Compass Call: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 3) (57 page)

“You make it sound like you’re going to Camelot,” replied Jeff.

John chuckled again and said, “I guess, in a way, that’s what I’m doing.”

“What are you looking for, John. Do you really think there’s something better . . . a better place out there?” asked Jeff.

“I know there is,” replied John, again with the stare, and again with Jeff dropping his eyes. “But it’s also a job. I have something to do . . . work to do. That’s the best I can explain.”

Jeff nodded, more for himself than for John, and said, “I was thinking about leaving a team, four men, here on the train tonight. I go eat with Dillon and assess the possibility of a long term arrangement. Do you think it’s safe to go with him alone?”

“That’s a good idea, and yes, I absolutely think you’ll be safe with him,” said John.

“Will you take the rest of the guys back with you, and tell them to relieve us at sunrise, tomorrow morning?” asked Jeff.

“I’ll do that,” answered John, and he stood. Jeff also stood, and the two men locked eyes as they gripped hands and shook firmly.

“If I don’t see you again, take care of yourself,” said Jeff.

“You’ll see me again,” replied John, “But thank you, Jeff. It’s been a pleasure. I regret not getting to know you sooner.”

“Will you come back and get me when you find your Camelot?” asked Jeff, in a serious tone.

“You can count on it,” replied John. “By the way, what was that gunshot after the meeting today?”

“That? Oh, that was Randy. His finger slipped on the trigger and his gun went off. It was an accident, or at least that’s what he claims. Personally, I think he was trying to shoot Tony.”

“But he missed,” said John, with obvious mirth.

“That he did,” smiled Jeff. “He’s not allowed to play with guns again for a few days, or at least until the exiles are gone.” John raised an eyebrow and Jeff said, “I had to give them time to pack.”

“I understand,” said John. “And the head?”

Jeff snorted and said, “I’ve got it in the trashcan at my house. I’ll take care of that too, so no worries there.”

“Thanks Jeff. I think I’ll actually miss you when I’m gone,” replied John, as they returned to the engine. John leaned his back against it and asked, “Do you want to check it out before we lose the last of our daylight?”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been dying to see inside,” replied Jeff, as he mounted the access ladder to the gangway, and another man became a curious boy.

CHAPTER 16

T
he wind was beginning to pick up, small gusts occasionally popped the sides of John’s windbreaker, or made him turn his head to avoid getting flying grit in his eyes. He checked his watch and saw they had about an hour before the sun was to set, but the approaching dark clouds reduced the otherwise available light to little more than a dim reflection. John decided to sit in the back of the pickup for the return trip, and wondered how smart that was during the climb up the hill. When they reached the top, Pete stood up and waved a flashlight to the team parked at the bottom of the hill, the signal that all was well and they could return to the campsite near the train.

When the reply signal was made, Pete leaned into the driver’s window and asked, “OK, Tom . . . we’re ready. Do you need me to guide you back to the neighborhood?”

“Nope, I’ve got it,” replied the man.

“Cool,” replied Pete. “I just ask that you take it slow. I don’t think my kidneys can handle too many hard jolts.”

“No problem. It’s getting dark anyway. What about headlights? Do you think it’s safe to use them?” asked Tom.

“Try to go as long as you can without. I’ll stand up here and guide you around obstacles for as long as you need,” said Pete.

“Got it,” said Tom, and Pete resumed his standing position behind Jeff’s cab. Adam agreed to ride shotgun with Tom, which is why John was in the back, but the decision was really more about John not wanting to talk with Tom. Tom was a nice enough fellow, but John was tired of talking about Tony, and the biker gang, and everything else that
was going on in the neighborhood. He wanted a peaceful moment to himself, even if it was in the back of a pickup truck.

“It’s gonna rain before we make it home. We’ll get soaked back here. Sure you don’t want to ride in the cab?” asked Pete.

“I won’t melt,” said John. “It won’t be the first time I’ve gotten wet from the rain.”

“I hear that,” replied Pete. “Tom! See that dead cow up ahead!” yelled Pete.

John couldn’t hear Tom’s response through the open driver’s window, but he didn’t care. It was nice not having to worry about anything for the moment, especially since he was feeling even more tired by the minute. Exhaustion was creeping up on him again, and he wondered if it was related to his spiritual stuff. He never remembered feeling like this before, and wondered if this was the cost of doing spiritual work. John also wondered if he’d get used to it with time, at least he hoped he would. It was bothersome to feel so tired after each separation.

Another wave of exhaustion washed over John, this one more powerful than the first, so he quickly situated his tactical pack from his back to under his head. Pete turned to look, but seeing that John was only getting more comfortable, he resumed his watch over the roof of the cab. Despite the unyielding nature of the pack, John laid his head against it and closed his eyes. It felt good to close his eyes. The gently rocking motion of the slow moving truck added to John’s feeling of disassociation. He felt as if he was in a small boat floating on the water. That feeling filled his mind, but only for a second. He was fast asleep.

John was standing on a clean city street, between many tall concrete and glass buildings of unusual architectural design. On his right was a grand building with an arched roof and many tall glass walls and panels. The simple yet elegant design reminded John of a museum or civic center. To his left were more traditional structures with many floors and windows, they resembled office or work buildings. Everything was fresh and new, unused, as if the city was built
but never inhabited. John didn’t recognize the place, and was about to walk away when three men emerged from a side alley and stood around him.

There was nothing remarkable about the three men except their positioning. They stood at John’s nine, twelve and three o’clock positions as if anticipating a fight. They were identical in dress, size and stature, appeared to be unarmed, and seemed to be waiting for John to make the next move. John understood the dynamics of unarmed group combat very well. While standing upright, only four people could effectively approach a target, and that was when the enemy only wanted to subdue, not injure or kill their target.

