Book Six, Chapter 65: Parking Lot Lookout

“This is the most boring stakeout I have ever been a part of,” Ramona said.

“Do you go on a lot of stakeouts?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I spent years investigating deaths caused by the Die Cast, remember?”

“Okay, sure,” I said. I forgot about that. A lot of that confusing Centennial-related lore had faded from memory, “But come on, don’t you want to know why these people are buying all of these things? That guy’s entire basket is filled with meat. Doesn’t that pique your curiosity?”

The man was wearing an undershirt and swimming trunks, both of which were covered in odd stains.

“He’s having a barbeque,” she said, peeking through the telescope we had brought from the loft once more, “and he needed a lot of pigs’ blood too it would seem.”

“The pigs’ blood barbeque,” I said. “A Carousel tradition.”

“You can’t prove otherwise,” she said.

We were stationed outside of the Eternal Savers Club, just a bunch of players all sticking out like a sore thumb, watching what looked more and more like an ordinary bulk discount store running through its day-to-day business.

“Nothing much has changed,” Antoine said. “Not on the outside at least.”

We had actually come here two or three times back when we were rookies at Camp Dyer. We didn’t get to run the story, of course, but when the vets were finished, they needed someone to help them haul groceries.

Antoine had apparently gotten a pretty good look inside the store because, on one of those occasions, an entire wall had fallen, and he was able to peek inside, which was why he was now the largest expert in the group on what went on in there.

That wasn’t saying much.

“The Atlas says that if you leave someone alive, one of the employees, they can direct you to anything you ask for that might be in stock. Like anything you can think of,” Camden said. “The problem is, apparently, the employees get killed most often.”

Now we had to try to keep someone alive? That was going to be difficult.

“I just wish we could go in there and shop,” Kimberly said. “Why can’t we? This place and the mall. You would think they would have, like, a Safe Saturday or something like that, where you could just purchase things, you know, with money. No strings attached.”

“Yeah, but think of the crowds,” I said. “Safe Saturday would be packed.”

The surroundings of the building were pretty safe. Like many big box stores of its type, Eternal Savers Club was off the highway coming up from southeastern Carousel and not especially close to any neighborhoods. In fact, the nearest landmark I could see was the Astralist’s castle mountain in the distance, though that wasn’t to say it was deserted.

The parking lot was full of cars, and the store was full of people.

Logan, Michael, and Lila had broken off from us to go investigate the perimeter, but they now rejoined us.

“There’s some sort of memorial near those trees over there,” Logan said, all serious. “Lila says it’s not an Omen, so it might be related to the lore of the storyline. There’s no telling at this point.”

Having not accomplished much else, the rest of us decided to follow Logan back toward the memorial.

It was a simple sign that stated:

In memory of Lance Carmichael, loving brother and son.
Gone but not forsaken. Asleep under watchful eyes.
November 5, 1942 – January 10, 1985.

“I assume he died here at the store,” Antoine said after reading the plaque.

“He should have shopped on Safe Saturday,” I said. “This could have all been avoided.”

Some of the others laughed. Others found it difficult to relax out in the open. Not everyone had a scouting trope to watch out for Omens.

“Is there anything in the Atlas about this?” Antoine asked Camden.

“Nothing specifically,” Camden responded. “I think one of the reasons that the Atlas doesn’t have a lot of specific information is because of how flexible this storyline is. There’s no telling what lore might be true and what might not be. It’s all general stuff: how long it lasts, how difficult it is, stuff like that”

I stared at the plaque. There was an etching of a hooded figure to the left of the inscription. The pose reminded me of something you might see on a gravestone. At first, I thought it might be the Hooded God, but this was different, rougher, less angelic-looking. He appeared more brooding than the Hooded God was usually portrayed. His wore an odd robe that reminded me of something between a shepherd’s robe from the bible and a bathrobe.

It was probably closer to the former.

The author’s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

But what did I know?

“So, what do we think?” Logan asked. “Anybody spot something that brings you hesitation?”

It was Carousel, so everything generally brought us hesitation, but nothing specifically.

“You know, if we tracked what these people were buying, it would probably give a lot of clues about storylines that took place near their homes. Look at how much salt that woman is buying,” Camden said.

“Maybe she has well water,” Logan suggested. “Or a slug problem in the garden.”

“Or ghosts,” I said, “depending on how their lore works. That’s not a bad idea.”

It was clear that some of these NPCs were buying very specific things. Most were getting food, sure, but others were buying very peculiar items, like hundreds of feet of rope or a shopping cart full of rat traps.

I didn’t exactly want to follow them back to their homes to see where the clues might lead, but Camden was right. It was clearly Carousel’s intent to put clues inside people’s shopping carts.

But we weren’t here for all the random storylines that these NPCs belonged to. We were here for the store itself.

“Just a second,” Kimberly said. “Is that an Omen?”