Another day, another town, and another Lockdown.
This one looked better off than most. A small lakeside town tucked far from the main roads, and well-hidden from the Brotherhood or any other bandit groups. It was probably once a quaint resort town for rich folks during the summer, a place of outdoor tea parties and yacht clubs. Now surrounded by tall walls made of concrete slabs, metal sheets, and barbed wire mesh reinforced with wood spikes. Behind it was a punji pit-style tench, and a second, simpler fence. Overall, an effective barrier, if not a pretty one.
The pat-down he gets when they pull up is rougher than it was to be, but no rougher than the Hunter expects, and it lasts until the deputy frisking him finds his fang pouch. Then all that angry suspicion turns to curious awe. The pat-down Martin gets is gentler though, and that too is expected. The boy has a soft, sweet look to him that always seems to inspire care and gentleness wherever they go, when it can be afforded. Despite this, Mister has seen the hint of steel Martin's spine holds, and, however slowly, he alone sees the strength that is developing.
For now though, outsiders just see Martin's age, big brown eyes, messy curls, and melt for him. It's useful and frustrating all in one.
"And who is he?" the Lockdown's sheriff asked. She's an older, rough-faced but handsome woman, who looks like she took no shit from anyone long before the dead started walking. And she's looking at Mister like she's trying to find any reason to shoot him dead where he stood. The stake in his holster and the fangs in his pouch don't impress her none, and under different circumstances, Mister would be wondering if she'd like to take a tumble in the hay.
He'd always had a thing for women who could kick his ass.
"His folks are dead," he said simply. "I'm looking out for him."
"Is that so?" the sheriff asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. She leaned to the side to look at Martin. "Is it?"
The boy nods. He always gets nervous when they enter Lockdowns, shying away from curious onlookers and sticking close to the Hunter's side. Mister got the feeling the boy had never been the most social of creatures, and everything he'd been through just made it worse.
"Mister takes care of me," Martin said. "I'd be dead without him."
The quiet, defeated, matter-of-fact way he says it makes something in Mister's stomach twist. He should be glad the kid was starting to see the world for what it was, but can't bring himself to be. Martin was alive, he should sound like it.
All the same, his words are enough to lessen the sheriff's suspicion. "Alright then. You're free to go in once you've checked your guns with Ronald there. I won't have any trouble inside my town, you here?"
Mister feels his lips twitch. "Yes, ma'am. Not lookin' to cause none either. Just a place to rest and restock."
The sheriff nodded, "Once you get inside, talk to the fellow in the blue hat. He'll tell you how to get to the marina. You can get showers and a room for the night there."
"How much?"
"So long as you don't cause any mess? Free of charge," the woman said, a small smile playing on her lips that made her look far less severe. "Call it small-town hospitality."
"Much appreciated," Mister replied, tipping his hat and sliding back into his car as Martin scrambled to do the same.
"LET 'UM THROUGH!"
At the sheriff's okay, gates were opened and a drawbridge was dropped to let them roll through.
Another day. Another town. Another Lockdown.
"Huh."
Mister glanced up from the hand-drawn town map. "What is it, boy?"
Martin shook his head. "Nothing, I just noticed the date."
He nodded towards a bulletin that stood in the de facto town square. On it was the usual missing person flyers, along with ads listing supplies people were willing to trade for, and jobs that needed doing. It also showed the date: September 30th.
'Nearly October already?' That meant the outbreak had been going on for nearly a year now, and he'd picked up Martin over three months ago. 'Time does fly, I suppose.'
"What about it?"
"...Nothing."
For a moment, Mister considered letting it go. After all, they'd only be in this Lockdown for one day, and they didn't have time to waste on stupid shit. But something in the boy's voice, something about the way he looked at the calendar, prompted him to give it another shot.
He raised a silent, questioning eyebrow and Martin squirmed.
"It… It was my birthday three days ago," he said, peeking up at Mister through those overgrown bangs of his. It made for a cute picture. They'd have to get Martin's hair cut soon; the boy needed to be able to see clearly. "I'm fifteen now."
'Oh.'
