When darkness began to fall Willie had the driver pull to the side of the road, and called another young man forward from one of the two vehicles behind them to drive through the night.
Willie ordered the man who had been driving to head back to one of the other trucks and get some sleep as he would be taking over again come morning.
The would be replacement had started to protest about how he hadn't gotten any sleep, and how he wasn't so sure he could drive through the night, when Willie had pulled a small nine millimeter pistol from his waist band and emptied the clip into him. As he shoved another clip into the pistol he had asked if anyone else wanted to bitch about sleep. No one had, and he had selected someone else to drive, and also made sure that the other drivers were replaced in the trucks behind his.
"You should've fuckin' thought about sleeping before," Willie said as he kicked what was left of the man’s head before he turned and climbed back into the truck, "stupid ass-hole."
Willie managed to get some sleep himself during the night, and when he awoke just before dawn they were entering the Oswego city limits. He knew about the railroad bridge, after they had stopped and once again switched drivers they slowly trundled over the bridge and continued onward. Later that day, almost nightfall really, they skirted around the exit for Webster and headed towards Fairport and then Rochester.
- 2 -
Far away, in a desert that was so much like any other on earth, but yet was not, and in fact was older than the earth itself, two large armies faced each other across rolling dunes of sand as cold moonlight spilled upon them from the star-less heavens.
A shining golden sword quivered where it stood protruding from the sands, separating all but two of the assembled thousands in the desert night. The two stared at each other across a space of bare inches, and their steeds, both large and magnificent; one white, one darker than the night they stood in, faced each other almost as if they too were staring at one another. The masses of silent armies stretched away farther than the desert itself, which was without any real end.
Separated from the mounted pair by a vast ocean, a white robed figure sat silently upon a heavy gold throne studded with jewels of all manner, and stared across the waters at the two riders where they faced each other in the desert.
The ocean, although perceived as vast, was not so to the figure. If the figure had so desired, it would have only to stretch one hand across the water, and sweep all from the desert with one small swipe. It had no wish however to do so. The figure only sat and watched the two riders with seemingly great interest... Waiting.
As if by some unseen signal the two riders dismounted, and faced each other in the dim light. Their steeds reared and galloped off into the desert night, snorting fire and steam as they went. Their massive muscles worked beneath their lathered coats, and soon they were out of sight. The stillness of the desert once again bore down upon all within it.
Neither man carried any visible weapons of any kind, and although they continued to stare only at each other, seeming to block out all else, both were careful not to be perceived as threatening by the other. It was more as if they were studying one another.
One was known by only two names that could be pronounced with a human tongue, but several that could not, and would never be. The first name was Michael, the second was The Protector. He was a tall and powerfully built young man. His magnificent golden hair was pulled back and bound at the nape of his neck with a leather thong, his deep and expressive eyes held no single color, but instead seemed to shift constantly between shades of red, blue, sometimes pausing and seeming about to settle on one, and then just as suddenly returning to their previous shifting phases of colors. His powerful body seemed as if it had been carved from stone, and somehow seeded with life. Individual muscles flowed smoothly, yet powerfully, beneath the white leather and golden armor he wore. His bronzed arms were bare to the night and the leather tunic ended just above his knees, exposing his powerfully muscled legs and sandal clad feet. He carefully studied the other rider as they circled one another.
The other young man had several names, but was most often referred to simply as The Defender, because of the position he held as speaker for the evil one. He was dressed similarly, only black leather replaced the white, and silver replaced the gold. He was almost as tall as Michael, falling only an inch shorter than Michael's six foot seven inches. His hair was black, almost blue in its intensity, and his eyes were the green of the deep sea. His muscular bulk nearly matched that of Michael's as well, and it seemed despite their differences that they were similar enough to have been brothers. Their rugged faces were similar, even the style in which both had tied their long and curled hair behind them. Their eyes, although vastly different, were nearly equal in the expressiveness they held, and they seemed almost able to communicate with them alone.
The night was absolutely silent. No winds swept
