Firstborn of the Frontier

“Sorry handsome.”

Delivered with all the right notes of disappointment and sincerity, the girl reaches out to gently caress my chin as she passes, and I let her so as not to reveal my barely restrained rage. Batting her lovely eyes with a coy gaze that does wonders to hide her weariness, she glides on past with a little sigh. “Much as I’d love to keep you company, a girl needs her beauty sleep. Come back tonight and I’ll take good care of you. Promise.”

Welp. That settles it. All I gotta do now is figure out who to shoot. “You just finish with a john?”

The question stops her in her tracks, and her sultry expressions flickers to shocked and dismayed. Only for an instant before she composes herself again, an instant that feels like an eternity once I realize what I asked and how it sounded. The embarrassment is so overwhelming it knocks me off the angry scale and over into awkward humiliation as she smiles and says, “If that’s what you’re into, we can work something out. Later though okay? It’ll be worth the wait.” Shooting me a wink, she speeds up and rounds the stairs, taking a wider circle than necessary to get around me.

Reaching out to bar her path without laying a hand on her, I ask, “Which room?” Something in my tone or my expression scares her something fierce, and she recoils away from my touch. Makes no move to run or defend herself, just freezes in place, with shoulders tense and arms locked at her sides. Turns her eyes away and lowers her head too, which tells two important things. One, she’s no stranger to violence, and two, experience has taught her that trying to run, fight, or even defend herself will only make things worse. That brings the anger back in spades, so I leave the poor girl be and say, “Sorry. Never mind. Don’t matter much anyways.” I’ll just kill every man upstairs. Would’ve probably had to anyways, once the shooting started. Might be that the pedophile is already gone, but the way I see it, better safe than sorry, so I might as well send everyone upstairs off and let God sort ‘em out. Shame I don’t got any rope to string their bodies out the windows and show everyone what happens to pedophiles and their enablers. “You should leave,” I add, throwing it out there as I head up the stairs and switch over to holding the Rattlesnake in hand, as it’s quieter than the Model 10 and might buy me some extra time before reinforcements come pouring in.

“What are you doing?” Uttered in little more than hiss, the girl recovers right quick. I don’t stop to answer, because it sounds like she’s already figured it out. Tough as nails and sharp as a tack she is, or maybe not as sharp as I thought since she chases me up the stairs. “Stop,” she whispers, her eyes darting left and right as she slips her arms around my waist. Doesn’t cling tight or try to hold me in place, just sort of melts into my personal space without pressing right up against me. Still closer than I’d like, but I resist the urge to shove her away and stop to let her explain her actions, while keeping an eye out for anyone looking at me sideways. She’s a tiny thing, maybe five-foot-five and ninety pounds soaking wet, so it wouldn’t take much to break away if I need to start Blasting. “Put it away?” she asks, faking a smile for the sake of the bartender and a few others idling about. “Please?” Resting her head against my cheek, she pitches her voice low and seductive as she runs her fingers lightly up my stomach and chest to really sell the show. Knows her limits, or reads mine and keeps the soft contact to a brief minimum. “Let’s talk this out, okay?”

She nods to encourage me to do the same, and she’s got me so mixed up I’m back to thinking straight. While I’d be doing a service to the Frontier shooting this here establish up, I admit it’d be a terrible idea for my continued longevity. Only got my sidearms on me, as I left my carbine in the wagon locker along with the Whumper. Also don’t know the exact layout of the second story, though I can guess well enough. Too many doors, too many rooms, too many possible targets and innocents all mixed up together, all of which is a recipe for disaster. Besides, killing a couple johns won’t fix nothing besides easing my temper, and any goons who come running won’t matter much either. Gotta cut off the head of the snake, as all this can be laid at the feet of one man and one man only. Ronald Fucking Jackson. He the one who enables all this, so he the one who’s gonna pay for it.

Reason prevails, so I blow out a long breath and tuck the Rattlesnake away just in time for a jane and her john to come round the corner and make their way down the stairs. Planting a light kiss on my cheek for show, the girlie giggles like I done said something funny before leading me up the stairs as natural as can be. The jane gives her a little questioning look, like she knows the girlie’s shift is over and done and is wondering what’s what, but the john don’t think nothing of it and avoids eye contact as we pass each other on the stairs, though I give him a good once over to make sure I remember his face.

In breach of brothel etiquette, I’m guessing, one of them unspoken rules like passing slower traffic on the left, but just because this is all Ron’s fault don’t mean the folks of Pleasant Dunes get off scot-free.

