The Path of the Templar by Peever W

Author:Peever, W. [Peever, W.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-01-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven Bumps in the Night

The dotted yellow lines on the highway passed by them in a blur, only the rhythm of road-thumping tires disturbing the silence. There was something freeing in the warm evening air rushing by them. If it wasn't for the palpable hush among the five friends it would have been perfect. Colin glanced over his shoulder.

"That's fifteen miles. Has anyone seen any signs, or have a clue where we are?"

Charlie made sure he chipped in first. "We must still be in Rhode Island. There's been no Welcome-toMassachusetts sign. You don't know where we are?" Charlie asked a little petulantly, hoping to show Colin up. Bailey looked at her best friend, confused by his new attitude.

"Route 295's turning east here, and we need to keep moving north," Colin replied, gesturing to the dashboard compass.

"Rhode Island's a tiny state—its roads need to be windy so it can fit them in," Mick offered unhelpfully, half because he sensed his closest mate, Charlie, was trying to get at Colin; half to try and defuse what seemed suddenly an edgy atmosphere.

Colin wasn't put off. "We need to take a look at the map, but I don't want to stop anywhere on the main highway in case the Vanari are tracking us."

A sign appeared in the headlights indicating a turnoff on to Route 146. Charlie pointed it out, getting the drop on Colin. "Let's turn here, and find a place to eat." The others stayed quiet, trying to ignore the subtle points-scoring. Colin exited.

Passing a couple of unpromising coffee shops, they were in lonely country by the time Bailey, anxious for a break from Charlie's self-induced claustrophobia, spotted something.

"There, look!" she shouted, pointing wildly at a neon sign that advertised the best pizza in the tri-state area. "We can sit down, have a slice…"

"Or three," Mick suggested. "Bob and Timmy's Pizza! Sounds good—not very Italian, but I'll settle," Mick added, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Colin pulled up to its brick facade draped in an awning of Italian flag colors, more in hope than conviction. "All your American pizza joints look the same," complained Colin. He shook his head.

"Mmm, must try that Scottish pizza," Charlie said, hoping the sarcasm wasn't lost on Colin.

"Yeah, with the tartan flags outside our pizza places," Mick added, supporting his friend.

The five of them took a seat at one of the long booths while Charlie, showing conspicuous leadership, strode up and ordered two large cheese pizzas. Mick had seen that walk, the whole attitude, somewhere before—in the old western movies where the gunslinger sidles up to the bar and demands rotgut whiskey from the barkeep.

"Traditional or wood-fired?" enquired a guy who must have been either Bob or Timmy.

"One of each. Make mine a double cheese," demanded Charlie with a wry smile and a crisp fifty dollar bill.

The man smiled and gave Charlie a slip of paper with number 24 on it. Charlie nodded his thanks, and would have tipped his Stetson if he had one, before sauntering—a little bowlegged, Mick thought—back to the table where Bailey had laid out a map of New England.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.