Story Nook Bend

An excerpt from Legacy, Chapter One.

The forests seemed infinite. Owls hooted throughout the canopies of the pine trees. Wolves howled to the crescent moon. Despite the infiniteness, there were certain landmarks we used to navigate our way. Our buggies were hidden a couple hundred feet left of the Bianca River facing Mt. Emilia, and we followed Carone Creek, which ended on Rosso Pond, where an old cabin was left to rot. The pond was in a valley between Sarca’s Ridge and Tamiazzos Mountain. Then we followed the Molveno Creek, (where we got violently attacked by a lone moose… I’ll never forget that) then took a right on Giuseppe River. We took a break around here, and Ian managed to steal salmon from a Modenese bear. We ran very fast from that bear and headed down a decline, where we lost it, and we got back onto the ground. Andano Creek was the creek we followed, until it broke in two. A castle likely built from Italian colonists showed its ruins here. We followed Nicolas Creek, which also broke in two, and then we headed on Stravino River until it emptied into a lake. We saw a long bridge go across the lake, heading into a foggy island at the center. Two roads also jutted out of the other side of the lake shore, perpendicular to the bridge heading toward the island.

“We’ve entered Genoa Lake, boys,’’ said Nolan. “Famous for its salmon and steelhead trout, and the home of the Livorno Station.’’

“I’m assuming you want us to go across the bridge?” I asked.

“Darn right. Start walkin’.”

Walking the bridge wasn’t as big a pain as I thought it was. It was quiet, since no cars went up or down the causeway. We saw the forests that bordered the shores. The gray rocky shores were interrupted by the occasional dock, whose purpose had to have been fishing or boating. However, they didn’t look like a popular fishing spot, considering the fact that they’re all abandoned.

Upon walking to the center of the causeway, the moon illuminated many of the snowcapped mountains in the Tranio region. The titan that was Mt. Emilia showed its dominance in a mountainous way.

“Boys, what are those things in them waters?” said Randall.

“Should be rocks, or something,” said Nolan.

“Nolan? I’m pretty sure rocks don’t have arms or legs,” I said.

They were just floating there, dozens of them. Dozens of bodies floating in a lake.

Once we were on the island, the fog overcame us. We couldn’t see anything within ten feet. The grass rustled, but it wasn’t windy. We quickly moved along.

“Here, this trail, son. It leads to the station.’’ Nolan gestured to the left of us, where a dirt road led into the fog. We took it, and we made it to what was sure enough a railroad station. 

“You boys remember the plan? Climb that ladder.’’ Nolan said, leading us to the very lit up station. The long building had large, glossed windows, showing warm lighting and several moving silhouettes of men and women. Nolan shot – silenced, of course, – a sniper atop the warehouse. He dropped dead silently. 

I went to the door of this warehouse and knocked. “Hello?”

The silhouettes from the windows stopped moving, except for one. They were coming to open the door. Nolan assured me through an earpiece that they were already on their way down. He also told me to hide my gun.

The door opens and we are welcomed. “Well, well, well. These boys interested in talkin’ with the boss,’’ Said a tall, dark-skinned man, wearing a dirty gray hoodie and brown cargo pants. His voice was the single most irritating thing on the planet. “Well, come on in, boys, we ain’t biters.’’

We walked inside the station. The inside of the warehouse was a row of tables with black tablecloths. There were candles on the tables, and people were sitting down. It seemed like a formal dinner. Metal scaffolding toward the back of this room, – probably two hundred feet away, – had four men on top. Nobody suspected them at all.

There were at least forty-fifty people at the tables, all in suits and dresses. The table at the end had men and women who looked more important than the rest. Their table had a white tablecloth.

“That man at the head of that white table. That’s our man. Just call him Francisco,’’ whispered Nolan in my earpiece. The man he told me about was smoking a cigar.

“Who is he and what is he here for?’’ Whispered a woman at one of the tables.

“He ain’t look friendly.’’ Said a man. There must have been seven or eight tables, each with probably eight chairs. The station looked eerie. A long line of paintings of men with mustaches and interesting hats. Hanging lights from the roof gave the atmosphere a quiet, almost jazzy sense. I noticed every man had a holster with guns. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Well, let’s hope they like the boss.’’ Said another.

“You know what happens to people who don’t, Louis.’’

“That cougar looks handsome!’’ 

“Why are ya lettin’ him in, Frank?’’

“You gonna let the boy think he got the advantage here?’’

“Shorty looks intimidating.’’

“Silence, ladies and gentlemen,’’ said the leader. “Calm down. We are not animals, we are civilized.”

“Why are you lettin’ the guy walk in here like nothin'? You warned us that when this would happen, we should be on alert.’’ Said a man at the white table. The four men and three women at the white table looked much like the leader.

“Sergio, calm down. This soldier knows better.’’

He got up from his seat and walked toward me. And, my goodness, was he tall. He was probably six four, six five.

“You are welcome here as long as those boys out back don’t bring weapons out in this building.’’ He looked at me with a calm, tranquil face. “Come have a drink. Let’s talk about important things.”

He knew. They knew.