Barry ‘Bardog’'s Arc

Chapter 7 of 13

The rumor reached Barry through a scavenger who stopped for water. The Ravens were digging under the old train station, hauling up dirt and rock in the middle of the night. Traders were already talking about rerouting south to avoid whatever was down there. Barry walked to the station that afternoon to see for himself. The building still stood, cracked concrete and broken windows, but the Ravens had marked it now. Fresh graffiti covered the walls in bright colors that seemed to glow even in daylight, the word MINE spray-painted over every surface. Five bikers stood guard at the entrance, jackets covered in paint and gang marks, spray cans clipped to their belts like weapons. One of them stepped forward when Barry got close, not threatening but not welcoming either. Barry asked what they were moving down there. The biker smiled and said it didn't matter to people who minded their business. Barry looked past him and saw tire tracks where trucks had come and gone, deep ruts in the dirt leading to a hole that dropped into darkness. He turned and walked back to his bar. That evening, two traders came through his door and asked if the northern route was still clear. Barry poured them drinks and told them what he'd seen: the Ravens had claimed the station and everything under it, and anyone passing through would be paying their price soon enough. The traders exchanged looks and one of them said they'd take the southern pass from now on, even if it cost them an extra day. Barry watched them finish their drinks and leave, understanding what the excavation meant for his bar. Fewer traders would come through Rust Creek now, which meant fewer customers and less business to cover for Sherrie's safehouse. The Ravens weren't just digging for whatever was buried down there. They were choking off the trade that kept places like his alive, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it. The next morning Barry walked two blocks past the station to where the main road split north and south. He found what he expected: a rusted excavator parked across the northern route, its bucket resting on the ground like a barricade. The Ravens had made their move clear. Barry stood there calculating the numbers. The southern pass meant traders would bypass Rust Creek entirely or arrive exhausted and low on supplies. Either way, his bar would see less traffic just when he needed it most. But he'd seen the bikers' faces yesterday, the way they'd looked at him when he asked questions. They wanted him to know this was deliberate. They were forcing him to choose between staying independent and staying open. Barry turned back toward his bar, accepting what he couldn't change but already working through what he could. If traders wouldn't come through Rust Creek anymore, he'd have to give them a reason to stop here anyway. The bar would need to offer something worth the detour, something the Ravens couldn't dig up or block off. He didn't know what that was yet, but he knew he'd figure it out before his next shipment from Sherrie arrived.