For the first day since we arrived in the Deadlands, we don't find no Zombies to kill.

The lack of a payday puts a dark lining on an already cloudy day. It's good money killing Zombies, albeit boring and hard earned. Satisfying as melee combat can be, it's also exhausting and fraught with tension as the margin for error is slim to none. Only gotta get grabbed once to really ruin my day, and I've seen for myself how I can't shoot my way out of a pinch. Them Pathfinders had plenty of fully automatic guns, but even then, they were barely able to fight free of the horde to escape to a waystation, where they still almost succumbed to the horde. To make matters worse, aside from a general sense of something lurking about, there's no real way for me to tell if there's a Mimic around, or a shard of one with juice enough to turn them strong shamblers into speedy undying puppets who take a licking and keep on ticking.

Seriously though. All them Spells stacked onto them Zombies makes for some real nightmare fuel. Guess there's good reason why most Zombies got 5 grams of Aberrtin to an Orc's average of 3 grams. To make their bodies highly receptive to whatever magics them Mimics be working. They're like sailboats pretty much, able to get around on a still lake during a normal day, but then the Mimic comes along to fill their sails and get them zooming right quick.

Quick enough to tear me limb from limb if I'm out here all by lonesome…

Seriously. If we didn't have time enough to put those Sanctuary Stakes down before kicking the hornet's nest, I don't know if we could've held out against that supercharged horde. The Protection from Abby did wonders to throw off their aim and coordination. Soon as them Zombies stepped foot past them stakes, they started struggling to control their bodies as the magic interfered with their neurons or whatever it is Abby use to control their bodies. Doesn't just work on the Soulless either, but it do work better against them, and I know that the next time I spot a big horde in our path, I'll plonk them stakes down in a good, defensible location with all manner of tripwires and traps to make my killing ground.

Hell, might even be worth Prepping the Spell to have it ready in a pinch. It'd have a much smaller range, one that won't do much for anyone besides the target, but even then, it might well be worth the four Grainage for a First Order Spell.

It's the logistics of it all that's really holding me back here, as the lack of a wagon is really slowing me down. We been walking for six days now, and we've just barely covered a hundred klicks. It's been real slow going, and not just because we all gotta hoof it in bad terrain. We gotta keep to a particular route, as you don't want to spend your nights out under the stars. You want to be nice and safe inside a proper waystation with sturdy, Imbued walls. Even the Sanctuary Stakes won't be enough to stop a horde of shamblers coming at you from all sides, which could mean trouble if I'm out and about by myself. Having to stick to pre-determined rest spots means I might well run across strangers, and without the infamous Edward Elton to keep everyone honest, that could mean trouble.

Then again, we haven't come across anyone out here besides the one Pathfinder patrol, but I said it before and I'll say it again, you always gotta plan for the worst.

Even if we take a dozen steps back and look solely at the money, it's not all rainbows and sunshine. Sure, a Zombie is good money at a dollar fifty a head, compared to about ninety cents for an Orc which I'd say are more dangerous. Zombies are tougher and harder to put down to be sure, and they got potential to be a real big threat if they got a Mimic to bolster them up. Under the right conditions, they'll trade pound for pound against a similar number of Orcs and probably come out on top, but I still reckon Orcs are the bigger threat, as they got that cunning brutality that Zombies lack.

Them Zombies might well have been supercharged, but they wasn't any smarter than before. Came at us from head on with only a little encouragement, but Orcs? Orcs would've encircled us in a heartbeat, then get to throwing whatever they had on hand. Heavy rocks, sharp sticks, hell, they'll even throw gobbos at you, which sounds funny until you get hit in the head by forty pounds of screeching green fury.

Thing is, that don't mean Zombies are easy money, as I don't got a wagon and oversized pressure cooker to render my catch down right quick. Or the freedom to use guns both Big and small to my dark heart's content. Instead, I gotta smack them Zombies dead with a sharp implement, then stack them corpses up on a Floating Disc before trudging through the mud and muck for a few hours until I get somewhere safe enough to cook. That limits me to how many Zombies I can kill a day, to say nothing of the limits of my stamina and focus. With Orcs or Beetles in the desert and badlands? I can stack them bodies up six metres high and still have time enough to load 'em up in the wagon and get outta dodge, with no real need to cook them right quick like I do here in the Deadlands.

