Title: Black Hole Sun
Authors: angel, para-chan
Characters: Jerrad, Toast, Dare, Newt, Sparrow
What: another day in the abandoned town for the not-so-merry band of travelers.
Date started: 19 January 2004
Date finished: 1 February 2004
Notes: takes place the day following New Day Dirge
There is an image drawn for this post of Jerrad and Toast and a tank.


Newt trudged slowly back to the house, a pale, faintly luminous form in the pre-dawn light. Feet muddy, steps slow, she made her way across a neighboring yard to the screen porch at the back of the house, pausing on the back steps for a long moment before stepping inside.

Facing out the front window, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, cup of cold coffee held forgotten in both hands, Jerrad seemed -- save for the blanket and the coffee -- not to have moved from that very spot all night. Dawn was once more breaking, its pale light reflecting off the hollows beneath the mechanic's eyes, showing dark circles there from lack of sleep. In the back of his caffeine-filled mind, the lyrics of an ancient song ran, seeming strangely appropriate.

The idea that he was too young for such shit crossed his mind, quickly pushed aside by the fact that no one he had grown up with lived to see twenty-five. Compared to them, he'd lived to be downright old. They were never far from his thoughts, and usually they were thoughts of the last time he'd seen any of them. Placing their remains in a communal grave. Theirs and those of just about everyone else he'd known.

Everyone but April. She got her own grave, a private burial. And it was her that he mourned each day since then, her loss that had torn from him all hope. For the hope they had shared was lost, the promise of their future together destroyed.

With everything he'd ever held dear gone, the reflection that stared back at him from the window's glass was that of a shell, an empty man. God, he knew he had to look like hell.

Burning. The house--! Gasping, Toast sat up in his bed, then curled up on himself and shook for a moment before slipping out of his sleeping bag and padding downstairs in stockinged feet. He passed the entry to the living room without a glance, or he would have stopped and stared at Jerrad for a moment. Instead, he moved straight through to the kitchen, heading for the camp-stove to make coffee -- which it looked like someone had already done, in the middle of the night. Dumping out the grounds, he rinsed the pot and fixed new, sitting at the table to wait for it to brew. A soft noise drew his attention to the figure slipping into the porch, but he did not address the empath -- hatless, and clad only in a long, white shift -- until she made it into the kitchen.

"You didn't have to do that, you know."

Newt leveled a glare on her cousin. "What was it you said to me yesterday? Oh, yeah -- David. Fuck off."

With that, the girl disappeared upstairs, and a few moments later, the shower hissed to life.

Sounds beyond the white noise and the looping lyrics that occupied his thoughts brought Jerrad back to the world of the living. He turned, catching sight of Toast as the younger man passed through the room, but it didn't seem as if Toast had seen him. And for a long moment he could not bring himself to move from his spot in front of the window.

The smell of fresh coffee tempted him, and he was nearly ready to move when he heard someone arrive. He recognized Newt's voice and hesitated, finding her tone to be fairly forbidding, as well as her familiar use of what appeared to be Toast's given name. He watched her retreat up the stairs, then waited until he was certain she would not be down any time soon before making his way into the kitchen. There, he rinsed out his mug and set it on the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. He would have greeted Toast, if he'd have thought any sound would have come out if he had tried to speak.

On the other hand, Toast could do little more than look up at Jerrad curiously, commenting to the man that he'd never actually seen anyone who really did look as if their eyes were burned holes in their head, as the saying went, and then realizing that he'd never actually managed to speak out loud. Trying again, he commented instead, "Apparently sleeping has gone out of style?"

"I never was very good at it," Jerrad replied, surprised that anything came out at all. "You're up early. Are you trying to be fashionable, cause I don't think the two black eyes look is going to be the in thing any time soon."

"Ah, well...sleeping isn't my strong point, either. Hasn't been in years." Toast tilted his head, listening to the coffee percolating, trying to judge how much longer it would be. "I don't think any of us are good sleepers, except possibly Dare, but he doesn't exactly sleep, either."

"I had noticed that," Jerrad commented absently, picking up the percolator as it finished brewing and bringing it and a mug to Toast, pouring the younger man a cup of coffee before returning to the counter to pour some for himself. "Is there a game plan for today?"

