Crossing the Rubicon ch. 1
#1 of Rubicon
{"Is there life on Mars?" - David Bowie.}
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[Previously, in Crossing the Rubicon (prologue), Duncan, a 32 year-old Pit Bull, recruited Jack, a 25 year-old Great Dane . . . for an Adventure. Neither of them would call it that. Duncan has found someone - a young human - he believes could be the next King. Jack, by the way, does not like humans. Meanwhile, the world has started to fall apart in some way, and everything is changing, and is pretty much turning shitty. Duncan has to get his young King to the West Coast, but the passenger trains are down, and so . . . he and his team will have to drive out there. That's going to suck. Oh, and according to Jack - "Crossing the Rubicon" is an expression that means going so far you can't go back to the way things were. It's the point of no return.]
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New York City.
I was born here, grew up here. Now, I find myself doing what tourists do - looking up and looking around. I lift my eyes upwards and upwards, and I scan the tall, tall buildings that surround me. Fuck it. Who cares if anyone sees me gawking? I want to look at everything. After all, I'm leaving - and for how long? For a while? Forever? New York Fucking City. I can't wait to get out. And I know that once I'm gone, I'll be thinking I can't wait to get back home.
There's a van coming towards me, it's kind of beaten up and faded. Jesus, don't tell me Duncan got a van. Well, I guess he had no choice. How big is his team? Who else is going on this stupid, stupid trip out West? He probably needed a van. And . . . yes, there's Duncan sitting in the passenger seat. The big Pit Bull's drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup and looking all ready to go. The van pulls up and the door slides open. Out pops a Lion, a tall and very muscular Lion, I should add.
"So you're Jack, ey?" The Lion is looking me up and down. "I'm Rav. Welcome aboard."
"Thanks," I mutter. "Nice to meet ya."
Rav has his mane pulled back, held back with a rubber band or something. He looks tough, and I wonder if he's from around here. His outfit is similar to mine - dark jeans, black tee.
Filled with misgivings - not about Rav, but about this entire fucking thing - I get into the van. Sitting in the back, there's a young human and a feral dog. The dog is staring at me. In my opinion, it's the kind of look a feral dog gives to something he's about to eat. The boy brought his dog? I wonder. Isn't this supposed to be a dangerous trip? Not only that, but the boy - okay, the young man - looks young. Does he even shave yet? Duncan said he was eighteen, but, Jesus, he looks younger.
"Hi, I'm Micah," the young human is saying, and even his voice is young. "Great to meet you. This is Drake -" he points at the dog. "- and he talks, 'cause he's an intelligent dog, so don't be shocked when he does. I was. I was so shocked, I nearly fell over."
The dog cocks his head, and continues looking at me. Is this a joke? A talking feral dog? I'm barely in the van, and already this human child is making weird jokes?
"Drake is from one of the Other worlds," Duncan says, from the passenger seat. "Cornerstone, was it?"
"Key_stone," the feral says, and Jesus _Christ, holy shit, he really does talk. This feels surreal. I've heard of talking dogs, of course, but they're so rare. I never thought I'd meet one.
"Jack," Drake says, then, "I'm pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," I somehow manage to say.
"I came here from Keystone to help Micah. I'm drawn to quests like this."
"I never thought of this as a quest," Micah says, and there's a faraway look in his eyes, because, really - and I realize this truth all over again - Micah is a young man from a farm, dreaming of adventures. And quests. No doubt, there's no room in his mind for the reality of how dangerous this trip could be. And isn't that just great? It's _so _great.
At that moment, I feel immensely grateful that Duncan is in charge. He seems to have a practical, realistic attitude about everything (though, he is hopeful - or optimistic? - that having a King will greatly improve things in America).
I glance at Drake, the talking feral. He looks just like a typical Doberman. Big dog, tall ears, long muzzle. However, instead of black and tan, his short fur is black and blue. Drake's fur is black where a Doberman's fur is usually black, but it's blue where a normal Doberman's is tan.
I sit down next to Rav. Behind us are Micah and Drake. Behind them, I notice, are crates and boxes filled with food and bottled water. And booze.
"Hey, I'm Celeste," the driver calls out to me. She's an elf, with a mohawk, and piercings up and down her ears. "And you're the Dane, huh? Damn, you're a tall drink of water. I might be asking you to warm me up, if the nights get cold."
"Gods, Celeste," Rav says, with an amused laugh. "Cool your loins." He means it as a joke, and the elf laughs.
"I'm just messin' around," she says, turning around to look at me. "_Mostly _messin' around."
"Doesn't bother me," I say. "But you should know I'm gay."
"Figures," Celeste says, with a sigh. "The hottest ones usually are. So!" She turns to Duncan. "Shall we start this fucking thing or what?!"
"We shall," Duncan replies.
He looks at Celeste, the elf, then he turns to look at the four of us in the back.
"Everyone ready?" His voice is calm, but I can sense the undertone of excitement.
_I'm _not ready, but I'm damn sure not going to say that out loud.
I look out the window. New York. Tall buildings, dirty streets, crime, the world's best food. I'll be back, someday, I tell myself.
I'm not ready, but at the same time . . . I am ready.
**