a long series of questions by Sathariel. There were car races? Was it anything like horse racing? Had Jackson ever seen any? Oh, there were different types of races? How many? What was endurance racing? There were different types of race cars, too? How much would one cost? Oh, that much? Hmm…

The trip back went by very quickly, with the two friends happily discussing cars, while Joanni spent the entire time looking out of the window. Jackson had forgotten how travelling could actually go fast, and how having a roof over one’s head was nice, even just to protect from the sun. He discovered another problem with the car, though: the AC was completely dead. With the summer coming, that was not going to be fun. The radio wasn’t doing so well either; one of the speakers was fried.

On the positive side, Maggie had not oversold the car on its ability to drive on beaten paths and bumpy trails. Jackson found a spot to park the car not too far away from where the Neha tribe had decided to establish its camp. It was a rather secluded spot between two hills, a short walk away from a river called Middle Cedar Creek on the map. The construction of the huts was already well on its way; everyone would be able to sleep under a roof that night. The hunters came back later in the evening, carrying two does and one elk, in addition to a bunch of fruits and nuts. Jackson advised them to be careful with the hunting, explaining that, in this world, this activity required a license.

“Pretty sure it’s completely illegal in a national forest, too,” he added.

The hunters’ reaction was a mixture of surprised and miffed. A licence to hunt? What an odd world! And how were those without a licence meant to hunt for their food? Foraging? Did the people in this world live on nothing but nuts and mushrooms? Sighing, Jackson went on to explain that the vast, vast majority of the people on Earth didn’t hunt, and didn’t forage for food either: they bought what they ate.

“People don’t hunt here?” one of the hunters, Zenala, said, flabbergasted.

“Well, yes, they do, but mostly for fun, and only during hunting season. Some do it as a job, but not many. There are quotas, too. You can’t kill too many animals.”

A couple of the hunters were rather disappointed when they understood this would likely mean they would have to change careers. The rest of them took in stride, however, and even seemed happy to hear that the whole tribe would soon no longer have to rely on their hunting and gathering for survival. At least one of them was looking forward to finding another job; being a hunter was not something she wished to do her whole life.

For dinner, someone suggested a feast to celebrate their first day on Earth, but almost everyone was too tired physically and mentally from the recent events. In addition, they suffered from the transdimensional version of jet lag: when they had crossed the portal, it was the end of the day on their world, but the early morning on Earth, meaning they had been on their feet for almost thirty hours at this point. After they ate, Alizana brought Jackson to the top of a tall hill, overlooking the river. There, they found a comfy spot, watched as the sun slowly descended… and had a little celebration on their own.

Sathariel and Jackson spent the next morning planning their next move. The best way forward, they decided, would be first to go to Laramie, and find some information about jewelry stores in the vicinity. Now that they had a car, they could easily go as far as Fort Collins or Denver, giving them more options. This time, Alizana wished to accompany them, as did Aleo. The latter was hoping to get some money soon, so that her tribe could move on.

“My scouts say the winters are cold in this region,” she explained as they packed the Bronco, making sure the jewels they were bringing were hidden. “Much colder than in the Southern Marches. My tribe wishes to live where the weather is more clement. Some locals I spoke with say they are places not too far where there is no winter at all.”

“You spoke with the locals?” Alizana said.

“I did, a nice old Human man called Henry. Don’t worry, I made sure to speak nothing but English in his presence.”

Jackson bit his lip as he sat behind the wheel. “What else did you talk about?”

“Not much. He asked me a few questions about me, about what brought me here, but I gave him vague answers.”

“He didn’t ask about the Hellhound thing?” Jackson said. “I told you, your people are unknown on Earth.”

“And it’s best to keep it that way for now. Yes, I remember. The man assumed I was a Werewolf, and I decided against correcting him.”

Jackson breathed easier. During their brief interaction the day before, Henry Womack had seemed rather astute. It was probably best not to give him too much to think about -at least until most of the tribes had left the Medicine Bow-Routt National Forest. Who knew what the man could find out otherwise? And who knew who he might tell? He put the key in the ignition, and started driving.

Alizana soon decided she didn’t like cars so much. She found the Bronco noisy and smelly, complained about the lack of leg room -until Jackson showed her how to adjust her seat-, and didn’t care for the speed. Jackson found it kind of funny how the usually composed and calm Hellhound now looked so disquieted. She basically spent the entire journey scratching her claws, letting out small whiny groans when the car sped up. Jackson did his best to reassure her, driving five under the limit the whole time.

Aleo, on the other hand, quite enjoyed this form of travel. She soon figured out how to operate the window, and, having opened it in full, stuck her head out to enjoy the breeze. It looked so much like the classic dog in a car situation Jackson couldn’t help but laugh. Aleo enjoyed every part of the journey: the sights, the smells, the speed. She looked so elated she seemed to be twenty years younger.

Both Hellhounds and Sathariel were impressed by the sight of Laramie as they arrived near the town center. The buildings, their size, and their numbers, left them in awe.

“Wait until we get to Denver,” Jackson said as he parked.

His first stop was at the local post office, where he asked an employee for the Yellow Pages, both for Wyoming and Colorado if possible.