Birthdays were a big thing, especially when you were a kid. A celebration that you've lived another year. Now though, they were more important than ever, and yet worth crap all at once. Being alive in Stake Land wasn't really much to celebrate.
Mister considered reminding the kid that they didn't do history. That it was best to take each day as it came and look towards the future.
Instead, he gave a low hum. "That's a good age. Earned my first blackbelt at fifteen."
It was a small thing, even if it did break his own rules, but it made the boy's eyes light up. He grinned, "Really?"
"Yep. Now, c'mon." He slapped the boy on the back, "We got shit to do."
Mister always came into a Lockdown with a plan.
Usually, it was the same one, only changed when the place ended up being sketchy or too barren to be useful for anything other than a relatively place to sleep for the night. When Martin came along, the hunter had to adjust the plan accordingly. With the boy by his side, sketchy Lockdowns became outright dangerous. They meant needing to keep Martin close at all times, and sleeping with both eyes open instead of one. But, in time, those adjustments became the usual, and Mister could hardly remember a time before them.
Find a safe place to sleep.
Get a shower or the closest approximation.
Grab some grub.
Wash clothes and blankets.
Get the kid checked over by a doctor.
Trade for supplies and get stocked up.
Perform any repairs and adjustments on the car and equipment needed.
Dinner and find a place to park Martin.
Find some tail.
Sleep as best as he could.
Roll out first thing the next morning.
Sometimes the Lockdown didn't have anywhere to wash their stuff. Sometimes there wasn't a doc available for the boy. Sometimes they didn't have anything decent for trade. Sometimes the place was too sketchy to risk letting Martin out of his sight, meaning Mister had to skip getting tail to stay up all night keeping watch while the kid slept like the dead.
It wasn't the most exciting way of living, but it was practical and it kept them safe.
With this Lockdown, things were going smoothly. People gawked as they always did, but they ultimately kept their distance and let Mister work in peace. As promised, one of the locals had pointed them towards a marina where they'd been given a key to a small, two-room cabin. It was a cozy little place with two beds, a bathroom, a little fireplace, and easily defendable with one door, and one window that could provide an alternative exit if need be. There was no shower, but the marina had a locker room with washrooms and a mini laundry mat.
Full-body washes were a luxury in Stake Land, as were clean clothes. Both of which were important for staying healthy. Mister had taught Martin how to wash himself pretty clean with just a cup of water and scrub their clothes down in a river but it wasn't the same. As a result, they both savored their lukewarm, brackish shower longer than strictly necessary. After all, who knew the next time they'd get the chance?
Now clean and in clothes that didn't stick like old sweat and vampire guts, it was time to find grub. As the hunter took in the little open-air market the town had to offer, he considered their options. A man was selling grilled fish on a stick, and a lady had some fresh bread. They could also just grab some cans of soup and heat it up back at the cabin, that would probably be the cheapest. Or they could—
"Mister?" hesitant fingers tugged light at his sleeve. When the hunter turned to his charge, Martin bit his lip and pointed at a sign hanging in a shop window.
'HOT MEALS AVAILABLE HERE!'
'TRADE ACCEPTED'
It'd been a long time since the Hunter had sat down to a proper meal he hadn't cooked himself. In Stake Land, food wasn't something to be savored, it was something that kept you alive. You ate what you could, when you could, and if it tasted decent, and you didn't get food poisoning, then you counted yourself blessed. A proper meal was basically unheard of these days.
"Doubt it's worth what they're charging. We can cook something just as good at the cabin," he said dismissively, trying to make a mental list of what they needed and what they could trade.
That would have been the end of it, but then the kid looked at him with those damn eyes of his and Mister felt something inside of him crumble. It was a bad idea, a useless indulgence that they couldn't waste time or supplies on. It was the kind of thing that Mister was trying hard to train out of Martin. And yet...
The boy asked him for so little, hardly anything at all since the night they met.
Martin never asked to stop for the night, or a break in his training, or to stay in a Lockdown longer than necessary. He didn't ask for candy or comics —though he certainly never turned down a chance to enjoy them when the opportunity came around— because he knew they took up too much space while adding little value to their supplies. And he never asked for Mister to go easy on him, even on that first day when the shock and horror of losing his family was still sinking in.