As we arrive at the top of the stairs, I see just how dumb an idea it would’ve been to go in guns blazing. Right around the corner sits a solid double door guarded by a pair of bouncers, strapped heavy and loaded for bear. With the girlie on my arm, they don’t blink twice before my angry glare and open the doors to let us through, revealing a long hall with rooms on either side and two more bouncers at the other end. The girlie brings me over to an open room and shuts the flimsy door behind her, and I note there ain’t no lock or chain to hold it shut. “Are you fucking crazy?” she asks, her eyes wide and arms wrapped around her slender frame as she leans heavily against the door frame. Trembling from head to toe, she waits for an answer until it’s clear she won’t get one, at which point she move around the foot of the bed over to the open window and pulls a cigarette out from somewhere. Patting the pockets of her short shorts, which don’t cover up much of anything, she asks, “You got a light?”

Waiting a beat rather than answer, I give it a second before feeling safe enough to let go of my gun and reach into my component’s pouch. A word and a snap brings forth a flame on my thumb, but I don’t move away from the door. Can’t be sure she didn’t signal anyone on our way up, so I stand by the door instead of going over to the window and keep an ear out for noises while she comes over to light her cigarette. Taking a long, deep drag to calm her nerves, she finds a bit of courage from the familiar habit, but not enough to stop hugging her torso with her one free arm. The harsh, acrid smoke fills the air and I can’t help but scowl and wave it away. Puts me in mind of being downwind of an Abby cook fueled by sulphur and phosphorous. Bad eggs and pungent putrefaction, that’s what it smells like, a world of difference from whatever was in Sergeant Begaye’s pipe, which leads me to suspect it ain’t just tobacco leaves rolled into her cigarette.

“So you just gonna stand there and scowl, or you gonna answer the question?” She got a bit of smoky gravel in her voice, now that I know to listen for it. Mixed with her husky timbre and soothing intonations, it adds an extra layer of pleasant to her voice even when she all fired up and afraid. “You crazy? What were you thinking? That you’d come up here and shoot all the big, bad men and ‘save’ the poor little lady from her horrible fate?”

She hit most the right notes, so there ain’t nothing for me to say. Plan didn’t get any further than that, but no sense admitting as much. Reckless, irrational, and foolhardy as usual, that there is the Howie House Special.

Something in my expression gives her pause, and her anger mellows out a fair as she puffs on her cigarette, only to be replaced by uncertainty before flaring back in full force. “The fuck do you know?” she asks, rambling now that the fear and adrenaline is draining away. “Big man with your big gun, thinking you can solve all the world’s problems with bullets and Bolts.”

“Works most the time,” I say, giving her a little smile and a shrug as I turn on the folksy charms for lack of a better approach. “And if it don’t, it’s usually ‘cause I’m short on one or the other.”

Hitting me with a sweet smile and doe-eyed expression that don’t look sarcastic, but most certainly is, she says, “Oh wow, how incredible. Please, tell me more about your violent, caveman tendencies and how many people you’ve murdered. Nothing like a high body count to get a gal all hot and bothered.”

She’s got grit. Suppose she’d have to, girl in her circumstances. I like her. “Name’s Howie Zhu,” I say with a smile, holding my hand out for a shake.

“I know who you are, Firstborn.” Shooting daggers with her smoky eyes, she doesn’t shake my hand, but offers her name all the same. “Noora Amari.”

“Nice to meet you Noora.” Letting my hand drop with a smile, I look around the tiny room which ain’t got nothing but a bed and a blanket in it, neither of which I’d care to use. “Wish it were under better circumstances, but it is what it is.”

“And I wish you’d take your big shiny metal gun and go fuck yourself.” The words slip out before she can think better of it, and I can see the fear take hold in her eyes, but she don’t back down and stands ready to take her lumps. So I laugh to set her at ease and bob my head in begrudging agreement, seeing how I deserve a talking to for getting all heated and angry.

“Thanks for talking me down.” Gesturing out towards the guards, who ain’t made a peep since they closed the door behind us, I shrug and say, “Would’ve gotten ugly sooner than I’d’ve liked.” Pausing a beat to consider if I should move forward with the slaughter now that I’m here, I heave a sigh and figure there are probably better ways to go about it. Like with the Rangers at my back, if I can get them on board, but Marcus has Wayne’s entire Company camped up in the mountains. Tim’s with them too, meaning the only Rangers here in town are the six Drill Sergeants working with Ava, and I doubt that’s enough bodies to take on all of Pleasant Dunes seeing how the boots don’t amount to much.

Taking a seat on the bed, Noora relaxes just enough to post her free hand up behind her for a nice, casual lean, but her restless right leg gives her nerves away. “Won’t happen a second time,” she says, studying me as I do my damnedest to maintain eye contact instead of taking a good, long look at her legs now that her shirt ain’t covering her upper thighs no more. “Don’t know what came over me, chasing after you with that look in your eyes. This what you do then? Walk into town and shoot anyone who pisses you off?”

