After several near-deal experiences, and a harrowing trip to try and locate a town, we managed to find our way to the site of the meet-up before sundown. The fact that it took divination to do so is inconsequential. Completely inconsequential. It’s not my fault the directions were so hard to follow.

“Hard to follow? It’s literally right off an interstate! All you had to do was stay on the highways and it would have been fine.”

“I’m not paying forty bucks to those money grubbers just to use the Turnpike! That’s literal highway robbery! And you just know it’s going to pad some slush fund; you’ve seen how shitty these roads are, there’s no way any of that money’s actually going to highway maintenance!”

“You’re so stubborn, and in the weirdest ways too! We could have at least asked for directions.”

“We were in the middle of nowhere. And the only place we could find had one of those weird signs. I didn’t want to go near it.”

“Fair enough… Why did I become your familiar again?”

“Didn’t you say it was because you wanted a venti frappichino?”

“I was also homeless and starving.” Liah paused, before acceding “but yes, that was part of it.”

“There you go then. So, now we’re almost at the site of the meet-up...”

“Meeting your militia friends seems like a hassle. I guess I’ll hang out nearby until nightfall.”

“They’re not a militia, they’re just a bunch of people I met in a chat app who like guns.”

“That doesn’t help your case. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

With that Liah left the car with her pack full of sketchbooks, closing the door before disappearing. I shrugged, and continued down the roughly hewn access road through the forest. There was logging and oil drilling taking place, so the roads weren’t horrible, but they definitely weren’t great. After the last couple wrong turns however they were a cakewalk, and I soon pulled into a parking lot full of 4x4’s.

I could see two people standing by one of the trucks smoking, a tall, but svelte, African-American and a stocky, kind of ripped, short Hispanic guy. As I parked next to a pickup with a “no step on snek” sticker in the back window, they came over to greet me. Their polite looks turned to surprise when I got out of the car.

“Hi… who were you again in the chat?” The taller of the pair asked

“...Spookyspell...” It wasn’t the best username, but cut me some slack. “But you can call me Amy. And you are?”

“ForestFan. You can just call me Forest, although my real name is Jeff. And he’s IHATEELVES in the chat.”

The shorter of the two extends his hand.

“Nice to finally meet you. I was waiting for the other jarhead who rsvp’d to get here. I’ll admit, I didn’t think you’d actually be a girl. My Christian name’s Gabe if that’s easier to say.”

“I could have sworn I mentioned that”

“We all thought you were just gay. No girl in her right mind would hang out with a group like us.”

“eheh… So, you said you had been an assaultman in the Corps?”

“Yup. Shame they’re phasing it out. Not as bad as them getting rid of all the tankers, but still hurts to see it. By the way, what was your job again?”

“You know…intel. The usual Powerpoint writer sort of job.”

“I guess someone needs to tell us where to go to do our job. None of us are as high-speed as Forest here though.”

“Oh?”

Forest looked a bit awkward, before explaining. “I was a scout-sniper. It certainly beat having to wear that ugly UCP pattern all the time, I can say that for sure.”

“Neat. So you were army?”

“Yup. I still do long-range shooting competitions. I actually bought my new baby here today. I was just showing it off to Gabe.” I can’t help but notice he seems reluctant to use Gabe’s screen name.

“It’s over here. I was just about to bring it down to the campsite. Good timing on your part, we can help with your gear. But first...”

He gestured to his truck bed, where a massive rifle was sitting on a bi-pod.

“Is… that a PGM Hecate?”

“Yup. I may not make much money, but I was able to save up for it.”

“He just bought it because a cute girl in a cartoon had one.”

“Shut up manlet! You’re just jealous.”

“Can your skinny twig arms even carry it?”

“Cardio’s important.”

“So’s weight lifting. Now help with with her gear.”

With the three of us carrying my camping gear, gun cases, and the ever important cooler of beer from the parking area was a cinch. As we descended the hill down the trail the smell of wood smoke grew stronger, and soon a guitar could be heard. It was playing what sounded like a blues tune.

Several people were sitting around the campfire, but the most notable was the guitarist. He was maybe about 4’ 3”, and it was kind of awkward seeing him try to play a full-sized guitar. But he was clearly skilled. I was kind of captivated, and barely even noticed when one of the others around the campfire handed me a can of beer. He finished up with Crossroad Blues and jumped down from his chair.

“Hi! Nice to meet you! I’m TrailsongDave in the chat, though my students just call me Professor Dave. You can call me Dave.”

“Hi… Spookyspell. Please though, just call me Amy. You’re fucking amazing at guitar.”

“Of course. I specialize in classical guitar, although music history is my hobby. Hold on...”

The short guy ran off to a tent, leaving me awkwardly sipping my beer. After a few rummaging noises he returned, carrying, I shit you not, a fucking Baroque lute.

“I couldn’t bring the theorbo since that’s an absolute hassle to drag along with me. But lute is massively underrated as an instrument. Plus, with a lute I have the perfect excuse to do this.” He struck a pose, and began to sing loudly. “Toss a coin to your Witcher Oh, Valley of Plenty Oh, Valley of Plenty!...”

All that talent, channeled into a meme song…

He finished his song and ran back to his tent, returning with his guitar where he started with Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ I Put a Spell On You. At this point the others around the fire began to introduce themselves.

“DocHoliday’s my username. I think we talked for a while when you were asking about VA disability stuff. You know this already but I was an HM1 in the Navy. Try not to get too injured out here, it’d be a shame for you to make a bad showing for us women due to some crayon-eater stupidity.” She finished saying with a grin as she looked me over. She had short blonde hair, a sizable chest, and a bit of an edge to her, but I knew she was nice. She had helped me out plenty in the past.

I chose to ignore the alien tendril of jealousy radiating into my mind that didn’t exactly seem to come from my own thoughts. I guess it’s a two-way street with the whole familiar contract. Why didn’t she react this way to anyone else here?

You know damn well why. And she clearly must have ulterior motives. Don’t be naive.

While I was lost in thought, the last man introduced himself.

“DissoluteLifehacker, but Smith works fine here.”

“Oh, you’re the one who’s into lock picking!”

“I kind of thought my art made more of impression.”

“It kind of does, but lock picking is neat too. But no, your art really is great, I was just messing with you.”

“Well, it looks like everyone’s here now. It’s a bit too late to get any shooting done, but the fun part about these kinds of trips is sitting around the campfire bullshitting anyways. This seems like the perfect setting for telling scary stories of monsters and ghosts, this deep in Appalachia.”

“Do you know any good ones?” I asked.

“I’d have thought you’d know some. You came off as the kind of person to have an interest in the occult.” Someone chimed in.

“What, me? What’d give you that idea?”

“Your username.”

“By that logic you’d be a dwarf. Oh, wait… manlet.”

“You can’t call me a dwarf with Professor Dave over there. Hey do you know anything from the Lord of the Rings soundtrack?”

“No, but I do know a few good ghost stories. I can tell them later if you want. I’m sure our resident sorceress here would find them interesting.”

“What possibly makes you think I’m into that kind of thing?”

“Your username. And that necklace you’re wearing. I’ve had a few students who were into the occult.”

“You should stay away from that stuff, I hear it can be dangerous.”

“Don’t lecture her Gabe.”

“Is Doc into that too?”

“I’ve heard Doc is into a lot of things.”

We settled into a comfortable back and fourth of banter as I set up my tent. The whole group got along like we’d known each other for years. They clearly weren’t the militia the ATF thought they were, and the joviality of the group was reassuring. It’s hard to imagine anything spooky happening here.