The real kicker though? It's way more fun gunning down a horde of Swarmlings or popping Orc heads from a hundred metres out, to say nothing of the environment. Much as I hate the sand and dust, the desert and badlands are paradise compared to this fetid, humid, bug-infested swamp, one that's got my clothes soaked in sweat and feet looking like ten miles of bad road at the end of every day.

Chrissy's too, and I see to her as soon we're settled in to the waystation for a night. She got a leech stuck on her ankle who gets seasoned and served to Frowny sat on her lap, then I gently pat her feet dry while taking care to avoid the sores and blisters. Not just regular blisters from her boots either; immersion blisters be a real threat out here. Know how your fingers and toes get white and wrinkled when you soak 'em for too long? Well, leave it long enough and whole patches of skin'll start sloughing off, and don't no one want that. That's why I go slow and gentle while setting Chrissy's feet up next to an active Dewbane charm so they'll dry quick as possible. To take care of the blisters, I boil some water and add plenty of salt before flushing all them open wounds to clean them off. Then comes an antiseptic beeswax poultice I made using a recipe Astrid gave me, followed by a heavy dusting of powdered charcoal to speed the drying along some more.

The Askefjords all know the drill by now, and they handle their own barking dogs beside us, as today's waystation is a small fortified palisade with only two cabins inside, both much smaller than what we're used to. Still stick to the one building though, as it's safer than splitting up, and the cramped conditions be a stark reminder of where we are. In day's past, we was still more or less on the perimeter of the Deadlands, while tonight, we've moved into the central region proper where the Soulless be thick and furious. Hard to maintain a series of waystations when Zombies keep tearing them down, which is why fighting at the waystations is frowned upon unless you got no other option.

Like them Pathfinders from yesterday, who Elodie done run off with, leaving me with a mood lower than a snake's belly without her cheery presence.

It's just me and Frowny feeling down in the dumps though, as the rest of the group seems fine enough. The Askefjords are all poring over their notes and samples while discussing things to try once they get them all home, while Edward, Aaron, and Luther are all business as usual as they batten down the proverbial hatches of our little waystation here. Not saying they should all be downtrodden and downcast, as it's not like we lost Elodie for good. She's just off learning how to exorcize ghosts or whatever, and I can come back and see her whenever I like. Problem is, the prospect of turning the Deadlands into a long-term hunting ground is looking bleak as things stand, because even though I done earned more than 375$ in less than week's time with minimal expenditure, I'm not sure the juice is worth the squeeze all things considered.

Which is wild to think about. Took me a week to earn what most workers make in a season, and I'm still thinking it ain't enough. It's a good amount for what it is, though Elodie deserves a share of it. I'd say twenty to thirty percent of the take is fair for her part in all this, and she's looking at another $200 from the Catteneo's for killing Dakota Slim. Me, I'll make do with the interest I intend to collect from them, maybe in the form of four Kalthoff originals if I'm feeling less than charitable, because I know damn well this all went down the way it did because Rossi's intentionally let slip that he contracted me out to take down Dakota Slim.

That said, I still done come out flush from these last few days. Thing is, even though I'd earn less in the Badlands and Coral Desert, the risks are also much lower, and the stress too as I can pop back home or into town with relative ease compared to out here in the Deadlands. We're about a day's march from a proper military checkpoint where I can top off on foodstuffs and medical supplies, so that means I gotta carry at least seven day's worth of stuff in my pack each and every time I come in. I'm also prepared to be gouged by the prices, because I hear ain't nothing come cheap this deep in the swamp. Could get myself a flat bottom skimmer for cargo and stick to the nautical routes, like the ones I seen my first day here, but those lanes are heavily trafficked meaning Abby turn up in big numbers, or not at all.

And without Edward, Aaron, and Luther here to back me up, there won't be nothing I can do except run if I come across a big pack of speedy shamblers, and even then I might not make it out in one piece.

After tending to our feet and getting them all wrapped up, I set my mind to making dinner while adding more fuel to the fire. Despite the heat of the flames, I'm feeling a chill that gets right down to my bones, one that's got me sweating and shivering at the same time. Odd that, but I soldier on and cook up some pemmican stew with canned beans and some local tubers that crisp up real nice. Also get a pot of herbal tea going, one separate from the black tea that Edward, Aaron, and Luther imbibe in such large quantities each and every night, as they do be British and don't function without it.

"You alright there, Howie old boy?" Aaron asks, stepping over to help me pour my tea when he sees me struggling to keep the kettle still. "Look a little shaky on your feet." Handing me the hot, steaming mug, he hunches over to look me in the eyes like a medico checking if my pupils are responsive.

