Bitty Bang - "Boomtown" - Part I
TITLE: Boomtown Part I / 5
AUTHOR: Den / raynedanser
Artist: Melanie/ bellamyrose /
Artist Post Link:
RATING: PG-13
Word Count: - Not quite enough and I am well aware of this. The story told itself in just under the minimum word count and there was nothing I could do. I'm not going to pad the story for the sake of padding the word count and take the chance of ruining it. So um. Yes. This is it, my apologies for not quite making the word count.
SUMMARY: Chris and Lance go on a road trip and break down in a ghost town.
A/N: Many thanks to my wifey, bellamyrose, for the massive handholding since the very beginning and MAJOR a thank you for doing such a brilliant job on the artwork. *smooches* I couldn't have done this without you. Love you baby.
A/N #2: The town in this story is loosely based upon real life ghost town Bodie, California. Once a thriving gold town with almost 10, 000 people, they suffered through two devastating fires. The second fire was in 1916 and the last residents left the town right around 1932. Now, what remains of the town stands in the middle of nowhere in a state of “arrested decay” and many of the homes and buildings still have residents’ belongings - there’s furniture in the homes, a table set out for breakfast, stock in the general store, tack in the livery, a truck stopped at the old fashioned gas pumps.
It was all just begging the question - what could make them just leave their belongings like this?
It was late spring in the foothill town and evening had finally come after a long day. Elias Singleton wandered through his nearly dark house. In one hand, he carried a candle holder holding a partially burned down candle, with his free hand, he turned the key in the front door before pocketing it. One last turn through the house assured him that the windows were firmly closed for the night. It was late spring and though the days were bright and warm, the nights were still very chilly. He stoked the fire in the main fireplace, adding another log to the fire, before going to the attached infirmary. There, he used the small shovel to add coal to the stove in the corner.
His desk was pushed against the wall a few feet from the door and he tiredly sat in the old chair, and carefully placed the candle on the corner of the desk. He tiredly eyed his journal and where it lay open to the first empty page, a freshly sharpened quill next to a full well of ink. With a sigh, he picked up the quill, dipped it carefully into the well and then blotted it. His hand briefly hovered over the empty page and then he began to write.
April 30
Winter seems to finally have released her tight grip on us and the snow has nearly finished melting. During the day, the sun is deceptively bright and makes one think it is warmer outside than it really is. At night, we still have to remember to close everything up tightly and stoke our fires since it’s stillt bitterly cold. It won’t be long now and we’ll be tilling the ground soon enough for our gardens.
It was a beautiful crisp, sunny morning, so I thought a walk to the Baker’s store would be a good way to enjoy it. As I walked, children were outside and at play in the street, the Mueller’s dog was scampering about around the children and barking as he tried to join in their play. Children’s laughter was everywhere. It was a beautiful morning. Once inside the store, I quickly got the few things I needed - some thread. flour, and my mail from the city - then waited patiently in line as Mr. Baker discussed the latest news with Mr. Compton.
It was as I waited that Tommy Callahan’s grandmother approached me. She looked so very worried as she asked if I would be able to pay a visit to Tommy today. Seems he had a bit of a sore throat, so went round to check him over.
When I got to their house, I found that his mother had moved his bed from one of the back rooms to much nearer the fireplace in the great front room. He was tucked in well with several of his grandmother’s quilts. He was pale and sweaty and did have a slight fever, but I assured his mother that with a bit of rest for a few days and some of his grandmother’s famous soup, he would be back to playing outside with his friends in no time at all.
The car slowly rolled to a stop as Lance guided it to the edge of the road. It was almost anticlimactic. There was no grand puff of smoke, no belching of exhaust, no dramatic bang as the car broke down. It had just spewed some steam, sputtered and shook a bit and now was silent. He put the car into park and turned off the sputtering motor.
He sat there with the keys in his hand, one hand still gripping the steering wheel tightly as he grumbled, “Let’s go for a ride, Lance. It will be fun, Lance. Turn here, Lance.” He pulled the keys out of the ignition and gripped them tightly as he glared at his passenger. “Great idea, Chris,” he finally said. “And now, the car is over heating, we’re on some completely abandoned road in the middle of fucking no where and,” he paused to check his cell phone. “We have absolutely no cell phone reception. Yeah. This was a real great idea.”