“We’ve only got the Wyoming one in physical copy,” the employee said, “but you can use the online service if you’re looking for something in Colorado.”

“Online?” Jackson repeated, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, you know, on the Internet.”

The Internet? Oh, right… Jackson remembered hearing about it some time before he left Earth. Some kind of technology that made computers talk to each other, or something like that.

“Err, well, I don’t have a computer.”

“That’s all right, the local library has a few available for public use. And I think we’ve got an Internet cafe, near the University.”

Internet cafe? Jackson tried to hide his confusion. It seemed this world had changed more than he had expected. Hell, I don’t even know who’s the President right now.

“Ah… Okay, thanks.”

He consulted the Yellow Pages directory, found the address for three local jewelry stores, and left. When he went back to the car, he noticed Sathariel wasn’t in his seat. Alizana, who had opened her car door to stretch her legs, pointed at a mechanic’s store -“Carlson’s Car Care”, the front said- across the street.

His best friend was indeed there, happily chatting with a mechanic, a middle-aged Demon man with short, stubby horns and pale red skin, wearing a stained green jumpsuit with the name “Larry” stitched on the right side of his chest. The two were hunched over the opened hood of an Oldsmobile family wagon. Larry was pointing out several parts, explaining them with lots of hand gestures, with Sathariel nodding along.

“Oh, hey, Jack!” he said as his friend came into the shop. “Larry, this is Jack.”

The mechanic wiped his grease-covered hand on his jumpsuit, then held it out to Jackson with a big smile.

“Pleasure, Jack. Your buddy Seth’s got a lot of questions.”

He had something of an accent, but Jackson couldn’t quite decide where it was from. He spoke quickly, too, and with lots of passion in his voice.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Jackson said. “Hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“Nah, you kiddin’? I love to talk shop. Most of the people I meet don’t care too much about that shit. They drive cars, and that’s it. The technical stuff, it’s just boring for them. But your friend, man, he might just love this as much as I do.”

“I mean, it’s pretty complicated,” Sathariel said, “but it looks like it might be fun.”

“Fuckin-A, man! You thinkin’ of becoming a mechanic yourself?”

“Well, I don’t know… You think I could?”

“Hell yeah, you can. You’ve got the mind for it, I can tell.”

“It’s just, ah, well, I didn’t have a regular education…” Sathariel scratched his nape.

“Ah, you don’t need that!” Larry said with a slap on Sathariel’s shoulder. “Look at me, I didn’t even graduate high school. Didn’t stop me from becoming a professional. Hell, in just a few months, I’m gonna buy my own place, and be my own boss. Don’t need college for that! Just find some place that’s hiring and that’s willing to train you. That’s what I did.”

“I…” Sathariel’s eyes swiveled right as he held his chin. “Well, I’ll have to think about that. What do you think, Jack?”

“Sure, why not?” Jackson said, shrugging. “But right now, we should go. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

“You’re right. Bye, Larry. Thanks for the talk.”

“Anytime, Seth. In fact…” Larry slid a hand in one of his jumpsuit’s pockets, and fished out a business card and a pen. “Why don’t you give me a call sometimes?” He wrote something on the back of the card. “Here’s my cellphone number. Do you have one?”

“Oh, uh… I don’t actually have a phone,” Sathariel said.

“Don’t like to have a leash on ya, huh? I get that. Well, what’s your landline number, then?”

“No, I mean, I don’t have a phone at all. Uh…”

He shot a glance at Jackson, who intervened:

“We’re in the middle of moving, right now. Don’t really have a home of our own yet.”

“Ah, all right,” Larry said with a nod. “I’m moving out soon too, actually. Going back to Nevada to be closer to my family. Well, you’ve got my number. Keep in touch!”

“Looks like someone made a new friend,” Jackson said to Sathariel as they made their way back to the car.

“Heh, yeah,” Sathariel said as he sat at the front. Alizana wanted to take the back, to see if it made the ride less uncomfortable for her. “I just… I saw the place and I got curious. There was this man working on a car, I asked him a question, and… Well, we started chatting.”

“I hope you didn’t tell him too much.”

“No, no, just my name. We pretty much only talked about cars. It’s… It’s a very rich subject.”

They drove to the first jewel store, a privately owned shop called All That Glitters. Jackson approached the Orc woman working there with a dozen items, and a story of how he had found them in his late grandmother’s house. The woman, clearly not interested, simply shrugged and passed them on to someone in the back to have them expertised, which she said would take a few hours. In the meantime, Jackson and the others drove to the two other stores, and did the same thing. The third store’s employee, an Elf male with distinct Human heritage, seemed a lot more interested in Jackson’s story, and not in a good way. He gave Jackson a suspicious look during the whole transaction, and made sure to mention that the store was in regular contact with the police, in case someone tried to sell them stolen goods. 

This made Jackson a little nervous. He knew he hadn’t stolen any of the jewels -and even if he had, it wasn’t like the owner would be able to file a complaint with the police-, but the fact that he was trying to sell strange jewels might raise some alarms.