And that was good because Stake Land was a harsh, horrible place, and the Hunter couldn't give the boy much even if he wanted to.
But today, right now, he could give Martin a hot meal and a chance to sit down for a change.
"I guess checking it out wouldn't hurt," he sighed.
Martin grinned, looking younger... or perhaps looking his actual age. "We can eat there?"
"I said we'll see," Mister corrected. "I'm not promising anything."
"Okay!"
The diner's windows had been boarded up with sheets of pile wood, but a little bell still chimed when they walked in, drawing the attention of its dozen or so patrons. The Hunter stood resolute at their stares but he felt Martin draw up closer to him from behind. Despite the tension that settled in the air, a pretty young waitress in jeans and a pink shirt approached with chipper confidence, popping bubblegum as pink as her lips.
"Howdy, can I get you two handsome 'gents some menus?"
"You still have menus?" the Hunter asked, legitimately surprised. 'This place must be in better shape than I thought.'
The waitress paused for a moment, cocking her head to the side, and laughed. "No, old habits die hard though. We do have the current house special: eggs, bacon, and pancakes. The eggs are local, but the bacon is from wild boar, and the pancakes come with jam, not syrup. Not the same as... before, it still tastes good though."
Bacon.
Mister felt his mouth start watering. It had been a long time since he'd had anything like that, aside from jerky. While plenty of dried and canned food could be scavenged from abandoned houses —white rice, dried beans, and peanut butter would last until the next Ice Age if stored properly, the Hunter swore— fresh meat had been the first thing to go bad, quickly followed by produce and anything frozen. On the move, the closest they could manage was the occasional, unseasoned fish, rabbit, or squirrel, but it just wasn't the same. He considered himself a man who needed little in the way of luxuries, and yet the thought of a proper breakfast that could be enjoyed leisurely nearly made Mister agree on the spot. The only thing holding him back was the cost.
"How much?" he asked, willing to bargain but not be taken advantage of.
The waitress shrugged. "What 'ya got? We mostly trade for different cooking-related things, this being a restaurant and all. Can't get supplies the old-fashioned way anymore, so we gotta make do."
The hunter took a moment to think about what they still had in their stores. Some of it was their personal supplies of rations, but when they were approaching a Lockdown, they scavenged for stuff that would be in high demand while trading. The question was, what could they give up?
"Got some different spices: pepper, salt, Old Bay… A couple of boxes of tea bags."
The waitress —Stacy, if her name tag was correct— clicked her tongue, shifting awkwardly. She didn't want to say that wasn't enough, wasn't what they were looking for, but her body language was clear. The Hunter felt his frustration spike and he turned to leave… only to make the mistake of looking Martin in those damned puppy dog eyes of his.
He sighed and turned back around. "Got a couple of sacks of sugar too, sugar and flour. I think there is even a bottle of honey."
The flour and sugar was easy to trade away, raw ingredients like that weren't much good on the road, but were plenty valuable to the people who had the time and tools to use it. Honey, under the right conditions, could last almost indefinitely. In addition to being a natural sweetener, one of the few left in the world, honey could be used as an anti-inflammatory, antioxidant and antibacterial agent. It could be used to treat coughs, burns, guard against infections, and promote wound healing. The hunter hated giving it up.
'Aw, what the hell. I can always find more.'
Stacy's eyes lit up "Yeah, that all sounds great! Even got set weights per meal for those goods. Happy to make that trade," the waitress held out her hand. "Deal?"
The Hunter shook her hand. "Deal. I don't have any of that stuff on me now though. Do you want me to go get it, or need some sort of collateral?"
"Nah, I trust you. Besides, if you try to skip out on our deal then I'll just sic Sheriff Sandy on you." Stacy said that last part with a grin, yet Mister didn't doubt that she was serious. "You two can take a seat in that corner booth there. I'll bring you something to drink in a minute."
"Much appreciated, missy." He tapped the brim of his hat in thanks, he watched the woman go before herding Martin over to their booth. The boy was practically vibrating as he slid in the opposite of Mister, who positioned himself with his back against the wall so he could have a full view of the entrance, all the other patrons, and the entire dinner floor. While there'd been no signs of trouble from anyone or anything since arriving at the Lockdown, the Hunter refused to take any chances.
