Waves of Deception by Brian Grogan

Author:Brian Grogan [Grogan, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Frog Foot Press, LLC
Published: 2021-01-03T22:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Six

Cumberland County, Maryland

The sun rose from behind the mountains with a reddish-green glow blazing through the leaves of the shifting perennials. Blinding rays of sun shot out like lightning or hid behind the crimson leaves, looking like the searing eyes of a demon. Dresden tossed his sleeping bag into the back-bench seat of his truck. The rumpus sound of migrating birds greeting the morning was akin to a construction site. Dresden sat up straight. Sweating. He’d slept, finally, but it had ended with a cascade of images. Some from his past, some from his present, all mixed in a surreal cocktail of terror for the future.

The crisp air dried his sweat as he walked shirtless down the trail and found a tree. He dumped his pee-bottles, then jogged barefoot back to his truck. He’d parked in a lot off a hunting trail—pulled in at five in the morning, around the time most hunters would arrive to set up before dawn. Four hours of sleep and he could leave without any questions. Dresden was an hour, if that, from his destination. But he needed the morning to sort out somethings before he arrived.

A chilly bottle of water over his head shook off the last of the sleep. He washed his face, brushed his teeth and hair, and then dressed. A long-sleeve, pale green, plaid collared shirt. Jeans. Leather slip-on work boots and a heavy canvas sandstone jacket, worn but not dirty. He threw a ball cap on the dash. No more board shorts and t-shirts. He’d changed his plates again in West Virginia, to Maryland Farm plates.

The heater blasted, warming up the cab and knocking the frost from the windshield. He sat and waited. He was in Appalachia. A local radio station played bluegrass and country. Old, real country. Through the static he could hear “Bright Morning Stars” performed by Gillian Welch. Two ovals spread upward from the dashboard like tiny ice breakers in the arctic. Maryland—he wondered for a time whether he should lay low. Orville was supposed to let him know if the heat was on, but he’d heard nothing in nearly two weeks. The urge to stay out of sight and just let it go had grown with every mile he drove.

---

Cumberland, Maryland

The Bark-less café off Baltimore drive was full, bustling and busy. Dresden took a stool at the counter, close to the door. A beefy guy who smelled of axle grease blocked his clear view of the bank across the street. The guy gave him a sneer when Dresden craned around him to look outside. The waitress slid over a plate of eggs, grits with a mound of butter, bacon, two fresh-baked biscuits, and coffee along with an eager smile. When in Rome. He thanked her, then sipped his coffee and glanced at the bank again. Thirty minutes until opening.

In the bathroom, Dresden checked his face and teeth. He’d been on the road for twelve days. Thick, reddish whiskers covered his face. He’d taken a shower at a truck stop two days prior.

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