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Dillan Blight: Paranormal Investigator

July 18, 2008

The day wasn’t getting any shorter and the trouble he was begining to have focusing was most certainly not a good sign. Dillan frowned to himself. Too much pain and too much blood loss was not a good combination on an empty stomach, dehydration and miles of walking. Faint movement in the distance snapped his attention back to the world around him.

Dillan pulled the rifle up to his shoulder and sited off into the trees. Sure enough another ambush was waiting for him. This time a pair. With bats, no less. Seriously, who animates the dead to serve as thugs with bats? Dillan shook his head, then steadied himself. He squeezed the trigger and nailed the first zombie-thug in the head. He over-corrected some sighting the second and clipped it in the shoulder with the first shot, getting a vague moaning-grunt noise in response. Before it could shuffle too much further in his direction Dillan lined up another shot and dropped the creature.

He waited, watching the surrounding trees to see if he was drawing any more attention. He gave it a solid five minutes before shouldering the rifle, reclaiming his make-shift walking stick and shuffling over to check out the thugs. Wooden bats at least. That was a point in the favor of the big bad villain. Proper thugs always used a good wooden bat. Other then that there wasn’t anything of interest beyond the same symbol that had been on the shooter. Dillan frowned to himself. Ammo was going to become a serious concern if he had to play drop the undead thug too much longer. Not to mention the fact that it didn’t seem to be getting him anywhere fast. He made his way back to the side of the road and cleared a patch of dirt.

You couldn’t spend all of your time around the supernatural without picking up a few tricks. Particullarly not if you wanted to stay alive. At the same time, Dillan had never had a talent for sorcery. In most circles, his tricks were laughable. Of course, his right hook ussually picked up the slack. This time though, hitting things was obvioiusly what they wanted him to keep at. Dillan settled himself on the ground and started tracing an intricate series of symbols into the dirt with the tip of one finger, leaving a small open circle in the center. He then ripped off a bit of bloody bandage and settled it into the center of the circle and began reciting something in a long-dead language, really hoping that he had his pronunciations right this time.

The faint flash and smell of brimstone seemed to indicate he’d managed something. As did the missing bit of bloody cloth and symbols. Dillan pushed himself up and made his way back into the woods, settling down in a small stand of bushes where he could watch the road without being easily seen.

It took about an hour, but a pickup truck finally came rumbling up the road. Just up the road from Dillan, the truck’s rear left tire suddenly blew out. The truck eased to a stop dead even with Dillan’s waiting place. A man in a stained baseball cap, faded black t-shirt and jeans and suprisingly nice boots stepped out of the truck and circled back to check the tire. The man just shook his head and climbed into the back of the truck, pulling out a star wrench and a jack and went to work.

Dillan gave it another moment, then pushed himself up. He emptied the ammo from the rifle and tossed it into the tree behind him, then shoved the rifle itself deeper into the bushes before making his way out to the truck, careful to make some noise and anounce his approach. The man glanced up from his spot, pulling the spare tire out from under the truck.

“Afternoon. Look rather worse for the wear. What happened to your leg?” The man asked in a steady drawl, continuing his work.

Dillan shrugged his shoulders a bit. “Must have drunk a bit too much last night. Woke up out here with a bad leg and a worse memory of the night before. Can you maybe get me back into town?”

The man stretched a bit and glanced up at Dillan again. “Get in. Be done in a moment.”

“Thanks. I’m Dillan, by the way.”

“Balthasar. Though most just call me Al.”

Dillan blinked twice at that, then circled the truck and climbed in to wait. Well, he’d gotten a ride at least. That had to be better then continuing to walk and hoping to eventually get somewhere useful.

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