Chapter 24

Somehow, Jo had ended up getting stuck with the Jeep riddled with bullet holes. After a big fuss where some of the team members yelled at others over who got to take the vehicle they’d rode to the cabin in together, she’d finally settled it by drawing straws. She was still shaking her head about it two hours later as Zane drove them deeper into the snow and ice, closer to the mountains. If all of their team members always acted like this, like kindergartners fighting over a toy, it was no wonder her dad always seemed to be on his last nerve.
Ping and Leo sat in the back seat, neither of them saying much of anything. Jo knew now would be a great time to get to know them. It was important for her to be familiar with anyone who might have her life in their hands, after all, but they weren’t voluntarily speaking up, and she didn’t see the point in forcing them. Zane had tried earlier, asking a few questions about where they’d grown up, about their families. She’d known Leo when she was younger, but things had changed a lot over the years. She thought about asking him if he was okay being split up from his sister, but neither of them seemed to mind. Fiona, who was more talkative, had seemed excited when she’d loaded into the vehicle with her assigned group just as dusk began to illuminate the snow covered ground.
Ping was a complete mystery. All she knew about the kid was that he was born in China and had been studying tech before everything went down. She figured that probably made him a little older than her, but she didn’t want to ask. He was a Hunter. Leo was a Guardian. That made their numbers even, which Jo appreciated. She’d realized after she made her assignments last night she hadn’t taken into account how many Hunters and Guardians she’d sent with each team. That was a mistake her father would’ve never made. Live and learn.
“Where exactly are we going?” Zane asked, cutting through her self-chastising thoughts. He had been following general directions but didn’t have access to the same information that she did.
“Mikali suggested we find a pub in a village called Talki. It’s at the lower basin of the northern Chersky Range.”
“We’re going to a pub?” Leo clarified. “Isn’t it a little early for that?” He brushed his long dark bangs out of his eyes, adjusting in his seat. He looked apprehensive to Jo. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t think he’d been on many hunts. In his experience, being a member of LIGHTS probably meant more running from Vampires than it did killing them.
“My understanding is that the people around here drink pretty much all day long,” Jo replied, returning her gaze out the window. The road they were on, if it could be called a road at all, rather than just a couple of ruts through the ice and snow, cut through a deep forest. Remnants of civilization were still visible between the trees from time to time. Old, crumpling dwellings, abandoned vehicles, a rusted sign from a business. Maybe the people who lived here back before the Revelation had something to live for. It seemed no one lived here now, and the people they were going to speak to had all but given up on life.
She couldn’t blame them. Agreements with Vampires only lasted so long before one found oneself swatting fangs away from one’s neck. The quicker people caught on to that, the better it would be for LIGHTS. But they were scared and didn’t know what to do, especially since the US government and a few others had been so quick to turn on the good guys. If LIGHTS wasn’t there to rescue them, who could? Only themselves. Thus, deals such as the one this town had made with the Vampires had come about, but it was only a matter of time until it crumpled.
They drove on into the afternoon. It was then a few small houses came into view. For some reason, when Jo had thought of a village, she’d been expecting some sort of rounded huts. These were actual houses--though small, unkempt, and dilapidated in many cases. The number increased until it was clear they were in a place where people lived, not that anyone was out or about.
It wasn’t until they drove through what she could only assume was the center of town that they came across what had to be the pub. It was a distance from the houses, as if one had to really muster the strength to trek all the way over there on foot (she hadn’t seen many cars). An eerie sensation came over as she took it in. A long, one-story building, white paint chipping, gray roof sagging, it looked more like something out of Raiders of the Lost Ark than a drinking establishment in the twenty-first century. But they had arrived at their destination. Now, she just had to figure out how to go about finding out if anyone had any information for them.
“Do we have a plan?” Zane asked, stopping the vehicle well down the road from the place.
“Not really. I figured we’d just go get a few drinks and see if anyone’s willing to talk,” she said with a shrug.
“And if they discern our intentions and find us hostile?” Ping asked, his vocabulary impressive considering English was his second language.
“We get the hell out, regroup, come up with a different plan.” Jo knew it wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t her dad.
“Sounds great,” Zane said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I hope no one has any titanium bullets. At least Leo and I will make it out alive.
Jo punched him in the arm. “Not if I shoot you.”
* * *
The interior of the establishment matched the exterior closely, as Jo had expected. As she stepped into the building, a waft of stale air hit her lungs. Years of sloshed beer seeping into the wooden floor, tables, and counters, as well as the tangy scent of the collective sweat of dozens of people who had more on their mind than personal hygiene, coagulated together to form some sort of odiferous, pungent cloud that hit her full force. Fighting the urge to gag or make a face, Jo continued across the creaking floor, not exactly sure where she was going but hopeful there was a location inside that didn’t smell so offensive.
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned toward them when they initially entered. A round of whispering and nudging brought more. Thinking a warm smile wasn’t her forte and probably wouldn’t do much to ensure the regulars they meant them no harm, she tried to keep her expression neutral as she slowly approached the bar.
It was crowded for that time of day. It likely looked like this all the time, though. This is where the villagers gathered to talk about life’s challenges, and at the present time, there were many. Surely, some of the people who lived here must have some form of employment, or else how did anyone eat or afford the beer that continuously flowed from the taps? There was certainly no government support for anyone who couldn’t make ends meet.
