Summary: With two Heralds down, Junior Deputy Crowford (that's me) heads east, ready to dance with the devil's temptress. And immediately gets his ass handed to him by an angry VIP cultist and his monkey crew of slack-jawed thudfucks. Oh well. It's easier to be a ghost when you're dead. Duh. (First person POV, OC Gun for Hire, rated for violence.)

Don't know if this will get finished. Just needed to get the damn idea out of my head. But don't ask why I'm posting it. Good questions deserve good answers and I just don't have one.

Disclaimer: Some lines were "stolen" word for word from Far Cry 5. I take no credit. If you don't recognized 'em when you read 'em then you aren't as obsessed as I am. Good. That's good.

As for spoilers, who the feck reads fanfiction before they've finished the original?!

Well if you're still reading I guess you're kinda interested. Or just that bored. Don't worry, lads and lassies. We'll get through this. The pandemic, I mean. My writing's not THAT bad. Is it? (It is.)

Part I: Infamous

Jacob was dead. John's corpse was still warm and his bunker's fires were ablaze on the mountain. I'd barely made it over the threshold of The Spread Eagle when a beer was thrust in my hand, my filthy, bloody, shaking hand, and I was welcomed like the fucking hero I wasn't.

Nick, Jerome, Mary, and god dammit, Joey Hudson, all alive, all here, all not looking at me with revulsion or scorn or fear, like they should be; I was running on steam, clothes caked with blood and mud, limping, favouring my left shoulder (hell, my left everything), but they were touching me, patting me on the back, letting me get near enough to clink our beers together. I was smiling, I think, but my mind was still in the sky, and my spirit was still below the ground. They were celebrating this night with a husk.

I put on the mask for their sake. I had no right to be a wet sock. But as much as I wanted to be here with them, to ensure myself again and again that they were alright, I wanted to be alone more. I wanted to regather my thoughts, reign in the fear slithering under my skin, quell the anticipation gnawing at my insides like maggots.

I was waiting for it. The call. The challenge. I killed his two brothers in the span of a week, after months and months of battling both in the deep woods and the open fields. First I took down Jacob, and then, high on warlust and Wrath, I answered John's vengeful battlecry. Almost lost to both. Left neither fight unscathed. But now there was one more. One more Seed...or so I hoped.

There was a reason I targeted the brothers first. Thought that would be enough to piss off Joseph into challenging me, without me having to face the Siren, the witch of the Henbane...

I patted myself down, staring into oblivion and seeking by feel only. Felt a minute release of tension in my shoulders as I found the crumpled pack of smokes and popped one out, sticking it my mouth. As always, I left it unlit and just nibbled the end. I wouldn't meet Hudson's eyes, even though I could feel them carving her initials into the side of my head.

The door burst open and sonuvabitch, if it wasn't Hurk Jr and Sharky, late for the battle but on time for the booze.

"Fuck yeah, man! We came as soon as we heard!" Hurk parted the crowd like the Red Sea and his cousin followed in his wake, both grinning broadly, rough around the edges from their own skirmishes in the east.

"Another Seed down," Sharky crowed. He sniffed. "Smell that? That is the smell of victory."

We polished off a drink together, and when I got my hands on another, hell if I wasn't going to down that one in indecent time too. Same with the one after that. And the one after that.

"Knew I'd find ya here."

I turned sluggishly on the bar stool I'd occupied after tripping over nothing into Joey, and there was Luke Lee, the wily bastard. He'd been captured with me the last time John sicced his goons on us, shot down by Bliss bullets. Never thought I would see him again when I escaped the bunker alone, but when I'd gone back, I'd made sure he made it out of that shithole before I blew it to hell.

The hunter sat beside me and accepted a beer from Mary, tipping it to her before leaning on the bar and nodding to me.

"I owe you for that one, Chief...well, I guess I owe you a lot of ones. And I'm not saying that only because you're drunk and I'm hoping you'll forget—"

"M'not drunk."

He raised an eyebrow at me, then snorted. "Okay, shortstop. We good?" He raised a fist, and I had to look at it and concentrate in order to bump it. It was almost dead on. I hit it at least. I think.

"Hey, man, I remember you! Glad you ain't dead, I like you." Hurk grabbed Luke's shoulder and gave him what he might consider a small shake, but Luke had to grab the bar to keep from falling over.

"Alright, take it easy, Hurk."

"Damn, popo, you better slow down. Alcohol poisoning is a real thing, homie," said Sharky, staring at my growing glass collection.

I half-turned on the bar stool, looking the man square in the eye. "Hey. If this is what kills me...I win."

My declaration was met with a roar of approval from everyone within earshot, and Hurk pounded me so hard on the shoulder I was sent flying from my seat.

There was much joy and merry-making that night, although I had to admit I missed most of it because Sharky convinced me to play Roxanne. We were halfway through the song when the shot glasses tripled in numbers, got really close to my face, then really far away, and I then was staring at the rafters, vaguely aware of the cheers and the ache in my back.

When darkness came I dove into it face first, not emerging until the headache was too loud to ignore.

I was lying on something squishy, warm, and merciful on my beaten body. I rolled over, eyes adjusting to semi-darkness, the only light squeezing in behind curtains. I had been taken to a room above the bar, and was propped up on my side on a bed. Damn, when was the last time I'd slept on an actual bed?

There was a water bottle and a couple pills on the bedside table. I sat up, slowly, skull throbbing, stomach churning. Saliva pooled in my mouth.

Shit.

The door to an en suite was open and the toilet lid was up, ready for the inevitable showdown. Didn't feel any better afterwards but at least it wasn't all over the rug. When I finished, I hauled my sorry ass back to the bed and popped the pills, sipping water for the next half hour. When I felt I could, I got up and made for the door.

There was a note on a dresser, along with some clothes. Said I was welcome to use the shower before going down for some food. I glanced down at myself, noticing for the first time I was wearing a clean, unfamiliar shirt and pants, and someone must have given me a sponge bath because I wasn't as crispy and crunchy as I should be.

Once scrubbed clean, shaved and clothed, I made my way downstairs. Golden dust floated before the windows. It was still early morning.

"Shoot, you bounce back quickly." Mary May was behind the bar, filling a crate with bottles. The taproom was empty but for her, and it was a mess. "I figured you'd be down for another few hours. No, don't do that."

I ignored her and picked up toppled chairs, setting them off to the side so the tables could be cleared and wiped and the floors could be swept. She kept trying to shoo me away but I knew it was for show. Whether it was because she really wanted help or because she just wanted company, I didn't know.

"I'm sorry."

I paused in sweeping up broken glass and looked at her questioningly. She was leaning back on the bar, a spray bottle in one hand, a rag in the other, staring at the floor.