Raising his mug to Jerrad in a sort of salute, Toast replied, "Scavenging, scavenging, and more scavenging. Except for Newt, who will most likely sleep until tomorrow so long as no one comes anywhere near the master bedroom. Me, I will be happy to just get my ass out of this house."

Jerrad didn't feel the need to say he wouldn't go anywhere near the master bedroom. He'd had very little contact with the diminutive empath, but enough to get the firm impression that she didn't actually like him. Scavenging, on the other hand, he could handle. From the look he'd gotten of the town and the battlefield yesterday, he got the impression that there was still a lot to be found. "Sounds like a reasonable plan to me," he commented, taking a sip of his coffee. He nearly offered the younger man to join him. He wasn't sure for whose benefit, although after the episode in the tank yesterday, he was only mildly surprised to find himself thinking that it would be nice to have someone along.

"You seem to know your way around, here... Mind if I tag along?" Toast watched Jerrad over the rim of his mug as he took a swig of coffee and wished, as he often did, that they could have gotten their hands on some Kona on their last supply-run. But ah well...it was still coffee, and it wasn't as bad as some of the stuff they'd traded for in the past.

"Not at all," Jerrad replied immediately. "I'm hoping I can scrounge some ammo from the wreckage. I'm close to out. I got lucky, when you guys warned me to leave the way-point."

"It would have been wrong not to warn you," was the honest reply. Emptying his mug, Toast set the thing down on the table and mused for the nth time that the worst thing about giving up his apartment was not being able to run his finger around the inside rim of his mug and lick the last of the coffee off -- with gloves, this was something he couldn't do. Not without tasting the leather as well, at any rate. "So, it's down to the battlefield today, then?"

Running fingers through tangled hair, and thinking he really should brush it and tie it back, Jerrad nodded. "I'm hoping I can make it that far before midday. Yesterday, I managed to get distracted here in town, and I didn't make it to the battlefield until late afternoon." He finished his own coffee, wishing that he'd had a bigger mug, since he was sure he could use more caffeine.

Distracted here in town? The psychomet looked up, curious. "What did you find? In town, I mean."

"Trailer," Jerrad explained simply. "And a dual purpose bike I managed to get running. I thought they might come in handy, and I couldn't pass up a windfall like that."

"Hells, no!" Toast got to his feet and set his mug in the sink. "That's great. We had a couple motorcycles, but we ended up having to ditch one and trade the other, a while back." Stretching, maltreated  joints popping audibly, he added, "If we could find another, or something similar, that would be ideal. We can always trade them later, if need be."

"It might be worthwhile to do some more scavenging in town, then, once I've got the ammo I'll need. There's probably a lot I've yet to find. Maybe one of the others will stumble across something good..." It was hopeful thinking. It wasn't like him. Then again, having a conversation with someone over morning coffee wasn't like him. "Should we do something breakfast-like before we head out?"

"Probably a good idea. And we should maybe bring along something for lunch, as well, so we don't have to waste time coming back here if we don't need to. I'd still like to see if I can get any information on that third-party attack, if there's anything left to read..."

The mechanic nodded as he began to rummage around for something breakfast-like. "It might be best to figure out where the attack was launched from. Tactically speaking, there are a couple of likely vantage points, but I'm not good with all that trajectory, angle of incidence stuff."

Toast made a face. "Not a problem. Reading the score-marks on ground level should give me enough information to locate where it came from." Although the idea of breakfast had sounded good a moment ago, suddenly, the young man found himself completely lacking in appetite. This was not going to be pleasant.

The idea left Jerrad with an uneasy feeling. Whoever had interrupted the battle had done so with the intent of both sides taking heavy losses. They were not looking for a retreat, but a rather decisive loss on both sides. He didn't want to imagine what Toast would see. He paused, turning to look at the younger man. "Are you sure you really want to do that, Toast? I mean, the information might be useful, but it's also at least ten years out of date."

"David," Toast replied absently. "My name's David. Toast is just my handle. Even if the info's out of date, it could be useful. You never can tell." He didn't want to do this. It was going to be painful, and if he ended up overloaded enough, he would have to give in and resort to their small supply of heavy-duty painkillers just to keep himself from trying to scrub his own skin off. But it needed to be done. They couldn't afford to pass up the chance.

