It was fortunate that Howe and Talon soon found the road again, even if by chance. Howe wouldn't have liked to continue much further without a clear idea of what direction they were going. All the trees looked the same, and this forest likely stretched on for a very long distance. That wasn't, however, the main benefit of the road.
"Excellent, excellent, excellent." Howe smiled, satisfied as he stepped out onto the road, his claws making an irritating clicking sound on contact with the tarmac.
"What's excellent?" Talon asked. Howe seemed a little too excited over something as simple as a road.
"No pawprints, no tracks, see?" he scratched one of his claws on the road to prove his point, "It's impossible to track anything on this sort of surface, so we should be fine if we stay on the road. Have to keep an eye out for any trouble, though. We're pretty visible here." Talon nodded, hoping that the sneasel wasn't wrong. It'd be nice to think that they were doing something right, after all.
"Howe…" Talon asked after a few silent minutes of walking, "I, um… Couldn't help noticing how fluent you are in English; you must have had a trainer. What's your reason for being out here?" Talon would have liked to trust this stranger, but first, had to know that Howe trusted him.
"It isn't any of your bloody business." Howe snapped, narrowing his eyes at the archen.
"I was only making conversation," Talon said softly, a bit put out.
Howe said nothing at first, instead looking behind them again to check they weren't in danger of being spotted, "Alright, come here. I'll show you the plan."
He pulled Talon off the side of the road, and began drawing in the dirt with a stick, "Okay, so North is this way..." He drew an arrow, "…And we are here." He placed a tiny 'x' in the dirt. Then he drew an S far to the east of the x, and drew a crude outline of Europe. "Now, the most remote place I can think of, the hardest place for the humans to reach us is Siberia- it's cold, large and deep within Revolutionary territory; they can't touch us there." Howe then drew a line between them and Siberia, "This is the frontline at Berlin, and this is where I need your help. If I turn up alone and attempt to join the Revolutionary side, they'll be suspect that I'm a spy for the ROC"
Talon had heard of the ROC but nothing concrete. They were supposedly a third-party belligerent in the war, one of both humans and pokemon, who only controlled tiny pieces of territory globally. Their mission was "To end the war and bring understanding between all species of the earth." As such, they were almost universally branded as terrorists.
"But," Howe continued, "If I can show up with you in tow, we'll look a lot more trustworthy, and a lot more like desperate, defenceless refugees, right?" Talon frowned. So the plan hinged on the fact that Talon looked desperate and defenceless. Fantastic.
"Um…" Talon dithered for a second. Howe's plan sounded far-fetched and implausible, but the sneasel looked like he could handle himself, and Talon didn't really want to risk jeopardizing an alliance with the only friendly pokemon he'd met in days. Still, something didn't add up…
"I don't really like this plan. A-are you sure that Russia is a good idea? I don't want to walk into a death-trap…"
Howe shook his head, "Don't worry about it, it'll be fine. And anyway, who said that I was giving you a choice? We're both doing this, like it or not." Howe bared his teeth threateningly, before laughing at the look on Talon's face. "Russia's perfectly safe, anyway, as long as you can stand the cold, which I can. I'm an "ice guy" after all." Howe laughed at his own joke. He was starting to like the younger flying-type. It was kind of fun to have him around, although he felt a little guilty for roping him into his plan, but with Talon and he together, his plan actually stood a chance of working. He'd turn themselves in to the revolutionaries, claim asylum, and hopefully not get drafted into the army, which he supposed was another risk.
He really didn't want that to happen.
Luke threw up his hands in frustration. Of course this piece of shit wouldn't start, what was he thinking? Obviously that was why the car had been abandoned; it didn't bloody work! He got out of the car, slamming the door with a huff. Now he'd have to work something else out in the meantime. He supposed he could stay in the truck stop for now, and wait until it stops raining. For that matter, it hadn't started raining yet, but the clouds were darkening, the air was getting cold, and he started to get that clammy feeling that a thunderstorm was coming. But that wasn't anything exciting. All it ever did was rain.
He tried the handle. Of course it was locked, but he'd expected that. He tried kicking the door, then threw himself at it, but it was unmoved. Finally he just gave up, and unslung his rifle, checking that no-one was around. There shouldn't be; it was the middle of nowhere anyway. Luke put the muzzle of the rifle to the lock and fired, blowing the lock into a thousand pieces. Luke cried out in pain as a splinter from the door shot into his forehead, a little two-centimetre shard of unvarnished wood, embedded in his skin. Luke looked into his reflection in the glass to pull it out, and a tiny bead of his blood trickled down his face, which he dabbed at with his sleeve. He probably should be more careful, lest he catch tetanus or some horrible disease.
He let himself in. It was a dark, horrible room, with peeling wallpaper, almost no light at all and bits of insulation hanging from the ceiling. He tried the light switch, half-hoping that something would happen, but it didn't. Oh well. It wasn't anything new, though. The town in France that Luke had left didn't have power either, so it was no surprise that this run-down shithole was powerless. He dropped his bag onto the ground and looked around the service station for somewhere to sit, amongst a few shelves that once contained engine oil or packets or nuts or cigarettes. He found a plastic deck chair behind the counter, the kind that the clerk probably brought in so he wouldn't have to stand all the time like he was supposed to. What barbarism, he mused, resting his eyes for a second while pretending like there wasn't something he was supposed to be doing right now.
Luke was like that for a while, but then he stretched and sat up with a frown. He should probably build a fire or something if he didn't want to freeze to death.
"Come on, you can do it. Just a little more"
The jeep's engine disagreed however, and gave out, dying abruptly and leaving Brendan stuck. He frowned.
"God dammit", the American grumbled, climbing out of the vehicle and kicking the tire. "Good for nothing piece of crap" he complained, looking around for a landmark of any sort on the long forest road. He'd been driving all night and all day, trying to get away from the hellhole that was Berlin. He didn't know what your life expectancy was in those parts, but it likely numbered in the minutes. He'd left America to get away from this sort of thing, not closer to it, this was starting to get ridiculous, like it always did.
There was a small building in the distance. He could see it through the trees, just past a gentle bend in the road. Some sort of mechanic or something. He smiled, he might be able to get fuel or spare parts from that sort of place; perhaps he was lucky to have broken down here as opposed to somewhere else. Brendan reached into the back seat of the Jeep and pulled out his things, a backpack, a water canteen and a pistol, with a magazine or two still in stock, thank goodness. He hadn't had to use it for a while now, and hopefully it would stay that way, for his sake.
He looked again at the building in the distance. It was quite the trek.
No time like the present…