The Last Knight

By Caleb Hollaway

Traveler has a secret and a quest. The secret: is that history is not what we have thought. There has been an alternate history running behind the scense since the dawn of mankind. The quest: Vengeance and Survival. Vengeance against the monsters who butchered his family. Survival because he is the last of his kind, or so he believes...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caleb Hollaway
• Release date: Apr 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781519949721

Book preview

Dedication

No book is a work of a single individual. I had a lot of help with the editing of this book and getting it ready to be read by the public. I am a deeply spiritual person and I have to take this moment to first thank Jesus Christ. Second I want to thank my wife Kaitlyn Hollaway who has helped me edit my book and was the first person to read it all the way through with the intent to enjoy it. She has also been the most encouraging person when it comes to my writing career. I need to thank my family next. My Mom who did the most work, besides myself, on this book. She did the bulk of the editing on this book and really helped me form the characters and story line. I need to thank my Dad for being a source of inspiration for me to keep writing and keep fighting for this future. I also want to thank my sister for always aiming to misbehave with me.

Chapter 1

The shiny silver wrench looked tiny in the man’s calloused hands. It winked back at the world as the man, Traveler, twisted and turned under the hood of his black Wrangler, cursing the Jeep for breaking down in the middle of the New Mexican desert when the hood latch slipped and the hood came crashing down on Traveler’s shoulder.

Owwww! What was that for, you stupid piece of tin?

Traveler walked around the front of the Wrangler and sat down on the driver’s seat with his legs sticking out the side, enjoying the oven-spawned wind hitting him in the face. He threw the wrench in the back and scanned the horizon. To the east an army of tumbleweeds charged up and over a low hill. To the south and west lay the main body of the desert he had just crossed. North, the road stretched straight at the faint shapes of mountains. He reached into the cooler on the floorboard of the passenger side and pulled out a cold can of Mountain Dew. The tab popped and hissed at Traveler as the smell of caffeine and syrup reached his nose. The cold can felt soothing and peaceful in his massive hand.

Traveler took a long swig and put the can on the flat consul surface. He turned towards the north again, wondering. A shriek pierced the desert silence and, looking up, Traveler saw a red-tailed hawk floating above him. With the suddenness of a blink it folded its wings and dived on something along the side of the road.

Traveler looked back at his Mountain Dew and then gazed back towards the faint outline of the mountains to the north. He gripped the leathery door handle as he swung it shut with a resounding bang. Traveler looked intently at the steering wheel, gripping it gently with his massive hands.

All right, baby, please be nice to me and start, Traveler said as he slid the key into the ignition.

The Jeep struggled to start. Traveler could hear it trying to turn over, trying to come to life.

Come on.

It started and then died.

Work!

With a throaty chuckle and then a roar the car sprung to life.

Yeah, laugh it up.

Traveler picked up the Mountain Dew, took another sip and placed it between his legs. The sudden cold sent goose bumps all the way up to his scalp. Traveler cranked the driver’s side window down and threw the Jeep into drive. He crushed the accelerator, causing his back tires to fountain up pebbles, the Jeep fishtailed onto the highway.

Cruising down the road, Traveler stuck his left arm out the window, using his right to grasp the steering wheel. Under the hot desert sun the temperature in the Jeep rose steadily but Traveler never looked at the air conditioner. He just sat there with his left arm hanging out the window and only bringing it inside to take a sip of Mountain Dew. As he raised the can to his lips and sucked out the last possible drop of liquid he looked towards his mountain destination. Traveler held the cold can to his face, getting a moment of relief before crushing it in his fist and tossing it out the open window.

As Traveler sped along Highway 25 the sound of the road accompanied his passage was the wind whistling through the window and the steady growl of the Jeep, the steady hum of the tires on the road and the thunk as the tires hit a pot hole. Traveler never stopped, he didn’t eat at any of the truck stops he passed. He just kept going. The Jeep never slackened, hurtling eighty miles an hour pace, not even when it overtook another car or ran over an armadillo that had been trying to cross the road.

The sun was a couple hours from setting when Traveler finally had to stop. The Jeep’s fuel gauge hovered over E and the little gas station in front of Traveler was the only one for miles. Traveler pulled up next to the lone pump, opened the car door and stepped out splashing into a small puddle of rainbow-glazed oil. Slamming the door shut with a bang as he walked towards the back of the Jeep. Traveler had to use both hands to unscrew the gas cap, the sand and grit from the desert had so caked into every nook and cranny of the Jeep. He set the nozzle in the gas tank and went inside checking, as he did, the price of gas. It had risen to just under four dollars a gallon, the most Traveler had seen since he left Texas. Traveler walked over to the refrigerated food section and pulled out three frozen burritos. The man at the counter wore a black cowboy hat, his weather-beaten face sporting a scar running diagonally across his left cheek and pearly white teeth.