"I'm excited," Martin admitted. "I can't remember the last time I had eggs and bacon."
"Don't get your hopes up, it might taste like shit," he said, wanting to warn the boy against high expectations. Those never did you any good, especially in Stake Land.
"Definitely doesn't smell like it! And, however it tastes, at least it's not cold beans from a can." Almost as soon as the last words left his lips, Martin's eyes went wide and he shrunk back into the ripped vinyl of the bench. "Not that—I mean—beans are fine, it's just—"
Mister cut him off with a dry chuckle. "I get what you mean, kid."
Things sucked, he wasn't going to punish Martin for admitting it.
The kid beamed and started to say something when Stacy returned.
"Okay, I got some coffee for the 'gent," she said cheerily, generous with her coffee pouring. "Cream? Sugar?"
"Black."
"Gotcha. And some milk for the growing boy. It's the powdered stuff, but lemons, lemonade and all that" she finished, ruffling Martin's hair.
Mister didn't bother to hide his grin as the tip of the kid's ears grew bright red. Martin ducked his head in embarrassment, muttering thanks, as the Hunter turned to Stacy,
"This town seems to be in pretty good shape, all things considering," he said. "You all look to be chugging right along, at least."
Mentally, he gave this Lockdown a couple of years before something happened. Much better than most they'd rolled through.
"We're better than most, I suppose. Being so far off the beaten path, we always had to be pretty self-sustaining. We can get fish, water, and power from the lake, and plenty of folks already kept chickens and other livestock along with growing crops so we still had supplies. Plenty of hunters too, so we were good on that front."
"Mmmm. Still, it's impressive you've all been able to keep things together."
"Yeah, well Sheriff Sandy took those initial rumors of the outbreak in South America and Mexico seriously."
The Hunter flinched at the mention of that hellscape, drawing a concerned look from Martin.
"She started having everyone stockpile supplies and locking the town down. Honestly, I thought she was being paranoid at first, but I thank God for her every night now."
"Sounds like a formidable lady."
"Oh, she's the best. We wouldn't be here without her."
The diner's doorbell chimed, drawing Stacy's attention. "I'll be right back. Your food should be ready soon."
When she had sauntered away, Martin turned those big doe eyes on him. He bit his lip for a moment, plucking up the courage to speak.
"...Mister, were you down in Mexico when... when everything started?"
The Hunter bristled at the question as the memories from those days fought their way to the forefront of his mind.
Maria lying dead on the ground, her throat and stomach tore open. Blood was everywhere, the smell of it absolutely horrible and overwhelming.
Rose, lying cold and still in his lap. Then starting to twitch and growl.
Bat and Earl doing their best to hold off the hoard and screaming at him they needed to run.
"Mister?"
The Hunter forced a lid back on those memories. He blinked at his charge, swallowing hard against a dry throat. "Yeah, I was."
"Oh... Was it—"
The Hunter cut him off again. "We don't do history, boy. The past is gone. Dwelling on it won't do no one any good."
The kid flinched. "Yessir, sorry sir."
The Hunter ignored the rush of guilt. The kid had already seen so much horrible shit, there was no need to add to his nightmares. That was what little protection he could offer his boy.
Before the awkwardness could go on any longer, Stacy arrived carrying a big tray of plates.
"Here you go, hot, ready, and fast," she said cheerily, setting their food out in front of them. "You two enjoy. I'll bring out more coffee in a moment."
Martin's eyes went wide and he barely got a rushed, "Thank you," before starting to shovel scrambled eggs into his mouth.
"Hey, slow down," the Hunter said. "You're going to choke."
The kid swallowed. "Sorry, it's just so good."
Martin wasn't starving, Mister would have never allowed that. He was thinner than he probably should be, but what was left of his weight was turning into new, lean muscle. All things considered, they likely ate better than most. They had plenty of meat, for one, and usually some type of fruit or vegetable; sure, it was canned or dried but that was better than nothing. Still, like Martin had said there was a difference between a half-burned squirrel with a side of canned corn and a hot, full meal they didn't have to scarf down.