“Not always.” Got a crick in my neck from straining so hard to keep my chin up and eyes forward, but I resist the urge to crack it because I don’t trust myself much at the moment. When emotions are high, it’s all too easy to jump from one to the other without so much as blinking an eye, and I’ve made enough mistakes already to last the rest of the day. “Not even most times, but Pleasant Dunes do seem to bring out the worst in me.”

“It’s not so bad,” Noora says, and I silently disagree. Don’t say as much, and she don’t elaborate, so we fall into a comfortable silence while she studies me and I resist the urge to do the same to her. Having caught on to my internal struggle, she smiles and lifts her left leg up onto the bed so she’s sitting in a figure four, leaving me to suspect her daisy dukes ain’t hiding much of anything anymore. “Well,” she drawls, stretching the word out long and slow, “Since we’re here anyways, how about I take care of you like I promised?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

The wrong answer it seems, as she bolts upright and hits me with a glare that’s a mix between hateful and hurt. “Why not? Girl like me not good enough for the Firstborn?”

Hell hath no fury indeed. “That ain’t it,” I reply, shaking my head. “You all sorts of lovely Noora. Another time and another place, and things might go different, but here and now, it ain’t gonna happen.” Especially not for money, and doubly so while I’m still listening for movement and worried about a goon squad setting up to shoot me on sight.

My words don’t do nothing to appease her anger though, and she brings both legs up onto the bed so she can hug her knees. “Oh right, of course. Can’t go fucking a whore in a whorehouse. You gotta do your hero thing and save the damsel in distress first. You gonna make me repent from my sinful ways too? Turn me into a good and proper church-going, God-fearing, sex-hating lady of repute?”

“What? No.” Confused as to how we even got onto this topic of discussion, I take a beat to reset before trying again. “Ain’t got no problem with workin’ gals,” I say, ignoring Noora’s skeptical scowl and pushing on to continue, “We all gotta eat, and we all sellin’ ourselves out here. Sex, labour, danger, or violence, we puttin’ our bodies on the line, one way or the other. What I’m concerned about ain’t the what, but the why. If the reason is because you ain’t got no other choice, then you ain’t sellin’. They’s takin’, and that, I got a problem with.”

“Sherrif Gil and his deputies, they took.” Meeting my gaze with a fire to match my own, she studies my expression in search of something, but what, I can’t say. Don’t know if she finds what she’s looking for either, as she just looks away after a second and says, “Here, I get paid and I got the bouncers outside if any johns get rough. I don’t need saving. Not anymore.”

“Don’t sound like you got much of a choice either.” Against my better judgement, I get in closer and take a knee so we can talk eye to eye if she cares to look my way, but I don’t pressure her to do so. “Only difference I see between now and before is that it’s the threat of violence that’s got you here, rather than the act itself. Ain’t much of a difference, especially for a girl young as you.”

“I’m sixteen,” she says, her tone full of heat and ire while still avoiding my gaze. “That’s old enough for the Accords.”

No sense pointing out her obvious lie, as that’ll just get her on the defensive, so I address the second part. “Ain’t just about legalities. It’s about options. From where I stand, don’t look like you had any when you settled on this life. You got them now though. If you don’t feel safe in town, then I’ll talk to the Rangers about letting you stay in camp until it’s time to go. Then we’ll bring you out of the desert and over to Meadowbrook, and from there, to anywhere you wanna go this side of the Divide. Won’t just dump you anywhere either. Rangers will see to it you’ll have food to eat, a roof overhead, and even a different way to earn a livin’ if that’s what you want. Or not.”

To me, it’s an easy decision, but I can tell it won’t be so easy for Noora. Don’t know the details, but I know enough to say she’s had it hard out here, harder than most even. After I put down the Stagecoach Killers, it seems she’s found some small semblance of safety here in the saloon, and that gave her hope. Maybe more hope than she’s had in a while, which means she’s scared to risk it for anything, even the promise of a better life. Here and now, she’s ‘safe’, sheltered, and fed, so like Uncle Teddy said, she’s living small and too afraid to hope for more.

Which is why it breaks my heart when she whispers, “What if I don’t want to leave?”

Ain’t the same as wanting to stay, but no sense pointing it out. “Then that’s your decision,” I reply, suppressing the rage and frustration as I see which way the wind blowing. I’d love nothing more than to catch her with a john and hang him out the window as a warning to the rest of town, but that wouldn’t help her any. All it’d do is ease my anger a bit, and once I leave, everything will go back to the way it is. “Think on it,” I say, not wanting to push her for an answer since I know she’s of a mind to say no. “Anytime you decide you want out of this place, you come find me or any one of the boots or Rangers. That’s what we here for. To protect the people of the Frontier, and not just from Abby.”