“What’s wrong?” Chris asked from the passenger seat.
“Car’s overheating,” Lance repeated as he unbuckled and got out of the car. He rested one arm on the roof of the car and leaned back in. “Get a move on, Kirkpatrick. We might as well walk a bit and see if we can find a house or a service station or something with a working telephone. It’s not like there’s anything behind us to walk back to.” He walked around to the trunk of the car and popped it open, then rummaged through the coolers they had stowed there. He pulled out the backpack they’d tossed in at the last minute, suddenly glad that they had, and dropped in a few bottles of water, some of their snacks and a travel first aid kit. Then without waiting to see if Chris followed, he started walking. He figured that if anything, curiosity about what was ahead would eat at Chris and he’d soon have to follow.
As he heard Chris rushing to catch up, Lance smothered a grin and studied their surroundings. It was just grass and more grass and rolling hill after hill. The road behind them stretched for miles. They’d been driving randomly and he couldn’t remember the last time they’d passed a house or service station. He was pretty sure the road in front of them was more of the same. There were no houses, no telephone or power lines, no anything to give any indication there was any sign of life ahead. It was cool. Night would be cooler if they couldn’t find shelter in time.
Maybe there would be a town could be over the next hill.
It only took a few minutes and Chris had caught up to him. “So why are we not staying with the car?” he asked.
“We need to get it fixed. If we have no cell reception out here, we might be able to find a town or a house or something with a working phone that we can use to call JC or Joey or someone.”
They’d walked what Lance figured was just a couple of miles when the road deteriorated into little more than a dirt track through overgrown grass. Finally, they crested one hill and walked around the curve of another before the road led back down. In the distance, roof tops dotted the flat space in front of them before the road climbed again on the other side and Lance picked up the pace. Surely there would be a phone here, right?
Chris linked his fingers with Lance’s. He gave one quick, hopeful squeeze before relaxing his grip a little bit.
As they got closer to the small town, Lance became aware of how eerily quiet it was. Where were the people? Cars moving up and down the street? Children outside playing? There was nothing, no sign of life, no movement, no sound.
They finally reached the opening to the street and Lance stopped, staring. The town had obviously been abandoned for a long time; many of the buildings were boarded up. Some of them leaned precariously. Some of them had sections that had fallen or had fallen in completely. Some had windows that had broken out long ago, some had windows with a thick layer of grime and dust on them. A few of the buildings had windows with boards nailed over them. A few of them had signs painted across their fronts with the painted faded away to being almost illegible. Nearly everything had lost whatever paint had been there once to begin with. Crooked telephone poles dotted the landscape, but most had no wires connecting one to another.
Lance stared helplessly. Where would their help be now?
May 2
It is with much frustration that I sit and write this entry tonight. After all of my confident assurances to his family two days ago, Tommy Callahan is no closer to getting better. In fact, after today’s visit to their home, it appears that the boy’s condition is worsening. By all reports, the child has not eaten since yesterday morning and, in spite of my best efforts, his fever has still not broken. He sleeps much of the time and his grandmother tells me that every so often, he has an alarming cough that seems to take over his whole body.
His mother is getting more and more worried and, quite frankly, so am I. According to the grandmother, she sits by Tommy’s bedside, quietly reading to him while he is awake and working on her mending while he sleeps. She herself has not slept for several days. While I was there, his sisters watched worriedly and one of them has started coughing as well.
Elias sat back in his chair and stared at the entry as he waited for the ink to dry. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His concern for Tommy grew with each passing hour that he was unable to bring his fever down. His lack of appetite was also worrisome. The boy was slight and would weaken quickly if he didn’t eat something soon. He picked up the quill, dipped it into the ink well, blotted it, and began again.
After a thorough checking over, have once again advised his mother and grandmother to do everything they could to coax him to eat a bit of soup, even if it is only some broth as it is better than nothing. Also promised Tommy that if his mother or grandmother told me upon tomorrow’s visit that he had eaten at least a little bit of soup, then perhaps I would bring him a bit of chocolate from the Baker’s store on my next visit.