For a long moment, Jerrad stood where he was, looking at the younger man, expression unreadable. Quite suddenly, he remembered that he had turned on the camp stove and not yet placed anything in the pan. Turning back to what he was doing, he replied quietly, "If you feel it is worth it, it's your gig. I'm just a mechanic."

Toast sighed, folding his arms over his chest. It damn well better be worth it, if he was going to end up the the primal ancestor of all overload-headaches...but that was the risk he ran. That it wouldn't pan out. That he'd spend all day living through other people's lives and deaths and violence, and all he'd get was that the rumors were true, or that it was just some schmoe with a test-type weapon blowing holes in things just because they could. Softly, words finally rose to his lips. "Nobody is 'just' anything. Not really. We are both bigger and smaller than we think we are, always, both less and more and neither, all at once. And gods, but I sound like a philosophy book. I'm either scared or I need more coffee."

Rising, the mechanic crossed to the stove, taking the pot and pouring himself more coffee. "If it's the latter, there's plenty more here. And if it's the former, you're as human as any of us."

"With this crew, that's not always saying a lot," Sparrow commented as she entered the kitchen, yawning behind one hand.

Toast rolled his eyes at the girl, who stuck her tongue out in reply, and replied, "Sparrow, you only say that because anyone who's seen you deal with someone who's gotten on your bad side thinks you're a demon."

"I'm not a demon, I just play one on TV," she said calmly, snagging a mug and pouring some coffee, automatically pouring a fresh cup for Toast on her way past when he picked it back up and held it out. "I'm off. See you later..."

Jerrad felt like he hardly had a chance to blink as the woman breezed through. "I take it she doesn't want breakfast?"

"She usually doesn't. If you make extra and leave it on the counter, she'll eat it later, I'm sure." Toast sipped at the fresh mug of coffee. "Same with Dare.  He tends to forget to eat...as you've already seen..." Looking around, the young man frowned at the van visible out the windows. "Speaking of, I wonder where he is? He's usually up by now."

"He walked off up the road heading north a while ago. Sorry, I didn't look at the time," Jerrad commented, returning his attention to the breakfast he was endeavoring to prepare.

The psychomet shook his head. "He idled in the van again, then. He can pull extra energy through the connections, and with what the little breeder-reactor puts out, whatever he draws has no impact on how the thing runs. It's not exactly good for him, though."

"Should we leave something for him, if he returns later?" Jerrad asked, spooning some of what was passing for breakfast into a bowl and gesturing it toward Toast.

"Couldn't hurt." Taking the bowl Jerrad offered him, Toast set his mug aside long enough to hop up and sit on the counter to eat, feeling disinclined to take a seat at the table once again. 

Taking a bowl for himself, Jerrad took a seat at the table after making sure that the camp stove was turned off. "There should be enough there," he murmured before taking a bite, unsure what else he should say.

After a glance at what was left in the pot, Toast nodded. "Should be." And then, there not seeming to be anything more that needed to be said, he turned his attention to his food, eating in what was, to him, comfortable silence.

Finishing his breakfast, Jerrad cleaned his dishes and tidied up the kitchen. "Whenever you're ready..." he murmured, placing his washed mug on the counter and turning to head back to the living room.

"Ok."

Contemplating his bowl for a moment, Toast sighed, letting his heels thump softly against the cabinet before finishing up his food and setting the bowl in the sink. He considered washing it now, then decided it might be best to just wrap up some food instead, grab his shoes and get underway. The last thing he wanted to deal with, going out, was damp hands in leather gloves. Suiting action to thought, he did so, and was soon back downstairs, peeking into the living room.

"Ready."

Jerrad pulled on his boots and stood, grabbing a flannel. "I'll drive," he murmured, heading back through the kitchen and to the back door. He stopped long enough to pull a few things out of the trailer. Perhaps it was wishful thinking to believe that they would need all the space. He also checked the connections, wanting to know that the trailer could easily be unhooked if their search for the source of the third-party attack led them into rough terrain. The jeep could handle it. Hells, if they had to, the bike could handle it. The trailer, however, would probably not.

