Luke noticed most of the shops along the main street had their doors shut tight. Thick dust coated the windows, and a few panes were cracked or completely shattered.
The handful of people they passed kept their heads down and walked fast, shooting wary glances at the unfamiliar van as it rolled through town.
"This place used to be pretty decent," Lionel said, pressing his face to the window. "Bigger than my hotown, even. What the hell happened?"
Luke scanned the rows of abandoned farms on either side of the road, rusty equipnt left out in the open, and sighed.
"I saw plenty of dead farms on the way in. Tools all rusted over. Sothing bad went down here."
Brando flipped through the map on his lap and tapped their location.
"This is Travis Town. Used to be big on old-school ranching. Most places around here went full chanical years ago, but these folks never caught up. Town just dried up."
Lionel still looked confused. "If the old way stopped working, why didn't they just buy new equipnt?"
Brando snorted, shaking his head.
"Because these people are the single most stubborn bunch of bastards in the entire United States. They think machines are a betrayal of tradition, so they just kept grinding until everything collapsed."
He shrugged.
"Now look at it. Hardly anyone left. The ones still here are probably tougher and aner than rocks in an outhouse."
Luke and Lionel both nodded. Brando had clearly done his howork on the area.
He pointed ahead. "Gas is getting low. There's a station up there with a decent-sized store. Let's stop."
The gas station turned out to be bigger than expected, complete with a full supermarket attached. In this wide-open country where everyone drove everywhere, gas stations were one of the few businesses that still made money.
Before they got out, Brando gave a final warning.
"Word is Texans aren't exactly known for their book smarts and they love their guns. Let's keep it polite in there."
Luke laughed. "That's basically stereotyping. Try not to start a shootout."
Brando looked dead serious. "Stereotypes exist for a reason. They're just crude but effective statistics based on how people actually act."
Luke shook his head and didn't bother arguing.
Lionel went to pump gas while Luke and Brando headed into the store.
The bell above the door jingled loudly as they stepped inside.
Behind the counter sat an old man with cloudy eyes who stared at them like they'd just crawled out of a grave.
Luke felt a little creeped out and walked up first.
"Sir, anything we can help you with?"
The old man's face barely moved. His voice ca out rough and dry.
"This ain't no tourist spot. What the hell are you people doing here?"
Luke kept it simple. "Just passing through. We need to grab a few things."
The old man gave a cold chuckle.
"Hmph. 'Passing through.' That's what another bunch said fifteen years ago. Every last one of them ended up dead. Town's been going downhill ever since."
Luke's interest imdiately spiked. Ghost stories? Potential XP? He was all ears.
"Oh yeah? Tell more."
The old man's whole attitude flipped. Suddenly he was grinning like he'd been waiting for this all day.
"Boy, I've been dying for soone to ask! Haven't had a decent conversation in years."
He pulled up a stool and launched into the story.
It was the classic horror-movie setup—city kids driving through the middle of nowhere, running into a family of psychotic killers. But the ending was pure Texas.
"…one girl made it out and told everyone what happened. Whole town grabbed their guns and went straight there. Police? Law? We don't need that crap out here."
The old man smacked his lips, savoring the mory.
"Man, what a sight. I was leading the charge. Tossed the first Molotov right through their window. Place went up like a bonfire. All those years at the range finally paid off."
Luke nodded along, but inside his hopes were dying fast. If the whole family got burned out years ago, there probably weren't any lingering spirits left to farm.
He was about to make an excuse to escape when the old man grabbed his arm and switched topics without warning—last year's crop yields, the neighbor's dog that had a litter of pups, so hunting story from his youth. The words just kept coming.
Luke felt his soul slowly leaving his body.
Right when he was about to lose his mind, the door chid again.
Two guys and two girls walked in.
The girl in front stood out imdiately—early twenties, simple jeans and a T-shirt, long black hair against pale skin, tall and athletic. Her bright blue eyes were striking.
The mont she entered, the old man's mouth snapped shut. He sat up straight and went back to his grumpy, "stay away from " face.
Luke let out a quiet breath of relief and started grabbing supplies off the shelves—local snacks, bottled water, whatever looked decent.
Brando wandered over holding the map.
"I checked the map. This is the closest town to the site. It's getting late. Let's find a motel. I really don't want to sleep in the van."
Luke agreed and went back to the counter.
"Sir, is there a hotel around here?"
The old man shook his head.
"Hotel? Haven't heard that word in fifteen years. If you want to stay, you pay soone to rent a room in their house."
Just then the group of young people ca up to pay. The blonde girl elbowed the black-haired one.
"Aren't you hiding from your foster parents right now? Your big house has plenty of empty rooms. Let them stay and make so cash."
The black-haired girl thought for a second, then stepped forward.
"Excuse , sir. I heard you're looking for a place to stay?"
Luke turned and t those striking blue eyes.
"Yeah, we are."
She looked a little nervous.
"I just inherited a big house from my relatives. Lots of empty rooms. If you don't mind, you can stay there. Price is fair."
Luke wasn't about to turn down a ready-made place to crash.
"Perfect. We were just trying to figure that out. I'm Luke. This is Brando, and we've got one more guy out at the pump—Lionel."
"Heather."
She gave her na quickly and pointed toward the door.
"Follow our car. It's not far."
User Comments
0 comments from readers