"Yesterday, at John's ranch...I pushed you. I kept telling you to get on that plane and go after him. I...I wanted that bastard dead so much that I was willing to put you in danger for one shot—" She bit her lip, drew a hand over her nose and sniffed, turning her head away.

I released the dustpan, the tinkle of broken glass followed by creaky floorboards as I approached her. She still didn't look at me, but up close I could see the ghosts in her mind. The what ifs. The regrets.

I wanted to take them from her. I had wanted John dead just as much as she did. I'd only hesitated because, while I loved flying, I was no ace. But her orders had struck a cord with my programming and I got on that plane, and I took to the air, and I challenged the usurper with the help of the true king of the skies.

"When I saw your plane go down, I thought that was it," she whispered, voice raw. "You were gone, and it was my fault. Even watching Nick shoot John down did nothing for me. Couldn't tell you how much of a relief it was when your voice came over the radio. 'John Seed is dead.'" She frowned briefly. "Probably the longest sentence I've ever heard you say."

I snorted a laugh, and she looked at me suddenly, as though she hadn't noticed how close I'd gotten. Surprised me, too, actually, and I stopped advancing. There was a flash of disappointment in her eyes, gone so quickly I figured I'd imagined it.

Mary cleared her throat and pushed off the bar. "The boys say hi, by the way. Trouble's brewing in the east. They've gone back to see what they can do. You are to stay here and rest for a few days. Don't look at me like that," she said blandly. "You've done more for us than we can ever repay you for. I mean, two Heralds in a week? Take a damn breather, Deputy. The Henbane's not going anywhere."

I recoiled as though she'd slapped me. She frowned.

"By your face I'm guessing you wish the Henbane had gone somewhere. Which means you've been there and you know what's going on."

I did indeed. First time, in the fall. Lasted only a few days. I was a one-man guerrilla team, picking at cultist patrols and sabotaging their transports, exterminating Angels and basically dealing damage while keeping below the cult's radar. It was there I helped and befriended Sharky Boshaw, and it was there I met Luke Lee, who stayed with me after Faith performed some of her mumbo-jumbo and scared me out of her territory.

Once I was a soldier. Now I was an officer of the law. I fought ideas and wrongdoing. I could not fight things that weren't there. Feelings I wasn't feeling. The Bliss was a weapon I had no defence against, an enemy I could not swing a fist at. As the months ambled by and I remained in either the Whitetail Mountains or the Holland Valley, I had come to realize that Sheriff Whitehorse was either dead or in the Henbane, because I never even heard his name in the north or the west. Same went for Marshal Burke. But...and fuck me sideways for this, it wasn't enough to convince me to go there. I tried to tell myself I was too busy helping Eli and his Whitetails, too busy defending the Valley from John's minions, but in reality, I was avoiding the Henbane.

I'd infiltrated the region a couple times during the winter, caving to the pleas of civilians who were being hunted by Judges. But once they were exterminated I left, desperate for concrete instead of the haze the Henbane always made me feel. And then I was forced to return again, a few weeks ago, in the early spring. Didn't see the sheriff. Didn't even see (the real) Faith. Too busy on a bounty I'd been assigned. And once that was done I was back in the Whitetails, teamed with Jess Black to retake the mountainous region from Jacob. But the Bliss followed me. Helped the eldest Seed make me into the tool he was forging out of my mind and body. The wall between reality and dreams had become a veil, a stage of smoke and mirrors.

I closed my eyes and saw a row of pale, bloodstained sheets. Whitetails. And at the end of that row, Eli Palmer. All dead by my hand.

Couldn't even dump all the blame on the Bliss for that. I had known what Jacob was doing. I was just too much of a fucking coward to stop it before it happened. I should know the taste of lead but instead—

"Deputy?"

I opened my eyes. Mary was staring at me, up and down. I couldn't remember the last time someone looked at me with such motherly concern. "You okay?"

I nodded curtly and turned my back, taking up the broom again.

Didn't look at Mary until the taproom was set to rights, because by then I'd quelled my demons and it would have been rude to simply waltz out the door without saying goodbye.

"You'll listen to my advice and rest, won't you?" she said, picking a fuzz off my sleeve without seeming to realize she was doing so. "I'm serious. You'll need all your strength to face Faith. I'd go with you, but..." She gestured at the space around us, and I didn't need an explanation. Even though John was dead he had several followers still lingering about, still threatening the good people of this region. She was needed here.

"Your deputy friend moved into a place down the road. Told her to take it easy too. Maybe you should stay with her for a while. Unless you want to stay here," she added quickly. "I don't mind. The Ryes have also offered up their guestroom. Of course that would mean trying to sleep with a baby crying all hours of the night." Her smile was weak. Joking? Couldn't tell.

I didn't tell her what I had planned but I did accept a breakfast of eggs and toast and coffee, the drink being of the instant variety but hell, it was better than nothing.

"Remember, don't be a stranger," said Mary as we made ready to part ways. "I want to see that tight little ass back here every night for a warm bed and solid roof over your head. Y'got that?"

Yes, Mom. I dipped my chin and pulled on my hat, and was halfway out the door when she suddenly grabbed my arm and planted a kiss on my cheek. I blinked at her in shock, but then she was shooing me out the door, probably because she was blushing.

The door closed and I heard a low catcall. I turned to see Luke leaning on the veranda, Hudson beside him with a mug of joe. Both were smirking.

"Top of th' mornin'," said Luke.

I flipped them off and headed down the street, ignoring their laughter.

Despite what Mary said, despite what they all said, I turned my nose east that very day, and did not stop until my toes were touching the shores of the Henbane River.

"You sure you want to do this?"

I looked at Luke. The Henbane had been his home before all this, but he didn't want to go back there anymore than I did. Yet he insisted on coming with me.

To answer his question, no, of course I didn't want to tumble back down into Wonderland. But for some reason I seemed to be the only one in this entire fucking county who was capable of getting close enough to a goddamn Seed. So here I was. Targeting number three.

...Bloody Jesus, she wasn't even a real Seed. What was Joseph's deal? He'd done nothing but address his followers and utter veiled threats over the radio after his brothers' deaths. Killing both should have been enough to lure him out from wherever he was hiding. But no. My radio remained silent. He was keeping his cool. Keeping a brave face for his minions.

Instead of replying to Luke, I crossed into the Henbane and hot-wired the first vehicle I came to.

And I didn't stop until I heard the distress call from the Hope County Jail.

I spent my youth hunting in the Oregon wilds. I sacrificed my prime in the deserts of the Middle East. I faced many hard lessons in the fires of battle here, learning when to remain hidden and when to rush in swinging. I used all three lives to deliver a savage undercut to the Peggy force knocking on the jail's front door.