Taking one last pull from her cig, she puts it out against the bedpost and flicks the butt onto the floor, where it joins countless others just like it. “Okay. I’ll think about it,” she says, hitting me with a challenging stare like she expects me to start strongarming her now that things didn’t go my way. “That all you got to say?” I nod. “You planning on gunning anyone down on the way out?” Not unless I have to, but rather than get into the nitty gritty, I just shake my head. “Alright.” Holding her hand out, Noora says, “Twenty bucks. For the room.”

Doubt it really costs that much considering Carl acted like charging a dollar for a big bottle of mead was highway robbery, but I ain’t about to haggle. Reaching for my inner duster pocket, I pull out the cash I was just paid and count out six five-dollar bills before handing it over. “Extra’s for talkin’ me down,” I say, so she don’t think she being pitied. Just in time too, as her eyes go hard for a moment before snatching the cash right up.

“Firstborn’s life only worth ten bucks?” she asks, and I can’t help but admire her gumption as she stuffs the little wad of cash into her teeny tiny pants pockets. “Figured it’d least be twenty.”

“You presumin’ a bit much there. You really think four bouncers and a couple johns is enough to put me down?” Been in worse spots, though I admit the long game wasn’t lookin’ good.

Rolling her eyes, Noora doesn’t argue the facts, just sits there and studies me a bit longer. After a beat, her face lights up and hops up onto her feet, setting her hair thick, dark hair to bouncing. “Can’t have you leaving all neat and tidy though,” she says, advancing on me with an impish gleam in her eyes. “Not if we wanna sell our story.” Moving in close to unbutton my collar, she crinkles the starched fabric to make it look less neat and tidy, and I can’t help but notice how her shirt slips off her shoulder to reveal she ain’t wearing anything else underneath. “And people might talk about you being a quick shot if you leave right away,” she says, her devilish smile speaking volumes as her hands wander down to untuck the left tail on my shirt while leaving the right one in. Least her pretty hazel eyes make it easy to focus on them, instead of anything else. “Can’t have that, now can we? So how are we gonna pass the time, alone together in this room?”

While she reaches around back to mess up more of my clothes, I struggle to come up with an answer. Must be all the smoke in the room making it hard to breathe and think, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “You know how to play cat’s cradle?” The question catches her off-guard, and her look says it all, but I’m committed to the bit now and pull out a piece of knotted string. “It’s real easy.”

Though more amused than intrigued, she plays along as I use the Mage Hands to show her how it goes. That’s how we fritter the time away until enough has passed to assuage my pride. Stupid to even care about what the bouncers think, but part of it is because I hope Noora changes her mind in the next few minutes before I gotta go back to the boots. No such luck though, so when it comes time to head out, I do so with a heavy heart. And an abundance of caution, using a Mage Hand to hold up a pocket mirror as I crack the door open, so I can make sure the big door out front is still shut and the goons aren’t ready and waiting with guns. Could still be shooters standing ready on the other side, or lined up on the stairs ready to take me out, but there’s only so much a man can do.

Ain’t no kill squad waitin’ for me inside the saloon proper, so I carry on down while chatting about this or that with Noora. As we reach the bottom third of the stairs, my words freeze in my throat and I stop in place as I spot Tina, Kacey, Errol, and Sarah Jay on their way in. No doubt wondering why I haven’t come back from dropping the wagon off, only to find me coming down from upstairs looking all scruffy with a half-dressed girlie at my side. For a moment, we all stand and stare at each other without saying a word, their eyes all going from me, then to Noora, then back to me, even though we ain’t doin’ nothing besides walking.

Or we weren’t, right up until Noora decides this is the perfect moment for a hug and a peck on the cheek goodbye. “You take care now, Firstborn,” she says, speaking softly like we sharing secrets right in the open. Her voice gets all warm and throaty as she runs her hand over my chest and bicep, and I can’t say I hate it, even though I find the circumstances distressing and mortifying at the same time. “Come visit again soon, okay?”

“Why?” I ask, knowing her game and having no way to defend myself. “Why would you do this?”

“So you don’t forget about me. Bye.” Beaming bright as the midday sun, she saunters off without a second glance, and I let my eyes linger a moment too long. I know this because when I turn back to face forward, I’m hit with an assortment of angry glares and judgy scowls, so I do my best not to look guilty. Or feel guilty, because I’ve done nothing untoward and got a clean conscience. Thems there’s the facts.