"He's sweating and shivering," Luther observes, sounding somewhat amused. "Check him for ticks."

Which I figure is the opening line to a joke, but Aaron's already lifting my pant leg to check for bugs. Lo and behold, he finds a chompy son of a gun dug right into my left calf, and he pulls out his knife to pry the darn thing off. "Bad luck that," Aaron says, showing me the fat, swollen bug who's been eating good for at least a few hours now. "Seems we'll be calling this home for the next day or two." Glancing at Luther as he feeds the tick to sweet, curious Terrance, he adds, "Which I believe means you owe me ten quid."

"Hang on now." Bolting upright from his perch by the windowsill, Luther counters with, "Bet was that the laddie calls for a break before week's end. He hasn't called for one."

"He will in a few hours," Aaron replies, giving me a look of commiseration as he does. "I daresay he won't be in any condition to sit upright, much less march with a kit as full as his."

"That's not a break. That's sick rest." Never one to give up, Luther turns to me and asks, "You weren't gonna call for a break, were you laddie? You were planning on continuing on tomorrow same as before, right?"

"Man proposes, God disposes," Aaron says, smiling triumphantly as he declares, "The terms of our wager was that Howie would press on for a full seven days without rest, not whether he intended to do so regardless of circumstance. While I admit the good lad was game for it, I fear that will no longer be the case with the ague upon him. He'll be bed-bound for the next day at least, which brings us back to the original topic of the ten quid you owe me."

Now I haven't really been paying attention, as I been dying of thirst while waiting for my tea to get to reasonable drinking temperature. "Hang on," I say, pausing to blow on my tea and get lightheaded in the process. "You bet against me Aaron? I'm hurt."

"Not against you, Howie old boy," he says with a smile, slipping his arm around my shoulder while guiding me over to my hammock where he has me take a seat. "Against the circumstances of your arrival. Were it only you, I would never dream of betting against you. Full of beans you are, and I'm not talking about your dinner. Putting aside the fact that standard operating procedure in the Deadlands is to rest one full day for every two spent marching, I wager you could go a whole month without crying uncle. What I didn't expect was for the rest of your group to be so hardy and tough. Especially the Princess here, who's endured quite well I'd say, quite well indeed."

"Tough," Chrissy says, curling her one bicep to show off her nonexistent muscles, which gets a chuckle out of all of us.

"Right you are dear, right you are. Tough as nails," Aaron says with a smile before turning back to me. "A healthy bunch, this first generation of Frontier born, and it almost cost me a pretty pence."

"Ain't no almost about it," I say, finally deciding to risk it all for a hot sip that scorches my lips and soothes my parched throat. "That money was good as lost the second you bet against us. Come hell or highwater, I'll be ready to march by morning. Just a bit of sweat and chills is all." Deciding not to push my luck for a second sip just yet, I send my Mage Hands over to my pack to grab my jar of honey and ask, "So what's the deal with this ague anyways?"

"Bogfire ague," Luther clarifies, back to leaning against the windowsill as he enjoys his cuppa. "Nasty stuff it is, and it took us years to figure out it was from the ticks. Fever, chills, and a whole host of aches in bones you never knew existed, that's what in store for ye laddie. Much as I hate to admit it, Aaron's right. This cabin here is home for the next day or two while you sweat it all out. Nothin' for it laddie. Just wasn't meant to be."

"Bah. You just sayin' that cause you're old and feeble," I say, waving off their concerns with a grin even though I'd very much like to sleep until all this is over. "Me, I'm young and spirited, full of beans both literally and figuratively, and I ain't ever been down for more than a few hours from any sickness. Just you watch. Come morning, I'll be up and about like no one's business, and at end of the day, I'll be expectin' my half of them winnings fer gettin' over that finish line."

"Aye, and I'll be happy to pay," Luther says, grinning from ear to ear. "Well worth the price of admission."

"We'll see," Aaron says, rolling his eyes while I spoon far too much honey into my tea. "For now, it's off to Bedfordshire for you Howie old boy. Nothing wrong with a day of rest and Regeneration. Give everyone time to heal up from all those dreadful blisters and bug bites without growing faint from hunger."