Following Jerrad out to the jeep, Toast glanced back at the house, taking a deep breath as he hopped into his seat. The house wasn't going anywhere. There was nobody around for miles. Everyone nearby was someone he knew to some extent or another. There was no need to hide.

He could do this.

Most of the rest of the morning went uneventfully. They made it to the battlefield with little trouble, and set to scavenging. At one point, Toast stopped and listened and had to laugh softly as he realized what it was he was hearing when the wind was right: off-key piano music, being played in spurts, each repetition proving more in-key. Dare had found a piano somewhere in town, and was tuning it. The white-haired psychomet had finally managed to locate the score-marks the mechanic had spoken of, and was currently sitting in the shade of a tank trying to get up the courage to actually take off his gloves and read the score. Jerrad was working nearby, scrounging ammunition from an over-turned transport vehicle.

Sighing, Toast removed one glove, and then the other, tucking them into the front pocket on his hooded sweatshirt before getting to his feet and placing both hands to the score-mark.

From time to time as he worked, Jerrad would glance up, making sure he knew where Toast was. He kept himself more or less in the open, unless he absolutely had to delve into one of the vehicles for something he felt would be valuable. He had thought that having someone around would help with the claustrophobia, but every time he lost sight of the younger man, a wave of panic gripped him tossing him an image of another young man, body crushed beneath a fallen beam.

Glancing up once again as he emerged from a vehicle that had not only contained the right sized ammunition but also a first aid kit with a few bandages and such that were still useful, he caught sight of Toast, who seemed to be fairly interested in something. It wasn't until the moment he reached out and touched the heat-twisted metal of a crippled tank that he realized that David had his gloves off. Stilling, Jerrad watched, expression somewhere between fascination and concern.

A soft, strangled noise escaped the psychomet's throat as the imprints hit him, and they hit him hard.

The blast had come from above. Everything else was a jumbled whirl, a maelstrom of images and emotional imprints from multiple sources. There had been five people in the tank. None had survived. He lived through each of their deaths, fighting for details - from WHERE above had the strike come? Gritting his teeth, the young man who had in a fit of black humor given himself the handle of 'toaster-boy' snarled almost soundlessly, "I know it's there... Show me, damnit! No, not your deaths, show me the screens. I need trajectories..."

The mechanic held his ground against the urge to go to the psychomet. He couldn't imagine what it was that Toast was going through, nor could he think of a single way in which he could help the situation. He had only dared guess where the attack might have come from, and frankly, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know that badly. Certainly not as badly as Toast, who seemed willing to take such a huge risk for information that may not pan out.

"There!" Finally finding the memory-image he was looking for, Toast staggered back from the tank and sat down hard, disoriented and slightly nauseous. He managed to keep from falling over by catching himself on an elbow, not wanting to make bare-handed contact with the ground. "I think I got it..."

Taking one step forward as if to lend a hand, Jerrad stopped himself. There really was nothing he could do for the psychomet, save for maybe make things worse. If he'd found what he was looking for, that was a good thing. "You have a location?"

"Yeah..." David pulled his gloves out of the kangaroo pocket on his sweatshirt and put them back on before levering himself awkwardly to his feet. Pointing, he indicated a spot high up on the canyon wall. "Up there. I should probably check with another spot, and triangulate, but the screens were pretty accurate."

Unable to conceal a note of concern, Jerrad asked, "Are you sure?" He didn't know that he much liked the idea of Toast having to go through what he'd just gone through again. Not from the words that he'd managed to catch, not from the paleness he could see in David's face, not from the way the younger man had staggered and still seemed so very unsteady.

Toast nodded. "Yeah. From what I saw, the blasts came from that notch, there." Gods, he did NOT want to do that again -- the world was still spinning on him from the backlash of yanking himself out of the maelstrom of impressions so quickly. "I don't think the jeep would make it, though."

"We'll get the jeep as close as we can. The bike should be able to handle the trails up there. We'll go as far as it takes us and climb in the rest of the way, if we have to." Just go, and do it, Jerrad kept telling himself. Go there, find it. Don't make him go through that again.

"Sounds good." Riding in the jeep would give him a bit of time to get his equilibrium back. The psychomet sighed, running gloved fingers through white hair. "Let's go..."