The bar took up more than half of the right side of the room, curving around in a squared off half-circle with at least a dozen barstools pulled up to its scarred surface. Most of them were occupied, primarily by men with large girths wearing thick pants, sweaters, and scarves, despite the blazing fireplace in the back of the room. A few women were intermixed among them, some dressed similarly while one or two gave the impression they were attempting to make a buck or two by other means, their blouses dipping down and revealing so much of their ample bosoms, Jo found herself staring, and she wasn’t normally interested in other women’s breasts. She turned to see Leo and Ping equally distracted and gave them a mental nudge through the IAC. “Focus, guys. Boobies won’t kill us, but hiding vampires might.” Neither of them answered, clearly embarrassed that she’d noticed their ogling.
Zane was beside her, surveying the room, taking it all in, like he always did. She was sure that he’d noticed the prostitutes, but they would’ve just been an addition to his mental notations, not something that would’ve held his attention, knowing him.
Careful not to touch any of the patrons, Jo found a spot in the bar and waited for the bartender to acknowledge her. A large man with a bald head and beard long enough he could’ve used it to clean the bottom of the glasses resting on the bar, he stood scrubbing a mug out the traditional way, with a rag, listening to one of the regulars going on about something in Russian. With her translator on, Jo could understand bits and pieces, but the man was far away, slurring his speech, and not talking too loudly. She didn’t care what he had to say anyway, as long as it wasn’t about her. Or Holland. Or Vampires.
The barkeep acknowledged her with a sideways glance but didn’t come over. Understanding what that meant--that she wasn’t welcome here, she resulted to the one thing that would work no matter where they were. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out a fairly large bill and set it on the bar top in front of her, thankful that her dad had somehow managed to scrape up enough funds to guarantee they should have plenty to get the answers they needed. For a moment, her mind went to her childhood when her parents were so wealthy, they had several well-known paintings hanging on their walls, including her mother’s favorite Monet, but then she brought herself back around in time to see the burly Russian ambling over.
He didn’t touch the money, only stared into her eyes. “What’s your strongest drink?” she asked, slapping the bill with an open palm.
He understood well enough to answer, naming some concoction that sounded potent enough to knock a man his size on his ass. “Round of that for me and my friends, please.”
Muttering under his breath, he turned to pour the drinks and then brought them back, taking the bill. He didn’t offer to make change, and she didn’t ask for any.
Jo slammed back the shot. It burned and tasted like a mix between black licorice and cough medicine. But she didn’t blink, chugging it down. Zane did the same, and then Leo picked his up, gaining false confidence by the ease of his friends’ ingestion. As soon as it hit his tongue he made an awful face. Jo warned him to just swallow it, and he managed to choke it down, but Ping already had his in his mouth by the time Leo showed signs it wasn’t as pleasant as it seemed. The fourth member of their party choked, sputtered, and spit half of the drink back up, nearly spraying Leo in the face.
Laughter filled the bar, people pointing at them now. Zane patted Ping on the back, and he managed to catch his breath, apologizing. Jo turned back toward the bartender, not wanting to show her embarrassment or anger. He hadn’t done it on purpose, but now they appeared weak, and that wasn’t a look she wore well.
The bartender was standing in front of her, his hands resting on the counter. In broken English, he said, “We don’t want no trouble. You should go.”
Not sure how to respond at first, Jo hazarded a smile. “We don’t want any trouble either. We’re just hoping someone might be able to help us find someone.”
His eyes wandered down to the gun strapped to her hip, visible beneath her jacket, and then his eyes came up to meet hers again. “We know what you are.”
She swallowed hard. It wasn’t said with the reverence and awe it would’ve been before this all begun, that was for certain. “We know about your agreement. We don’t want to infringe on that. Is there anyone at all who might be able to help us?”
His bulbous, pock-marked nose began to twitch, his bushy mustache moving along with it, and she had a feeling he was about to order all of them to be tossed out into the snow. Jo and her group could take them, even though they were grossly outnumbered. Everyone here was a human, she was certain of that. Nevertheless, she wanted to avoid that because she truly hadn’t come here to cause problems. And… she needed a lead.
Reaching back into her pocket, she pulled out another large bill and set it in front of him. His beady eyes shifted, dropping down to the counter. They lingered, and then raised again. “You need to talk to the American.”
“The American?” she repeated, not sure what he meant by that.
The barkeep nodded, pulling the bill off of the table and shoving it into his pocket with the last one she’d given him. He thumbed toward the back of the bar and walked away.
Jo’s eyes shifted in the direction he’d indicated, searching through the cigarette smoke and crowd of people for anyone who looked remotely American. It was hard to tell. Most of the patrons were still bundled up to some degree, despite the raging fire and the fact that it seemed like it was a hundred degrees in the room to Jo, even though temperature normally didn't affect her.
She didn’t see anyone who looked American to her, not in an obvious way, not until a burly man who made Uncle Elliott look like a string-bean walked away from the table furthest in the back, and her eyes fell on a seedy looking fellow dressed all in black with long blond hair and two days’ worth of shadow on his chin. He caught her eyes momentarily then looked away.
“The American,” she whispered. “You guys stay here. I’ll be back.”
She felt Zane’s protest but didn’t hear it, so she ignored him and headed through the crowd, hoping this American was feeling patriotic.