The Highwaymen: Greyest Night

Chapter 1

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September 25, 2020

What is the reason for living? This question has been pondered for millennia but why is it that no sufficient answer has been calculated? I do not claim to know the answer. I would also like to have the answer to that question. The massive cults of worshipers of the "Higher Powers" tell us that there is a reason for our existence , but fail to say what that reason is. They say that only He knows. While that is just fine and dandy, I would like to have at least a small hint.

I have failed to find the reason for my existence. I am twenty-two years old and within the past year I have lost nearly everything I had. This past summer my father died of asbestos poisoning from when he worked in the mill. He may have been sixty-three years old, but I find it hard to believe that he would let something like that bring him down. He already knew to stay out of the heat and didn't do any strenuous activities that would make his lungs give out the rest of the way. I believe that the main reason for his death is that he gave up on living. February of this year my mother and her brother were murdered by something that mauled and bit them. The officials tried to say that it was some kind of animal attack, but I did a little research on the area near where they were vacationing. I found out that there were reports of many other attacks like that , yet there was nothing being done about the animals which were supposedly attacking people.

Well, if it wasn't an animal, what was it? That I cannot say. I wish I knew, but I did find out that a company that had been accused of cruelty to animals had its base of operations near there. It was called Future Tech. They had been conducting experiments on animals, and when they got caught, the government just slapped them on the wrist and let it be. So if it was an animal that killed my mother and uncle, I am fairly certain that it was one that escaped from them. They never could match the wounds to any known animal, so something was up.

Whether or not they were the cause of all of my pain is still to be proven. I do know this though. After my mother and uncle died, my father started drinking heavily. I believe that my father simply gave up on living because the things he loved were being taken from him. I will never know. It's over now. Nothing can be changed.
* * * * *

The bright morning sun glared at me through the window next to my bed. Its rays warmed my face and blinded me even without me having to open my eyes. I throw my arm across my eyes and groan for a moment. Why do I even need to get up?

As I begin to question whether or not I really want to get up, I hear a noise that reminds me why I need to hurry up and get out of here since I have been woken up. It sounds like something is dying and giving its final cry. The sound makes me want to cry out myself but I do not. As the sound echoes through the house and rattles the shingles, I flip the covers off of me. My bones crack and pop as I stretch and twist them. I slip on my jeans and button up shirt then put on my boots and hat. I sigh as I look at my reflection in the mirror. My dark almost burnt looking skin is littered with small scars and pecks and my face has the look of someone who has not slept in eons. My dark brown hair hangs below my shoulders and is about the only thing that doesn't look aged nearly to death.

I look down at the dresser where a leather belt is coiled up like a snake. The belt has many loops where small bullets are placed and holster with gun in it is on one side. I pick up the belt and wrap it around my waist. I hook the buckle and tie the holster to my right leg. From the holster I pull the heavy stainless steel Taurus .357. The balance is perfect. The black synthetic handle has enough grip to make sure you don't drop it. The gun was my father's, but he sold it when he started drinking. It took me quite some time to track the new owner down and way too much money to get it back. Now it just reminds me of how far people can fall if pushed hard enough.