Finally remembering the armload of first aid supplies, Jerrad returned to the jeep, stowing them away and taking his position in the driver's seat. He'd made a thorough exploration of the canyon on his first visit here, and he had a fairly good idea how to get to the place Toast had pointed to. The only way up that wall of the canyon was an old fire road. He only hoped it would get them all the way to the top.

Clinging to his seat as Jerrad negotiated the jeep up the canyon wall, David closed his eyes and tried not to think about how far down it was going to be to the canyon floor should the fire-road give way or the jeep tip over. He also tried not to think about what he may or may not find at the top -- the action of seasonal rains, of wind and weather, may well have erased any imprints that had been there to find. They may have been overlaid by new, as well...the headache he'd just given himself could end up having been for nothing.

A cloud of dust marked their passage along the old fire road. The terrain was rough, the road rutted from years of misuse and disuse. There were a few places where it was close, and Jerrad wondered if he should have left the trailer at the base. But the decision was made for him rather suddenly by a washed out section of road. He stopped the jeep and climbed out, looking at the narrow strip that remained of what had been the road.

"Damn," the mechanic muttered. "By my best estimate we're still a mile or so off. We have a choice. We can hike it in and hope we make it before sunset, or we can get the bike off the trailer."

Hike? Toast scrubbed at his forehead with one gloved hand. He wasn't sure he could make it a mile up this sort of terrain. He'd done it before but he'd hardly managed to fall out of bed the next day, as his already abused joint protested the added strain. "Maybe we should get the bike off the trailer..."

With a nod, Jerrad put the idea into action, unloading the bike. He kick-started the motor and glanced from the bike to Toast and back, not sure how the psychomet would feel about them riding together.

David hesitated. This was something he hadn't figured on. Sure, he knew Jerrad, but not that well, and they would have to be in extremely close contact on the bike. But this little side-trip had been at his insistence... "I can ride, but your reaction-time is probably better than mine. I've ridden pillion before. It's no problem."

Jerrad nodded, climbing onto the bike and holding it steady while he waited for Toast to situate himself. It had admittedly been several years since he'd ridden with a passenger, but he wasn't too concerned about it, though, as the bike seemed fairly sturdy.

In the end, he had to close his eyes and force himself to climb up behind Jerrad, wrapping his arms about the older man's waist securely. "Ok. I'm set..."

Nodding once firmly, Jerrad gave the throttle a twist and maneuvered the bike up the narrow remains of the fire-trail. He'd managed not to flinch at the contact. It was so rare that anyone actually got into his personal space, and even rarer that someone actually touched him. He realized that this had potential of being far less pleasant for Toast, and he focused on riding. Making his way up, they crested the trail, reaching the upper edge of the canyon. Carefully he wended their way along the dirt track. "Let me know when it starts to look right," he called back over his shoulder.

"Ok," Toast called back, looking around. So far, it didn't look quite right yet...no. Wait... "There! Up ahead. That notch."

Steering the bike toward the area indicated, he stopped just short, hoping not to disturb the area too much. He killed the bike's engine and steadied it to allow Toast to climb off.

Maltreated joints popping audibly, Toast managed to get off the bike and headed towards the spot that had looked right. There was a boulder in the way, making it hard to confirm the view... The young man trudged around it, half-convinced he'd gotten the wrong place and they would have to keep looking, and stopped in his tracks.

On the other side of the boulder was an elaborate metal construct, beginning to seriously go to rust and wear. The mount where the weapon would have rested was empty, the chair the operator had occupied twisted by weather, heat, and time. David's first thought upon seeing it was 'Ankou' - a flash of memory, one of his aunts telling a bunch of littles about a bird-like, skeletal creature which stalked lonely heaths looking for souls.

Leaving the bike on its kick-stand, Jerrad moved slowly along behind Toast, fairly certain there was nothing he could do and mostly trying not to be in the way. Rounding the boulder after the younger man, he nearly stumbled into David where he'd stopped. Looking past him, he could see the framework where the weapon must have been mounted. Holding his breath, he waited, fairly certain this was what they'd come looking for, and that it was from this that Toast would be getting the information he thought he needed.