Granted, it makes me sound awful guilty when the first words outta my mouth are, “This ain’t what it looks like.” Especially when said while tucking my shirt back in. Why’d I get caught up in Noora’s pace and just go along with her game? Ain’t no point in looking like I done something. Folks would have assumed as much anyways, even if I walked out looking neat and tidy.

“That so?” Doin’ that thing where she pretends she ain’t angry even though she really is, Tina bats her eyes and bares her teeth in the semblance of a smile, while Kacey and Sarah Jay bare their teeth and Errol looks all offended and repulsed. “Well?” Tina asks. “Let’s hear it then.”

“We was just talkin’. Played some cat’s cradle too.” The more I say, the dumber I sound, and there ain’t no cure for stupid. “Honest.” Yea, that’ll convince them. Since none of them are saying anything, I decide to head on out and move past this while straightening my collar, but not a single one gives way when I reach the door.

“And I suppose that’s how you got your clothes all ruffled? Cat’s cradle, full contact edition?” Tina asks, and I flinch to hear it. Giving a little sniff, she asks, “She a smoker? Can smell her all over you.”

“What are you, some kinda bloodhound?” Not that’d it’d take much to smell smoke on me, as Noora’s cigarettes stink something fierce. “Yea, she smokes. Had a cig while we conversated.”

On my left, Inari pokes her head out from Kacey’s arms and gives me an honest to goodness nosing, sniffing me up and down for several seconds. After a moment’s pause, little fox looks up at her summoner and gives a tiny gruff bark, but that don’t change nothing for the better of the worse. Even Sarah Jay ain’t on my side this time, as when I look to her for support, she gets this sour look on her icy expression while standing there with arms crossed beneath her substantial chest. “You forget all about S.O.P?” she asks, all dark and fiery like she is. “You ain’t supposed to go nowhere alone. We was worried you’d gotten yourself into trouble and were ready come in guns blazin’.”

Almost did, so it’s good to know they was on their toes. “Rules fer thee, not for me,” I quip, which don’t earn me any smiles. “Oh c’mon. I been rollin’ round the Frontier by my lonesome for two years now. I can handle my own business.” For the most part. And I got Cowie backing me up, but I don’t like to remind folks of that little fact. Most don’t register big fluffy bull as a threat, and I cannot for the life of me understand why.

“You sure about that?”

Turning around at the sound of a familiar saucy voice, I force myself to smile and say, “Ah Miss Laura. Good to see you. Was lookin’ for you earlier.” Standing there with one hip on her hand, she got all the sass and vinegar I remember. Circumstances have changed though, because last time I was here, I saw a poor gal caught in troubled times. Now, I ain’t feeling so sympathetic, because far as I can tell, she run this here saloon and thus gave the okay for Noora to take on johns, meaning it takes an effort of will to keep my hand from going for my gun. “You aware you got a minor working on the premises?”

Miss Laura sees the anger in my gaze and gives as good as she gets. “Noora’s sixteen. Got papers to prove it, and I’ll be happy to show the Sheriff if he comes askin’.” A pointed look follows, as if she blamin’ me for the towns lack of law enforcement, when those same officials were tormenting the very girl we talking about. “Ridin’ in heavy with the Rangers at your back don’t make you the law.” The heat in her tone makes me blink a bit, until I remember she don’t know nothing about the Proggie and its Abby army about to descend on this here town. “Goin’ up into our hills and shuttin’ down our mines like they own the place,” miss Laura continues, gettin’ all riled up over what she perceives as a strong-armed threat. “We left the old world long behind us, built all this ourselves, and we don’t want nothin’ to do with no Feds.”

A couple early morning patrons let out a cheer, and it’s hard to hold my tongue and not explain away all her misconceptions. Or pick someone at random and beat them half to death. Can’t be doing that, or talking about no Proggie yet, not before it shows itself, because all it’ll do is cause a panic here in town and bring in mercs and scavs lookin’ to fish in muddy waters. Bad enough having to fight while watching Ron at our backs; would be that much harder with multiple independent outfits looking to capitalize too.

So I ignore all her rhetoric and circle round back to Noora. “You think its fine for a girl her age to be workin’ here?”

“You certainly seem to think so,” miss Laura retorts, eyeing my dishevelled shirt which still ain’t fully tucked in. “Wouldn’t be the first girl her age to turn tricks to survive either.” Like that makes it okay, and even though she falters a bit, I’ve already written her off. “We all gotta do what we gotta do,” miss Laura continues, more for her own benefit than mine. “Least here, she’s looked after.”

