6:37 PM
CREEKFIELD, NEW MEXICO
"Engineer?" Sniper asked incredulously, "Is that you, mate?"
"Sure is!" Engineer replied, smiling one of his wildly infectious smiles, "But you know you can just call me Dell, right? We're all friends here."
"Engine-Dell, we've been lookin' all over for you! What the hell have you been doing?" Sniper turned off the van and got out. Demoman and the others followed suit, piling out of the back door of the camper to gape at their friend's strange metamorphosis.
"Didn't you hear? I up an' quit. I'm tired a' fightin' and this town Creekfield's really just so nice, so I'm stayin'!" Engineer had switched out his uniform overalls for a pair of slacks and a light blue plaid shirt. His helmet and goggles were also missing revealing blue eyes that betrayed genuine happiness. Needless to say, he looked better than he had in a long, long time.
"Dell you're gotta come back with us whether you like it or not. You're under a contract," Sniper tried to reason with the short Texan.
"Not anymore. I said I was quittin' an' I meant it, too!" Engineer insisted, though his expression had not soured at all.
"You know what this means we have to do, right?" Spy appeared over Sniper's shoulder, his tone grim.
"Excuse me, is there a problem here?"
The group situated on the driveway turned to face the newcomer. A short, portly man stood just a few feet away with a regal greyhound on a long, red leash. He had a round, pinkish face with a well groomed beard and sideburns. There was a twinkle in his great hazel eyes that matched that of the one in Engineer's. Sniper fancied he looked a little like Santa Claus.
"Not at all, Mr. Campbell. How are you this fine evening?" Engineer asked, the seriousness of his situation completely lost on him.
"I'm doing just fine, thank you. Are these gentlemen your friends?"
"They sure are! Used ta work with 'em back at RED."
Sniper noticed Spy's eyes widen at the casual mention of RED. The Australian could read the question forming on the usually unreadable man's lips. How much did this Campbell bloke know?
"Oh, well in that case, I welcome you to Creekfield," Campbell said, addressing the men hanging around Sniper's van with a cautious attachment, "I'm the mayor, Mr. Campbell. Amos Campbell, if you may. Are you perhaps in the market for new homes?"
"No, no," Sniper shook his head, "We're ah, we're actually here for personal reasons. Between us and our mate Dell. Kind of a private matter."
"Oh, I see. Well, as long as it doesn't involve heckling my good friend into moving out as quickly as he moved in, now. You'll find Creekfield is a very close community and we're already very fond of him and Hogarth."
"Hogarth?" Heavy echoed from his place against the van.
"He's one of your friends too, isn't he? He and Dell were traveling together when they arrived here. I must admit; he's quite a show."
"Is 'e talkin' about Scout?" Demoman asked quietly.
"I think? Never caught the kid's name…" Sniper muttered back. Demoman chuckled.
"Not sure if 'e ever wanted us to wit' a name like that," Demoman continued to snicker as he uncapped his bottle of scrumpy, "God, this is so bizarre."
"Where is this Hogarth living?" Heavy asked, stumbling over the Scout's name and stifling a laugh.
"Just down the street, my friend. Ask one of the neighbors where Joanna lives, you'll find him there," Mayor Campbell smiled.
Heavy nodded. His plan was clear.
"Why do you want to know, if you don't mind me asking?" Campbell asked after some thought.
"He is my friend. I would like to see how he is," it seemed as if the large Russian wanted to challenge the mayor with his intentions, but thought better of making an enemy of him so soon.
"Then I shouldn't delay you any longer, my good man. Come, Esther," Mayor Campbell tugged the greyhound's leash and turned to return in the direction he came from, his evening walk disrupted. Esther cast one backward glance at the intimidating human strangers before obediently following her master.
"Oh! And one more thing," the mayor stopped and turned around, "I speak for all of Creekfield when I say this: We're a very tolerant and open community, but don't go rousing trouble, now, or we'll be as firm as we need to."
"We understand," Spy spoke, as the others were wordless at the cordial mayor's sudden change in tone.
"Good. I'm certain you'll enjoy it here, however long you need to stay," Campbell's smile returned, but as he turned back around, the setting sun caught his eyes and gave them a wily, cat-like look.
It wasn't until after the mayor had turned around the street corner did time seem to resume.
"So d'you guys want to come in an' discuss this over dinner?"
The mercenaries exchanged uncomfortable looks.
"Sure?"
9:59 PM
Silverware clinked against plates, punctuating the tension that hung over the men crowded around the dinner table like a thick, invisible fog.
Engineer said he had moved in yesterday, but the house was completely furnished, like something out of a catalogue. Demoman didn't want to suspect Engineer had been planning this as an escape from the war, but with the way things looked, it seemed like the most plausible explanation for the short man's easy assimilation into Creekfield.
Not to mention it still left one loose end: Scout.
Back at Teufort when they were arranging rides, Scout had been paired with Engineer at random, Plenty of factors could have affected the makeshift hat raffle, but Engineer's good-willed acceptance of the pairing and Scout's 4 a.m. apathy towards any and everything seemed genuine enough. It was unlikely that Scout had been in on any plan the Texan might have had.