Now that they were here, Toast suddenly wondered if this was such a great idea. The structure looked highly unstable. Still... They'd come all this way. They'd found the point from which the attack had come. He might as well see what he could get. Sighing, the psychomet approached the firing-tower, pulling his gloves off slowly and tucking them away.

Continuing to follow the younger man, Jerrad watched intently. He wasn't sure what it would take for Toast to get useful information from the framework, and he didn't like the idea of the younger man getting too entangled in the rickety looking structure. Still uncertain, he simply remained quiet and waited to see what there was to be seen.

Finding a spot from which it looked both less likely that if the structure fell it would fall on him and where he could easily reach the place whoever had fired the thing had sat, David reached out, and touched the framework.

Again, the images hit hard. Two men. Two men, over and over. The oddly loud silence of the weapon firing. A blossom of cold joy. One of the men had sat here, firing at the battle below. The other had been elsewhere...

"Names," Toast whispered, gritting his teeth. "Give me names...anything..."

The information was there. He could feel it...just out of reach.

The names surfaced, and the structure collapsed. David staggered back, sitting down hard once again, random thought running through his mind -- if he kept this up, he was going to end up with a bruised coccyx, and that would be uncomfortable.

When the structure had collapsed, Jerrad had surged forward. He wasn't sure what he had intended to do, but his heart raced and white noise filled his ears. Stilling himself, he found that he was standing between David and the wreckage, hands trembling, knees trying to buckle beneath him. "Are... are you all right?"

The younger man nodded. "Yeah... I... I'm ok. I'm fine. I think... I didn't expect it to fall apart like that." Looking up at Jerrad, he added, noting to himself that the man was white as a sheet under his tan, "You ok?"

Clenching trembling hands into fists until the knuckles hurt, Jerrad tried to calm himself. The structure had not fallen on Toast. The younger man was fine, not crushed under toppled debris. He was overreacting, and he needed to pull himself together. Dropping to the ground and sitting staring up at the wide, wide sky, he sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine, I guess. I just didn't expect myself to fall apart like that. I thought I was back..." He shook his head. He wasn't trapped. He wasn't back there in that building waiting for a rescue that never came. He wasn't stuck there, waiting to die.

David watched Jerrad quietly for a long time. After a while, he turned his gaze to the sky as well, watching the clouds roll by overhead. Softly, he said, "It's kind of nice up here, actually." He supposed it was an asinine thing to say, but he didn't know what else TO say. All he could think of was how, when he'd still had his own little place, he'd sometimes gone up on the roof so he could be outside while still being able to pretend he wasn't.

Lowering his gaze from the endless blue of the sky, Jerrad watched Dave, breeze stirring pale hair. "Yeah, if you ignore the sixteen acre battlefield and half destroyed town below, it's really not that bad. If only the rest of the world could be as peaceful as this."

"It's scary to think, but...if things keep on they way they have been, it may very well be. And soon." The toaster-boy continued to stare at the sky, picking out shapes in the clouds, all of which seemed to be ominous. "As a race and as a society, we're doing a really good job of destroying ourselves, and I'm pretty damn sure no one really knows what all the fuss is about anymore."

"I suppose it just stands to question, then, if any of the human race is going to survive," Jerrad mused. "Is this simply another Dark Age, have we blasted ourselves back to the Stone Age, or are we treading the narrow path to extinction?" Something in Jerrad's shoulders began to relax. Despite the morbidity of the conversation, it was refreshing to have someone he could talk to.

"Maybe a bit of all-of-the-above. Maybe more than a bit. Maybe a lot of all-of-the-above." David ran his fingers through his hair, noting absently that he had yet to put his gloves back on, and deciding that it could wait a little longer. It was so rare, these days, that he actually got to spend any time without them. "There are places, in satellite photos, that used to be ablaze with lights...all dark now. And there are places that were lit that are brighter now, as people flock to the remains of cities, living all piled atop one another." The young man shuddered slightly at the thought.  "And look at us: wandering around from town to town and way-point to way-point."

"Who's to say that any of us have it right?" the mechanic sighed, returning his gaze to the endless blue above. "Maybe it's a good thing that mankind never became a space-faring race. We probably would have just made a mess of things out there, too."

