Baker Guardian's End

First Book of The People
1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62309-567-3
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 360 Seiten

Over half a century ago, a cretaure from another dimension was brought into our world to save the life of a child. Contained for generations by a Guardian, it has remained dormant. But now, it's loose, ready to kill without remorse. Today, it threatens a small Midwestern town, but tomorrow, unbeknownst to its captors, it may have the power to destroy the world. Only Talon Kincaid, an agent for a clandestine race known only as The People, stands between chaos and the survival of everyone on Earth.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Baker, Richard

Leseproben

Chapter One
The bus dropped him off at a little café that doubled as a bus station. It was just off the main business street, and he hadn’t walked a hundred yards before he could see the town was dying. Sure, there were cars parked on the main street – officially Cole Street, but the locals just called it Main Street, he knew. But there were plenty of empty parking spots, too, even though it was clear all the parking meters had been removed, and the holes where they had stood were roughly cemented over in an obvious effort to get more people to come downtown to shop. And as for pedestrians, even the sunny, warm, early afternoon wasn’t enough to produce more than a few people on the sidewalks, and even those few scurried back and forth with purpose, not slowing down to examine the window displays in the few open stores. No wonder, he thought to himself. The window displays looked as if they hadn’t been changed since Clinton was president. They were invariably dusty and some were seriously sun-faded. Some of the stores hadn’t even bothered with window displays at all. As for the other potential stores, some were closed, their window dull and dirty, and others were occupied by a few doctors, dentists, lawyers, and offices that advertised “Real Estate, Insurance, Notary Public.” All of the storefronts were outmoded; even the few that had once been remodeled were at least a generation old. The scene was depressing to him. He remembered a time when the town had been vibrant – every parking space filled and even small-town versions of chain stores – Penny’s, Montgomery Ward, a Sears catalogue store and a Rexall Drugs. But they were all gone now, along with two thousand residents who had moved on to the bigger towns, like Omaha, only a little over an hour away, or all the way to Kansas City, or even further. He’d looked up the last census numbers before he had started his trip to Deer Falls, noting that the town was only a shade over five thousand residents now. He resisted the impulse to shrug. He’d seen it before, many times. All across the country, small farm towns that had once been profitable commercial centers were losing population, as there were fewer farmers tending larger farms. They took their business to the larger towns, leaving farming communities like Deer Falls to die their slow but inevitable deaths. The fate of the town didn’t concern him, though. It never had and it never would. This would be his last trip to Deer Falls, no matter what happened. It might be a depressing sight, but that was progress for you, and in a few days, he’d say good-bye to the town forever. Just ahead, half a block or so was his destination – Culpepper Realty and Insurance (with Notary Public in smaller letters below, of course). The sign hung down from a pole, and was made of black sheet metal with white letters on the black surface – about as unimaginative as a sign could be. At least the windows had been washed recently, and a fairly modern glass door served as an entrance. Apparently as businesses went in Deer Falls, Culpepper Realty and Insurance was doing all right. The building just next door was unoccupied, so he stopped for a moment to check his reflection out in the plate glass. Looking presentable would raise fewer suspicions. Bums and drifters weren’t welcome in small towns, so it helped to look like an upstanding citizen. He had made an effort to clean up when he caught the bus in Omaha, so his shirt was fresh and cut from blue oxford cloth, long-sleeved in spite of the summer heat, and his jeans were neat and clean. He’d bought them at a store near the bus station. He had also shaved in Omaha, so his face, just short of handsome, was fine, and his short, iron-gray hair was close-cropped and contrasted only faintly with his younger-looking face. It didn’t really matter, though. He had a talent for being forgettable. Many of his people did; it was an important survival trait. Except for his hair and his brown, piercing eyes, most people would only be able to remember that he was a little over six feet tall and of average build. He opened the door to the Culpepper Realty office, and felt a blast of cool, humid air being pumped into the room, flavored by a slightly musty smell