Chapter One Hundred and Five: A Bridge Too Far

My big fancy antique spear disappeared right out of my hands when we were about a mile west of the mansion. The pack that Chris had packed for me, a leather garment bag repurposed as a satchel, also got considerably lighter because other pieces of loot and weapons had disappeared from within it.

“It was worth a shot,” Chris said at almost the exact same moment. Much of his loot had disappeared too.

All that remained were a few of the less ornate weapons, some books Grace had wanted, and the essential supplies: food, water, etc.

And the masks.

“Strange,” Grace said. “The enchanted weapons disappear, but these masks stick around. I wonder how much they sell for.”

I hadn’t even been aware the spear was enchanted. That was a real loss.

“Not enough to be worth the hassle of getting them,” Chris said.

Jack laughed. “You’re just going to sell it?” he asked Grace.

“Not much else we can do with it,” Grace answered.

Jack didn’t really respond, but he stifled a hollow smile.

“Right?” Grace asked. “If we bring it into another storyline, it disappears. Can’t use one storyline's magic in a different storyline, right?”

“Why are you asking me?” Jack asked dryly. “I’m just a gossip columnist. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

As we walked, we would each try to elicit some kind of information out of Jack. He clearly knew things we didn’t, but his comments were always more or less in character. Occasionally, he would send me a knowing glance or a sarcastic smirk.

“Who’s in charge?” Chris asked.

“The people who buy our magazine,” Jack said. “The customer is always right.”

“But who brought us here?” Grace asked. “And why?”

They had apparently never had the opportunity to interrogate an NPC that would play along before. Grace was cycling through her Detective interrogation tropes but to no avail.

“That is a good question. The hiring decisions at the company have always been unorthodox. You should have been there when they hired me,” he said. He thought for a moment. “It was a hostile takeover of the magazine I used to work at. A bloody mess. We printed a story that caught their attention. Guess they liked what they saw and just bought the whole brand, employees and all. To think, I had my resignation letter typed up and everything before it happened. They almost missed me. You know, you independent contractors are luckier than you think.”

He chuckled.

Something about the way he spoke made an impression on all of us. We didn’t ask more questions for a while. His little story took some time to digest.

~-~

“Chris,” Antoine said. “Look at this.”

He pointed down into a ravine to our left. I walked over and followed his gaze.

It was a snake as wide as a school bus and many times as long.

It was dead.

The serpent lay along the ravine, its mouth of fangs splayed open, as snakes sometimes do when killed. A powerful, odor wafted up to the top of the ravine. Almost fishy, but wrong. Its belly was full and wiggling. A human arm, or close enough, reached out of a tear in its flesh as sounds emanated from within.

I couldn’t tell if they were animalistic sounds… or demonic, but I knew their sounds carried further than they logically should have. I could hear them as if they were right next to me.

“Omen?” Chris asked for the hundredth time.

“Nope,” I said.

“What’s happening down there?” Kimberly asked.

“Snake ate some goblins or something,” I said. “Didn’t chew his food.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Chris said.

No one wanted to argue.

If there was a dead giant snake there, that meant there might be live monsters elsewhere. We were in real danger.

~-~

“If we keep going west we’re going to hit some Omens,” Chris said.

“The banshee,” I said. A forest blockaded the woods to the northwest of Camp Dyer with an Omen related to a banshee. I knew that much. We heard her out there sometimes, screaming bloody murder.

Chris nodded. “I don’t think it’s the banshee you have to worry about in that storyline, she is like an Omen within an Omen or something?” He looked to Grace.

“Lara has been able to divine as much,” Grace said. “The boundary Omens are the weirdest. They have different rules and harsher penalties. That’s what makes them effective, I suppose.”

“We need to start going south soon,” Jack said. “But that means crossing a river, the White Cap River, I believe.”

“There should be a bridge up ahead,” Grace said. “It’s on the map, though this one is quite old.”

“I remember a bridge too,” Jack said. He closed his eyes. “Legend... Yes, legend says the bridge is cursed.”

“Cursed?” Grace asked… “You mean there is an Omen?”

“Of course, there’s an Omen on it,” Chris said. “If there wasn’t I would be surprised. The question is, is the Omen active still? The storm took out so many of them for miles.”

“I’ll give it a gander,” I said.

“We go south now until we hit the river, then follow it until we get to the bridge,” Chris said.

And so, we did.

As we walked south, I started hearing the sound of running water up ahead. We managed to find the river. That’s not all we found. There was a large sewer pipe sticking out of the cliff on the other side.

The concrete pipe was as wide as two grown men set end to end. The entire opening, however, was covered in a large, metal grate. Only a trickle managed to make its way out of the pipe and into the water, however, because the end was clogged.

Skeletons were stacked up against the grate. Human. Dog. Rat. Remarkably, they stayed assembled despite being completely stripped of their flesh. Dozens of them.

“What is that green slime?” Antoine asked.

I squinted to see what he was talking about. There was a green hue to the bodies.

“The Bloat,” Grace said.

