I, Marcus: The Traveler's Journal, Volume 3 of 3 by Tom Abrahams

Author:Tom Abrahams [Abrahams, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0BB8BQ2HS
Goodreads: 62327199
Publisher: Piton Press LLC
Published: 2022-11-22T05:00:00+00:00

ENTRY #450

September 30, 2035

Scourge +1025 Days

East of Rising Star, Texas

Otto was a big man. Despite not having gotten a good look at him as he approached from the edge of my vision, I could tell how big he was when he lowered his heft onto my back, removed my pack, and relieved me of my weapons.

“We can do this the easy way,” Otto said. “Or we could do it the hard way. It’s your choice.”

His rancid breath stung my nostrils as he spoke close to my ear. It made me want to vomit, so I closed my eyes and tried to take small, inconsequential sips of air through pressed lips. Worse than his breath, however, was the cliché he delivered with ridiculous earnestness.

I’ve seen a lot of movies, as you know from reading these journal entries, and I watched a lot of television. My best guess was that Otto had also watched too much Hollywood fare, because he sounded like the stock villain in any number of crime dramas I’ve enjoyed as guilty pleasures over the years.

It took everything in me not to laugh at him. But given that I was trying not to breathe, was flat on my stomach in the middle of Highway 36, palms flat on the ground, and unarmed, I decided it was best to play along and pretend he had stricken me with the fear of God. Plus, I was convinced I was already inside their heads, and until I knew how many men they had and what exactly they had planned, I would keep my foot off the pedal.

“I’ll take the easy way,” I said.

“Good. That makes it easier for all of us.”

Had I known “the easy way” was a euphemism for getting a rifle butt to the back of the head, I probably would have chosen the hard way. Otto, or whoever hit me, knocked me unconscious. When I awoke, it was nighttime, and I was bound to a chair in the middle of a familiar room. This was Eddie’s house, and the last time I was there, it was under much different circumstances.

My head throbbed, and the roil of nausea tumbled in my gut. I had a concussion. And though head trauma is never a blessing, I was at least fortunate to awaken at night, in the relative dark of Eddie’s candlelit living room.

Brighter light would have made it more difficult for me to see. Light sensitivity is probably the worst thing next to the nausea and a throbbing headache.

I was surprised, through the fog of my injury, I so quickly identified where I was. I think it was the smell of the place. It was something akin to mildew, and I remembered it distinctly from the last time I was here. I tried touching the wound on the back of my head, certain there had to be a gash or contusion of some kind, but I couldn’t move my hands. They were bound behind my back.

I sensed I was alone in the room but that someone else was in the house.

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