of old wooden desks and files that were never thrown away. A woman of about forty looked up from her computer screen. She was blonde with no hint of gray and had an attractive, tanned face. She reminded him of women he had known who spent too much time playing golf or tennis, or maybe just hanging around the pool. The well- manicured, polished nails indicated the tan hadn’t come from doing yard work, but probably meant golf or the pool at the local country club. She didn’t exactly look like the tennis type with those nails. She wore a wedding ring that said her husband made better than average money for a small town. He would have guessed she was Mrs. Culpepper even if there hadn’t been a nameplate that read “Marge Culpepper” situated on her desk. She smiled. It was a pleasant, genuine smile. Talon couldn’t help feeling that it was a smile that promised more to the right guy. Or depending upon her standards, maybe any guy. “Yes, can I help you?” Her voice was pleasant, even professional, but it was inviting as well. “I hope so,” he said mildly, returning her smile, but not so much as to look like the available type. He had no interest in developing a relationship in town – especially with a married woman. Such an interest would not be in keeping with what he had to do. “I’m looking for Damon Culpepper.” “Guilty as charged,” a strong, friendly voice called from a small office just beyond two empty desks. Damon Culpepper sauntered out of his office. He was slightly overweight, slightly bald, and slightly older than his wife by all appearances. His hair was graying, but still mostly brown. He wore a pair of cheap brown dress pants and a short-sleeve dress shirt, white, patterned in vertical brown pinstripes. He stuck out his hand. “Can I help you, Mr. …?” “Kincaid,” he replied, taking the hand. “Talon Kincaid.” Culpepper’s eyes rose slightly. “Oh, Mr. Kincaid, a pleasure to meet you at last.” “Call me Talon.” “That’s an unusual first name,” Culpepper remarked. “It’s an old family name,” Kincaid replied, ending the lengthy handshake. Culpepper nodded. “I know what you mean. My middle name’s Booker. Don’t think that hasn’t made a few folks ask twice. By the way, everybody just calls me ‘Day.’ Damon sounds kinda formal, and we’re pretty informal around here.” Talon decided that was enough small talk for one day. He’d spent enough time in towns like Deer Falls to know that if you let them, the locals would talk your arm off. Visitors and newcomers were favorite targets, since they hadn’t heard the local stories a hundred times over from a hundred different people. But he had no time to lose listening to stories. “You have the key to my great-grandmother’s house?” he asked nonchalantly. “The key? Oh, sure. The key. Got everything in my office, all ready for you. Come on in.” His manner was still friendly, but Talon could tell he was disappointed that his client didn’t want to chat more. Given the apparent pace of affairs in Deer Falls, odds were he didn’t have any other pressing business to occupy his day. Unless someone walked in unexpectedly to buy car insurance or get something notarized, he’d probably spend the rest of his day on the phone, telling all his friends about the out-of-towner who just came in to claim the old Hathaway house. “Coffee?” Day asked before he ushered Talon into his office. He gestured at a pot only a quarter full that looked as if it had been cooking since day before yesterday. “No thanks.” Day looked disappointed again. If his client had asked for coffee, he could have asked if he wanted cream or sugar, and gone on about how he drank his own coffee. Besides, there was nothing like a cup of coffee to make the clients linger a little longer. Even coffee that bad. In the office, Talon sat down in a surprisingly comfortable old leather guest chair while Day plopped down in a creaking padded chair behind an old wooden desk that distinguished itself from the others in the office only by being a little larger. He grabbed a manila envelope from the corner of the desk and shook out a stack of papers. From somewhere in the stack, two old brass keys dropped with an audible clink on his desk. “We were surprised to hear from your lawyers,” Day began as he shuffled through the papers. “I guess nobody around here knew Missus Hathaway had a great-grandson. Nobody even remembers her having a son for that matter. She pretty much kept to herself, you know? Nobody knew her real well, and I guess at her age, most of her friends were gone. What was she? Ninety-five or so?” “Something like that,” Talon replied laconically, his attention focused on the keys. “We all thought the whole estate would have to go through probate. Imagine how surprised we were when we got that call from your lawyers and found out there was a will on file.” Day looked through the stack of papers. “It looks like all the paperwork is done. Your lawyers did everything right. Pretty slick, really. Can’t get the local lawyers to get all the paperwork...