To start, remain hidden. We approached from the woods, using the shadows to sneak within range. My quiver was three arrows emptier and the attackers were three snipers shorter in ten seconds. I let Luke gank two more cultists, and then I stepped out into the sun. Pinching the Peggies as we were, I didn't want a Cougar to mistake the shadows shifting in the woods as bad guys and shoot at us.

A moment later my radio chirped.

"Jesus Christ. Rook, is that you? Mind your aim!" The last was an order to the Cougars, an order from Sheriff Earl Whitehorse himself. I found myself stunned. Never thought I'd hear his voice again. And it was with a renewed vigour I attacked the Peggies, taking two more down with arrows before vaulting over a no-post block and swapping for my sawed-off.

Blam! Blam!

Two more down. I ducked beside a half-ton and and snapped the gun open. Popped in a set of fresh shells and snapped it shut again. I used the cover of smoke to get closer to my next targets.

Blam! Blam!

"Let's get these thugs! Don't give 'em an inch!"

The radio call was for everyone but I felt like it was for me. I cracked the butt of the shotgun into a Peggy trying to get the drop on me. Took a bullet graze across the arm. Threw a smoke grenade in one direction and a stick of dynamite in another. Wrath burned like a brand on my chest as I crushed a cultist's trachea and blew off the head of another. Fell to my knees when a baseball bat wasn't evaded, but Luke shot down the offender and helped me back up.

"Keep on 'em. Don't let up!"

With the sheriff's orders a new wave of bullets rained from atop the jail wall, and the last of the Peggies went down. Had to admire their resolve; I didn't see any run away and there had been no call for a retreat. Dumbasses.

Luke and I made for the mandoor set in the front gates and we were let in immediately. Sheriff Whitehorse was waiting in the courtyard, shock plain on his face as he approached me. Cautious. Like I was a wild animal. Or a hallucination.

"Holy shit, rook, is it really you?" He put a hand on my bad shoulder and despite the ambient Bliss, I clenched my teeth. "You really saved our bacon. They've been throwing themselves at these walls for days."

He sounded like it. There were plums under his eyes and his voice was even raspier than I remembered. It was music to my ears all the same.

But this was no time for a tearful reunion. Sure enough, the call came from atop the wall.

"Peggies incoming—!" The warning was cut off as the maker plunged from the wall, landing right next to me. Whitehorse fell to his knees, checking for a pulse.

"Dammit. Medic!" He looked at me and pointed at a ladder with two fingers. "Rook, I need you up on that wall!"

In the end, it was the Angels that nearly got me. The third wave of cultists made it over the west wall by the use of a shield of those brain-dead fucks, and by Hades if it wasn't for the smoke and the screams and the stray bullets I might have been able to wig-split a few more before they got to me. I was in full retreat, filling them with buckshot until I ran out of shells. I was now directly over the gate. I couldn't hear Whitehorse. I couldn't see Luke. People, Cougars and Peggies alike, were dying around me, on the wall, in the courtyard, and blood was running into my eye and I couldn't hear out of my right ear and goddammit a fuel truck was blazing up the road, ready to kamikaze the front gate.

"Deputy! Get down!"

I didn't even check behind me. I flattened myself to the floor and watched a Molotov explode on the chest of a charging Angel. It shrieked and flailed its arms, spreading the flames to its brethren and slowing their advance.

"Stop that truck! Stop that truck!"

The desperation and anger in that order filled my limbs with the fire of fresh adrenaline, slapped me in the face with revelation. I yanked off my pack, hand diving into the pouch protected by the remnants of body armour. Out came a remote explosive, which I had no sooner activated than thrown as far as I could over the wall and onto the road below.

I screamed a warning so loudly my voice cracked, and then I ducked, counted to three, and pressed the detonator.

Covering my ears was not enough to block out the sound completely, and I felt like I had been licked by the sun. The sheet of steel strapped to the railing helped protect me from the energy wave blasting from the exploding tanker but it did nothing for the falling shrapnel.

And of course, the Angels took it like a breeze and came at me again.

"Sonuva—" I pulled my bow from across my shoulders and tried to plant an arrow in the leader's forehead. I missed, and panic was taking hold and I retreated but misstepped and now I was falling—

I landed on the carcass of a bus in the courtyard, which I might have been grateful for if it hadn't hurt so bad. I gasped emptily, diaphragm locked.

"Rookie! Christ, look out!"

With Whitehorse's warning I opened my eyes. The Angels were throwing themselves off the wall after me. Fuck, were they trained to only go after deputies?!

I rolled off the bus roof, landing on my feet. As much as I hated the stuff, the Bliss helped me recover faster than normal, and I was able to put several feet in between myself and the pack of Angels, moving back along the east wall. There had been less carnage here, less corpses to trip over. I kept retreating, skull-fucking Angel after Angel. But at last I reached back to discover my quiver was empty. Down went the bow and up came the 1911. Still those Angels kept coming.

Finally I made a mistake. I missed, taking only an ear off, and a shovel cracked into the side of my head and I went down amidst a swarm of Angels.

"Cody, Patrick, on me! Take those bastards down!"

Rapid shots. Hot blood rained on me, chunks of flesh flying everywhere. And then the Angels were gone and it was only Whitehorse, pulling me to my feet, two Cougars standing guard. His hand gripped mine so tightly it hurt.

"Didn't wait eight months just to lose ya now," he said gruffly.

By the lack of gunshots and the fact I was still standing, I knew we'd won. The siege was over.

I was introduced and welcomed (by some) and given a Cougar button by the mayor. Felt silly wearing it, but with Virgil's incredulous expression when he saw the firecracker Tracy not wearing one, I decided to humour him.

My injuries were superficial so I helped clean up around the jail—whenever I wasn't shaking hands or receiving back-smacks from a legion of adoring fans. They knew my face from the Peggies' wanted posters, and taking out the Alpha and the Baptist wasn't exactly something I could keep secret.

Didn't help that Luke found it all delightfully droll.

"Make way for the hero of Hope County!" he cried as I dragged Peggy corpses over to the burn pile. "The scourge of religious tyranny. The angelus mortis! He's slain a thousand men with his bare hands. He's liberated a thousand innocent souls from the gallows. His is a tale of hardship and woe, but his bravery knows no bounds! Hark! Our deliverance draws near! His skills are of legend. He may be short and cute, but he brings death to our enemies and he makes love like a stallion—!"

Okay, that was quite enough. I chucked an empty soda can at him amidst whoops of laughter and I was glad it was getting dark. No one could see my red cheeks.