I don't say nothing, because with the copious amount of added honey and a whole bunch of stirring, my tea is finally drinkable. I get to nursing it, while pouring myself a second cup well in advance so I don't gotta wait the second time around. The Mage Hands are coming in clutch right now, as I'm shivering so much I can barely keep from spilling tea all over myself. Sweating something fierce too, though I'm thinking I've been sweating for a while now and just didn't really notice as I chalked it up to the marching. Feel a chill coming on too, so I get an extra blanket to lay out on the hammock so I'm covered from the front and back. With a rare bit of foresight, I lay down a towel too, so I don't go soaking right through the blanket, then set up my mosquito netting so I don't get eaten alive overnight.

Help Chrissy do the same with her hammock, and by the end of it, I'm sweating so much I need to wipe myself down. Not the most promising start to the night, and against my better judgement, I take Aaron's advice to strip out of my duster and regular clothes and change into something light and breathable. That's more or less the last thing I remember, that and chugging down my third or fourth cup of tea before it all goes dark for the night. The next thing I know, morning's come and my clothes are soaked in what I dearly hope is sweat, while my body hurts in places I didn't know could hurt. It's not about the general location, like my ankle, knees, hips, lower back, and chest, but rather the fact that the pain is coming from deep within those regions and emanating outwards in a constant, pulsing ache that makes it hurt to even breathe.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Aaron is sympathetic, while Luther doesn't even care about how he might lose his bet and has himself a big old laugh at my expense. Talks a big game about how his old bones could never handle the ague as well as I can, and there ain't nothing I can do except suck it up and take it on the chin. That's the price you pay for talking big about things you don't know nothing about, but who would've thunk one little tick could put me down this hard? Disease riddled bugs is just one more thing on the list of reasons why I shouldn't make the Deadlands my new hunting grounds, a list I expand on while lying in my hammock and praying for the sweet release of sleep.

Got all sorts of dead animals and rotting Soulless lurking about, so you risking dysentery with the water. Theres a whole lot of venomous reptiles and amphibians out there too, so you don't want to get bit. Food is scarce, as you want to avoid most the wildlife round these parts seeing how they chock full of parasites, and while there plenty of edible vegetation, that's not the same as saying there's good eats. You can eat leather if you boil it tender, but that don't mean you'd ever want to, and the same applies to most of what you find around these parts.

So yeah. Terrible idea to hunt here solo. Imagine if I was six days deep in the Deadlands all by my lonesome and came down with this Bogfire ague. With no one here to watch out for me, the best I can hope for is to get to a waystation and pull through the worst of it before I run out of food and water. Can barely get to the bathroom to do my business without a helping hand, and I most certainly ain't up for cooking. Can't even hold my cup upright with my real hand, and Chrissy has herself a ball playing nursemaid and letting me take small sips while dabbing at my lips in between. She also mops my brow with a handkerchief, then washes it clean with a Water Sphere followed by Prestidigitation, only to mop my brow again because I've got moisture enough to sweat now.

Don't much feel like eating, but Chrissy don't give me a choice as she spoons watery oatmeal with slivers of dried fruit into mouth, standing ready with the next spoonful and refusing to take no for an answer until the bowl is emptied. Likely because Aaron hit me with a Minor Regeneration last night, which is the first I'm hearing of it, and he hits me with the Spell again as Chrissy runs off to get me another bowl of oatmeal to make up for what the Spell is gonna take. Gives a warm sort of tingly rumble all throughout my aching bones that soothes it some, but I ain't all that happy for it since I wasn't planning on staying in bed. Bad practice to use these sorts of Spell on the go, as they sap your body's natural resources to speed your healing along.

Which is fine and dandy if you laid up in bed, but not so great when you on the go.

Don't say nothing though, as Aaron's using valuable Aether to help me recover right quick, and Chrissy too whose dogs must be barking what with all them blisters and such. She'll be fine once I get her a fresh poultice and bandages though, so I sit up and swing my legs out over the side to get a head start on that, only to fail halfway through and sink back into the hammock like a rock.

"Still plan on going on do ye?" Luther asks, appearing at my side to stabilize my hammock before it bounces me right out. "You really so hard up for five quid then laddie? Dinna be daft. Even stowed away on a Floatin' Disc, ye'll drag the rest o' us down if ye head out like ye are. Get'cher feet up and rest yer little head. The ague'll burn itself oot soon enough, and then you'll be right as rain."

"Indeed Howard," Edward adds, coming over to check my temperature with the back of his fingers. Which are cool to the touch and not as rough as you'd expect from giant honking talons. "Much as I admire your American grit, you'll only be a liability if we all headed out. A good soldier knows when to fight and when to rest, and now is your time to rest."