As opposed to outside these doors, in this town she loves so much. Sad really. Woman ain’t worth killin’, but ain’t no savin’ her neither. That’s what I hate most about Ronald Jackson. How he paint himself a saviour when he the source of all their woes. Ain’t no way to convince miss Laura otherwise, as she done and twisted up all the facts to suit her truths. Sure, Noora’s protected here, but she wouldn’t need protecting if it wasn’t for Ron employing men like the Stagecoach Killers. Could point that out for miss Laura to see, but she don’t wanna open her eyes to the truth, and there ain’t nothing I care to do about it.

Besides kill Ronald Jackson. Won’t solve all the problems plaguing Pleasant Dunes, but I’ll sleep better knowing he dead and sorted. As for the rest? Well, I ain’t ever claimed to be no hero or saviour. I’m just a man with a gun and a yearning to use it.

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree then,” I reply, curtly nodding as I turn away and glare until Tina, Kacey, Errol, and Sarah Jay all get out the way, and having caught the brunt of my rage, they do.

“You forgettin’ something?” Flipping her hand to show what she holding, miss Laura waves a wad of bills in front of me, and I almost say I done already been paid for the mead when the truth hits me like a lightning bolt out of the sky. Reaching into my inner duster pocket, I find my papers all sitting pretty, but none of the cash I was carrying. That’s because it’s all sitting pretty in miss Laura’s hand, picked right out of my damn pockets by Noora at some point during our exchange. “Thank you kindly, miss Laura,” I say, taking the cash and hoping she don’t say anything more.

And she doesn’t, so after I count my money and write off the extra ten Noora pocketed for herself, I head on out onto the porch before remembering why I wanted to see miss Laura in the first place. “Oh, hang on a tick.” Heading over to my wagon, I open up the hidden compartment again and pull out a second set of speakers, twin to the ones I already set up on the porch. Carrying them back inside, I hand them over to miss Laura and say, “These are for Mr. Jackson. For his personal use, as an apology for how things shook out last time I was around.” Faced with miss Laura’s suspicion, I put on my biggest and brightest smile and say, “Had it made already, so might as well before he takes the ones set up on the porch outside. Even got a crystal there with songs I picked out for him special.” Mostly from the Padre, who loves himself his campfire songs. Not church hymns or nothing, but church adjacent music meant to brainwash kids into lovin’ God or whatnot. Well, not really, except sorta yea, which makes it hard to tell the difference between a religion and a cult sometimes.

Then again, ain’t no Christians feeding the Proggie hiding under Last Chance Lake. You know, besides the Christians them cultists fitted for stone shoes and tossed into the lake to literally feed the Proggie. Still, lot more blurred lines than most care to admit, and folks get real testy when I point ‘em out.

Having successfully delivered the speakers, I grab my guns out of the weapons chest, say goodbye to Cowie, and head on back to camp while wracking my brains on what to do next. Got no good solutions besides bringing my concerns to Captain Jung, but she gives me a look and tells me to mind my own business. “Even if the town was under Federal jurisdiction,” she begins, her tone hard as steel and cold as ice, “The Rangers cannot act on this in any legal capacity without an official request for assistance from law enforcement.” Her expression softens just a tad, as I can tell she don’t like Noora’s circumstances any better than I do. “You did what you could, offered the girl an out, and there’s nothing else to be done for now. Stay on task. Once we’re mission complete, then we can see about setting the locals straight, and not a moment before. We can’t hold the walls without them, so we can’t risk a falling out before the threat becomes clear. Understood?”

“Sir yes sir,” I reply, snapping off a salute while sharing a look with the Captain. It’s both respect and a promise, one I’ll hold her to, because if she doesn’t, I’ll take matters into my own hands the second we part ways. Way I see it, Ronald Jackson’s a dead man walking, he just don’t know it yet.

The day kicks off same as yesterday, with the boots getting put to task digging ditches and setting defenses. Only difference is I spot a Strike Team from Wayne’s Company coming back down the mountains to help pitch in, throwing down explosive Spell Glyphs and mechanical mines along the most probable avenues of attack. Now there’s a Third Order Abjuration Spell I’d love to study, because it’s one of the most interesting Spells around. Takes a long time to cast, as you gotta draw the Glyph out in full, which really makes it an Etch by another name. Will turn invisible once it’s done, and costs a fair bit in materials to make, but you can’t argue against results. Especially when they last as long as Spell Glyph does, a lifetime measured in decades, if not centuries. Apparently, the old world still got a whole mess of them around from the Second World War, as Spell Glyph is a man-made Spell designed to last until the caster willfully dispelled them or they explode, whichever comes first. That’s why it’s a Spell in the Abjuration School of magic, as most of complexity ain’t in the explosion, but the shell holding it all together instead, one that can outlive even its own caster.

