Robert A. J. Turnbull Jr - Hawk's Legend 02 - Deja vu.pdf - Robert A. J. Turnbull Jr - allforjesus2001

Hawk‟s Legend II

“Déjà vu”

Robert A. J. Turnbull Jr.

Chapter 1.

The funny thing about time is that it never seems to be on ones side. If you have something

important to do, there‟s never enough of it. Try to forget something, there‟s always too much of

it. And try to manage it… Impossible! So time goes on doing whatever it damn well wants and

there is little anyone can ever do about it other than try to ignore it…. Or complain.

“Twenty five years ago I told them, Two to three decades I told them. Two or three decades!

Christ I hate being right!” He glanced out the window across the room, then looked back down

at his journal and shook his head. “If only we really had known” His thoughts trailed off. “I hate

being right and not being able to do anything about it!” He cursed once again.

For some time is as simple as planning. To others it‟s a matter of not worrying about it. Then

there are the few that time has absolutely no meaning for. Nor do they care. Time to them is a

mere inconvenience, a nuisance. For one man, it just meant it would drag on decade after decade

and no matter how he tried to ignore it, it was there to remind him its effect on others. He would

watch people wither and grow old, friends aged. All around him children were born, grew, lived

their lives, aged and died. He didn‟t age, nor did he care anymore.

“Damn it‟s been about thirty years since…” He pushed that thought out of his mind. Even

now it was painful to dwell upon. “Damn! Now where was I?”

Time had become something he merely drifted through. Something to be indifferent to and at

times something to hate. To this man time had become no more than just existing, nothing more,

nothing less and the years passed. All around him either aged… or died.

Now years after the West coast campaign it seemed there was far too much time to kill. The

campaign had been long and costly to the country but even with the losses of so many, there was

so much gained. Too many had died, lives that the country could not afford to lose. For the man

named Hawk, he continued to live. He was so tired of killing, of seeing others die.

These years Hawk decided to pass time once again back out in the wastelands.

This time around he was scouting the northern boundaries searching for information or maybe

once and for all his time would end and it would be of no more concern to him.

He wrote into his journal;

“Day 23.

It seems I was right six years ago. This Ed Diablo has been building his army and those raids

over the last six years have been only a subterfuge to keep us from invading his territory.

At this point I don‟t believe he ever intended to invade the east or at least for a few more years.

This maniac wants to stomp out all resistance in these parts first.

All his plans so far seem to indicate everything I foresaw. All my plans are still going well.

I‟m at the halfway lodge in time for the „Selling‟ Maybe I can find out more here.

Note to self: Stop being right! – H.”

The halfway lodge at the edge of the northern plains was packed this time of year. The

compound consisted of several buildings, a tavern and lodge, with not much of anything else. It

laid four hundred miles west of the Mississippi and bordered many of the trade routes north of

the southern wastelands.

Traders, hunters, merchants as well as locals had all come for what had become to be known as

“The selling”, which was a time of the year when trappers came to this place to sell their pelts.

Explorers and scavengers sold artifacts and other things of worth they had found during their

months in the northern wastelands or the wide desolate plains north of the wastelands.

There were items found from the ruined cities that only few dared to venture into as they were

deep into the areas controlled by Diablo‟s army or mutants. Areas of the desert so hot and so far

from water, only the bravest…. or most desperate would go. Deals were to be found, strange

items from a time long past, a world only one man on Earth remembered.

Then there were the farmers and caravans that brought goods to sell, it was a time of

merriment and a chance for some to prosper. Fresh produce, wheat, corn and livestock rarely

came this far east, save for this time of year. While others just came to observe. Mostly it was a

chance to see old friends and join in some merriment. The bustling crowds scurried from one

area to another buying up what they could. Goods were needed to resupply those heading back

out into the deep wastelands of the deep forests to the north.

This was neutral ground and even soldiers from the huge, newly consolidated raider army run

by a leader named El Diablo were there, observing, hiding always in the shadows, always

watching…. Waiting…. They too observed the neutrality of this outposts inn… or at least as it

suited them. Although far from the main raider army, most steered clear of them. And then, there

were those that always watched and would sell information to any one that paid. These people

were hard to spot except for those that lived within the world of deceit.

This peculiar day had turned out to be a rather pleasant day with the early fall weather

bringing only warm clear skies and a gentle wind. Sounds of merchants, traders and farmers

filled the early noon time air as they set up their camps and showed their wares to anyone that

would stop by. While in the tavern people filled the tables demanding food and ale. It roared

with the sounds of rowdy men making the best of their short time before they struck out once

again, either in pairs or solo. Now was the time to forget hardships.