Scout had said he was getting married, though. Pretty women did tend to have a way of changing the lad's mind, Demoman's own mind reasoned against his intuition. Perhaps it was the whiskey Engineer had provided from his reasonably stocked liquor cabinet that was making him so argumentative with himself.
Demoman sighed and leaned back in his seat.
"Had enough, mate?" Sniper asked. The Australian had taken a seat next to him in a fold-out chair Engineer had pulled up from the garage, absentmindedly poking at his meal. The day's events had left him without an appetite as well, Demoman figured looking at his own untouched dinner.
Across the table, Engineer had finished his chicken and struck up idle conversation with Heavy about the community. The Russian seemed interested enough, and Demoman wondered if he was doing some sleuthing of his own or just humoring his alleged ex-teammate until it came time to dispose of him as dictated by company policy.
"Tavish?" Demoman turned to Sniper again, realizing he had never answered him.
"Oh, sorry, yeah. I think I'm through," Demoman pushed the empty glass away. All the liquor in the world wouldn't dampen the bad vibes he was getting from this place, and there was no use in trying. "You know, I'm goin' to go get some fresh air."
Sniper stood up with him, "I think I will too, actually. Hey Dell, mind if we step out for a bit?"
"Not at all. Go right ahead," Engineer waved them along, "So as I was sayin', this girl shows up late ta school, an' the teacher says…"
Demoman walked down the hall and out the door at a brisk pace and didn't stop until he was leaning against the wall of Sniper's van, which had since been moved up onto the driveway. It wasn't long before Sniper was leaning next to him, unwrapping a peppermint.
"Got one of those for me?" Demoman asked after Sniper popped the hard candy into his mouth.
"Sure," Sniper fished around in his pocket for another mint and handed it to the demolitions expert. "Nice night out."
"Yeah, shame this place is stinkin' it up," Demoman spat before unwrapping his peppermint.
"Smells jus' fine t' me…" Sniper searched Demoman's expression for an explanation, and when he found it, his lips formed an "O". "One of yer vibes?"
"Yeah, feels like ever since we arrived here things've been goin' from strange to stranger."
"Have to admit, that mayor bloke was pretty weird-"
"Not jus' the mayor, though," Demoman suddenly cut in, "All those men an' their wives, all lookin' the same, all perfect. Even Engineer looks just fine an' dandy!"
"And is that a bad thing?" Sniper asked, one eyebrow raised. There was a crunch as he bit down on his candy and broke it.
"You-God, you know what I mean, don't ya? He's different! He's- He's been changed! Hell, didn't you notice his hand? He cut it off and replaced it with a bloody robotic one! That same hand's flesh an' blood again jus' like magic! Son't ya see, Sniper? That can't be Engineer! That isn't Engineer!"
Sniper just stared at Demoman as the Scotsman drew heavy breaths through his nose.
"You're smashed," he stated. It wasn't a question.
"Y-You know me better than that," Demoman softened his tone, there was no need to wake the neighborhood. He wouldn't be able to stand their stares. "I don't get drunk off piss-whiskey."
"You brought some scrumpy too, didn't ya? Can get plenty drunk off that."
"For pete's sake, Sniper, I'm sober!"
"Yeah, hey, I'm just goin' to go back inside. When you do the same, you better not be wearin' a tinfoil hat," Sniper stalked back inside, hands in his pockets.
"Bleedin' twat," Demoman muttered before walking in the other direction and down the street. Fresh air. He just needed fresh air.
Demoman walked for a long time, thinking about everything he could. Everything but fucking Sniper and Creekfield. It wasn't long before the cold burned through the Scotsman's subconscious and he realized he was lost.
"Fuck it," Demoman said as he turned to face the way he thought he came. The suburbs piled up like eager demons, lawns gripping the sidewalk with a greedy, green anticipation just waiting for him to turn his back to them.
If the abundance of busy humans returning home at the exact same time for the evening had been weird, the complete absence of them was downright unnerving.
Demoman swallowed, turned around and headed for the shopping center. Every last store was closed, the uniform signs in the glass doors revealing they had been closed since five, That was at least five and a half hours ago. A phantom mist settled over the desert-dried streets, the asphalt black and shiny; brand spanking new. The bright, ghastly street lights provided wispy pockets of light along the sidewalk. They had no need to flicker. The air contained enough tangible yet almost wholly imaginary horrors to put even the most stomach-churning slasher flick to weeping shame. Overhead, the black sky roared as an airplane passed.
Like a tantalizing mirage, Demoman noticed a phone booth out of the corner of his eye and almost slapped himself. Miss Pauling would at least hear his suspicions all the way out. Given how many times she had been subject to his admittedly pathetic dead-drunken phone calls, perhaps a legitimate report could make up for it all, no matter how fanciful. The situation in its entirety didn't seem entirely real, after all.