There was nothing to do now but wait. Jackson offered to take everyone to lunch in the meantime. He found a diner not too far from the third jewel store, which he decided would be a good introduction to American cuisine. Both Alizana and Aleo had difficulties with the menu, as they still struggled to read English. Sathariel did the reading for them, but he too needed some help as he didn’t know some of the words he was reading. Cheeseburger? Milkshake? Coleslaw? He initially believed those were the places where the food came from.

Overall, it was a good experience. Alizana loved her bacon cheeseburger, and Aleo enjoyed her cheese fries with flakes of bacon; both, however, complained about the small size of their portions.

“Man, you’re really gonna love America,” Jackson said with a laugh, before ordering them seconds. Thank God the place was cheap. “Next time, I’ll introduce you to our pizzas.”

They went back to the jewelry stores in the afternoon. Without much surprise, all of the jewels turned out to be the real deal: actual gold (between sixteen and twenty-two karats), with actual gemstones (including diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and even one emerald). The second shop was in fact interested in acquiring them -but unfortunately refused to pay cash, only agreeing on checks and bank transfers-, while the first one only bought from certified sellers. The third one made it unequivocally clear that they wouldn’t buy any of that stuff, at any price.

“I can’t prove that it has been stolen,” the third store’s employee told Jackson, “but there’s something not right about this whole thing. My expert tells me he’s never seen anything like those items. You come out of nowhere with some strange, precious jewelry, and an unverifiable story as to where it comes from, and wanting cash for it… No, I don’t like this. So, I don’t know what your game is, and that’s the only reason I’m not calling the cops, but you had better not show your face again here.”

Jackson got out of there without saying anything.

Now in possession of proof that their stuff was valuable, they drove down to Denver to see if they could find some offers for it. If Laramie had intrigued Sathariel, Alizana, and Aleo, Denver simply stunned them. The city was far bigger than any settlement they had ever seen. And a lot more populated as well: watching the crowded roads and the crowded streets, they couldn’t believe so many people could live in one place. As they drove to Downtown Denver, Alizana actually got spooked by the sight of its skyscrapers, especially the Republic Plaza.

“Why… Why is it… so tall?” she asked, at loss for words. “How doesn’t it… just… fall down?”

Jackson mentioned that the buildings they were seeing were not even the tallest ones ever built. Hell, they weren’t even the tallest ones in America. This got Alizana very quiet, and Aleo very intrigued.

Once they found a place to park -which took almost an hour-, Jackson did the same thing as in Laramie: find some Yellow Pages, get some addresses, and visit the jewel stores. This time, however, he extended his search to pawn shops and cash stores, the sort that would pay actual money for gold. He also decided to try and find one of Byron’s old contacts while he was at it.

The afternoon went by very fast. Jackson pretty much drove from one store to another without any break time, spoke with lots of people, took some offers, declined most of them, and tried to dodge any additional suspicion. At the end of the day, he had managed to sell two thirds of the jewelry they had brought, and made a very comfortable stack of cash. He was exhausted, and felt even more exhausted when he remembered he would have to do that several more times for the rest of the goods, especially since he had decided not to sell to the same place twice: “my late grandma had a second secret stash of strange jewels” would probably raise more than a few eyebrows.

In the meantime, the others had kept busy. Alizana and Aleo mostly stayed in the car, discussing future plans for their respective tribes, while Sathariel had decided to practice his English with people on the streets and in the shops. He was happy to report that only some of the people he spoke with had pegged him as a non-native speaker; with those, he did as Jackson suggested and claimed to be a tourist from England.

As the day drew to a close, Jackson drove by a pizza place for some carry out. The Hellhounds seemed more satisfied with the size of their portions this time, but decided to ask for an extra large pizza each at the next meal. Happily, Sathariel, who only ate half of his medium pizza, was more than happy to share. The street lights came on. Jackson knew he should leave now if he wanted to avoid driving back to the woods -and in the woods- in the dark, but he had one last errand: Byron’s contact.

The group headed out to Five Points and drove around until they found a biker bar called Old Langtry’s. A good dozen bikes -all American models- were parked next to the red-painted one-floor building. The place seemed packed, and music could be heard from the outside. As Jackson stepped out of the Bronco, the bar’s door opened, and a beefy Minotaur tossed out a Human with a nascent black eye and a bloody nose.

“Come back when you’re sober, asshole,” the Minotaur shouted before slamming the door.

The man picked up a few objects that had fallen out of his jacket’s pockets, then skedaddled. Jackson turned to the others and said:

“Liz, Seth, mind coming with me? Aleo, could you make sure nobody touches the car?”

“Yeah, good idea,” Alizana said, clearly not liking the look of that bar either.

The ambiance inside was thankfully not as rowdy as Jackson expected. There was laughter, loud conversations, drunken singing, but no shouting or fighting. The presence of the Minotaur, leaning back against a wall and watching over the patrons like a hawk, probably had something to do with it. In the time it took Jackson to cross the room and reach the counter, said Minotaur had broken up a fight that was about to start, and thrown out the two would-be fighters. The barman was a Dark Elf male, almost covered in tattoos up to his shaved scalp, wearing a leather vest and a pair of black jeans. At least half a dozen rings decorated his long ears.

