The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set, Ernest Dempsey [summer books TXT] 📗

sweat from his brow with the sleeve on his forearm. He breathed heavily and accidentally kicked a rock as he trudged the last dozen feet to the crest of the mountain.

He hadn't seen the terrorist camp in the day, other than from pictures in the mission briefing. To his surprise, it looked remarkably well-organized. The tents were arranged in neat rows with a central fire pit for the men to gather around in the chilly desert evenings. At the end of the path between camouflaged tents, Dak spotted three Toyota pickup trucks parked in the dirt behind a cluster of boulders.

He shook off the fatigue from the ascent and trotted across the camp to the three trucks.

The vehicles sat under another desert camouflage tarp that made spotting the trucks much more difficult from the air since common practice for finding such training centers often utilized drones, spy planes, or satellites.

Dak slowed to a walk and chose the first truck to the left. He hadn't even considered the possibility that he might have to Hotwire the thing if he couldn't locate the keys. It was unlikely the extremists were kind enough to leave them in the ignition and there was no way Dak would go back down the cave. Even if he wanted to, the only way back in was to descend the cliff face and hop in through the hole.

No. If he had to hotwire the truck he would.

He pulled on the latch and the door didn't budge. He sighed a disappointed breath and walked around to the passenger side. That door was locked too. Dak spun around on his heels and tugged on the driver's side door. It also didn't move. He'd exhausted half of his options already with no luck

He repeated the process with the two remaining trucks and found all the doors locked. He bit his lower lip and let out a frustrated grunt. He needed water. Distracted, he glanced over at the nearest tent. There was a small chimney sticking out of the back part of the roof signaling it was the camp's kitchen.

If this place had any water, it was probably there.

Dak gave up on the trucks, for the time being, knowing that he'd probably have to break one of the windows and strip some wires under the steering column to get the thing started. For now, he needed to treat his parched tongue.

He stepped into the tent, pulling back the flap as he passed through and found himself in a vast room held up by poles at both ends and in the center. Two tables formed an L shape on the right side of the tent's interior and several wooden folding chairs occupied the left side, along with a couple of plastic card tables for eating.

A fireplace made of stone and mud in the back connected to the chimney he'd seen from outside. Pots, pans, and utensils filled one end of the table that ran parallel to the back wall.

He surveyed the room and found what he was looking for. In the back left corner, a stack of bottled water cases bloomed like an oasis in the searing desert.

Dak rushed over to the water and ripped open the top case. He yanked a bottle out and twisted the cap off, discarding it carelessly on the dirt floor. The water dribbled down the sides of his mouth, rolling off his chin as he chugged the quenching liquid.

He polished off the entire contents of the bottle in less than ten seconds. He tossed the empty container aside and grabbed a second. Dak downed half of the second bottle more slowly and stopped when he was halfway done. Then he set the bottle down, picked up four more from the case, and stuffed them in his cargo pockets.

Satisfied he'd collected enough to keep him hydrated in case something went wrong on the way back to base, he whirled around and noticed something at the door to the tent. He hadn't seen the wooden pole on the way in, but it stared him in the face now.

He sauntered over to the pole and cocked his head as he gazed upon it. Four nails jutted out of the wood, each holding a set of truck keys. He nodded at the stroke of luck and took the set from the top rung on his way out the door.

A funny thought occurred to him as he walked back toward the row of trucks and he couldn't help but smile. Four keys had been hanging on the pole. That meant his team hadn't bothered to look and probably had to rig the wires to get the thing to start.

Good.

He had a few other savory words he wanted to express, but he pushed them aside. Back at the last truck in the line, he noticed that there were shards of glass scattered in a specific area on the sand. He figured it was where his team had broken the window to gain access to the pickup.

"Suckers," Dak said, though he realized that he too was a sucker for having let trust and friendship get in the way of seeing people for what they were.

Over the course of his life, Dak developed a general mistrust of most people. A large part of that stemmed from his youth. His father vanished when Dak was just a boy which placed the burden of raising him squarely on his mother's shoulders.

She was a drunk and often came home with a different man every weekend. Sometimes she'd hire a babysitter to watch him. Other times, she would just turn on the television, put a plate of macaroni and cheese out, and tell the boy to keep the doors locked until she came home.

Dak had only been five years old at the time, which made her actions highly dangerous and illegal.

Fortunately, Dak met some friends along the way and their families helped make sure he had a future when his mother continually dropped the ball on all fronts.

Dak shook