Where you from? asked the man as he rung up Traveler’s gas and food.

Texas.

What parts?

Traveler fixed him with a curious, steely gaze. The hot part.

The man frowned and finished ringing up Traveler’s things in silence. Seventy-two thirty-eight.

Traveler pulled out his wallet and pulled out a fifty, a twenty, and a five and laid them on the counter.

I’ll have ta check your ID, said the man behind the counter

Traveler pulled out his driver’s license before tossing it on the flat cold surface of the counter. The man behind the counter picked it up and looked it over, glanced back at Traveler and back at the license. He gave it back to Traveler, picked up the cash and put it into the register, handing Traveler the appropriate change. Traveler pocketed the cash then walked over to a microwave and threw his burritos inside, put five minutes on the timer and walked back the bathroom.

As the door to the bathroom swung closed the man with the black cowboy hat jumped over the counter and followed Traveler into the bathroom; the cashier moved oddly, a flowing cat-like movement that spoke of inhuman grace. There was a shout from the cashier and then the sounds of a fist breaking a rib, teeth getting knocked out, an elbow meeting a forehead, a resounding crash, a few seconds’ pause, someone urinating and, finally, the faucet running. Traveler stalked out of the bathroom and glanced at the microwave—a minute fifty left. Traveler walked around the counter and glanced underneath it, finding the crumpled-up body of man in his late thirties. Looking up, Traveler saw the man’s picture on a plaque that read Employee of the Month. The man with the cowboy hat hadn’t even worked here. The timer on the microwave beeped and Traveler broke open the register before vaulting over the counter to get his sandwiches.

A couple of hours later, as the sun was going down, Traveler hurled the bunched-up, blood-covered shirt he had been wearing out the window. When the moon had risen he pulled off to the side of the road a few hundred feet and turned off the Jeep. Crawling between the two front seats, he pulled off his shoes and covered himself with a blanket. Using his duffle bag full of clothes as a pillow Traveler made a passable bed. He stared up at the canvas top of the Jeep and thought about the fight in the gas station bathroom. That night he had the usual nightmare.

As the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon Traveler was getting ready for his morning routine. He was still shirtless. The new morning revealed a muscular coppery complexion, smooth except for a long rigid scar across the left side of his rib cage. After he had worked out all the kinks from sleeping in the back of the Jeep, still shoeless, he began to run. Traveler started out at an easy lope that could carry him for miles, slowly working his pace up until finally he was sprinting full out under the rising desert sun. After he had run about five miles he turned around, still going at a full sprint, but slowly decreasing his pace until he walked the last few yards to the Jeep. Rivulets of sweat poured off him until he shone in the desert morning. Traveler opened the back of the Jeep and unfastened the spare tire. He began lifting it first with one hand then the other then, holding it close to his chest, he started bending his legs at the knees and standing straight again. Finally, he lay down with his back on the already hot desert sand and began throwing the tire up into the air and then catching it. When Traveler finished working out he secured the spare tire and took out a gallon of water, washing off all the dirt and grime and sweat. Traveler laid out on the hood of the Jeep to dry and soak up the warmth of the sun. When he finally dried off, he put on a clean pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, got in and started the Jeep up.

Pulling back out onto the highway he looked at the clear outline of the mountains ahead. As he crossed over the Colorado state line, a large black SUV flew by him going south. Traveler watched the SUV in the rear view mirror fade slowly from view and finally disappear. Though he didn’t see the black SUV again he looked behind him much more often now.

As Traveler passed through Colorado, keeping the mountains on his left side, he put little thought into where exactly he was going. He stopped for gas again in Colorado Springs. Traveler waited for a soccer mom to fill up before finally pulling in. As the gas was pumping, Traveler pulled the window washer out of the side of a trashcan. He began scrubbing the light brown dirt of the desert off the windows and the headlights and taillights. Traveler then began washing off the sides and hood of his car and drying it with a rag until the Jeep shined black in the bright Colorado daylight.

When the gas pump chimed that it was done Traveler glanced back at the dollar amount and went inside to grab some food and pay. As he entered the building his six feet six inch, two hundred and eighty pound frame caused the clerk and a couple of shoppers to look up and let their conversation trail off in mid sentence. Traveler walked over to the ATM machine in the corner and waited silently for the Rolex-wearing and Armani-styled business man in front of him to finish. As the suit snatched the cash and whirled around he walked right into Traveler who had moved so quietly that the man at the ATM hadn’t even noticed him. Traveler brushed by the business man, who had bounced off him, without a second glance. Traveler took a bank card out his wallet, slipped it into the machine and pressed to receive two hundred dollars in cash. He pocketed the cash and card, crumpled up the receipt and turned around to find the man in the suit still staring at him. Traveler looked back at the man, meeting him eye to eye, and whatever the business man had planned he thought better of it and hurried over to the register.