When unarmed kinetics were added into the mix, strike vectors became even more restrictive. It was very difficult for three men to strike a target simultaneously, or at least strike with enough individual force to kill or maim when fighting shoulder to shoulder with another man who’s trying to do the same. John new three men could effectively control a single target if they trained together and knew each other’s moves, but typically only two men could approach a target simultaneously; one to serve as a distractor, and the other to strike at the opponent’s blindside, each willing to switch roles as needed and based on the reaction of the target.

John didn’t know what was going on, why the three men meant to harm him, but he knew what to do. As soon as the three men flinched, John slowed down time. He didn’t know how he did it, only that he did. Each man seemed suspended in a slow motion bubble, as if they were trying to move through a very thick, clear liquid. John’s first response to the slow moving actions of his attackers was to raise his right forearm to the square, bending only at the elbow, and then forming a circle with his right hand as if he was holding an invisible pole.

He looked at his hand and watched as a spear materialized in his grip. Orange particles of light flowed up and down to first outline a spear, and then fill it. The process occurred very quickly, and in less than a few seconds of John’s time, he held a very solid and lethal spear
in his hand. John looked at the tip and noticed it was capped with a Greek spearhead similar to the ones used by the Hoplites.

John knew spears were formidable stabbing, slashing and throwing weapons, and that they could generate significant energy when properly used, but it was the standoff range that he most appreciated. He didn’t know why a spear appeared in his hand, or where it came from, but he planned to make the most of it, so he leveled it and assumed a classical attack position.

John’s first target was the man to his front, and he thrust the spear into his chest. John’s movements were so fast, at least in relation to the target’s none movement, that the man’s face didn’t even register the shock of pain of being impaled. But he wasn’t finished with him yet, for John lifted the man up and over his head and slammed him to the ground behind him.

After removing the spear from the first man, John spun to his right and decapitated the man at his nine o’clock. Then, while maintaining his momentum, John carried the spear around his waist, using his hip as leverage, and stepped forward to decapitate the man at his three o’clock. The three men were down in less time than it took for John to take a single breath.

John felt time return to normal, and he turned to look at the bodies of his fallen enemy. Each time his eyes rested on one of them they dematerialized in a spray of black particles. He realized the event must have been some kind of training exercise, but wasn’t sure why. He already knew how to fight. At that same moment another man darted out from a distant alleyway at a full run away from John.

Once again John stopped time for his target and saw him instantly freeze in place. He then hefted the spear in his hand, quickly found its balance with his shoulder, and let it fly. Out of curiosity, he stopped the spear while it was in midflight. John walked past the spear, noting its trajectory, and went to stand next to the runner. Before releasing the spear, John added an extra dose of speed, and in a blink it impaled
the running man. He and the spear dematerialized before they hit the ground.

Before he had time to think, John found himself standing in the middle of a street in an abandoned suburban neighborhood. It was an older neighborhood, something out of the eighties, with a cookie-cutter display of single story structures on big lots with wide driveways and sidewalks. The kind of neighborhood John grew up in, only it wasn’t John’s childhood neighborhood, or at least not the neighborhood he remembered.

Trash littered the streets, curtains fluttered from broken windows, and many front doors sat ajar. It looked to John as if the entire neighborhood had been raided by an invading and fast moving army. Cars, bikes, and even a few kitchen appliances lay broken and rusty, many strewn across dried and long dead front lawns of nearly every home. Even the weeds were dead, unable to endure the harsh dry conditions that persisted. The wind blew steadily from behind, pushing dried leaves and trash around his feet as he walked. The sounds of protests, from the many long abandoned treasures, filled the air with a song of squeaking rusty hinges and forgotten wind chimes, and passed through empty and hollow spaces longing to carry the sound of laughter once again.

John didn’t know where he was because the neighborhood looked like any other old development in America, but he did have one geographic clue. A thick stand of pines stood behind the homes on his right, their dark presence lending themselves to a sense of isolation, as if they represented more than the edge of the neighborhood, but rather a boundary for John’s conscious thought.

As he studied the trees over the roofs of homes, and through the broken yard gates and fences around them, the cry of a lone wolf rose up to disturb the otherwise still mood that John had come to accept. The threat of a wolf didn’t upset him, but he was surprised by it because he thought his presence would go unnoticed. In a strange way the sound actually comforted him, and gave him
hope that he would find other life, that this place wasn’t as dead as it looked, or felt.

The click of many toenails striking the concrete made John turn and look. To his right, and coming toward him up the sidewalk at a trot, was a dingy brown and white wolf not much larger than a big coyote. The wolf passed John without giving him so much as a cursory glance, and John wondered if it was the same wolf that offered the alerting howl. Not that it mattered really, because John knew he could handle wolves, but he felt compelled to leave the street and enter the nearest house on his right.

John stepped through the open door and into a disheveled and rotting living room. Nothing was as it should be. Even the kitchen counters were torn away from the wall and left to litter the floor. John walked over them and stepped through the broken glass doors to enter the back patio. The fence behind the house was down, and for the first time John noticed a paved back service alley that ran the length of the neighborhood.

John stepped into the alley, and after passing several homes he emerged into what appeared to be a parking area. To his left stood a simple overhanging structure designed to protect cars from the elements. He had seen such parking structures before, but only for apartments, never in residential neighborhoods. He stopped to look, and though it stranger still that there were no parked cars. As his eyes traveled down the length of the parking overhang, he saw two animals standing side by side in the last parking space.