"Fair enough," I say with a sigh, because there ain't no arguing with Edward. Not that I'm all that up for moving about anyways, and I spend most the day and night fast asleep in my hammock, with Chrissy having a ball babying me whenever she can. The next day, I've somehow gotten even worse, with more chills and sweats than ever before, so much so that I don't gotta bleed the lizard come morning despite drinking enough tea to become a British Citizen in the past 24 hours. Since I don't see no point in keeping everyone cooped up alongside me, I convince Edward to bring Cowie and the Askefjord's out for a stroll to find some nearby samples, while Chrissy stays behind to keep me alive.

Hate being sidelined like this, but hate looking weak even more as I strive to stay strong while giving Cowie a goodbye pat. "Just uh, don't let him walk too much in the muck, yeah?" I say, as he eager to head out and stretch his legs after spending all day cooped up alongside me. "And check his hooves when you wash 'em to make sure nothing stuck inside."

"Look at the cheek on you, laddie," Luther says, grinning from ear to ear from behind his big bushy beard. "Go teach yer grandmum how to suck eggs why don't ye?"

Rolling my eyes, I add, "Yeah, yeah. Also make sure he gets a treat when he do find what they need. He'll get uppity and go on strike if he don't, even though I don't think he cares much for the taste of Cinderfern."

Found a good eight patches day before yesterday, and a little bit of Scorchvine on a tree nearby one of them, which really made Astrid squeal as she went on about symbiosis and all that. I don't really understand plants and biology, but I do like seeing Astrid all fired up. The high pitched and girly squeals are a bit much, but still adorable as all heck what with her dorky little shuffle dance that's reminds me so much of how the kiccaws bob and sway from side to side.

Which is what them birds get to doing on my chest once everyone besides Chrissy files out the front door. Or at least Stella and Terrance get to dancing, as Frowny is still down in the dumps and sad as can be. Seeing this, I gesture for Chrissy to hand him over, then gently lift him up from under the wings and bounce him from side to side. He don't really respond, just goes along with it while watching me close, and I'm reminded of how Elodie would bob her head along with the dance each and every morning. So I get to doing that too, and soon enough, Frowny gets to dancing on his own so long as I keep bobbing my head in time with him. It's a group thing, a show of flock and friendship, or at least that's what Elodie says, which is why they dance together every morning and make it a point to include me when they can.

And now it's my turn to include Frowny, who's still not looking all that happy, but is pleased to see me dancing along and too polite not to join in.

Once I'm all danced out, I ask Chrissy to hand me my Shortsword since it's just the two of us here, and then I fall asleep with the holstered gun resting on my chest. The next time I wake, it's with a dire thirst and ravenous hunger, but the room is dark save for the few rays of light that can make it through the shuttered windows. For a moment, I consider just drifting back to sleep, but then my eyes shoot open as my ears pick up the unmistakable sound of strangers' voices coming from outside the cabin. Outside where Chrissy currently is, else she'd be here by my side, so I roll out of bed right quick while cursing myself for not telling Chrissy to stay inside with the door locked in case of danger.

Try as I might to land softly on my feet, I still thunk down all the same. The impact sends a jarring ache shooting up my entire body, but I grit my teeth and push through the pain as I drag myself over towards the front door and Conjure up a pair of Mage Hands along the way. Those I send to grab my Ranger Repeater and a pouch of ammo before stopping to the left of the closed door. Leaning heavily against the wall, I mop my brow with a damp sleeve and catch my breath while deciding against Readying a Fireball. Mostly because I don't think I could maintain focus long enough to make it matter, or aim it well enough to avoid hitting Chrissy or the kiccaws, so I might as well not waste the Grainage. With nothing else for it, I have my Mage Hands open the front door wide, then wait a second before leaning out to see what's what while leaving most of my body behind hard cover.

There are eight armed men standing in the central area of the palisade, a bunch of backwater rednecks in hip waders and tan t-shirts. That ain't enough to set me off though, as going around unarmed is a fool's game here in the Deadlands, but there's one burly fella holding onto to Chrissy's wrist which is enough to make me see red. Just the wrist, and at arm's length like he's trying to get her attention, but seeing her scared body language as she looks away from the threat and all the smiles from the rest gets my heated blood to boiling. "Get yer filthy fucking hands off of her," I growl, calling up my Wildshaped Hand and switching the Shortsword over to it so I got a better shooting angle out the front door.