Traveler walked over to the food racks and picked up a handful of breakfast bars then stepped over to the coolers and pulled out a pint of whole milk. He paid quickly and silently as the cashier quivered behind the counter as though Traveler was going to reach across and strangle him. The Jeep rumbled back to life at the pump and Traveler drove away, headed for the Wyoming border. Traveler rolled down the window and stuck his hand out of the Jeep, letting the wind whip his arm. As the roar of his engine faded into the background and the humming whistle of his tires on the road way melted into the world, Traveler thought about where he was going and what had brought him here. The meandering road reflected in his deep brown eyes as he thought back to the gas station and the man he had killed there. His mind kept traveling back: the man’s black cowboy hat, the black SUV that had passed him on the highway, the Employee of the Month wadded up under the counter. Traveler’s hands tightened on the wheel and his eyes reflected the darkening sky. He made his decision.

Traveler pulled off the highway in a little town just north of Cheyenne. He drove around the place a while, spotting a small bar that was on the verge of kicking its last occupants out into the oil-stained parking lot. He drove a few blocks away and then pulled into an abandoned lot and crawled into the back seat. He unlaced his shoes and threw them onto the floor board of the passenger seat, pulled a blanket over himself and fell into a sleep that was free of nightmares. As the sun rose Traveler was already out running his ten miles. After his work-out Traveler took special care to wash thoroughly, and walked to the bar.

He pounded on the door and stood waiting on the step for a few minutes before pounding again. He heard steps and saw the curtain on the window next to the door flutter as someone inside looked to see who was calling this early. A young woman flung the door open.

We’re closed. Come back ‘round nine, she said.

I’m not here about a drink, but about a job. Most bars need some muscle for unruly folks, said Traveler.

The young woman ran her eyes consideringly up and down him. Hmmm, it has been getting a little rougher in here the last few weeks. Come on in and we’ll see about fixing you up with a job. Where you from?

They moved away from the door and went to sit at a scarred beer-stained table.

South.

What’s your name?

Traveler.

Look, pal, you wanted the job but I need a little information. I get sharing isn’t caring but you got to throw me a bone here.

He took out his driver’s license and threw it across the table to her.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Traveler. How long do you plan on staying?

As long as you need me.

Okay, you got the job. My name is Jen. I am the owner and bartender of this little slice of pie. Show up at eight and you can help me open.

At that Traveler stood up and walked out, his boots creaking on the old wooden floors.

Bye, then, she said to herself.

Right at eight Traveler knocked and Jen opened the door and ushered him in. He was still in his white t-shirt and boot-cut jeans but she had changed into skinny jeans and a bare mid-rift spaghetti strap. She walked into the middle of the room and spread her arms out to encompass the entire building.

This is ‘Destination.’ It’s my life and I am the only one who cares. Now that you work for me you will treat this place like your home and you will care about this place, too. Your job is to watch everyone from that corner over there. She pointed over to a lone stool in the corner You’re gonna sit there and make sure no one makes trouble. I’d prefer it if trouble didn’t even start, so you are going to look scary. Which, I have to say, won’t be any trouble for you.

Okay.

Any questions?

Nope

Alrighty then, Mr. Talkative. You start taking the chairs off the tables and arranging them ‘round. Then I need you to replace a couple of light bulbs above the bar.

Traveler moved off to do what she asked. She watched him walk away. Her head tilted at a slight angle with a strange glint in her ice blue eyes. At five ‘til nine Traveler took a seat on his stool and Jen turned on the Open sign on and unlocked the door. She took a seat on one of the bar stools nearest Traveler.

It’ll be a while before anyone shows up. Probably not until ten or ten thirty. she stared at him for a second. Wanna play some pool?

Traveler fixed her with a brown gaze then stood up and walked over to the pool table. Jen jumped up and walked over to the cue rack and grabbed a couple. Throwing the longest one to Traveler, she started racking the balls. Traveler picked up the chalk and scrubbed it into the end of the cue.

You wanna break?

Yes.

Traveler twirled the cue in his hands, getting a feel for the weight and reach of it. He put the cue ball on the table and sighted along the cue, sliding it in his hands before striking out, sending the cue ball crashing into the triangle causing three solid colored balls to fly into the pockets. Jen glanced at him with her inscrutable blue eyes. She picked up the cue and leaned over the table, shoulder-length red hair obscuring her face, and knocked in three of her striped balls.