“What will it be?” he asked Jackson and the others in lieu of “hello”.

“Three beers,” Jackson said. “Whatever you’ve got on tap is fine.”

The barman nodded, and began filling three mugs.

“Also, I’m looking for Lyndon Matthews,” Jackson added when the barman served him his beer, placing some dollar bills next to them.

“Don’t know that name,” the barman immediately said, picking up the cash.

“No? Never heard of the name Lyndon Matthews?”

“Never.”

“How about that name?” Jackson pulled something out of his pants’ pockets and brought it at eye level. “Ever heard of that one?”

The barman glanced at what he was holding: Byron’s dog tags. His reaction was quickly hidden as the mask of indifference came back on, but Jackson noticed his eyes opening wide for a microsecond. The Dark Elf turned to the Minotaur and said:

“Rafiq, I’m taking my break.”

The Minotaur uncrossed his arms and left his post to take over the counter. The barman nodded towards a door marked “employees only”, and went through it. Jackson went after him.

“We’re not even going to drink our beers?” Sathariel complained. He tried a couple of sips, and said: “Hmph. Nevermind.”

Behind the employee’s door was a hallway with bare walls, leading up to three more doors. The first two, both on the right, led to a bathroom, and to a kitchen. The last three, at the end of the hallway, opened to a backroom that was also used as an office of sorts. The barman was sitting on a desk, lighting up a cigarette. As he watched the man scratch a match against the edge of his desk, a strange vision flashed before Jackson’s eyes. He saw the same room, with the same barman now sitting behind his desk wearing a different outfit, scratching a match on the desk’s edge. Several other people were sitting around it, all playing some kind of card game. Three men and two women. Jackson didn’t recognize any of them, and yet, for a second, he felt like he knew them all. In fact, he felt like he had been in this room before.

But that made no sense. Jackson had never been to Denver in his life before today, let alone visited this place. How could he remember that?

“All right, you’ve got one minute to tell me who you are, and how the hell you got these tags,” the barman said sharply, shaking Jackson out of this strange reverie.

“My name is Jack. I got the tags from the man himself. He gave me your name, too.”

“Uh-huh.” Lyndon blew out some smoke and crossed his arms. “Did you serve?”

“US Army, two years.”

“The army, that’s it? Is that where you met him?”

“Well, uh…” Jackson thought about how to explain that. “Not exactly. But it’s kind of a long story.”

“I figured. So where’s Byron?”

He cleared his throat before answering: “He’s dead.”

Lyndon slowly nodded, closing his eyes a moment as he took those news in.

“Yeah…” The Dark Elf sighed. “What happened to him?”

“It’s kind of a long story too.”

“Don’t know, or can’t tell?” Lyndon asked.

“Can’t tell,” Jackson said. No way I can tell that story. “The short of it is, he died so I could live.”

“Sounds like Byron.” The Dark Elf took a deep breath, then tapped his cigarette over a CD box on his desk that was apparently used as an ashtray. “Okay, so what do you want?”

“Byron told me I could come to you if I needed some… paperwork done.”

“Right. You and your friends?”

“Err… For starters.”

The Dark Elf raised an eyebrow. “How many in total?”

“How many can you handle?”

“I can only do a few at a time. This ain’t the DMV, and I don’t want the attention.”

“Well, today, we only need two, for my friends here.”

“Two I can do. I take payment in cash. Half upfront, half on delivery. I’m guessing you’ll need IDs and drivers’ licenses.”

“Yeah. How much will that be?”

“Six grands.”

Jackson did a double take. “Six thousand dollars, are you for real?”

“I’m giving your friends some good quality fakes, the kind that can pass muster with the cops. You could probably run for mayor with that shit and nobody would bat an eyelid. For six grands, it’s a steal.”

Jackson pinched his nose and sighed. He figured such a service -so to speak- would be expensive, but six thousand dollars represented a good portion of the money they had made today. Initially, he had hoped the Neha’s share of the loot would be enough to buy every single Neha tribe member an official identity. But at that price, it would be impossible. 

Then again, he didn’t have much choice in the matter: Lyndon Matthews was the only way for Sathariel and Alizana to obtain the fake papers they would need to not only stay in the United States, but actually make their lives there. He pinched his nose and breathed out.

“So, three thousand upfront,” Jackson said. Lyndon nodded. “I got the money in my car. Do you need anything else?”

“Only their pictures, but I can arrange that right now.”

He and Jackson shook hands on it, and the latter went back to the Bronco to get the cash. Aleo asked what it was for, and Jackson explained.

“How about you?” he asked her. “Do you want some papers too?”

She thought about it for a moment. “No. At least, not yet. First, I’ll bring the money back to my tribe, and we’ll decide from there. Anyway, I don’t suppose we’ll have enough to buy everyone an identity, even if we sell all of Azazel’s treasure.”

“Well… No, I doubt it.”

Three thousand dollars per, for one thousand people, that’s three million dollars, Jackson thought. Jesus, three fucking millions! We’ll be lucky if we make even a third of that selling all we’ve got. He sighed. That meant the two thirds of his people would still have no official existence, and thus they would have to keep on living in hiding. Out of sight, away from society… Was it really any different from how they had to live in the other world?