"Oh, hells yeah." White hair falling around  his face as he looked at the ground, Toast chuckled. "I don't even want to think about that. Gods, that would suck."

A small smile touched Jerrad's lips at the sound of the other man's chuckling, shoulders relaxing further. "There's probably some galactic police force that would have wiped us out if we'd tried." Turning his gaze to the canyon, he asked softly, "Did you get anything useful?"

Distracted by the thought of intergalactic police giving tickets to littering, space-faring humanity, David said, "I got names. Two names. And a hint of a third, but I can't be quite sure. The attack was mounted by just two people -- one gunning, one directing from someplace over there." The psychomet pointed away beyond the far side of the notch. Voice dropping, he murmured, "They wanted the battle stopped, so they stopped it. Their only other reason for the attack was to test the weapon. This battle was convenient. That's all."

Jerrad's gaze strayed to the battlefield, littered with the twisted wreckage of military equipment. "All that to test a weapon? A 'convenient' battle over one of the most strategic locations in the midwest? And they only wanted to stop it? What kind of people would do such a thing?" he wondered aloud, not certain if the questions really had answers.

"I'm not sure yet. But I'll find out." The psyhcomet's tone was firm, matter-of-fact. He would find out, because that's what he did. He'd kept himself supplied in his little hide-away for years, finding things out. It was amazing what people would trade for the right information.

The mechanic nodded then rose reluctantly, stretching a bit. He noted the position of the sun and commented, "We should get back down into the canyon before the sunsets. I don't want to have to figure that road out in the dark." Absently, he offered the younger man a hand to help him off the ground.

David hesitated a moment before reaching out to clasp Jerrad's forearm, bare hand closing over cloth-covered skin, and levering himself up off the ground, joints once again protesting audibly. "I don't blame you," he replied while pulling his gloves on, "I wouldn't want to either."

For a moment, the mechanic felt sheepish. When he'd offered Toast a hand, he'd forgotten that the psychomet was not wearing his gloves. David, at least, knew what he was doing, which made sense, since he lived that way. Turning, he made his way carefully around the wrecked structure and the boulder to where the bike waited, getting the engine running again and mounting up to stabilize the bike so Toast could climb on.

Climbing back onto the bike ranked up there on the psychomet's list of Things That Were Extremely Painful To Do right after doing too much reading of imprints. Every joint ached. "I feel like I've been put together with rusty bailing wire," Toast muttered, wrapping his arms about Jerrad's waist once again. "Ok. Ready."

"I'll try to make this as easy as possible," Jerrad replied, voice barely audible over the bike's motor. Turning about, he headed back down the trail toward the jeep, making the ride as gentle as he could.

The ride down to the jeep -- and the ride in the jeep back down to ground level -- was fairly uneventful. Toast had to admit, he was glad when they switched back to the jeep: being so close to another person after two such powerful readings...even the layers of fabric weren't enough to keep him from getting glimpses of things. All he wanted to do was scrub his skin off. Maybe if he scrubbed his skin off, he wouldn't be able to pick things up anymore.

Right. Sure. As if.

Barely a word passed between the two from the time they reached the jeep until Jerrad pulled into the drive way of the house they had taken over. He killed the engine and stepped out, thinking to organize some of the things they had managed to dig up before he went in to find out about dinner. Later he'd need a shower, but right now, he mostly needed to not be inside. He was still on edge from the structure collapsing, still remembering seeing the mangled body of a childhood friend crushed beneath a fallen wall. There were too many walls inside. Right now, that would be a bad thing.

Sliding down out of the jeep -- he hurt too much to get out normally -- Toast murmured something under his breath about catching a shower and shuffled off towards the back porch, stumbling as he mounted the steps. He passed through the kitchen, and the women seated at the table made no comment as he headed slowly up to the second floor and went directly to the shower, stopping only to unlace and kick off his boots as he passed the room he was using.

Then, he climbed into the shower fully clothed and turned the water on full blast.

Jerrad watched Toast disappear, expression openly concerned. Then he simply leaned against the back of the jeep, staring up at the darkening sky, watching as blue faded to black, stars beginning to appear. It was well dark before he could even bring himself to head toward the house, and he trudged slowly across the yard, making sure that the screen door to the porch did not slam as he made his way into the kitchen.