Well, it looks like we’ll be pretty close, said Jen

Yeah said Traveler, bouncing the cue ball off one of his balls then the wall of the table, knocking two more in.

Or not. Is there anything you’re not good at? Jen said

At ten after ten they put the cues away as the first group of patrons rolled into the pitted parking lot.

These guys are my regulars. They just got off work at the mill and they shouldn’t be any trouble.

Traveler silently went back to his stool in the corner and sat with his back leaning on the smoky, wood-paneled walls, his feet planted on the warped wooden floor boards. As the first set of guys walked in he took a second to study each of them: one guy matched Traveler in size though not in shape, two younger guys whose wedding rings hadn’t even caused a tan line yet, and an older, shorter man who the others obviously respected as a leader. The older man spotted him and acknowledged him with a nod, then turned to talk to Jen. The two married men, both about six feet tall and looking like they were brothers, gazed at him with curiosity; the big guy ignored him contemptuously.

Howdy, Jen. See ya gots a new guy, said the older man

Yeah, thought with some of the crowd that comes in later I could use some extra muscle.

He certainly does look like he can handle himself, said one of the young brothers.

Certain said the other one

The big guy snorted and spat on the floor. Traveler shifted a fraction on his stool, causing it to squeak. The big guy turned to look at him but Traveler kept his face blank. Jen glanced between the two of them, a crease of worry connecting her eyebrows.

Get you boys the usual?

Please, said the older man, who looked like he wanted to change the topic.

Over the next several hours more and more men walked in; grime caked their hands, saw dust fell out of their hair like dandruff and the smell of cut oak and pine filled the bar. These had to be the millers Traveler had been told about. They sat on one side of the bar and filled the tables farthest from the doors. Traveler kept scanning the patrons, making sure none of them were getting to rowdy, noting that no one sat close to the doors. Midnight came and an immediate change in the mood of the place was almost palatable. He glanced at Jen and she met his eyes. There was the slightest hint of fear and then it was gone. At five past, a Harley pulled in followed by half a dozen more. The bikers walked in rowdily, shoving each other before stepping up and ordering some bottles for the tables nearest the door. Over the next thirty minutes, more and more bikers arrived until they filled up most of the remaining space in the bar.

At twelve-thirty three more headlights flashed through the window. The door to the bar banged open and three men walked in: a large black man flanked by two younger and equally large men. The two younger men shared the same nose, pointed but with wide nostrils, and mirror image smirks. The older man’s large frame had started to go to seed and he had some belly hanging over his pants but the two sons, looking too much like the older man to be anything else, were fit and strong. They also had a cold look in their eyes that made Traveler shift slightly on his stool. All conversation in the bar stopped.

Please, please don’t stop talking on my account, said the leader. Conversation picked up again, though not as loud as it had been.

He walked over to the bar and talked for a minute with Jen, who chatted and flirted like she did with everyone else in the bar, but Traveler noticed her hands were shaking just slightly. Traveler turned his gaze away to meet the eyes of the two sons. They were staring at him and had a predatory look in their eyes as well as in their smirks. The three men sat at the table closest to the door and started passing around a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue. One of the sons took out a knife and started scratching something into the table top.

Hours passed and more and more liquor disappeared down the throats of the parched mill workers and bikers. Jen’s plastic, five dollar wall clock struck three and people started slowly filing out the door until there were just a dozen people left in the hazy bar: the four original millers, the three black guys, and a handful of other bikers and millers.

The big miller stood up and teetered a little bit before meandering over to where Traveler sat. Traveler didn’t stop sweeping his gaze across the bar. In fact, he hadn’t moved all night, managing to be ignorable by the patrons.

Don’t, barked the older miller

He ignored the implied warning and pulled up a chair to sit in front of Traveler, straddling the seat and resting his arms on the back. He took a swig from his beer mug, two rivulets running down into his matted beard. Traveler ignored him and looked another circuit of the bar before resting his gaze on Jen. Her eyebrows were so close they looked like the same brow. As she stood watching him she thought she saw him wink at her but it was so fast that she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that big ugly was the biggest meanest miller that came in here and he was about to test her knew employee. She’d get to see if she had made a wise investment.

Buuuuuuurrrrp. Phewwwww.

The smell of whatever nasty cheap beer the miller was drinking enveloped Traveler’s head. Traveler turned to face the giant miller, whose black pitted teeth sat crooked in his mouth like stumps after a clear-cut. The man stood taller than Traveler had first thought, towering over the seated bouncer. His snot-colored eyes met Traveler’s; somewhere in the back of his mind he should have registered fear, but the drunken haze washed that away.