As we finished, sentries were posted on the walls, and patrols set out into the surrounding woods. After making due with a rundown town for headquarters, it was refreshing to feel safe within a fortress. The last time I felt I could relax this much, I was in the Wolf's Den.

But high walls could not keep out my worst enemy yet. The Bliss.

As I staggered inside, I blinked away white specks, ignored the whispers only I could hear. Someone pushed a cup of water and a plate of spam into my hands and I just stood there, staring at them as though I'd forgotten what I was supposed to do with them. Which I did.

"He's just tired." Luke grabbed me by the shoulder and steered me away from the dinner line I didn't realize I had been standing in. "Make way, make way. Here, Chief. Sit down and chill...You're supposed to eat that."

The air was filtered in here, and with time the snowflakes faded and the whispers grew softer. I didn't feel better after the canned pork (who would, after eating that shit) and I guzzled the water so quickly, I almost choked.

"I'll get you some more." Luke grabbed the cup from my hand and scurried off before I could object.

I bummed a cigarette off a Cougar but declined a light, sitting by myself in what looked like the common area of the jail. Three stories tall with cells all pointing in. Many had doors that had been ripped off, salvaged for the defences. I wondered what had happened to the inmates.

I nibbled on the dart. It was low tar. I moved, and the Bliss pollen that had settled on my clothes filled my nostrils. The white sparkles returned with a vengeance and I heard what almost sounded like a wraith scream tearing through the common. I startled, but everyone else seemed calm. Did no one hear that?!

"Y'did good here, rook."

A new voice, sounding a mile away. I stood, looking around for the source, feeling lost.

"Over here."

I turned, and there was the sheriff. Frowning at me.

"Take that jacket off. We need to burn it. After Bliss gets in clothes, it never really comes out. Come on. You'll feel better."

I obeyed, pulling off the aviator jacket and setting it on a chair. My head cleared a little, enough to remain grounded. Fucking Bliss.

The sheriff was staring at me, looking me over. Hands on his hips, handlebar moustache bristling, he looked like an angry walrus, probably because I was wasting a perfectly good smoke. Unapologetic for my unusual habit, I flicked the soggy-ended dart into an ash tray and stared back, deadpan. His face softened.

"Gonna be honest. Never thought I'd see ya again," said Whitehorse. "After the crash, I...I just remember fog, then walking in a field. And then I saw her. You've seen her too, haven't you, rook? Whatever she says, whatever she promises...it's a lie. Stay away from her or you'll end up just like the Marshal."

So he was alive. Burke. I'd probably never let go of the fact that he abandoned me to die twice...well, he left me to save myself twice, anyway. But he was a good man. Had a stick as long as the west coast up his ass but he had a good heart. I suppose I was going after him next.

"The Bliss," Whitehorse continued, "it makes you forget. Makes you feel free. You just wanna stay there forever. But it isn't real, none of it. If Virgil and Tracy hadn't found me, I'd still be out there, swimmin' in a sea of Bliss. A prisoner in my own head. Those two saved my life." He shook his head. "These Cougars, they're good people. But they're hanging on by a thread. We gotta keep helpin' 'em, rook. No one else will."

There were enough beds for everyone here, but I knew I wasn't sleeping tonight. I was drained, exhausted to the point that if I stopped moving, I would never get up again. I dodged Whitehorse and Virgil, who would only try to stop me, and slipped out the sally port, into the night.

"Catch your death out here, Chief."

Luke, as usual, had spotted me and now hugged my heels. Couldn't say his presence was unwanted, but I didn't respond, making my way north to the highway, then following it west.

"Shit, Dep. You alright? You don't look so good."

I mumbled something even I didn't understand and kept walking. The glow of the jail was still within sight behind us, the stench of melted rubber and flesh riding on the evening breeze. I hadn't felt right since that afternoon, before the siege, so the fumes weren't the issue.

Luke didn't say anything more, knowing he wouldn't get anything out of me if he held a gun to my head. Although I wanted nothing more than to curl up under a shrub and sleep it off, I pressed on. Not sure where I was going. Just had to get some space from other people. Even turned my radio off, the constant chatter on every station setting my teeth on edge. I just wanted some peace.

A glow grew into a glare and I screwed my eyes shut as my head throbbed. Then the car was past me and I could see again. I had wandered off the road, but didn't bother to correct myself, crispy shrubs snagging my cargos in retribution for my trampling.

I think Luke said my name but I didn't respond. I could hear the river and practically fell down the bank to its shore, where I dropped to my knees, fixated on my shadow reflection. Suddenly parched, I scooped water to my face.

Didn't taste right. Didn't taste like dirty river. There was a planty-ness to it, like someone had steeped flower heads in it. I frowned at my faceless twin, and then I saw more dark reflections appear. Dozens of them, on either side of me, staring into the river as well.

I choked, recoiling as though the river had slapped me and falling on my ass. My head whipped around, but I saw only one person. They grabbed my shoulders and shook me like a maraca.

"Saints alive, you are a lightweight." Luke hauled me to my feet, pulling my arm around his shoulders. I struggled, trying to spot the other people gazing at their reflections. "Stop it, man. We're going back to the jail."

He managed to turn us around, towards the bank. Ranks of aspen above were like bars. Bars of a cage. They were taking me to be in a cage again.

No. Free. I want to be free!

I struggled harder. I was hearing things. Whispers. Was smelling sweet flowers, tasting Bliss. And then I was flat on the ground, cheek throbbing, struck back to earth with one kiss from Luke's knuckles.

"Sorry, Chief, but I think I'm losing ya." He helped me stand up. "Too much of this Bliss shit. When we get back I'm driving us out of here. Just for a while. Clear our heads."

I could only nod in agreement. The whole Henbane River region was poison. The food, the water, even the air. How was I supposed to fight the air?

The bank was steeper and higher than I remembered, but I was crawling up it on my own well enough. The pounding need for Bliss was more or less ignored if I focused on my pounding face instead. Luke wasn't exactly Rambo but he knew how to throw a punch.

We crested the bank, me slightly ahead of him, but I hadn't even straightened when twin blaring lights suddenly chased away the night. A roar, the tearing of dirt, and the lights swelled in size—

I turned and shoved Luke out of the way, and the truck nailed me in the side. It was little more than a bump – they didn't want to go sailing over the edge after me – but it was enough to send me flying back down into the abyss. I ragdolled all the way, landing hard on river stones as big as my fist, winded, sobered from the Bliss but now stunned by pain.

"Whoo hoo! Let's get him!"

"Release the Angels!"

I rolled over. Headlights glared atop the bank, catching whorls of dust in the air. Dark shapes stood on either side of them, staring down at me, difficult to make out in the gloom. But I didn't need to see their faces to know who they were.