Hence why the Rangers put down signs aplenty to warn people off, but Abby will plough right past them even if they could read. The hob might be smart enough to send in gobbos to clear it, but it’d have to do so using what little language they got, and not all gobbos will be willing to run in and die. World of difference from a Synapse, whose mere presence alone will dominate all nearby Abby and allow the Proggie to directly control them like puppets with little more than a thought. Makes any and all Synapses a priority target, but thankfully, it takes a whole lot of effort to birth one, even more than making new Proggies. Anytime one appears though, you can bet there’ll be a bloodbath. It’s one thing to fight against a wild and barely cohesive mob of Abby, but another thing all together to take on a united and disciplined army.

Good news is Synapses were rare even in the old world, and we ain’t had a confirmed sighting on the Frontier just yet. Could change soon though. Even as we speak, Madigan Harper is following up on rumours of a Synapse in the Deadlands, and if confirmed, it’ll be a double-whammy of bad news for us all. Orcs and goblins make for pleasant company next to the Soulless Aberrations they got going up there, bunch of parasitical poltergeists hijacking corpses or Proggie-spawned lookalikes that done come out of a nightmare. Like I said before, shooting Abby is easy, but shooting people a whole other kettle of fish, so things get mighty complicated when Abby come around looking like people.

When it comes time for lunch, I head back to see Cowie and get him some water, while Tina, Kacey, Errol, and Sarah Jay follow me out. Seems the four of them have formed a Strike Team around me without anyone asking, but I ain’t complaining. Makes my job easier, except when it doesn’t, like now as Tina hits me disapproving glower as the girls on the porch hit me with their customary catcalls. “Don’t see why you gotta set your wagon up here,” she grumbles. “Would work just fine on the other side of the street, or even down the road by the Sherrif’s office.”

“And leave Cowie without company for the whole entire day?” Patting my partner on the flank as he slurps up his water, I smile as he looks up from the bucket to give me a big ol’ grin. He’s gotten real friendly with the gals out on the porch, as evidenced by all the reddish lip marks dotting his face, and he don’t seem too torn up about it. Guess all the gals don’t know the Makeup Cantrip like I thought they did, which makes me think I should’ve added it to the list, but Deodorant alone ought to buy me more goodwill than anything Ronald Jackson’s ever done. That’s how it’d go in a fair and just world at least. Fat chance of that though. “Besides,” I say, gesturing at the speakers playing more of Chrissy’s instrumentals, “This where the music is, and you know how much Cowie loves them tunes.”

“Yea, and I’m sure it’s got nothin’ to do with how it gives you good reason to visit.” Hitting me with the dirtiest of glares I done ever did see, Tina gives me a withering look that’s got me feeling all sorts of wrong. “Honestly Howie, I expected better from you. Thought you was out here earnin’ a livin’, when instead you goin’ all around like a randy goat. Noora was bad enough, but that miss Laura? She as old as Mama, if not older. For shame!”

It feels like one big joke, but ain’t no one laughing, so I lean in close to Tina and hiss, “You workin’ on a lot of misconceptions missy, so you best get your facts straight before slingin’ all that mud.”

“Alright. So what was all that about earlier, hmm?” Affecting mannerism that ain’t at all my own, Tina stands with legs spread, knees bent, shoulders relaxed, and head held high. “Oh, miss Laura,” she says, sounding nothing like me at all while throwing in a jar of honey to coat her words. “Good to see you. Was lookin’ for you earlier.”

Got the emphasis on all the wrong syllables she does, casting all sorts of aspersions over my good nature. “To hand over the speakers.” Rolling my eyes, I huff in indignation that ain’t at all faked. “I ain’t never had no relations with anyone in this town. Not today, not ever.” Just hope she don’t ask about other towns, because I ain’t ready for that conversation.

Tina don’t believe me, but she don’t say as much, just flares her nostrils and glares extra hard. Looking to the others for support, Errol and Sarah Jay fail me yet again as the former is busy judging while the latter is working hard to hide her laughter, though I’m pretty sure she don’t believe me either. With no other option, I look to Kacey for support, who purses her lips and sighs. “I believe you,” she says, to everyone’s surprise including my own. Turning to Tina, she adds, “At the very least, he did not do anything too unseemly today.”

Much as I appreciate the vote of confidence, I gotta wonder why she sounds so sure, until I remember Inari giving me a sniff and how she can share thoughts and senses with Kacey. That’s is just a gross violation of my privacy, not to mention just gross, so while I appreciate the assist, I ain’t sure how to feel about her fox-nosed antics. Catching my perturbed expression, Kacey has the good graces to blush and look away, though she got that set to her jaw that all women get when they feel like they’ve been wronged. Probably thinks she wouldn’t have had to invade my privacy if I didn’t act so suspicious, which somehow means all the blame lies solely at my feet.