Credit where it's due, Stella and Terrance are quick to hop on inside and take cover, but Frowny stands front and centre between Chrissy and the grubby old codger holding onto her wrist. Don't no one pay attention to the little bird, so don't no one notice him grow a size bigger as he stacks on another layer of Ablative Armour over the two or three he already got going. The old codger couldn't care less, and he don't let go of Chrissy either, just flashes a smile full of yellowed, crooked teeth while his free hand goes to rest on the pistol holstered to his belt. A nice one as far as I can tell, a semi-automatic of some sort while the rest got mostly bolt-action rifles with mechanical silencers and revolvers on their hips, meaning their grubby leader here is a man of means most like.

"Ho-lee-shit," he says, in a raspy smoker's voice. "Lookit what we got 'ere. A god-damned Qink in the Deadlands, a little baby one all dolled up in his P.J's. Never thought I'd see it."

"Be the last thing you see if you don't let go of her right now." To throw them off, I keep my Shortsword hidden in my right hand, but show them the barrel of the Ranger Repeater like I'm holding it in my left in preparation to raise and fire. All eight men watch it close, but only the leader dismisses it as a threat before meeting my eyes once more. Still got my back to the wall, so he only gets half a glare, but he don't flinch to see it, as the folk who make their homes here do be a tougher breed.

"That a threat, boy?" The grubby old codger's ugly smile turns hateful with that harsh uptick to the word that I hate so much, and he pulls Chrissy in close without so much as a how you do. Gets his arm wrapped around her shoulders while still holding her wrist, and Chrissy's feeble struggles only serve to widen his grin as he takes a deep breath of her hair. "You done fucked up then," he says, once he's done indulging in her scent. "See you talkin' to Deacon Evan Crockett now boy, and what I say goes around these parts, and I say you done been caught trespassin' in Independent land, land that belongs to Aultman and Sons. Now you threatening to kill an American citizen inside a safe house on Accorded Neutral Territory? Slant eyed boys like you been lynched for less."

"I don't make threats Crockett," I reply with a cold smile. "Only promises. Last warning. Let go of the girl, or you're dead."

"Hope you got bullets enough for all of us then," he says, drawing his pistol and letting it hang by his side. Which is good because I'd've killed him already if he done tried to point it at Chrissy. "Because you gonna need them. Be a real shame too, if your pretty little Aberrant here got caught in the crossfire. Real shame."

"Chrissy," I say, leaning out a little further to look her straight on, and it takes a few more tries before she registers the sound of my voice and meets my eyes. "I know you scared," I say, and she nods along to confirm it, stoking the flames of my fury even higher. "And that's okay. It's alright to be scared. There are a lot of scary men with guns after all. Don't you worry. Everything is gonna be fine. You get scared, then you scream your heart out, and it'll all be over once you're done."

A risky proposition that, but ain't nothing for it, and I pray the message gets through to her. Half a year ago, and I doubt it would've worked, as she would've zoned out halfway through the conversation. Lately, she's improved a whole lot, but even then, I wouldn't bank on her catching the nuance of my meaning, but thankfully, she got sharper senses than most. What that means is that even though most my body is hidden behind the wall, she can still sense the flow of Aether as I use Arcane Sign Language to deliver the real message I want her to hear, one I repeat three times in ASL to tell her that she needs to scream and duck.

Chrissy reads me loud and clear, and she don't hesitate one bit as she takes a deep breath while leaning forward in an effort to get away. "Now, now girlie," the codger begins, smiling to feel the press of her body against his. "Don't you be screamin' now, or you gonna get the back of Uncle Crockett's hand – "

Psychic Scream is one hell of a Big Spell. As Chrissy opens up the pipes and let's loose with a piercing shriek, she hits everyone within a ten-metre radius around her with a burst of Mental Damage. Not as much damage as Fireball or perhaps the more applicable Frost Nova, but minor damage for a Third Order Spell is still heads and tails above a Cantrip. Difficult as it is to quantify Mental Damage, studies have long since concluded that use of Psychic Scream is considered a lethal attack, meaning it does more than enough to kill an average man.

Thing is, the Deadlands breeds them strong out here, and only three drop dead from the initial scream, their eyes rolled back to show the whites and mouths agape as they bleed out of every orifice. That ain't all there is to the Spell though, as there's good reason why Psychic Scream don't do as much damage as a Nova. That reason being because the Spell ain't one from the quick and dirty School of Evocation, but instead is an Enchantment, largely due to the fact that it instills Fear into the minds of anyone who hears it and happens to survive.