You ain’t lok sa taff. You jest sum Injun pritty by, ain’t ya. I dond lick pritty bys. said Big Ugly.

Traveler didn’t say anything, he didn’t move, he didn’t even tense. The entire bar—millers, bikers and Jen—held their breath waiting to see what would happen. The two miller brothers looked at each other and seemed about to rise before the old man gestured at them to stay seated. He recognized what kind of man Traveler was and he was the only one, or so he thought until he looked around. The motorcycle boss was leaning back in his chair with subtle hands on the shoulders of his sons.

The ugly miller took another long swig of beer, draining the entire mug and then brought it crashing down on Traveler’s head. Traveler didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, but his eyes hardened and deepened. Big Ugly hit him right in the jaw, and a punch that had once leveled a bull only snapped Traveler’s head a few inches to the left. Traveler flowed up into a standing position and reached, out pinning the man’s arms to his sides with his giant hands. Traveler’s head snapped forward like a battering ram, crushing the miller’s nose. He started to collapse but Traveler picked him up as though he weighed nothing and slammed him into the wall beside his stool. He collapsed into a heap on the floor. Traveler bent down and grabbed the back of Big Ugly’s jacket and dragged him across the trash- and booze-littered floor, opened the door, and threw him right out into the parking lot.

The entire fight had taken only a few seconds and as the nuisance was thrown out into the parking lot the entire bar fell graveyard-quiet and everyone’s gaze followed Traveler as he walked back to sit on the stool. The remaining bikers hurried out, followed quickly by the millers, who took the still- unconscious man back to his trailer.

Well, that was eventful, said Jen.

Tell me about those bikers, Traveler said.

Now don’t go making trouble. They showed up a few months ago and have been coming in every night since. They don’t cause too much trouble and they always pay, but when there is a problem they tend to completely destroy the bar. I’ve had to replace all the furniture in here twice and I don’t wanna have to do it again. said Jen

So you hired me.

So I hired you.

Chapter 2

Traveler worked at Destination for a week before the bikers tried to make trouble. The newest member of the gang was a young man with long red hair pulled back in a tail. He walked in with the two sons of the leader. They seemed to be encouraging him to do something and he kept glancing at Jen bustling behind the bar. Traveler walked up to the bar and got a questioning look from Jen.

Looks like you might have an admirer, he said, gesturing behind him

Jen didn’t even bother looking. Don’t worry about it. I can take care of him.

As Traveler turned back to his stool he saw the young man looking at him angrily; the two brothers still had that predatory look on their faces. The brothers followed him with their eyes all the way to the stool but didn’t make any moves after that. The young man with the pony tail took a couple of swigs from the bottle of scotch at the table before swaggering up to the bar to talk to Jen.

Traveler kept swinging his gaze around the crowded room and so couldn’t keep tabs on what was happening at the bar all the time. The bar was half empty when the sound of a slap brought him swinging around.  A red mark on the young man’s face was quickly being swallowed by the blood rushing to his face. He realized suddenly that the entire bar had turned to look at him so he reached out to grab Jen by the arm in the heat of the moment. Traveler’s giant dark hand stopped him before anymore rash decisions could be made.

Traveler just shook his head and said, You should leave.

We were just talkin’, said Pony Tail. Anyway, what’s it matter to you? How ‘bout you keep your nose in your own business.

It is my business because I get paid for it to be my business, said Traveler.

The young man just sneered and tried to rip his arm out of Traveler’s grip. When this failed he swung his other fist around to hit Traveler in the face. The swing was easily dodged and Traveler, wrapping him in a headlock, started to walk him towards the door. Chairs scrapped along the floor as the bikers stood up. One of the sons pulled out a butterfly knife and the other produced a length of chain from somewhere. They stood like that for a few seconds before the son with the chain stepped forward and swung his weapon at Traveler’s head. Traveler stuck his hand out and grabbed the chain, ripping it away from the wielder. He kicked out, sending the son flying back into his brother.

Suddenly the door to the bar swung open and the gang boss walked in. He stopped and looked at his two sons lying on the floor and the young man wrapped in Traveler’s arm before walking to the bar. He chatted with Jen for a minute or two and took a couple of sips from his beer before turning and considering the situation in front of him.

He took another sip of his beer and said, Boys, you need to go on back to the house. You are going to apologize to this young man whose job it is to keep the peace and not ever bother him again. Is that understood?

His sons looked like they wanted to protest but he silenced them with a slicing motion of his hand. After silencing his sons he gestured for them to take the man that Traveler was holding. Traveler released his headlock