Demoman approached the booth only to realize that the door was locked.
"What kind of town locks its bloody phone booths?" he asked aloud. It wasn't like anyone was around to hear him anyways.
"A secure one, sir," came a voice from behind.
Demoman turned around only to come face to face with a blinding light. He shielded his eyes and blinked away tears.
"Sorry, sir," the beam of light shifted down to the ground and revealed a policeman holding the offending flashlight. Demoman noted that the officer had no gun. He did, however, have a very fierce looking dobermann standing at attention at his side. There was no leash to restrain the dog to speak of. "Can you see better?"
"Yeah, thanks," the Scotsman rubbed at his good eye, "What's the problem, officer?"
"Haven't seen you around here before. Guess you don't know," the officer idly tossed his flashlight from hand to hand, the circle of light on the ground bouncing, "It's past town curfew. Everyone should be asleep right now, including any visitors."
"Well you're awake," Demoman cracked a grin.
"Don't try to be wise with me. I'm being civil, here. Now, if you'll come with me to the station…"
"Wait, why do I have ta go all th' way to the station with ya?" Demoman took a step back. The dobermann growled.
"I told you. You're out past town curfew. New in town or not, that's an offense. Now come with me."
"No. I'm not even new in town. I'd never live here if it was the last bloody place on earth!" Demoman tried to stand his ground, but the dobermann had begun to stalk forward, haunches distinct against shiny black fur.
"Then you're a stranger," the officer pressed, "A trespasser."
The hound was quickly closing the distance and Demoman felt as if he was being backed into a corner. He took another step back, and the dobermann barked. It echoed in the Scotsman's ears, and fear took over.
"You're a threat," came the officer's voice.
The dog leaped, and Demoman just narrowly dodged it. Cracks splayed across the phone booth's glass door from the dobermann's impact as it used the surface to change direction and bound after the mercenary, teeth bared.
Demoman's mouth burned with the ache of nighttime air in his lungs and the spice of alcohol on his tongue. Creekfield shook as he ran down streets and alleys, goaded by barks and howls.
Soon, the storefronts blurred into homefronts and he could feel himself wearing down. Still, the hellhound pursued tirelessly and still, he ran from it.
It seemed as if all the streets and backroads were leading to the same place. In the center of a roundabout sat an antiquated two-story house. Like all the others, the windows were dark and unwelcoming, but Demoman was running out of options fast. He saw an opportunity –the window to the cellar was ajar- and he went for it.
The Scotsman realized how tight a fit it was a second too late.
His feet had already left the pale curb and he found himself sliding across the dew-speckled grass in the blink of an eye. He was aware of nothing until a searing pain and the shatter of glass brought him back to earth. Gravity met him the rest of the way and he landed on his behind in the house's dark cellar.
Demoman's entire body ached as he got to his feet, hissing as he cut his palm on a shard of shattered glass. The Scotsman leaped when the rays of moonlight filtering in from the broken window frame were eclipsed by a snarling black snout, salivating and growling. To Demoman's surprise, the dobermann began to fit itself in through the window with some difficulty. His insides clenched at his shortsightedness.
Just when the hound was about to leap into the cellar, a whistle resounded through the night and it went stock still. Slowly, the subdued dobermann pulled itself back out the window and padded away, its collar jingling.
Demoman sighed in relief but almost choked on his breath when the officer walked up to the window, boots crunching in the grass. Demoman hurried into a corner and pressed himself flat against the cold brick wall. The officer stooped down and stuck the flashlight in through the window, the light bouncing off old furniture and cleaning supplies. Demoman felt like a trapped animal, watching his pursuer survey the damage with bated breath.
It was obvious he was down here, wasn't it? Why could he just come down and arrest him already and save him the pain of the wait? These questions buzzed in Demoman's head, dispersing like a panicked flock of birds when an eager bark caused the beam of light to twitch, engulfing the tip of his shoe in bright, nerve-wracking exposure.
Miraculously, it seemed the policeman was more interested in the cause of his dobermann's barking and switched off the flashlight. Slowly, the officer got to his feet and then jogged off.
Demoman gulped in sweet, beautiful oxygen as he pushed himself away from the wall. Then, he realized he had another challenge ahead of him: leaving the house without waking up its inhabitants.
Groping blindly in the dark, the only source of light uselessly shining on the ground in a pale square of moonlight, Demoman made his way along the walls of the cellar until his hands slipped down and met wooden stairs.
Smearing blood on his pants as he wiped the splinters and dust that tried to cling to his fingertips and bleeding palm, Demoman righted himself and began to ascend the steps.
The door to the rest of the house opened soundlessly to the gaping silence of the dark house. Demoman shivered, and pressed on without a thought. He could think this all over later when he was back at Doublecross with a glass of scrumpy and the comfort of all his friends in their right minds.
It wasn't until he reached the front door that he felt the effect of eyes burning into his back. He turned around and realized he was being watched this whole time. Ever since he entered this damnable town, he was being watched.
"You?" was all he could manage to utter.