Packing the money and heading back to the bar through a backdoor, Jackson kept on thinking about this. I guess those who’ll have an official identity can take up jobs and start saving money, so that the rest can get fake papers too. Won’t be easy to put three grands aside, but… Shit, what if they get sick in the meantime? No papers means no health insurance.

“No, you’ve got to look at the objective. Let’s try again.”

Jackson blinked. It was Lyndon who had said that, to Sathariel. The latter was seated on a stool in front of a white screen, looking very awkward. In front of him, Lyndon was bending slightly behind a camera, a professional-looking model installed on a tripod. Jackson waited until the Dark Elf had pressed the button and confirmed that the shot was good.

“Okay, that’ll do. Try not to look so spooked next time you get your picture taken. Ah, you’re back. Got the money?”

The last part was meant for Jackson. He approached the Dark Elf and gave him the three thousand dollars. Lyndon quickly rifled through the bank notes, then gave Jackson a nod.

“Where do your friends come from?” he said, annoyed. “It’s like they’ve never seen a camera before.”

Jackson glanced at Alizana and Sathariel, realizing it was indeed their very first experience with a camera. He had explained the concept before, telling them it was a sort of very realistic, very quickly made painting.

“You sure you want to know?” he said to Lyndon.

After a brief silence, Lyndon answered: “No, I don’t.”

“Right. So, we all good now?”

“Yeah. Come back in two weeks, I’ll have your stuff.”

Everyone headed back out, when Jackson turned on his heels.

“Oh, yeah, one last thing. Have you heard of someone called Jesse Varley, by chance?”

The Dark Elf frowned and shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Why?”

“Just… Something I got to do,” Jackson said.

“Right. Well, whatever that thing is, keep me out of it. My time with the agency is over.”

“Understood.”

“And one last thing,” Lyndon said. “If you get caught, I don’t know you. I don’t know a damn thing.”

“Get caught? I thought your stuff was good.”

“It’s more than good. But it doesn’t matter how great your costume is if your acting is shit. You get me?”

“I reckon so,” Jackson said.

Driving back to the forest at night was even more annoying than Jackson anticipated. His unfamiliarity with the path led to him taking the wrong turn a couple of times, and the trip back took over an hour more than it should have. As the Bronco drove through Laramie again, Jackson decided to stop at a dollar store to buy some food. Well, not just some: enough for the entire Neha tribe, especially the Hellhounds: over two dozen pounds of packed meat, vegetables, and jerky, a lot of beer, as well as a buttload of BBQ sauce. The cashier actually asked him whether he was planning a BBQ party or prepping for the Apocalypse.

During the ensuing weeks, the tribes got more settled. Several decided to move from the Medicine forest to the neighboring Arapaho forest. Spreading out in such a way, in addition to giving every tribe more space, would make it easier to keep everyone hidden for the time being. The camps were temporary, as the tribes all eventually decided to find a different location in which to settle permanently. Just like Aleo and her tribemates, virtually every Hellhound wanted to live somewhere warm, ideally somewhere with soft winters -or no winters at all. Two tribes even floated the idea of adopting a nomadic lifestyle, inspired by an anecdote Jackson told about the Romani people.

The chieftains regularly consulted with Jackson on this matter, to the point where he ended up giving informal lessons on America’s geography. He advised moving to states like California, Nevada, or New Mexico, or even crossing the southern border to Mexico, although that would require learning yet another language. Furthermore, he recommended deciding on a place to live soon, as the tourist season was nearly there, and the crowds would make it harder to travel under the radar.

Through the course of those two weeks, Jackson had gone to Denver almost every day to help more chieftains pawn their -well, Azazel’s- valuables, and to buy supplies on the way back. Over a quarter of the jewels and the stones had now been traded in for cash. Even with the expenses, that still represented a good amount of money.

To help with the settling and to facilitate their insertion in this new world and its technologies, Jackson bought them some camping equipment and encouraged its use: portable gas stoves, sleeping bags, flashlights, canteens… Most everyone took to them quickly, realizing their usefulness and their convenience. The scouts particularly enjoyed the compasses. One thing that didn’t change, however, were the huts. Jackson had decided not to buy any modern tents, as they ultimately would not do a better job than the huts -not to mention they were quite expensive. More clothing was also bought, as well as several additional vehicles, one for each tribe. The Neha tribe acquired a 1980s Toyota HiAce van in decent condition. Jackson had found it for sale by a resident of Fort Collins, and decided it would come in handy when the Neha tribe would move out.

Finally, Sathariel, Jackson, and Alizana went back to meet with Lyndon. The Dark Elf had kept his word: a collection of pieces of identification awaited Sathariel and Alizana when they arrived, locked away in the desk at the back of the bar. State-issued ID cards and driver’s licenses. They did look real enough to pass muster with the authorities.

“They are real,” Lyndon said when Jackson complimented him on his work. “It’s just the names on them that aren’t the real ones.”

Jackson paid the remaining half of the money, then placed his next “order”, this time providing the pictures himself. Lyndon frowned when he saw how many people he was asked to create fake papers for.