“Looks like it left the sewers and took to the river. The monsters all look like they’re taking off,” Chris said.

The Bloat must have been the name for whatever green goo creature lived in the sewer system under the city. Apparently, a lot of things lived down there in sewers.

After a few moments to stare at the sewer grate, we turned and headed west.

~-~

“Stop,” Chris said. “Something’s up ahead.”

Chris had been using his Gut Instinct trope to sense out danger. This was the first time it had activated with any real urgency.

We all listened intently to no avail.

“I need to go check it out,” he added.

“No,” I said. “I’ll go. I can look for Omens and I have a little trick for not getting killed.”

My little trick was Oblivious Bystander. 

I wasn’t sure if it would work outside of a storyline like this, but I was betting it would. Even with no camera, other tropes seemed to work pretty well. The only tropes that appeared to be useless out of storylines were those that relied on the plot cycle as well as those that referenced other aspects inherent to storylines.

I was beginning to suspect that whether or not the Off-Screen light was lit, we were always on camera. That wasn’t even to mention the fact the Oblivious Bystander worked when I was Off-Screen when it shouldn’t because there was no audience watching.

More than that, letting Chris go was a mistake. If he left the group, the group lost 90% of its defenses.

It was just logical for me to go instead. I was more useful on my own. Always had been.

“You sure?” Chris asked.

I shrugged as I slipped on my sunglasses, headphones, and hood. If I thought about it too long, I would get more scared. Besides, in a way, I was safer on my own. Oblivious Bystander would not work well while I was in a group.

I trudged forward quietly. Trying not to look too aware of my surroundings.

~-~

It didn't take too long for me to find out what the dangerous thing was.

I didn't have to walk too far to find the bridge. What I didn't expect to see, was the figure that was standing on it.

There were no Omens to be afraid of, but that didn't mean there was no risk.

I heard voices, strange haunting voices that sounded oddly familiar, not because I had heard the speaker before but because I had heard the strange nature of the sound. I was listening to voices from ghosts or spirits of some kind.

I found a grassy knoll to lay down on behind a tree. As I did, I stared up at the sky and put my hands above my head. I watched the bridge from the corner of my eye through a small gap in the trees.

I saw where the ghostly voices were coming from.

Three bodies floated through the air toward the bridge. Their spirits were partially extruded from them. I had seen that trick before. They did not appear to enjoy floating, as they struggled fruitlessly. As they bobbed along, they talked, in oddly calm voices. It was quite discomforting to witness.

Two of them were babbling about a trespasser on their land and how they were going to kill him and sink their teeth into him. They were strange men dressed in shabby clothing. They spoke with strong country accents.

On the red wallpaper, they were called Bog Brothers. Plot Armor 28 and 31. They didn’t have proper names. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say they were hillbilly cannibals or similar, but I couldn’t be sure. I was too far away for Trope Master to activate.

They floated across the bridge and squabbled with each other stupidly.

The third floating body was called the Samaritan. I recognized him. He was the shadowy enemy from the “Eleventh-Year Reunion” trailer I had seen earlier. His plot armor was 37. He had made it out of town without getting infected. Good for him.

“I waited ten long years to get my revenge,” his partially disembodied spirit said. “I almost had it, but then I failed. They killed my son. They will pay. This year, I will take their lives like they took his that night in the rain.”

“Yes, yes,” a familiar voice said, “When I am finished you will have your revenge, I guarantee it. As soon as I have mapped the astral plane, returning you to your revenge will be simple.”

Simon Halle, the Astralist, stood on the bridge, effortlessly floating the men along as they struggled to free themselves.

But he was different. His Plot Armor was 46. That didn’t make any sense at all. When we faced him, his plot armor was around 12.

I was suddenly nervous. I didn’t remember him having telekinesis before. He also didn’t have the ability to partially rip out your soul like he had done to his victims on the bridge.

It appeared that the apocalypse had not ruined things for Dr. Halle. He had been collecting specimens for his experiments as they ran away from town.

Halle Castle would have been close by. It was on the northwest side of town. It made sense that it could have been outside of the storm’s path, though the roads leading to it would certainly have been cut off.

That was a real problem. The Astralist was smart and fast. If he was hunting specimens, we would have a hard time passing by this way.

As soon as he had crossed the bridge and left the area, I stood up and made my way back to the others to report on what I had seen.

~-~

“That is interesting,” Grace said. “He has a higher level when you bring a Beauty-Eye Candy or a Damsel into a storyline. Or a Researcher-Scholar. Or an Occultist-Psychic. Other than that, he is low-level. It’s interesting that his higher level is the one he keeps outside a storyline.”

“So what do we do?” Kimberly asked. “We can’t go near him again.”

She had a pretty rattling experience with him during his storyline.

“Do we just keep going west and hope to find another way across?” Antoine asked.

“Whatever we do,” Chris said, “We can’t stay here. Not if he’s out hunting. We can’t afford a fight, not without the ability to heal afterward.”

Whatever the case, we needed to think of something fast because soon, it would be dark. Camping in these woods would be suicide. We needed a plan.