Fear ain't an easy thing to shake off, as even the staunch, scowling Kacey got mighty shook by it. It ain't just dread and trepidation, panic and terror, but full-on Fear with a capital F that hits you right in the hindbrain. There's no logic to it, no reasoning with the Fear or rationalizing your way out of it, no bargains to be made or happy thoughts to be thunk. The Fear hits you like a cold typhoon on a hot summer's day, and all you can do is plant your feet and do your best not to get swept away, or go with the flow and run out and about like your hair done been set aflame.

Like Evan does, throwing Chrissy at one of his staggering men before hotfooting it right for the front gate. Got another man on his heels, who got enough of his head to actually open it, which is again a cut above what you'd expect. Most folks I seen get hit with Fear tend to run willy nilly all about, crashing into things they can clearly see but overlook in their panic while scurrying here, there and everywhere without a thought in their head.

Leaves three men rooted in place, including one who got his arm wrapped around Chrissy' neck in something of a loose headlock. He's reeling from the Spell still and only clinging on because she's there, but I don't dare risk a shot with Chrissy in my lane of fire. Instead, I Intone the Chant to my favourite Cantrip while popping shots into the remaining two rednecks, catching them both centre mass and dropping them where they stand as a Bolt materializes at the fingertips of my left hand.

I always been good at slinging Spells while I shoot, but these last few days, I've gone through a crash course on the subject matter, so the Cantrip flows smoothly even though I gotta focus on my shaky hand to take my shots. By the time the first two targets are down and out, I got the Spell readied and on hand, giving me the time I need to refocus on the Cantrip as I cast it straight out the door and to Chrissy's right. A clear miss if the Bolt came out of an Aetherarm, but I hold fast to the Cantrip and direct it unerringly into the side of the last remaining redneck's head, aiming for his ear but only getting him in the cheek as curving Bolts ain't as easy as it looks.

And regardless of what one religious idiot in particular might think, a Bolt Cantrip to the face is still plenty deadly, albeit not so much in this particular case. Still enough to get him shrieking as he lets go of Chrissy and stumbles back, and he still got the presence of mind to raise his gun at me.

I don't give him a chance though, as my Shortsword is raised and ready, and I pull the trigger twice as soon as I got a clear shot. A Bolt Cantrip wasn't enough to finish the job, but two fully Metamagicked ones with Intensify, Empower, Maximize, and Toppling? That'll kill you dead right quick, especially if you got no protection besides a grimy shirt and some ugly hip waders.

With everyone inside the compound dead, I turn my attention to the runners who done already rabbited on out the gate and into the swamp proper. Dragging myself out the cabin, I bring the Ranger Repeater along with me while putting one in the neck of the other two fallen bodies. Much as I want to stop and make sure Chrissy's okay, I got no time to spare as I tell her to grab Frowny and make for the cabin while I trundle on over barefooted to the palisade wall. Climbing the ladder up to the parapets is a struggle to be sure, but I manage to make my way up to the top without passing out, though it do be a close call. Once there, I stay on my knees for a bit to catch my breath and do my best to pretend like I'm keeping my head on the ground to avoid getting shot.

Takes a few seconds it does, and then and only then do I have the presence of mind to get to reloading my pistol. Should've started much sooner, and maybe even grabbed a gun off the ground as a backup, though I wouldn't care to trust a stranger's gun that done fell in the mud. Gritting my teeth with a growl, I push myself to my knees with the Ranger Repeater in hand, and peek out over the wall to have me a scan of the lay of the land to see if I can spot the two runners. No such luck though, but at least they ain't shooting at me either, so there's that. Dropping back down into cover, I reach for a pouch that ain't actually there, as I'm out here in my skivvies and didn't grab my gear. Glancing back at the cabin that looks so far away, I mutter a string of curses beneath my breath that would get my mouth rinsed out with soap if Aunty Ray could hear me as I make my way back down the ladder and over to the gate so I can close it tight and bar it shut.

Should've done that earlier, as I would've looked real silly if Crockett came back with his buddy while I was climbing the ladder now…

Here's hoping Aaron, Luther, Edward and the rest don't gotta make no fast entrance with a horde of shamblers at their back, but needs must after all. They'll still be able to get inside; it'll just take a little bit more time and effort to do it without breaking down the door. I was gonna throw down a Clairvoyance so I can keep an eye on things outside, or even a simple Alarm Ward across the door so we can hole up in the cabin and know if someone comes in, but I didn't have my pouch and don't think I can make the trip back to the cabin and shuffle on out again.