“Twenty? Seriously?”

“Yeah, uh… for today,” Jackson said.

“For today? How many in total?”

“Well… A lot.”

The young man had explained his concerns about the cost of these new identities to the other chieftains, and how it would likely be impossible to get everyone some fake papers. They had decided to prioritize certain tribe members among each tribe: the scouts, and those who could find gainful employment soon, thus providing more means to get more IDs. The latter were mostly Humans, Orcs, and Elves, as it was believed they would more easily fit in than Hellhounds. Each tribe was asked to provide one or two names for the next order. A list of thirty-five names in total was created. Knowing Lyndon would never go for that much, he had decided to first test the waters with twenty.

“I can pay one hundred percent upfront, if that makes it easier,” Jackson said when he saw the Dark Elf pinch his nose and close his eyes.

“It doesn’t, and fifty percent upfront is my hard rule no matter what.” Under his breath, he muttered: “Twenty. Jesus…”

A few uncomfortable minutes went by, as Lyndon sat against his desk, arms crossed, staring at the stained ceiling. Jackson felt relieved when he spoke again:

“Okay, I can try. But I won’t do all twenty at once.”

“How about ten at a time?” Alizana offered. “And the next ten in four weeks.”

Lyndon sighed, then slid another cigarette between his lips. “Yeah, alright. This I can do. But let me be clear, here: there’s a limit to what I’m willing to do. Like I said, I don’t want the attention. So I don’t know how many more folks you want to make papers for, but you had better be conservative.”

“Noted,” Jackson said.

Time flew by over the next few months. The hot season arrived, along with the tourists. This meant a lot of seasonal jobs opened up, in the camps, hotels, stores, and restaurants in the vicinity. Waiters, store clerks, line cooks, cleaners… Level-entry jobs with minimal requirements, offered by employers who needed applicants quickly -a lot of them. For Jackson’s people, this was ideal. Members of every tribe went to apply, earning money for their tribemates. At first, only the people with fake identities were sent, but it quickly appeared that quite a few employers needed workers so badly they only did a minimal vetting of the applicants. If they could clean, cook, wait tables, or handle crates, they were hired. This became especially true when the workload increased as the tourist season got in full swing.

The work was often hard, the hours regularly extending early in the morning and late in the evening -sometimes both in the same day-, and the pay wasn’t great, at least by American standards. By the standards of Alizana’s people, however, it was good, and allowed every tribe not only to put food on the table, but also to save more money. And every penny counted; most tribes even dedicated at least one of its members to handling the budget.

Jackson also wanted to contribute to the effort, but already had too many responsibilities. In addition to teaching various tribe members about this world, its society, and its culture, he was now also teaching people how to drive. Such a skill had soon become important for many reasons, first and foremost due to the fact that most of the jobs taken by the tribemates were not at all within walking distance, and Jackson by himself couldn’t take care of everyone’s commute. At first, the workers had tried to palliate that by camping closer to their workplace, but soon it had become a necessity for every tribe to have at least one driver.

Sathariel was, predictably, among the first to volunteer to learn how to drive. As far as Jackson’s students went, he was pretty good, though not the best. That distinction went to Joanni, who had a true gift for learning by observation, and in addition was a good listener. By comparison, Sathariel was easily distracted, and had to be taught some things several times before he actually learnt it. He made up for that with his enthusiasm, always willing to try again after a failure.

It took several weeks of intense efforts -and a lot of gas money-, but eventually some twenty people became capable of driving by themselves. They even have the driver’s licenses to prove it, Jackson thought with amusement. He had also taught them how to fill up the tank, and how to perform some basic car maintenance. Some of the drivers regretted their old horses, but most of them actually preferred the cars. They were more convenient, they said, and a lot less temperamental.

Before Jackson knew it, the month of August was ending, and the tourist season was coming to a close. The work was beginning to dry out, leading several tribes to accelerate their preparations to leave the forest. The Mieto tribe was in fact just about ready to move out, having decided to settle in California, specifically near the Cleveland National Forest -which Jackson had always assumed to be in Ohio, for some reason. It offered everything they were looking for: a place away from civilization, but still connected to it, and clement -read: hot- weather almost all year round. Four other tribes decided to join them there, as a stopover before finding a place of their own in California.

While the rest of the tribes weren’t sure of where to go just yet, it was likely they would follow a different path. The time for separation was coming. Initially, Alizana had had some small hope that her people would remain as one for the foreseeable future, but it soon became obvious this wouldn’t be possible. Most tribes vied for different horizons, and furthermore it would be easier to hide the presence of a few tribes than of one giant group.

Of course, no one wanted that separation to be definitive, so everyone tried to think of a way for the tribes to keep in contact. During a brainstorming session involving the chieftains, the scouts, and a few others, the idea was submitted to use letters and PO boxes. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Jackson who had come up with that, but a young Hellhound named Cleo, Aleo’s sixteen year old daughter. The daughter, Jackson thought, looked a lot like the mother. At least physically: same flat nose, same eyes, same square jaw. Personality-wise, however, they were quite different: where the mother was calm and deliberate, especially in her old age, the daughter was ebullient and energetic; she could barely stay in place, often jumping out of her seat and pacing around even as she was talking.

