Read Dusk Territories: Always Burning for Free Online

on purpose?”
    Wood raised his eyebrow again, “She was mad?”
    Now, Graham could see it clearly. The man just didn’t give a flying leap about anything.
    Graham followed Woo d into the interior of the RV. He peered around for a moment. It seemed pretty standard, a bit anticlimactic in comparison to everything else. There were wooden cabinets on both walls, a small eating area to the right of the door, a two cushioned areas for the occupants to sleep or lounge. The vehicle was far from clean, but could easily have been worse. The windows were clouded by the constant rain of dirt. Clothes sat haphazardly piled in corners, trash littered the floor, and various maps and drawings were sprawled out on the tables and counters. Of course, the one part that was clean was the gun rack.
    Wood quickly grabbed a pair of lime green pajama pants, and slipped them over his thin body. “Don’t expect this all the time,” he explained. “You’re new, so maybe I should wear something…” He went into a bit of whispering mumble after that. He proceeded deeper into the RV before disappearing into a side door. “Unc. Unc. Get up, you’ve a visitor.”
    “Five more,” a long drawl of a voice yawned.
    “Seconds?
    “Minutes, my boy.”
    “Not going to entertain anyone for five minutes, Unc.”
    The old man, which Graham assumed to be the Drifter, gave a haughty laugh. “You ain’t no help, Wood.”
    Wood didn’t give a response, just exited the side room. He sat in the nearest seat, and kicked his feet up on a low window pane. A normal person would have informed Graham that his uncle would be out in a second. Wood, though, easily decided that it was implied and relaxed himself, free of the burden of being a host. The entire two or so minutes he was one, Graham noted.
    Sounds of rumbling and tumbling rippled from the small room. It only ceased when the old man stumbled out of his bedroom, cane in hand. The Drifter, a man in his late fifties or early sixties, brushed back his stringy white hair. His skin was just as pale as his nephews, yet sagged a bit here and there. He wore a straggly beard that hung loosely on his face like some sort of white furred animal. His eyes, startlingly blue, stared at Graham. “Hm,” was his only reaction.
    The Drifter leaned on his cane as he observed Graham closely. Graham followed suit. It’s better to know someone when they’re sizing you up.
    From the looks of it, this old man didn’t seem powerful. He looked crazy with his long hair, thin tank top, battered jeans, and worn and yellowed work boots. But, he stood with majesty and deep understanding. The look in his eyes seemed almost mad, but held wisdom. The air that he presented around him made Graham recognize and intuitively respect him. Somehow, he felt that The Drifter had the same thought about him.
    “Name, son?” The Drifter said. He walked forward, caning Wood’s ankles in the process, earning the young man’s howl.
    “Corp…” he stopped. Somehow the title that he was used to saying felt fragmented in his mouth. Drifter lowered his broken lensed glasses, wanting more. No, he was expecting more. That ice cold glance somehow loosened his tongue. “Corporal,” he finished. Graham frowned. “Corporal David Graham of the United States Marine Corp, sir.”
    “ Sir?” Drifter gave a humorless, wild laugh. “Ain’t heard that one in a long time. Formalities are dead son, don’tcha know that.”
    “Actually…I don’t.”
    Drifter cocked his head back as though struck by his statement. “Pardon me?”
    “I’ve been asleep, dead, whatever since the world…” Graham toyed with words in his mind, nothing worked. “Since whatever happened out there.”
    This amused Drifter to the point that he almost slipped off of his cane. The little stunt earned a bit of a low chuckle from his nephew, which it quickly receded when he raised his cane. The grizzled man wobbled to an empty seating area, pushed all of the stuff on the