Caveship

12 || Revelations

The television drones on quietly, an old black and white CRT set barely hanging on the wall of the hotel's lobby from a rusty old TV mount. The thin, fake brown wooden walls of the lounge have seen better days, faded and lacking the original luster that would've been a joy to look at whenever the hotel had been constructed, probably decades ago.

Vincent stands quietly in the middle of the lobby, staring at the television. Almost as if it's expected, the local news is on and, though the current segment has a male and female anchor discussing major events across the country, there's not a peep about the Buckhorn Mountain incident or any other strange happenings across the nation.

Calmly, Vincent turns his attention to the rest of the lobby to occupy his time in a way that won't distract him. A few old wooden chairs are set comfortably in a corner, as dusty and worn as the walls themselves. The tile floor, once a pearly white, is now a gross yellow from age, struggling to reflect the light from the single fan whining overhead as it slowly turns. A newer looking plastic table stands near the door, complete with what Vincent can guess is a continental breakfast: some stale honey buns and some generic fruit pastries, all in wrappers, right next to a coffee machine that may be as old as the hotel. The red light atop the coffee maker flickers desperately, as if begging for mercy.

Sudden movement brings the tired daydreaming Vincent to attention, his gaze turning toward the bulletproof glass separating him and the tiny office on the other side. An older woman settles into her seat, gently sliding Vincent's credit card in the middle slot underneath it. He steps over to acquire it, removing his wallet and replacing it where he'd taken it from earlier.

"All we need is your signature," the old woman says, trying to smile, pushing the flimsy paper underneath the window. Lifting the pen, chained to the desk as if they were concerned someone might take off with it, Vincent quietly scribbles his name on the line and returns the paper to the woman on the other side of the window.

"Thank you, dear. Your room will be on the bottom floor. Room 3." The subtle scrape of metal on metal announces the presence of a key.

Gently lifting the key up, Vincent calmly clutches it in his hand. "Thanks. Oh, and... just out of curiosity, have you noticed any seismic activity around here?"

The old lady chuckles, resting her arms on her side of the window. "Oh yeah. Been gettin' worse, and I don't just mean the tremors. There's always been boys from the national guard around these parts, but a lot more of 'em showed up just as the tremors started." She leans back in her chair now. "Rumor has it that they've built a military base out there in the woods."

"I see. Any idea what direction that might be in? Any trails I can take to look at it?" Vincent inquires curiously, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible in his inquiry.

The old woman shakes her head. "Not a clue. Sorry, dear. Even if I knew, I just don't have what it takes to go out there and have a look. I think they've closed all the roads leading into the mountains, so if you're planning to go over there, you might want to be careful they don't catch ya or anything." She grins knowingly at him.

Vincent offers a dismissive handwave. "Alright. Thanks for the info."

"Don't be a stranger," the old lady smiles, watching Vincent turn to leave the lobby, before leaning down to take up her newspaper. Before he leaves, Vincent quickly peruses a rack of pamphlets about the surrounding area and things to do, plucking one that reads 'Oregon and the Blue Mountain's Native American Heritage'. He sighs and stares at the entrance to the hotel, as if contemplating his next steps, before walking over and exiting the lobby.

Once outside, Vincent crosses the parking lot to his vehicle, unlocking the trunk and lifting it, leaning in to grab a hiking pack. He briefly admires the sky as it begins to turn orange from the sunset, even if he can't see the sun from where he is.