'Enjoy it while you can, kid. Who knows if you'll ever get another meal like this again,' the Hunter thought, taking a bite of his own meal. 'Damn, that is good.'
Sometimes he allowed himself to miss a comfortable, safe life. Never for long though, it wouldn't do him nor anyone else any good.
"'is is th' bes' bacon I've ev'r had," Martin said, swallowing. "Tastes different from the normal stuff though."
"I'm surprised you can taste anything with how fast you're shoveling it down your gullet. And don't talk with your mouth full," he replied. When Martin blinked at him owlishly, Mister continued, "Boar bacon has less fat than the stuff from a regular farm pig. Better taste, in my opinion. Healthier too."
"Oh good. I wouldn't want to worry about my cholesterol levels during the vampire apocalypse."
A grin forced itself on the Hunter's face. "Alright, smart-ass. Keep eating, we still gots things to get done before the day is out. I'll be right back, you stay—"
"Stay put. I know the drill by now."
The Hunter wasn't sure if the kid was giving him lip or being genuine. He'd long suspected that Martin knew how to use those doe eyes and sweet smile to his advantage, even if he could never prove it. So he just snorted, rolled his eyes, and headed towards the john. When he passed the counter, Stacy called out to him.
"Oh, 'scue me, sir. Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, it's all fine," he nodded. "You got great food here."
"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far, but your son definitely seems to be enjoying it," Stacy said, smiling in the direction of Martin.
'Son.'
The Hunter shifted at the implication. The assumption was a common enough one, and at first, Martin had been as quick to correct it as Mister was to say that the kid's folks were dead, just like plenty of other parents out there. As time went on though, Martin stopped correcting people, preferring to give technical half-truths —"He takes care of me. I'd be dead without him."— or avoided answering altogether while Mister followed his lead. If they were directly asked, neither lied, but otherwise, they kept their mouths shut. It was better that way. Safer. People were less likely to mess with the kid of a vampire hunter, even in the rougher Lockdowns.
"It's a rare occasion," he said. When Stacy gave him a confused look, Mister added, "Not every day a boy turns fifteen. 'Scues me."
He left the waitress behind, only just catching the look of understanding cross her face.
"Ahhhh, been a long time since I've been stuffed like this," Martin sighed, pushing the now empty plate of pancakes away.
The Hunter was inclined to agree. It's been so long that the sensation was downright uncomfortable, even unnerving. He shifted in his seat, fighting the urge to loosen his belt. Leather pants protected well against vampire bites, but didn't leave much let-out room.
"Hopefully not too stuffed to keep you from enjoying a complimentary treat," Stacy said, setting a slice of pecan pie down in front of Martin. It had an unlit blue candle speared into it and a dollop of cream on the side. "It's not cake but, well, better than nothing."
Martin turned his big brown eyes on the waitress. "Th—thank you!"
"Lease I can do, hun." Stacy ruffled the kid's hair again before walking away. "Happy birthday!"
Turning back to him, Martin asked, "Did you—"
"I didn't ask for nothin', boy. This was just the kindness of strangers," he said, allowing himself a soft smile. Pulling out a cigarette lighter, he lit the candle. Might as well go all in. "Make a wish, kid."
'Wish for a better tomorrow. Maybe, if enough people do, something will happen.'
Martin closed his eyes for a moment before blowing out the candle. Then he picked up two forks, holding one out to the Hunter.
"Share it with me," he asked, doe-eyes wide and hopeful.
Mister froze. He hated when the kid looked at him like that. Didn't Martin know all that faith would only get him let down in the end?
But... he could let Martin pretend, just for today. The Hunter could let his charge enjoy a few hours of innocent happiness. It wasn't much, wasn't what the kid deserved, but it was all he could do.
He took the fork. "Sure, kid. Sure."
By the time they were done eating, it was past noon and they were behind schedule.
The town's doctor, a white-haired old man called Doc Douglas who walked with a cane, was happy to look over Martin. His diagnosis was that the kid could use a few more pounds and more sleep, and overall could be doing better, but could also be doing plenty worse. All to be expected really, as was him asking Martin if he'd like to stay in town. Mister said nothing, and the kid just shook his head, mumbled thanks, accepted the precious lollipop offered to him, and followed his guardian out of the building, sticking close to the Hunter's side as they fell into step. Overall, it was a jumbo bottle of aspirin and a pack of cold medicine well-spent.