Ain’t no point arguing with women, because even if you in the right, they leave you feeling like you done wronged them for bringing it up.

A low whir sounds out and sharply rises in pitch as the hand-cranked siren gets up to speed, letting loose with that terrifying, pitchy wail that done haunted many a nightmare. Almost grateful for the interruption, I lead my little Strike Team back to camp where Captain Jung promptly leads us top the northern wall which our camp sits next to. The curvy walls take some navigating to get around on, but we file out into position and take a knee with guns ready and eyes open. Regretting my decision to drop Eagle Eye, Mage Armour, and a few other Spells, I fumble around my pouches in search of the 2.5x optic that goes atop Errol’s El-Minister. Didn’t bother letting him keep it as he has trouble enough hitting things up close, so didn’t see any point in encouraging him to try shooting distant targets. It don’t fit on my Ranger Repeater though, on account of how the carbine got no top rail, since I ain’t never needed one before today.

Stuff to fix another day, so I’ll just add it to the never-ending list.

When I finally get the sight in hand, I use it to spot what’s got the guards in the towers all spooked. An approaching Abby horde, bigger than the one lying in wait with the hob, but smaller than the ones the Rangers wrangled the day after. Five, maybe six hundred heads judging by the size of the sand clouds rising in their wake, all chasing after maybe four or five dozen riders making a beeline for the town. Always takes some adjusting to remember not everyone is as capable as the Rangers, which is why them riders are running instead of fighting. When it comes to gobbos hordes, ten-to-one ain’t bad odds all things considered, especially if you got semi-automatics, though again, I might be setting my standards too high when it comes to the locals here in the Coral Desert.

With nothing to do but wait, I look around at the boots to make sure no one’s making any big mistakes. We got a good section all to ourselves, with two forward positions and three rear, on account of how the walls curve and twist. Me, Tina, Errol, Kacey, and Sarah Jay occupy one forward position, while Michael’s Strike Team takes the other. Only one I recognize is Gabrielle, the only other female boot around who is a wispy breeze of a girlie, but they seem like a solid and dependable bunch. As for the boots behind us, I can only pray they keep their guns pointed forward, because friendly fire ain’t all that friendly.

Let’s see. Tina got her Strelky up and ready, while Kacey got her bow in hand. Both got the feel of a readied Spell. Guessing Bless and Hail of Projectiles respectively, though I don’t know enough about Kacey’s repertoire to really guess anything else. Sarah Jay’s setting up socks filled with sand to brace her 3-Line against, while Errol is busy fiddling with his new ear plugs. Me, I got my carbine in hand, the Whumper leaning against the battlements in front of me, and my Mage Hands ready to help with reloads. Looks like everyone’s ready as they’ll ever be. “Tall walls and open sands,” I say, raising my voice to be heard by all of the boots. “Be like a day at the range.” I get a few laughs for my efforts, and I leave it be. It wasn’t my best joke, but nerves’ll make anything sound funny, so I offer them one last piece of advice before the shooting starts. “Slow is smooth and smooth is fast,” I say, trying my damnedest not to look directly at Errol as I do. “Pick your shots like you got all the time in the world, because we got plenty to spare.”

Them riders out on the sand, not so much, but if they ridin’ over on Ron’s say so, then can’t say I’m too enthused to save ‘em.

The sharpshooters up in the towers start rattlin’ off shots, and I see Sarah Jay is eager to chime in, but I shake my head and wait on Ava to make the call. The townies were too eager, and now Abby are going all out to catch the riders before they get within range of the walls. The Bolts fly out from the Aberration ranks, the displacement of air only barely visible from this distance, but still significant enough to represent a good number of Spellslinging hostiles. Granted, Bolt is one of the easier Spells for Abby to learn, but that don’t mean it’s the only one they got.

My concerns prove justified soon enough as the riders break off into two groups. Both headed in the same direction mind you, just at different speeds, as a good back third of the riders start moving like they swimming through molasses. Don’t take more than two seconds for Abby to catch up, and the poor bastards can’t even turn and fight, caught in the throes of the Slow Spell like they are. A couple boots throw up on the spot, but I don’t pay them any mind, allowing them what little privacy I can while we all stare death in the face. Even though I look down on their skills, we might well have shared the same fate as those riders down there if we’d walked into an ambush ourselves, which is what I can only assume happened here. Difficult as it is to stand and watch as ten to twenty men and their horses are torn apart, there ain’t nothing we can do to help, so I set myself to searching the crowd for the hobgoblin I know is lurking within the horde.

Don’t spot it just yet, but its days are numbered too, it and Ronald Jackson both. Might not be today, might not be tomorrow, but soon enough, I reckon. Soon enough.