No...

I felt for my bow, my sawed-off, my 1911, anything, but then they were there, five of them, fucking Angels with pipes and shovels, screaming as they swarmed me, pummelled me, ripped at my hair and clothes. Their eyes were blank white marbles as dead as dolls' eyes, their bodies so polluted all I could smell was Bliss powder. But then I couldn't smell anything as an Angel stamped my nose and it burst like a tomato, and I couldn't see, not through the blood and tears.

I fought back, grabbed at their weapons, kicked at their knees, clawed at their eyes. But they were animals. Less than animals, incapable of feeling pain, and then one of them grabbed my arm. Another grabbed my leg. They began to pull. They were going to rip me in two.

"Call 'em off! Call 'em off!"

"Turn up the music!"

Cult hymns filled the night, and I knew my best chance was to go limp, to play dead, to make them think they had done their job and it was now quiet time. It worked on all of the Angels except one, the one holding my leg. It started dragging me over the stones, huffing and puffing behind its half-mask. Through the haze I saw a Peggy march up to it and crack his rifle across its skull. It promptly released me. I continued to play dead. Wasn't hard.

But Peggies weren't brain-dead fucks. A shaggy head appeared, a calloused finger touching my neck, my own pulse betraying me. Teeth barred behind a beard.

"Can't let the Angels have all the fun, now, can we?"

And it started again, only this time instead of blind, random brutality, it was precise, targeted cruelty. I threw up my arms to block kicks, rolled to avoid stamps, made my legs take the brunt of the attacks, but none of it would help for much longer. They stamped, booted, pounded, wrenched, but they avoided my head. They were savouring this. Making it last. I saw nothing but dark shapes, felt pain after pain after pain.

Whenever the Peggies had me before, they were neutered by orders from John or Jacob. Capture, not kill. But these fucks were unbridled, and angry.

Fear fought Wrath, then united to fight dirty – I kicked, hard, and felt someone's leg buckle, and in the surprised lull I lunged, grabbing the man's balls and crushing them. He screamed like a wounded animal, like how I should be sounding but instead I am roaring, turning to the next fuckwad in the line. They had awoken something inside of me, something primitive, something so afraid of dying like this—

I punched out teeth. I broke fingers. I boxed ears and clawed eyes and flattened at least two noses before they put me down once more. And to make sure I didn't get up again they dislocated my knee, then my shoulder. Pain overcame Wrath, smothered that beast inside me, submitting in a desperate plea for them to stop.

Seeing the fight had left me, they paused in their cowardice but didn't back away. Half my rib cage felt caved in, my breaths short and shallow and torn. I'd puked, pissed and shit myself but didn't care, was beyond feeling humiliation.

I think I called for help. I could hear them laughing. The pain wouldn't stop. I couldn't pass out. I couldn't die.

"Look at 'im. Bleeds like every other sinner."

"He ain't so tough. Don't know what the others were so afraid of."

A cultist rolled me onto my front and wrapped a belt tight across my neck, not enough to cut off my airway but enough to let me know he could. Pulling on it, he dug a hand under my hip and pulled, forcing me to use my non-dislocated arm and knee to hold myself up. I realized too late what he was doing but was too weak to stop him from air-humping me.

"Yeah, fuck that bitch!"

They whooped and hollered as though watching a rodeo, a cowboy on a bucking bronco. But this bronco was already broken, and the fun wore off fast. The Peggy hauled on the belt around my neck, until my back was against his chest. He hissed in my ear.

"For Jacob."

The belt cinched. I clawed at it with my left hand, my right arm hanging uselessly, detached at the bone. They were laughing again, watching my face turn red, then blue.

"You are weak," my choker taunted, and then he released me, shoving me to the ground. I sucked air so hard my throat split and I coughed coarsely, sending waves of agony through my ribs. The belt was still around my neck, the flesh it touched burning.

A boot pushed me onto my back and a different cultist straddled me. A ripping sound, and a cool breeze raised goosebumps across my chest. It was refreshing, but only for a second. A knife gleamed in the night.

"For John."

White, searing pain.

W...

R...

A...

T...

H...

The knife took its time on the last letter, slicing a little deeper, ending with a flourish. So much blood the ink was obscured. It slithered, hot and dark, down along my sternum, ran in ribbons between my ribs, pooled in the hollow at the base of my throat. It felt like fire against the chill of the night.

I opened my eyes. The skies had cleared and there were the stars, untouchable. Eternal. I wanted to go to them, escape my body, my agony, and float among them forever...

Two cultists grabbed my arms. The flesh around my dislocated shoulder pulled as they hauled me to my feet. The pain was beyond comprehension and yet I still could not pass out. I retched emptily. They were holding me there, back to the river, facing their pack leader. This was it. They were going to execute me.

He was bald and bearded, eyes like coal, a scar down one cheek. In his hand was a length of pipe, the elbow joint at its end gleaming like his scalp in the moonlight. For several seconds he just raked his eyes over me, drinking in the sight, savouring the moment. Then he hefted the pipe in both hands, stood to the side, and raised it high.

"For Joseph."

He swung. The end of the pipe landed squarely on my heart. My scream lasted a second, was cut off, as the wonderful little organ was struck dumb. They released my arms. I counted the seconds but my heart did not start up again. I was a dead man standing, mouth open to take in air that wouldn't come. I fell on my back, twitching once...twice...

Their voices were beyond frosted glass. The kick felt like a nudge.

"That is a dead deputy, boys."

"Our brothers and sisters now rest in peace."

"Fuck, man, h-he crushed my dick! Look!"

"I ain't looking."

"What should we do with him? String him up with the others?"

"Skin 'im."

"Car-haul him."

"Gonna radio this in. Everyone has to know."

My eyes were still open. Fog was rolling in, and the pain was going away. Dying wasn't so bad. It was going to happen someday soon anyway, and two out of four was nothing to sniff at...

Muffled bangs, a few screams. The stars were blurred dots but they were still beautiful...they vanished for a second, then came back. I felt pressure on my chest briefly once, twice, three times. My head lolled to the side.

Someone was coming towards me. A white wraith in the mist. The compressions stopped, voices faded, and I heard only music. The figure came to stand before me. Their feet were bare. They knelt, and the tattered edge of a dress settled on the stones. Soft fingers trailed down the side of my face. Faith laughed, haloed by stars.

"Welcome to the Bliss."

She breathed on my face, and I was set free.

"Rook? Rook! Rook! Open your eyes!"

Even through the fog and the fugue the power of authority came through and I obeyed, because I was a soldier and it was best to obey. Easiest to obey. But my eyes weren't working. All I could see were blurred shadow people leaning over me. I realized where I was, began to fight, struggling against those who were pulling me from my happiness. My bliss.