An old retired trapper with one leg walked through the door and glanced around the inns

large room. He squeezed through the crowd near the bar being careful he did not hit some hot

headed character with his crutch or nudge some drunk. His days of brawling had long been past

and the last thing he wanted was trouble.

He glanced around the room and spotting an empty chair, he headed toward it. The tables

were full, the bar packed with men standing, the barmaids hurried among the throng carrying

huge trays of food and ale. Loud talk and raucous laughter rang throughout. Yet as crowded as

this place was, there was a table with only one man sitting at it. No one sat with the stranger, no

one took the extra chairs. For whatever reasons this stranger sat alone, the old man didn‟t care. It

had been a long journey, especially with one leg and he was tired and hungry.

The old trapper worked his way through the packed tables squeezing, bumping and

occasionally getting bumped, toward that table in the corner next to a wooden wall that hid the

stairs going up to the second floor. Only that one man sat there and the old trapper decided

asking to sit, would at worse bring a resounding „no‟.. He finally pushed through the remaining

crowded tables, removed his worn shabby hat and looked at the stranger sitting at the table and

with a shy grin spoke just loud enough to be heard over the din of the room.

“Pardon good sir… all the tables seem to be full….” He motioned around the inn with his

hand.

“Perhaps you‟d allow me to join you?” He said grinning with a mostly toothless smile. His

scruffy white beard and moustache failed to hide his years. This was a trapping man and by the

looks of him, he had been for many years. His patched buckskins told the stranger this man

hadn‟t been any farther east than this outpost inn buried into the bowels of the northern part of

the wastelands. This man demanded respect. Trappers of this kind braved the areas to trap that

regular men rarely ventured. Farmers that had little livestock, inns and compounds like this one

needed fresh meat. Hides were used for many things as caravans rarely got into these areas.

Even so, at his age it would best stay away from the likes of others in this tavern.

All this ran through the strangers mind as he looked down to the chair he had his feet on. The

stranger gave the trapper a half grin…

“Sure old timer.” The stranger replied removing his feet from the chair that was directly

across from him. As he lowered his boots he pushed out the chair with one foot. The old trapper

reached down and swiped the dust off the chair with his hat and smiled at the stranger.

“Thanks… Heh, heh, I‟ve been on the road for about thirteen days and sure am mighty

hungry there stranger… durned if there ain‟t any other places to rest me arse and I doubt if your

boots are as dusty as the seat of my pants.”

The stranger motioned to the barmaid, but before he could speak the trapper grinned again as

he tossed his hat on the side of the table.

“My names Jed…. What‟s yours?”

“Howdy Jed…”

The barmaid took Jed‟s order, left two tankards of ale and left.

“Jed I don‟t toss my name around…sorry, but seems every time I do…”

“Heheh, that‟s ok stranger, I gotcha… What brings ya to these parts?”

There was no reply as the stranger looked out one of the windows across the room.

“Guess you ain‟t much fer talkin, so I‟ll just eat and leave ya be.”

The stranger smiled at Jed and went back to staring out the window which was a few tables

away from where they sat.

Food was brought and the old hunter ate, but over an hour went by with barely a half dozen

words said.

Old Jed wiped his jaw and grinned to his table mate.

“I thank ya fer letting me share yer table there stranger…”

“No problem Jed, guess I should apologize for not talking with you more, but it‟s been a long

time since I‟ve been around people… I‟ve been out California way and just got back.” He smiled

at Jed.

“Good God! California?... Damn, heard it was bad out there. They been fighting mutants now

for…. Shit! Thirty… thirty five years…..At least that‟s when the military went out there to clear

it… or longer. Damned if I can remember that far back any more!”

“Yep… though has been a few more than thirty five, Jed…. Me, hell I‟ve just been there a bit

over twenty, give or take. I‟d come back east, take care of business, then found it was too quiet

and went back again.”

Jed pointed down to his missing leg. “Hell, I wanted to hunt mutes, so about twenty years

ago I figured on going out there myself… Got ambushed and left for dead by some of El

Diablo‟s soldiers, back before he got all the armies together. Hell by the time I managed to crawl

to a ranch for help….” Jed made a slicing motion across his missing leg. “Guess I‟m lucky I got

to keep most of the upper half.”

The stranger nodded, Jed grinned at the stranger. The old timer swallowed down the last

morsel of food on his plate and gulped down the last of his ale.

“Strange uniform ya got there… Not raider, not military and sure the hell‟s not Diablo‟s

troops.”

“Nope!”

Robert A. J. Turnbull Jr - Hawk's Legend 02 - Deja vu.pdf

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