It was a long walk out of Rhy'din proper, a trek started in the deepest part of the night when Jake stole out of the dojo on silent, sneakered feet. It was nearing sunrise when he saw his first signs of another traveler, an ironic turn of fate that saw a semi heavily laden with logs rumbling along from the direction he had come from. His thumb was out by the time the driver got a better view of him and reduced speed before idling to a halt. The door opened to another stereotype in the form of a long beard, tall ball cap, and lots of flannel.
"Where you headed, son?" The man asked in an odd drawl, clearly not southern.
"Marshton."
"Boy, that's some six, seven hundred likes from here."
"Get me as close as you can and I'm good for a meal on me before I put boots on the road again. Sound fair?"
"Suit yourself, kid. Hop in."
Everything he owned but his truck and his boards had been loaded into that heavy duffle, the sawed-off shotgun hidden away from sight. The pack was tossed in before he climbed up and then stowed it, settling into the high passenger seat.
"What's out in Marshton, anyway?"
"Freedom and opportunity." The words sounded good, but they lacked any real conviction and tasted like ash in his mouth.
In almost eighteen years, Jake had been a lot of fights. He'd lost some, so the idea wasn't new to him.
This was just the first one he had ever run away from.
A single note and a set of keys had been left on his bed in the dojo:
An opportunity recently presented itself outside of the city. I'm taking it. With the potential cost of materials for the trip home, every penny will be needed so I'll be sending whatever I don't need to get by back to the dojo for the effort. I still have the cell but I removed the tracker. Don't call if it's not an emergency but you should be fine. You have a wealth of people close with better skill sets for dealing with trouble and will do fine without me.
Don't let the truck fall out of repair.
If you give my board away, make sure it goes to a good home.
Deadward, you're in charge. Make good choices.
Yunni, don't get hurt or grounded.
Clara, above all, be happy. Be you.
Love you,
Jacob
"Where you headed, son?" The man asked in an odd drawl, clearly not southern.
"Marshton."
"Boy, that's some six, seven hundred likes from here."
"Get me as close as you can and I'm good for a meal on me before I put boots on the road again. Sound fair?"
"Suit yourself, kid. Hop in."
Everything he owned but his truck and his boards had been loaded into that heavy duffle, the sawed-off shotgun hidden away from sight. The pack was tossed in before he climbed up and then stowed it, settling into the high passenger seat.
"What's out in Marshton, anyway?"
"Freedom and opportunity." The words sounded good, but they lacked any real conviction and tasted like ash in his mouth.
In almost eighteen years, Jake had been a lot of fights. He'd lost some, so the idea wasn't new to him.
This was just the first one he had ever run away from.
A single note and a set of keys had been left on his bed in the dojo:
An opportunity recently presented itself outside of the city. I'm taking it. With the potential cost of materials for the trip home, every penny will be needed so I'll be sending whatever I don't need to get by back to the dojo for the effort. I still have the cell but I removed the tracker. Don't call if it's not an emergency but you should be fine. You have a wealth of people close with better skill sets for dealing with trouble and will do fine without me.
Don't let the truck fall out of repair.
If you give my board away, make sure it goes to a good home.
Deadward, you're in charge. Make good choices.
Yunni, don't get hurt or grounded.
Clara, above all, be happy. Be you.
Love you,
Jacob