Warm, calloused hands pinned me down by shoulder and forehead, a knee on my hip. One arm and one leg couldn't move. I thrashed harder, lip curling over my teeth in a snarl.

"Stop it, rook! C'mon, give 'im the adrenaline."

I saw the knife coming down to stab my heart and I reached up to stop it, grasping a wrist with the strength to crush bones. I continued to fight against the one who held me down, trapping me, shoving me in a cage. They were always trying to put me in a cage!

"C'mon, c'mon! C'mon, stop fighting! C'mon, just calm down."

My head felt thick. My chest was like cement. I couldn't breathe. I had to focus on getting free, not getting air. The figure pinning me down grabbed my forearm and twisted until I could not hold on to the second figure's wrist.

"Knock it off! C'mon, breathe, Isaac!"

With the sound of my name, the title no one ever addressed me with, my eyesight sharpened, and I saw that the knife was not a knife at all, but a syringe.

"Don't fucking move!" the wielder snapped. "I need you calm and still."

Again the needle of authority pierced through the mist long enough for me to ease up, almost fascinated by what was about to happen, transfixed by the syringe. And then it plunged down, right in the middle of my chest and with the force of a hurricane the mists were blasted from my mind. My vision flared white as memory and reason and pain came screaming back, throat opening to suck in air. I gulped it down greedily, and the alarm bells I couldn't hear before stopped clanging in my head.

"That's it...that's it...Good...good..."

The familiar and calming voice brought me the rest of the way to the ground, the gentlest of parachutes, the grace of a bird. I focused on him, only him.

"Good." Sheriff Whitehorse got off me, stroking sweaty hair from my forehead before easing back. "Jesus Christ, rook, you scared the shit out of us." He sounded weary but he was smiling, relief blatant in his eyes.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Then I tried to sit up.

"Don't!" He tried to stop me too late and my body exploded with pain. My face drained and my vision darkened, chest locking, eyes bulging.

"Easy, easy! Just relax...breathe..."

I listened to him, air hissing through my teeth, releasing each muscle one at a time until I was a sack of mush on the cot, not daring to so much as turn my head.

"You're very badly hurt, rookie. Keep still."

Yep. I remembered now. Kicked around like a football by cultists. Looks like all the king's horses and all the king's men tried to put me together again. My shoulder reset, the arm in a sling. My knee popped back into place, splinted stiff. Someone had fixed my nose. The rest of me, nicely tenderized by Angels and Peggies, exposed to the air or wrapped in bandages. It all hurt like hell, just not as much as it should.

"H...h...?" I couldn't do more than huff out air. But Whitehorse seemed to know my question. How was I still alive?

"The Bliss," he said, voice burdened with the weight of a thousand years. "It's the only explanation. We're keeping you on it, because it's the only thing keeping you alive. And sane." He tipped his chin to the other side of the bed and I flicked my eyes up to the IV bag hovering there. "Nothing like a cold serving of irony, hey?" He smiled again, but I could only stare numbly back. His smile faded and he shook his head, looking me over, lingering on the tattoo on my chest. "Jesus. Look what they did to you."

What they did? I had been dead. I'd felt my heart stop. Bliss could halt death, stop it at the door – for a while and to an extent – but my reaper had crossed the threshold. Taken my hand, and like the Blue Oyster Cult preached, I didn't fear it. I had been going willingly, greeting it like an old friend—

"L'ke."

"What?" Whitehorse leaned in closer.

"Luke."

He frowned, then his face cleared. "Your friend. He's fine. Some of the guys brought both of you here. Got a nasty bump on his head. We're letting him rest...You don't remember what happened?"

I tried to. Tried to recall what happened before I went down. There were the Angels, then the Peggies, then the pipe in the hands of a bald, bearded bastard, swinging towards my chest—

Then...then... I wanted to think I saw Faith next, stepping towards me through the Bliss, coming to take me away from the chains of reality, but I knew that wasn't true. Something happened just before that. After the Peggies killed me, before she appeared. What was it?

The mayor's voice derailed my train of thought.

"Hey, sheriff, a couple didn't make it back. Boys said—"

"Anyone grab Burke?" Whitehorse interrupted.

"Grady, supposedly, but—"

"Well where the hell's Grady?"

Virgil shrugged helplessly, and Whitehorse sighed.

"Awww, Jesus." He turned back to me. "Now you just..." He scanned my broken body again. "You just relax, lie back. I'll see you in the morning." He stepped around a privacy screen, not out of sight before he released a very tired, "Christ."

I realized I had tensed at the mention of the marshal's name, and so obeyed Whitehorse, easing the pulverized meatsack I called a body into the cot, melting until I felt I might become part of it. I turned my eyes over to the IV bag of Bliss-infused saline, which Tracy was fiddling with, adjusting the dosage. She was talking to me, but I was already drifting away, back onto the sea they had pulled me out of, but this time on a life raft, one roped to the shore. I trusted them to not let me drift too far...

After two days my cast and splint were removed. Tracy, Virgil, or a random Cougar would often come by and help me move my knee and shoulder so the joints wouldn't stiffen while they finished healing. Others still would sit by and talk to me and my fellow wounded, telling us about what was going on beyond the jail walls. As the days marched rank and file past the windows, my strength grew slowly, but I could not get up. Not without the risk of breaking whatever was healing inside me. I was bed-locked, on constant Bliss drips that were lessened in potency every day, and ninety-five percent of my time I spent utterly and insurmountably B.O.R.E.D.

One would think, after months of high-strung, heart-pounding, butthole-clenching action I would relish these endless hours of rest. No. It was the same feeling I got after my services in the Middle East; come home, greet the dog, kiss the girlfriend (whoever got to me first), and then spend the next few months bottling up the mental horrors and struggling not to feel that boredom. That terrible need for something to do. And not just anything. Hunting, fishing, slashing monsters apart on a computer and sketching on random pieces of paper did nothing to quell that wild animal inside me. Even when I gave up the cameo uniform and took up the badge I longed for that rush. That thrill of dancing with death. As much as I didn't want to think it, I believed...that I enjoyed this mess I was in. I didn't like it, fuck no. But I felt useful again. And these bastards, the Peggies, their psycho leader and his heralds, the demon wolves and mind-altering drugs...Though their skins were different colours, their message was the same as that in the Middle East: Live under our God or die under our boots. It was familiar, a different house but the same bloodstained blueprints. A problem I could swing a fist at.