Jackson inquired as to how she found out about PO boxes, and how come she seemed to know so much about America’s mail service -she even knew USPS, and the meaning of that acronym.

“Oh, I asked Henry. He told me all about it,” Cleo said.

“Henry?”

“Yes, Henry Womack, he owns that store in Ryan Park.”

“Yeah, I know him. You spoke with him? When?”

“Oh, very often. His store sells the best beef jerky, and also he got me this job.”

“Erm, job?”

“My daughter had been looking for something to do outside the Mieto camp,” Aleo explained. “I told her it might not be wise, as Hellhounds are unknown in this world, but…”

“Well, we’re going to be part of this world now!” Cleo retorted. “If we want to be accepted, we have to leave the shadows and get into the sunlight. Anyway, it was fine. Henry thinks I’m just a big Werewolf. Anyway, his wife organizes tours for tourists, and I told him I knew the forest well, so he got me a job as a guide; I’ve been leading these tourists along the trails, making sure they don’t get lost or attacked by bears, things like that.”

“Nobody asked any questions about you?” Jackson said.

“Well, some of them did. They asked me how long I’ve lived here; I told them I’ve lived in the forest all my life. I think they thought I was using hyperbole.”

Hyperbole? Jackson was impressed: her English was so good it might in fact be better than his. The benefit of learning a new language while young, no doubt. While the older Hellhounds still spoke English with a marked accent, and probably always would, Cleo had already adopted an American accent, and might one day be able to pass off as a native speaker. She speaks fast, too. She’ll be right at home in California, Jackson thought.

“Okay. Going back to Henry, did you speak with him often? How much did you tell him about us?” he asked.

“Oh, like, several times a week,” Cleo said. “But I never told him anything about our world, if that’s what you’re asking. He told me many things about him, though, and about this world. He used to travel this world a lot when he was young. Once, he went to this place called Himalaya; it’s so high they call it the roof of the world. And did you know there’s a place, not too far from here, where hot water erupts out of the ground? I didn’t believe it at first, but Henry showed me some pictures.”

“He seems to have awoken my daughter’s wanderlust,” Aleo said.

“Guess so. Anyway, everyone agrees with the PO boxes idea? At least until we can all get phones or something?”

The motion passed after a quick vote, with a large majority.

The next morning, Jackson went down to Ryan Park, having decided to have another talk with Henry Womack. He hadn’t met with him since late in June, preferring not to interact with him too much, or too often. The old man was arranging snack bars on a stand when Jackson got there. An old woman, probably his wife, was behind the counter, making an inventory of the cigarette packs they kept there.

“Ah, welcome back!” Henry said, smiling politely as he spotted Jackson. “How can I help you today?”

“I was hoping to have a talk, if you have time. Err… Alone”

“Of course.” He turned to the woman and said: “Can you hold the shop for a moment, dear?”

The woman nodded, not stopping her count. Henry invited Jackson to have their talk behind the shop. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, then offered one to Jackson, who declined.

“So, I hear your break is coming to an end,” Henry said. “Sure was a long break, huh?”

“Yeah, well… It’s time to go home.”

“A shame. Your friends are good folks. Hard workers, too, from what I’m told.”

Jackson rubbed the blade of his left hand. Of course he knew about that. Henry Womack had family all over the region, it seemed: in addition to his pawn shop owner of a daughter, his nephew was the manager at a campground near Saratoga, his son was a line cook at a restaurant in Centennial, and his other daughter co-owned a fishing and hunting store in Encampment. He even had a buddy in Fort Collins who worked at a gas station.

“That’s one heck of a scar,” Henry commented, looking at Jackson’s hand. “Animal bite?”

“Something like that. Look, uh… I wanted to talk to you about Cleo. You know, she’s-”

“That big Werewolf gal who could run around the entire forest without tiring,” the old man said, drawing a puff from his smoke with a big smile. “Yup, I sure know her. My wife has a lot of good things to say about her, and so do the tourists. You don’t think there’s any chance she’ll come back next summer? Or maybe in winter?”

“I don’t think so. Her tr- Her family’s moving back to California.”

“That’s a shame. Won’t be long before that gal knows more about the outdoors than my wife, and she used to be a park ranger. Could you tell her to keep in touch, from time to time?”

“Uh, sure, I will,” Jackson said. “Look, about her, I’m told you talked with her often, and, uh…”

“Oh yes. Full of questions, that one. And curious about everything. She asked me how phones work, how to send letters… She even asked me about that Internet thing. Heh. Like I know anything about that! I told her to talk to my daughter Jackie, she’s good with computers. Good with taxes too; she does mine every year.”

“Ah, yeah, the thing is, Cleo was kinda homeschooled, and there’s a few things she wasn’t taught. So, you see…”

Jackson winced as the old man’s smile made it clear that, once again, he wasn’t buying it.

“Cleo tells me your friends are going their separate ways,” Henry said.

“Yeah. We kinda… We’re in the process of moving. For work, you know.”