Trading for supplies went as well as it could. This town didn't give stuff for free like others they passed through did, yet no one attempted to overcharge or haggle him either.
They traded away the food that was too easy to spoil, was too heavy, or took up too much space in his car, for some pretty decent stuff: new socks, a tackle box of fishing supplies, deodorant, stuff for the first aid kit, toothpaste, and other essentials. Mister even looked the other way when Martin made his own little deal, trading a jumbo pack of crayons and colored pencils for a Spiderman comic and king-sized chocolate bar. Under different circumstances, he'd scold the boy for wasting time and supplies on useless frivolities. For now though, in the safety of the Lockdown, he'd allow it. Comics didn't take up much space, and could be used as kindling if need be. The chocolate was halfway gone before they left the store. Clearly, the kid had never heard about savoring a treat.
"I heard in the shop that there is a mechanic in town," Martin said, bags balanced in his arms. "Maybe we should get the car checked over."
"There isn't anything anyone could do for that hunk of junk that I can't do myself for cheaper. For example—" he jiggled the jug he was carrying "—have you ever changed a car's oil, boy?"
Martin wrinkled his nose. "No, Dad always just took the car to AutoZone."
The Hunter fought the urge to scoff. No need to insult the kid's dead old man for spending money on something that could be done cheaper and easier by hand. "Time to learn then."
"Okay!" The kid sounded way too chipper for being essentially told he was being made to do a chore. "Can we go do it now? I mean... it's too early to go to the bar to get dinner and—"
Mister cut off the boy's sputtering. "Let's head back to the cabin. It's best to work while the light is good."
Not for the first time, he considered telling Martin he didn't have to watch his words so carefully. The Hunter knew he was an asshole and curter than he needed to be, even with the boy, but he didn't think of himself as a heartless man. His harshness came from necessity; if he yelled at Martin, it was only because the kid made a mistake that could have gotten them both killed. He wouldn't berate the kid for asking for something. He might reject it, yet the Hunter liked to think he wouldn't be so cruel.
Not that he knew how to say any of that.
"Alright, now slide out from under there," the Hunter instructed, nudging Martin's ankle with the toe of his boot.
The kid squirmed out from under the car, rolling his feet and brushing the dirt off himself. Shirtless, Martin shivered in the cool afternoon air.. "So we just have to wait for it to drain out? That's way easier than my dad made it out to be."
Mister grunted. "Go get cleaned up. And put on a shirt before you catch cold. I want to check a few other things under the hood before it gets too dark."
"Can I help with anything?"
The Hunter ducked his head to hide the small grin breaking out across his face. Even from the first night, Martin had been eager to help, eager to learn and handle things on his own. He pumped lead into the vampire who killed his family with little hesitation, and always followed Mister's instructions to the best of his abilities. Which was a good thing. Had Martin been overly stubborn, stupid, or witless, the Hunter would have dumped him in the first Lockdown they came across. If he wasn't torn apart by hungry vamps first.
"Nah, go relax. This is more of a one-man job."
The boy still hesitated for a moment, hovering near the door of their cabin. He wanted to say something, that was clear, but eventually ducked his head and slipped inside.
"He's a good kid," the Hunter said himself. "He deserves better."
So had Maria.
So had Rose.
Not that it did either of them any good. There was no place for innocence in the world anymore. Mister had none left, which was why he was more suited for this world than any other. Hints of it still remained in Martin, despite everything, and the Hunter wasn't looking forward to killing it. He had to if he wanted the kid to survive though.
About half an hour later, Martin had re-emerged from the cabin wearing a clean shirt and silently curled up on one of the rickety lawn chairs scattered around. His legs curled up under him, Martin seemed content to draw something on a stationary notepad he'd balanced against his knee. Ever so often, he'd glance up at the Hunter, smiling when their eyes would meet before looking back down at the paper. By the time the oil had completely drained, Mister finally gave in to his curiosity.