Needless to say I wished more than anything this wasn't happening. I wanted to be bored. Being bored meant people weren't dying around me in droves, facing the consequences of every choice they had made since this shitstorm broke out. After all, I was a weapon. And after the use of a weapon was spent it was to be cast aside and forgotten...

I jolted, on the verge of sleeping again, and in doing so startled the man sitting next to my cot.

"Whoops, didn't mean to spook ya."

I blinked, bleary eyes focusing on Luke.

"Heeeey, there he is." He grinned as I raised a hand weakly in greeting. He had a black eye and a split lip, but his fang-like canines kept his smile as roguish and mischievous as ever. "Sleeping ugly wakes."

"F'ke you."

"I love you too, Chief."

I snorted. Winced as my chest crumpled like a chip bag. Luke's face creased, but only for a second.

"Sorry I didn't come visit earlier. Sheriff ordered a raid on Lorna's Truck Stop, and it was every able hand on deck. Lost a few guys, but the cult lost a whole lot more."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, although I understood it all. This dreamlike limbo was a nuisance.

Luke scratched the back of his neck. "So, uh...D'you...d'you remember what happened?"

I asked my question with my eyes.

"After you shoved me out of the way of that truck, I blacked out," he said. "Musta hit my head. I came to, and these Peggies were standing all around you, and you weren't moving, and I thought, Well shit, they finally got 'im. And I'll admit I was kinda freaking out, you know, like, I was gonna go all apeshit on their asses and die honourably and gloriously in the name of vengeance. But then I thought, Well I can't do that, you might still be alive, and if I charged in there you could get shot. And I'm all dizzy, on account of my head, and then I hear a car on the road. Couldn't see 'em, didn't know if they were friend or phony, but I shot my flare and prayed it was a friend.

"Musta done something right at some point in my life because it was a friend. And they came barrelling down the bank, one of them mounted guns scattering those Peggy fucks, and the Angels, and then I was kneeling beside you and—" He froze, swallowing. "And then the Cougars brought us here. Ta-da."

I stared at him until he fidgeted.

"You really don't remember? Huh. Well you were pretty out of it. I mean really out of it. And I admit I'm forgetting something too...Like...I fell asleep and dreamed right then and there. I think I was in the Bliss and didn't realize it...Were you in the Bliss too?"

Something wasn't adding up and Luke seemed really reluctant to indulge me. So I kept staring at him, sitting there with ants in his pants. For fuck sake, he was blushing.

"I guess you do remember. Look, I had no choice, okay? No one else was around; the Cougars were chasing the last cultists away, and you weren't moving. Or breathing."

I went over his story in my head again, trying to fit it in with what little I remembered. There was a point, after my heart stopped and before Faith embraced me, that I couldn't make sense of. Stars. A dark shape blocking them for a second. Then pressure on my chest. Didn't think anything of it when I was dead and hadn't given it any thought since my return. The more I thought of it, though, the sharper the memory became. I had fallen on my back so I could die looking at the stars. Then Luke was there, and he blocked them because he was...

There it was. Epiphany. I grimaced. Yeah he saved my life but there was something incredibly and understandably uncomfortable about the means he had to utilize to do so.

Luke looked like he felt the same, the flush now filling his whole face. His eyes were fixated on my shoulder.

"I wasn't sure if I should bring it up, in case you didn't remember. On the other hand if you did remember and I thought you remembered, then there would be all this awkward air between us and shit."

He fidgeted again. I kept staring at him, because it was fun. Him acting uncomfortable about it made me feel less uncomfortable, and I knew he didn't regret it anymore than I did. Twitches tugged at the corners of my mouth.

"CPR's harder than it looks, Chief! I-I couldn't remember how many compressions to do and fuck, I must have looked like a necrophile." He finally met my eye again, looking repulsed. "And why the hell did you have to use tongue?"

A laugh burst out of me. It was the first laugh I'd given in months and it hurt like a sonuvabitch but I relished it because it was real. Passing heads turned at the incongruous sound, some of them trying not to smile because I had a contagious laugh, dammit, even when it was punctuated by pain.

Luke was laughing too, wheezy and almost all air. I'd never heard it before. Made me laugh harder, which made him laugh harder. The corners of my eyes were leaking from mirth and agony, my legs rising to try and curl my body, to protect it from the torture my diaphragm was putting it through.

"Okay, okay," Luke choked. "Calm down before you pee yourself."

It took several seconds but I regained control, lying flat again, a smile still stuck on my face. Yeah, it'd hurt, but man did it feel good. Couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed so hard, and the cause wasn't even that funny. Our ogling audience moved on or flopped back into their cots, but there was a distinct boost of mood in the air, as if we'd blown away a thunderhead that had been blocking the sun.

Luke burped out a couple more chortles but locked the rest away, drying his eyes.

"So...we good?"

I didn't need to say anything. I raised a fist and he bumped it, and then he left me to rest, the ghost of the smile still on my lips.

Four weeks. Four goddamn weeks the sheriff was making me stay on that cot. I wanted out of it over a fortnight sooner, but he threatened chains and horse tranquilizer if I so much as slipped a toe out of the sheets. Without a real doctor and proper equipment, there was no telling how deep the damage went, so Whitehorse was being extra cautious, to the point that, the last time he ordered me to stay down, I muttered rebellion to his back.

"What was that?" he snapped, whirling around.

I feigned deafness and took sudden fascination with the ducting overhead.

"They think you're dead, you know," Luke told me, a few days later, slicing an apple and passing half to me. I was sitting up, legs over the side of the bed because the sheriff was out for a smoke and Tracy was patrolling the wall.

"The Peggies, I mean," he continued, slicing core out and flinging it into a waste bin. "Gave them a boost of morale and they've retaken a few outposts...It's weird, though. The jail hasn't been attacked since that last siege."

I grunted, nibbling on the apple. We were bound to lose outposts once in a while, but I didn't think it was because everyone believed I had bitten dirt. After I canned John and Jacob, many cultists moved to the last remaining Peggy region – here, the Henbane. Their numbers had swollen, and like a wounded animal, the cult was more dangerous than ever.

And yet here I was, sitting on my ass, gossiping. People were dying out there but Whitehorse was a goddamn mother hen. And I didn't have the balls to disobey him.

"This oughta cheer you up," said Luke, flicking an apple seed off his knee. "Hurk and Sharky went on a rampage after they heard the slayer of the Baptist and the Alpha was ganked in a gutter. Destroyed the Covenant and the Hot Springs Hotel. I mean really destroyed. As in nothing's left." He shrugged one shoulder. "Means we don't have to protect anything anyway."

I snorted. A mumma bear and an intelligent dumbass. A two-man army that could take on the galloping hordes.