Lance and Chris walked down the dusty street, looking at one abandoned building after another. On one corner, two buildings stood side by side with a board sidewalk across the front. One was clearly an old general store. Its windows were dusty, but still in tact. Chris wiped some grime away with his shirt sleeve and cupped his hands around his face as he peered in. Stock still sat on the shelves, someone’s purchases from long ago still on the counter near the register. A mail carousal was on a stand near the counter and some of the slots still held envelops. The other building was smaller, with no identifying marks on its facade to tell Chris what it may have been. After that, there was a small, empty lot and then an old gas station with two old fashioned gas pumps out front. A rusted truck was still parked at the pumps, with grass grown tall around its flat tires. A banged up metal "Shell" sign leaned precariously against one of the pumps.
The next building Lance and Chris ducked into, just on the other side of the gas station, was the old livery. Its doors hung from rusted hardware with enough of a gap between them that Chris and Lance were just able to squeeze through. Chris hung back and watched as Lance moved around the dimly lit room. As he walked around the dusty room, Lance touched his fingertips to the rough walls, the old tack. The dirt floor was bare and on the walls were pegs and hooks with leather bridles and riding crops hanging from them. The leather had long ago dried out and was brittle and cracked. On a table beneath were brushes and combs, leather scraps. They spent a few more minutes inside, then squeezed their way back out into the street.
As he stood in the center of the street, Chris swallowed roughly and shivered as a cool breeze blew gently across the back of his neck. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms and quickly glanced at Lance, who seemed unaffected by it. The breeze was gone, but the sense of unease was still there.
He tugged impatiently at Lance's hand. "Come on, Bass. Keep moving."
Lance glanced at him sharply. "What's the hurry? It's not like we're going anywhere."
Chris made a point of looking at the longer shadows cast by some of the taller buildings. The sun made the buildings almost seem as though they glowed in the setting sun. If it weren't for the fact that they were stranded, it could almost be pretty. "Sun's going to go down soon, Lance. We need to find a place to sleep for the night." And because he knew Lance what Lance was thinking, Chris continued quickly. "No, I don't mean we should try and find a bed, but we need to find a building solid enough to get into. We can sleep sitting up or something."
Lance continued to glare at Chris.
"What? It's better than nothing," Chris insisted. He steered them towards the next building. The faded sign above its doors proclaimed it to have been a hotel. The door on this building wasn't boarded up and Chris pushed it open carefully. Even though on the outside it had seemed plenty sturdy, he had no idea if the inside would live up to appearances.
Chris took a careful step inward and paused to look back as Lance tugged at his arm.
"Careful," Lance whispered and Chris flashed him a grin.
Chris tested the floor carefully with each step before he shifted his weight. Lance's hand flattened against his back and, feeling a little more brave knowing Lance was right there, Chris stepped further into the room.
There was so much to take in, so much to see, it was a little overwhelming and Chris didn't know where to look first. A bar stretched across the far wall and its stools still waited for the day's customer. Dust was everywhere, muting any colors left in the old barroom, covering the floor, the bar’s surface. Empty bottles dotted the counter top. Along the wall behind the bar, a shelf ran most of the length and half empty bottles of clear and amber liquid lined it. To Chris’s right, an ornately carved pool table with balls still on its felt top dominated the corner. A small pot belly stove sat nearby, its fire long gone out. Next to that was an empty coal bucket and shovel. Against the wall behind the pool table, a couple pairs of skis still stood. The wall coverings were in surprisingly good condition, old fashioned textured paper whose color had long ago bled out and a wooden chair rail that ran around the room. Chris lightly dragged his fingers over the paper as he walked, feeling its bumps beneath his fingertips. An open doorway on the far wall revealed stairs that probably led to the rooms that were rented out.
He rubbed his fingertip through the thick layer of dust on the bar top, and then turned back around to face Lance. In the fading light, he was little more than a dark outline. "Dude, this is ... " His voice dropped off as he struggled to find the right words. When he looked quickly at the bar top again, the track from his finger was gone and he briefly wondered if maybe he just didn’t make as much of a mark as he’d thought.
"Creepy?" Lance finished for him. Chris couldn’t help but notice that Lance didn’t come any further into the room.
"Yeah," Chris said quietly. He stared at a spot not far behind Lance, wondering at the shifting shadows. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, they were gone. He started for the open door, patting Lance's arm on the way by. "Come on, let's see what else we can find."