"Whatcha workin' on?"
Martin grinned and held up the notepad. On it was a cartoon sketch of a man wearing a hat stabbing a vamp in the heart with an oversized stake.
"Is that me?" Mister asked, squinting at the drawing.
The kid gave him a sheepish grin. "I think the likeness is impressive."
There it was again, the hint of spine and snark that hid behind Martin's sad eyes. Mister enjoyed it when it came out, it was better than the kid's usual sad silence. It made him wonder what Martin was like before everything went right to hell.
"You're pretty good at that," he said. "Drawing, I mean."
Another shy smile. "Thanks. I used to do it all the time before..."
Martin trailed off before looking out over the marina. "Why aren't they worried about vampires coming through the water?"
The Hunter didn't comment on the change of subject. "The river is deep and quick moving. Vamps have a hard time maintaining their balance in even slow-moving, shallow water."
"Why?"
"I'm no scientist, boy," he chuckled. "But, if I had to guess, their brains are so single-minded that trying to balance while tracking down prey is beyond them. They should still worry about vamps floating over, and bandits trying to approach through the water, but I've seen patrols covering the area."
"Smart," Martin said, turning back to his sketches.
The Hunter grunted in agreement. 'They've thought this through. They might be able to survive longer than I first thought.'
Not forever. No Lockdown Town ever did. Eventually, either the vamps or bandits would overrun them. If not that, then they'd eat each other alive as soon as supplies ran low.
Still, it was nice to dream. Even better, it was nice to live in that dream for a while.
Even in the apocalypse, crappy bar food didn't really change.
"This isn't chicken, this is deep-fried leather," Mister grumbled, glaring down at what was supposedly a fried chicken sandwich. "Not worth what we paid for it."
"Tastes fine to me," Martin said, gnawing on his own.
"That's because you're a teenager. You like anything covered in ketchup and salt."
"And you're the one always saying that we can't complain about what we eat."
Despite himself, the Hunter smiled. There it was the cheek he liked to see in the boy. "Aright, smart ass. You're learning your lessons well."
Martin ducked his head to hide his pleased expression, taking another bite of his dinner. The two ate in silence as time ticked on, and more and more people trickled into the bar. Before too long, a red-haired woman got up on the small stage and started up a set of twangy country songs while her heavily tattooed husband played guitar. Out of the corner of his eye, Mister watched the sun sink further in the sky over the lake. Despite the relaxed, even cheerful atmosphere, the Hunter found himself growing tense.
"Mister?" Martin asked. When he didn't reply, the boy followed his gaze to the window. "Oh, the night is coming."
Night always came, and death came with it.
"Don't you worry about nothin', huh," said the bartender, evidently having overheard their conversation. The tall, leggy brunette plopped two cans down on their table, one of cola and one miller's lite, and said, "Night's never fun, but Sheriff Sandy has nighttime safety down to a science. We've got UV lamps lining the outer walls and there's always patrol units in and around town. Other than that, everyone who isn't patrolling has to be behind locked doors between 9 pm and 8 am, and there ain't to be any loud, unnecessary noise or bright lights. Or else she has words with 'em."
"Hmmm."
Those were all good rules to have, and not all Lockdowns got the message in time. Or else failed to enforce them properly against idiots or drunks. Going unnoticed was undoubtedly the best way to survive the night. Vamps, for all their strength and ferocity, weren't the smartest. If they didn't have a reason to look for prey somewhere, then they wouldn't.
"It's only about seven, so y'all have plenty of time before it comes time to lock things up," the bartender continued. She gave the Hunter a sultry grin and winked, "Feel free to ask if you... need anything."
And with that, the woman turned around and sauntered away. Mister watched her go, eyeing the sway of her hips and the tight fit of her jeans. 'Not bad, not bad at all.'
The bartender was in her early forties but wore her age well. He liked how tall she was, her twangy accent, and the easy confidence that she carried herself with. This was a woman who could handle herself; a trait that always got Mister going. That had been the first thing he'd noticed about Maria, how much of a spitfire she was.
Not that it did her any good in the end.
'We don't do history,' the Hunter reminded himself. The rule wasn't just for Martin, it was how he kept himself sane. Dwelling on the past only caused pain and insanity.