"They stopped by here only afterwards to see if the rumours were true. You were unconscious, of course, chasing the Bliss dragon, but like others who've nosed in – Mary May, your deputy buddies, the Wheaty kid, even that conspiracy meathead from the Valley, uh, Zip or whatever – they've been ordered to keep their mouths shut. To tell anyone who asks that you're six feet under. Sheriff seems to think you're more dangerous dead."

Amen to that.

At the end of the month, Whitehorse finally realized he could keep me here no longer. But he and Virgil had to help me get up, and then hold me up. I had expected this but was still shocked how weak I had become. I was a flaccid stick of celery.

"Okay, we'll have some guys walk you around. But stay within the walls, got it? And make sure you eat. The hunting parties will be back soon. We'll get some food in you."

By the end of the next day I was making it to the showers on my own, by sheer determination if nothing else. I was alone and stripped, standing at the mirror so I could look at my entirety for the first time in ages.

I was a ghost of myself. A shadow of the soldier I'd been when I first stepped foot in Hope County. Because of Jacob, I had leaned down much of the body-building muscle I had kept even after leaving the army. Never bulgy to begin with on account of my high cardio, I felt like a waif, my skin gossamer stretched over paper bones.

No section of me was undamaged. Twin arrow wounds, a starburst on each thigh, from Jacob's hunters, which left me with a limp. Pinkie and ring fingers missing from my right hand, shot off by the old wolf's rifle. Wrath scrawled messily and cruelly across my chest, now ridged with scarred cuts from that Peggy blade. The flesh of my left arm, shoulder and back was raised, red and taut, the remnants of a foul encounter with a flame thrower. Gunpowder burns, knife wounds, bullet holes, canine bites and claw gouges. I was a textured map, and one could discover all my stories if only they could read it.

Then there was my face. Gaunt. Humourless. Aged ten years since autumn, twin streaks of silver at my temples. A line of hair missing on my eyebrow from a gash opened by an Angel's hoe, healed lumpy and pale. A white scar from my bottom lip to my chin, also preventing proper hair growth; a kiss from Jacob's knife. A hollowness in my eyes that grew deeper with every life I took, with every life I failed to save. A void that scared me to look into.

Fuck, I looked like hell took me, tried me on, then rejected me.

I heard a low whistle, and spun around. Someone was at the partition to the shower room, arms crossed, leaning jauntily against the wall. She flicked hair out of her eyes, smiling as I yanked a towel off the rack and hid my jewels, surprised at my own shyness.

Mary May Fairgrave smiled broader. "Sorry. I had to see for myself if the rumour was true. Which rumour was true. I hardly call Boshaw and Drubman reliable sources. I'm glad I didn't listen to them."

My face was hot. I didn't know what to say, so I just stood there, wondering if she was going to leave, or...

"Oh, don't mind me. I can wait." She made no move to so much as turn around. And these were jail showers – inmates once crowded in like cattle. There was no stall for me to hide in.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out, dry cockleshells caught in my throat. Mary was chewing her lip, and I couldn't help but stare at her mouth. Maybe it really had been her at Testy Festy, straddling my lap, licking salt from my neck...

Damn, I had been way too hammered that night.

She pushed off the tiled partition and sauntered closer, slow, swanky like a cowgirl. She'd been drunk too that night, so it had never occurred to me that she might actually have a...thing for me. I shuffled, goosebumps all up my body, limbs trembling from weeks of inactivity. Nothing but a towel to hide what was inevitably happening down there.

"I lied," she said. She'd closed half the distance between us. "I came here as soon as...as soon as I heard. Before Boshaw and Drubman. When we all thought you were dead." The swagger was gone, and in her face flashed the dread she'd felt, as if I wasn't here before her to nullify the feeling. My warmth for her swelled. "You were alive, but unconscious. I left to bring the news to Jerome and the Ryes. Joey too. I couldn't bring myself to come back after that. Whitehorse kept us informed with a code word through the radio but... Eventually it wasn't enough. So..." She spread an arm to the side, indicating her presence here.

I nodded tightly. My back touched cold tile and I jerked away as though it were ice. I hadn't realized I had retreated as she advanced. In my moment of distraction, she raked her eyes over me. I was hardly a prize specimen now, and she'd seen me without a shirt before – plucking pellets out of my back from a stray shotgun blast. That had been ages ago, and I had been much healthier. My current state didn't seem to be repulsing her, however.

"You know, I don't think I ever got to...truly thank you for what you did for us in Fall's End." She tried to hold eye contact with me but kept glancing at my mouth. She was now very close. I was shorter than her but it didn't bother me. Didn't seem to bother her either.

Then she was there. Right fucking there and she was warm and her fingers were pressing on me and they flicked me on like a switch. One hand went into my hair, the other pushed aside the towel, palming me. I pulled her closer, found her lips, and they opened for me. She tasted like scotch and bubblegum. She let me push off her denim jacket, her tank, and then it was skin on skin and I was so hot I needed to vent—

Damn, it's been so long...

She left before me, after smoothing out her clothes and fixing her hair and stealing a breathy promise that I would see her again as soon as I got out of this place. Heart still hammering and shaft slick with the fruits of her, I washed off the sweat and other evidence in the coldest water I could tolerate because I wanted to keep going. She satisfied me (Lordy, did she ever) but then she had to go and do that at the very end, and now I wanted more. Which was why she left when she did, the vixen.

Down, boy, I thought, glaring down at myself.

I towelled off, shaved, dressed, and clawed my hair into submission before stepping out of the shower room. There, I froze.

Luke was sitting on the bench opposite the door, whittling a piece of wood. He smirked at me, winking, clicking his tongue through the side of his mouth.

"I gotchu, tiger, don't worry."

No wonder no one had wandered in while we were having a good time. Mary had posted a guard dog.

Deal was a deal, but Whitehorse was hardly pleased to see me go.

"I know I can't keep you here. Hell, I want nothing more than for you to leave the Henbane and never come back. But I need all the help I can get. When you're ready, help us take down Faith. You're a dead man right now so you'll be able to go anywhere without being hunted, for a while anyway. Use that to your advantage...Good luck, rookie, and godspeed. Say hi to Hudson and Pratt for me, if you see 'em."

He tipped his hat, and I shook his hand, and I climbed in the truck with Luke, in the rear seats with tinted windows, and a Cougar drove us to the border. He too wished us luck before returning to the Henbane, leaving us on the bridge near Lorna's Truck Stop.

Luke turned to me. "Well? Where to?"

Fall's End. I had a promise to keep, and a greeting to pass on. And then I was going to get Nick's plane, and I was going to blow up the statue of Joseph. It was time to end this war. It was time to free the people of Hope County.

To be continued...possibly...