Faith on the Fringe - A Wilderness of Words

 Louie pushed his way out of the thick underbrush and out into the clearing. The lumpy ground became a mix of dandelions, lamb’s ear, and prickly pear cacti. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. A soft roll of thunder brought his eyes to a distant storm front, but that wasn’t what concerned him. It was the road. A pitted, broken excuse of a road was now beneath his feet. Shrugging his shoulders, he began to walk northward to whatever circumstance would befall him. He thought of how it would happen, but did not surmise that as an absolute. He surely wouldn’t be here long enough for the rain to chill him, but the fate that awaited him was ever the colder. He danced around cracks and grass-filled potholes, then shoved his hands in the deep pockets of his jacket and looked toward his feet through a shrouded hood, accepting his struggle. He listened for the whir of new tires on old pavement or the whine of electric engines, but instead, in the distance, he heard a low rumbl...

  Tom and Ben gathered their belongings and blew out the candles. Ben followed Tom toward the light of the rising sun filtering through the old house. “Wait just a minute,” Tom turned down a wide corridor, and the two entered another room. Ben smiled, recognizing the room from Tom’s story. They gathered food from the pantry and topped off their water bottles. Tom stood at the table and set down Louie’s stone necklace. “So, what’s the plan?” Ben looked at the stones, not seeing any magical stirrings or flickers of light. Nevertheless, he was confident that he and Tom would be able to do something for the lost and hurting of Falon’s Veil. “You are going to go back and find Louie – he must already be working a plan of his own. You need to locate all of the children. I know it’s gonna be hard, but you cannot get caught. I am going back to Heather, and we are going to set up a shipment of ‘donors’. In three days, we will travel through your town, and the pack will intercept us. We’ll ta...

Tom slipped into the forest, letting its shadows shield him from the relentless pack, his own inner beast, and the painful truth. Yet, high above in the treetops, something else searched—a hidden soul whose presence he could feel. This personality followed him, alerting the hidden world that he was near, like a raven seeks the prey for the wolf. He rushed through the shadows, trying to fly once again but falling horribly short. In his human form, he was painstakingly slow. He longed for the shift, but now, after his encounter, the thought was nauseating. He wanted the strength and speed, the freedom of the werewolf, but now he feared those attributes were a façade. He could wield its power at will, but if he allowed himself that freedom, he would be geolocated and overtaken by bigger, scarier things than he. Tom's frantic escape soon slowed as he focused on something ahead. Shining warmly in the waning daylight was a strange light. Emanating a welcome glow amid the darkened t...

  Ben rummaged through his backpack and found a couple of granola bars. He tossed Tom one, and the two ate while Tom continued his story.   The forest swayed under the mighty wind. Sharku’s voice rose over the drumming rain, “You’re ready, Thomas.” Tom shifted in his chair, both excitement and dread overcoming him. “When do we leave?” he asked. “Right now,” answered Sharku from the window. They boarded a small float plane and traveled over the great forest and around mountains that scraped the sky. Tom thought he saw something like a tower piercing through the clouds, but it quickly vanished as they changed directions. He grew hungry and cold as the day turned to night and back to day again. The pilot landed on a glassy lake, and the surrounding landscape was frost-bitten and foreboding. “Get out.” Sharku looked at Tom with a menacing scoff. He surveyed the distant shoreline and noted the ice-cold water between them and it. Tom feared the old man more than the cold, so he took...

  Ben stared motionless at the man kneeling before him. Finally, he holstered his pistol and pulled an extra set of clothes from his backpack while keeping one eye on this man-beast. He was older, rough, and weathered with a thick red beard. He glanced at Ben, “Thank you.” There was an awkward silence as Ben searched for the words. He couldn’t process the town that appeared in the middle of nowhere, or the fact that there was a WEREWOLF being escorted through this town, not to mention the pack of werewolves he had been attacked by last night. Now this – this man in front of him. It was too much.   It – he spoke, “We should get out of here if we don’t want to find ourselves on the menu again.” Ben leered at him, then plopped down on a rock. “We?” He replied. “We aren’t going anywhere. You’re not even human. Why did – why… sigh.”   The man shook his head. “Okay, we’re gonna talk first. My name is Thomas Brown. What’s yours?” Looking off into the woods, he ...

 The beast’s yellow eyes blazed. It roared, thunderous and primal. The crowd braced, holding their ears as the nauseating sound overtook them. Two strongmen were flung through the air as they tried, unsuccessfully, to control the animal. Others jabbed it with their sharp spears, shotguns blasted at it, but to no avail. As the creature overcame its captors, Ben saw his chance to escape. Jumping from the ground, he bolted away from the parade, racing toward his truck, sprinting for his very life. His fumbling fingers jammed the key into the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Knobby tires dug into the gravel as he peeled out onto the road he drove in on. He kept one eye on the rearview mirror, checking for any sign of a pursuer, man or beast. Remembering the canyon ahead, he began to scan for a spot where he could dump the truck and still keep it hidden— no way I’m getting trapped in that canyon. He drove on, studying the dense foliage for any sign of an entry. There—a g...

  Ben Holland gripped the wheel of his old pickup, the engine’s rumble the only sound cutting through the stillness of the countryside.  Sunrise painted the sky in cotton-candy swirls of pink and purple, and the coffee was still steaming. There were lots of nice homes dotting the landscape, as well as abandoned homes and buildings that were beyond repair. Nevertheless, it was a much more peaceful setting than Fairchannel, where he had moved from. That place was a concrete jungle. It wasn’t a typical inner city; it was a post-war zone. Swiss cheese, skyrises, and bomb-pitted streets were the norm, despite its name. The government had not begun reconstruction as it had in the cities to the west, such as Cira. He took another swig of coffee. The heat spread through his chest and settled low in his stomach, a familiar burn that chased away the morning chill. I suppose I oughta call Em. He pressed the button on the steering wheel, “call Emma.” It was definitely old tech. There were...