"I can get back to the cabin on my own," Martin said quietly. When Mister looked at him questioningly, the boy nodded towards the bartender, a bright red blush burning at his cheeks. "You can... go hang out with her. I can get back by myself, and lock the place up tight. I know the drill."
The Hunter could do that. Martin was a smart kid (usually), he wouldn't wander off and get into trouble. His fighting skills weren't the greatest yet but he could handle himself. He'd be fine for the night, Mister was sure. He could give the kid some quarters for the old pinball and arcade machines that were tucked into the corner, then go chase some tail. It would be fine. After all, the Hunter had left Martin alone for nights before.
So why not now?
Martin liked Mister's company. For reasons the Hunter still couldn't quite understand, the boy always wanted to be near him. When in the relative safety of a Lockdown Town, Martin would shy away from even the gentlest of grannies or doctors. Even those his own age were watched with wary, quiet eyes. For more than just the protection Mister could provide him, Martin wanted him there.
And though he fought it, Mister liked having the kid around. He wasn't Rose, no one would ever be Rose, but Martin still provided a... comforting presence that the Hunter never thought he would have again.
"Nah," he said finally, tearing his eyes away from the bartender to look at Martin properly. "Not tonight."
Martin said nothing, but his bright smile spoke a thousand words. It was so infectious that Mister found himself mirroring it. He nodded towards the pool table.
"C'mon," he said. "Finish eating, and I'll teach you how to play pool."
Just when he thought the kid's smile couldn't get any bigger, it did.
The night air was cool as they made their way back to the cabin, the heat of the day giving way to the breeze coming off the lake. Years ago... A lifetime ago, this would have been the kind of night the Hunter would have camped out in his backyard with Fran and their old man. Under different circumstances, he'd have loved to do the same with Rose.
"Make sure you lock both the doors and windows, can't be too safe now," one of the patrolling guards said as they passed. "No dawdling now. No making trouble, you here?"
By his side, Mister heard Martin give a quiet snort in amusement. He ignored it for now, giving the brim of his hat a small tap. "Of course. We're heading there now. Have a good night, gentlemen."
Another one of the guards let out a bitter chuckle. "Good? I'm just hoping for safe!"
Everyone, Mister and Martin included, gave a small grunt of agreement. Even here, in a seemingly well-defended, well-stocked Lockdown Town, danger and worry always lingered.
When the two groups went their separate ways, Mister reached over to lightly cuff Martin on the back of the head.
"Ouch!"
"Don't laugh at people doing their best to keep others safe," he scolded. "It ain't an easy job."
The reprimand had Martin shrinking into himself. "Sorry. It's just... You're tougher than any of them, it was funny seeing them try to intimidate you."
At the —perhaps unintentional— stroking of his ego, Mister fought the urge to grin. Instead, he continued with, "Never just assume you can take someone in a fight, kid. Something can always go wrong. No need to go borrowing trouble. 'Specially with the local authorities."
Martin cocked his head to the side. "You're saying I shouldn't fight?"
"No, I'm saying that you should only fight if you're sure you can win... or don't have any other choice," the Hunter said. "Now get a move on. Time to get locked down for the night."
"Ahhh," Martin sighed, collapsing on his bed. "This is pretty comfy."
"Don't get used to it," Mister sighed, not even bothering to look up from the door he was reinforcing. "We're heading out tomorrow morning."
In the silence that followed, the fleeting thought crossed the man's mind that this might be the Lockdown that Martin, despite what he said earlier, finally decided to stay in. This could be when the kid decided he didn't want to travel or fight anymore.
'That would be fine,' he told himself, screwing in an extra bolt hardly that strictly necessary. 'I have enough supplies that I could buy him citizenship. The people here seem like the good sort, they'd take him in. It would... It would be—'
"I know," Martin said quietly, cutting off the Hunter's thoughts. "I just meant... It's been a good day."
A good day?
Mister took a moment to consider the idea.
A shower.
Clean clothes.
Hot meals.
Nice people.
Safety.
Martin's smile.
"Yeah," he said. "It was."
'Happy Birthday, Martin.'
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