I do shoot every body again at least once, because you can never be too sure, then get to reloading while wondering how in the hell am I gonna burn these bodies when it's taking everything I got to hold my head upright.

I seen a headless Zombie get back up and grow a new one, but can a Mimic inhabit a headless corpse and do the same? Probably, else we could just behead all the corpses instead of burning them to ash. Luckily, the small palisade got a firepit big enough for a few bodies, so I head over to the cabin door and peer inside to see Chrissy hunkered down in the corner with her face buried in her knees and the kiccaws all around her. Breaks my heart to see it, so I rinse my feet off with a Water Sphere before dragging myself inside, all the while wondering how Elodie can stand to have all that muck squishing up from between her toes all the livelong day.

"Hey there Princess," I say, falling to my knees beside her and gently slipping my arm around her while belatedly sending my Mage Hands over to shut and bar the front door in case those corpses should wake up. "You're okay now. You're okay." Can't tell if it's me shivering or her trembling, but either way, I pull her in close and hug her tight. "Ain't nothin' to be scared of. I'm right here with you."

Chrissy don't raise her face from her knees, but she leans heavily against me and asks, "Bad men?"

"Yeah," I say, feeling an ache in my chest that's got nothing to do with the ague. "Yeah, they was bad men. You didn't kill them though. I did that. You brought them low, and I finished them off, so ain't no blood on your hands." Leaning in to kiss the top of her head, I hold her close and give her forearm three quick squeezes before reminding myself that she can listen now. "Love you Princess," I say. "Proud of you too. You done good out there," I continue, patting her shoulder and holding her tight all the while. "Real good. You kept your cool, didn't panic, and did what you had to as soon as I asked you. Thank you fer watchin' my back out here. Don't know what I'd do without you."

That gets her attention, as she sits upright to reveal her tear-streak face as she cries for those bastards out there who don't deserve her tears. Bunch of grown ass men bullying a girl like that, all laughing and smiling to see it, to say nothing of calling her an Aberrant of all things. Ain't nothing Aberrant about her, nothing wrong with her at all, as she's a sweet darling who's much too pure for this ugly, ugly world, one who I'll protect with everything I got left.

"Chrissy helped?" she asks, sounding oh so hopeful and bright.

"Yeah you did," I say with a grin. "You were a big help. If it wasn't for you, they might've gotten into the cabin and surrounded us before I woke up, and then where'd we be? You done real good Princess, saved my bacon here today and ought to be right proud of it." Reaching out to wipe her cheeks, I add, "Just remember though. You gotta be careful with your Big Spells. Today was an exception, so don't be letting them rip whenever you please, understood?" Chrissy nods, then leans into my chest for a hug, so I just lean back against the wall and catch my breath for a bit. Still plenty to do, like burn the bodies, collect their things, and secure the perimeter against further intruders, but all the fighting took a whole lot out of me, so I figure I can just rest here for a bit.

Things could've gone a whole lot worse, but they could've gone better too, as now we got two runners who done know it was me and Chrissy who killed their friends. Folks from Aultman and Sons no less, the very company whose livelihoods the Askefjords are threatening with their efforts to unravel the secrets of cultivating Cinderfern, Sunflare Thistle, and Scorchvines. No doubt they already knew about the Askefjord's arrival in Stillwater after that fiasco in Ashbend, and now they got double the reason to come after us. Won't matter that their people came at us inside of a waystation and I warned them fair and square three times to let Chrissy go, though I don't got a recording of it as my hats on a hook somewhere. All they'll care about is the fact that we done took out six of their people, and I get the feeling they'll want to be repaid in kind.

Which wouldn't really be a problem, but there's also the matter of two packages I'm supposed to pick up, one from a contact here in the Deadlands, so I gotta hope that contact ain't an employee of Aultman and Sons whose more loyal to his company than a bunch of Serbian gangsters, else I might well find myself walking into a trap.

No matter though. I'll handle whatever may come as it appears, and until then, I'll just take things one step at a time. "Gonna close my eyes for a second here, Chrissy," I say, and I feel her nod right next to me. "Just for a bit. Don't let me fall asleep though, okay?"

Can't rightly say if I got that last bit out in time, because as the tension just drains right out and the darkness calls to me, I nod off right then and there, sat on the floor of the cabin with the Princess right next to me.

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