“Uh-huh. Cleo told me about her mother’s concerns, how moving away might make it harder to keep in touch.” He took another drag from his cigarette. “I told her: when there’s a will, there’s a way. If you want to keep in touch with the people you love, you can. Me, I’ve got a pretty big family. My dad had three sons and one daughter, including me; and that’s just from his first marriage. His brother and his sister had kids too. I’ve got cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, and in-laws all over the country. But we always keep in touch. For the most part, we write, but our youngest ones prefer using the phone. Kids and their technology…

“Of course, it can be difficult, sometimes. People move, sometimes pretty far away, or they change numbers, or USPS makes a mistake, or something. So, my family entrusts me to, well, to keep track of everyone. When somebody gets married and changes names, when someone has a kid, or when somebody passes away…

“Back when I was travelling the world, I found the best way for everybody to keep in contact, no matter what, are PO boxes. With a PO box, you’re sure your mail will be going to the right place no matter what. So that’s what I do for my family: I’m their living PO box. I’ve lived in Ryan Park for the last twenty years, and I’m planning on living here until the Lord calls me back. So my family sends me letters, and I transfer them to the right people. They ask for my help to get in touch with another relative after a move, and I give them their new address and phone number. I’m basically the family register. My daughter tells me I’m like that Ask Jeeves fella.”

“Who?”

“I dunno, it’s some computer thing,” Henry said, shrugging. He took another big draw, then discarded his cigarette on the floor, stomping on it. “And, you know, I’m pretty good at this. Heck, I enjoy it, making sure my loved ones can keep contact with each other, following their lives all around the country…”

“That does sound pretty nice,” Jackson said. “I suppose we could do something like that, yeah.”

Henry nodded.

“Was that all you wanted to talk about?” he asked.

“I, uh… Well, I guess I also wanted to thank you.”

“What for?”

“You know… Not telling anyone about… I mean, you know, don’t you?”

“Me?” He innocently raised his hands to the sides. “I’m just some simple old man who owns a small shop in some very small town in the middle of nowhere. I take care of my business, I love my wife and family, I go to the temple on Sundays. I don’t know much about anything.”

“Right. Well, thank you anyway,” Jackson said, holding his hand to him.

“You’re very welcome, son,” Henry said, shaking hands with him for a brief second. His palm had quite a few calluses. “Hope your road takes you to a nice, calm place. Something tells me you’ve been traveling for a while looking for it.”

“Yeah, you could say that…”

A couple of days later, another meeting of the chieftains was called. Probably the last one in a long while, Niasa told her peers. It was probably the quietest, calmest meeting Jackson had ever been part of. Everyone was cordial and polite… and at least a little melancholy. Even Tezrian, who usually seemed aloof and emotionless, now looked on the verge of tears. Indeed, many around the table felt like this was the last time they met their peers and friends, and confided as much. Alizana and Aleo assured them otherwise. This was actually the main point of the meeting: to organize communication within the future Hellhound diaspora. Jackson explained the method used by Henry Womack; everyone agreed it was the most efficient way. Alizana offered to be the main point of contact, like Henry to his family. Tanli, whose Nakli tribe was among those who hadn’t decided to leave just yet, offered to be the second one, arguing that two heads would be better than one on this.

“What if you are the one we lose contact with?” she said to Alizana. The latter agreed it was a good point.

Another thing they agreed on was that they would meet again, once a year, to celebrate the day they had arrived on Earth -Exodus Day, some had already taken to calling it. Someone suggested meeting again in the Medicine National Forest, as it was more convenient. In fact, the Kudru tribe, who had elected to stay there for a while, offered to play host for the future celebration. 

As a final point, Alizana announced she would retire from her position of chieftain of chieftains. This caused a bit of a stir, until she explained herself:

“This position was created out of necessity, and it was never meant to be a permanent part of our society. The necessity is now gone. No more war, no more Archdemon, no more Hexacracy. Now, we have a future. You have no need for a chieftain of chieftains.”

Though she smiled, Jackson knew she was holding back tears.

“It feels like the end of an era,” Naele commented.

“It is. And the beginning of a new one,” Alizana said. “Only this time, we will decide what it will be made of.”

“Drinking, eating, and fucking, ancestors willing,” Buru said, eliticing a few laughters.

Overall, the meeting ended on a positive note, though there were tears in many eyes. Quite a few chieftains hugged their peers before departing, the hugs lingering as if they didn’t want to leave, not just yet. But eventually they left, waving back and making promises to write as soon as possible. Jackson approached Tezrian as she saw a couple of chieftains off.

“What about you, Tez?” he asked her. “Are you staying with the Neha tribe?”

“Yes, at least for now. The fire has shown me that my work is not done yet.”

“The… fire has shown you?” Jackson blinked. “Tez, you know there’s no magic in this world. Are you sure you didn’t just mess up your eyes or something?”

The priestess simply shrugged, and bid him good night.

Alizana, the last chieftain present, left the meeting hut, and gazed at the first stars of the night through the canopy. She was standing straighter than usual, as if her shoulders had been unburdened. Jackson looked at her, finding a whole new expression on her face, one he could only describe as peaceful. She passed an arm around his shoulders, her other arm doing the same with Sathariel, and kissed both men before holding them close to her for a little while.

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