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There were a handful of things Kyle never allowed to run out of stock in his pack. Salt was right up there, side-by-side with a bar of soap, a book, and his worn-out (but always charged) iPod full of the 80s and 90s. Much to his distress, the iPod was on its way out (the stupid button needed extra massaging these days), and the latest book had sucked ass so he'd thrown it out days ago without replacing it. But, hey. At least he still had soap. And salt, which turned the fish into a lot more of an adventurous meal.

The singular fish, mind you. Because holy shit had Aiden meant it when he'd said he'd fit two. At impressive speeds, too.

"Jeez, kid. Slow down before you choke on a fish bone," Kyle said while Aiden gnawed on the second crispy trout with the energy of about ten feral children wrapped in one.

Aiden's reply was an impossible to understand mumble through a stuffed mouth.

"Got it. One Heimlich maneuver standing by," Kyle said while he leaned back on his rickety plastic chair and peered over his shoulder to scan the water.

Smooth and quiet water, with the worst stirring in it dinner he was missing out on and the bugs dancing over its surface. The siren? Fucked off, apparently. Entirely. His wolf had quit squirming after the initial splash, and ever since then, all he'd had to tend to had been the coals, the sizzling fish, and the child.

The same child Kyle had lied to when prompted on what he'd seen. "False alarm," Kyle had said with a shrug and blamed it all on a beaver.

What?

What else was he supposed to do?

Tell Aiden about the other creepy crawlers? The ones often far worse than your regular Infected? Worse even than a human neighbour with their humanity descended into the shitter? The ones capable of stealing your undying soul; of flaying you alive a few times over; of eating your dreams and leaving you empty; turning your teeth upside down; morphing you into a frog for a bowl of frog leg soup—

See?

Nah. There was no point worrying the kid. In a perfect world, Kyle'd keep Aiden clued out of the werewolf-et-al business, including, but not limited to, the siren business.

He squinted at the water. Honestly, though?

Kyle leaned back in his rickety chair far enough the front feet came off and tilted his head into his neck.

Sirens were a lot of things, but creepy was not one of them. And they defo didn't crawl. Yes, they had a reputation. No, the reputation hadn't come out of nowhere. But— this? Stealing kids? Not exactly their MO, he had to admit.

They lured adults to their nests. Grown ups with grown-people-brains who the siren could sing into believing how they suddenly lived a perfect, idyllic life, filling their heads with a fake reality too good to pass up. Didn't matter how good you might've had it before, little would ever beat the siren's bliss.

Correction. There were a few things: chief among them the elusive True Love For The Soul of Another or the Soul Of Your Own, neither of which a lot of people got down right.

Anyway.

That bliss would last until you'd grown plump with joy. Topped up, so to speak. And then it was time for the happiness-sucky-sucky, leaving you a wrung-out, depressed mess in dire need of therapy and prescription drugs.

Which was all a lot more involved than the shit the mer got up to, but that a story for a different day.

So. A siren, huh?

Kyle did not believe in coinkydings, meaning if Death had sent him here to pry this child out of trouble and there was a siren in the neighbourhood, then siren hunting he'd go. Meaning it was time to put on his detective's hat and follow up on those leads Aiden had laid out to him, including the 'pretty' Florence who 'sings a lot'.

"Hey, kid." Kyle let the chair snap forward, its plastic legs groaning as the front ones reconnected with the ground. "You all fed and good with heading back to your peeps?"

Aiden looked at him with those big blue eyes of his. He'd finished the second fish and had started stuffing his fingers into his mouth to lick off whatever leftovers there might've been. One of those fingers was currently stuck in his mouth.

"Eyhanmybeebfh," he said around it. He frowned and extracted the impromptu eating utensil. "They aren't my peeps."

Kyle shrugged. "You know what I mean. If we want to get to the bottom of this, I'm going to have to check out your main suspects, don't I? Might as well get started."

"Fine." A pause. Aiden's eyes cut to his makeshift walking stick lying in the dirt. "Do I go on your back again?"

"Do you want to?"

Another pause followed. Aiden crinkled his brow. Aw. The little punk had pride, huh? How adorable.

"Maybe," the kid with his kiddy pride said, which, as it turned out, meant Yes.

With Aiden on his shoulders and his pack in one hand, Kyle left the shack behind and retraced his steps to the encampment. The walk wasn't half bad. There weren't any Biters or Virals to deal with, and the sun was a pleasant kinda warm, but hoooo boy was his mind a mess. Met with silence and nothing to do but putting one foot in front of the other, the stupid thing immediately revved up and began doing laps in his head.

Checkpoint one. Why'd he been sent here?

Checkpoint two. Why would a siren snatch up kids?

Checkpoint three. What'd happen if the siren got this kid?

Checkpoint four. And how could it be so important it warranted Death's attention?

Lap done, let's go again— Why am I here?

If it hadn't been for Aiden folding his arms on the top of Kyle's head and asking, "It wasn't a beaver, was it?" Kyle would've probably kept trying to beat his own time at going in circles.

They'd reached the toothpick arrangement masquerading for a fence. Kyle negotiated his long legs over it.

"Maybe," he said once he'd made it to the other side.

A severe sigh sounded from above. "You're saying maybe because I didn't tell you yes or no earlier, aren't you?"

He-he.

"Maybe," Kyle repeated, drawing the word out this time around.

The sigh matured into a huff. "That's not a very grown-up thing to do," Aiden said.

True, but— "You wanna know one of the best things about being an adult?"

"Being tall?"

"There's that, yes. But there's also the bit where you're the one who chooses how much of a grown-up you're gonna be in any given situation. Now, I don't advocate for being a juvenile prick, but you gotta let kid-you out whenever you get the chance or that shit'll be boring really fast."

Thoughtful silence settled atop of Kyle's shoulders while the encampment opened up around them to fill his ears with the sounds of densely pushed together life. They were seen, alright, but something about him carrying one of the camp's little humans on his back (while heading in, rather than out) seemed to keep the glowering and posturing at bay. For now, at any rate.

Aiden sniffed. "Okay. Let kid-me out. I'll remember that for when I get old. In case I get old." Then, before Kyle had a chance to tell the kid he'd be fine (knowing damn well the chances and how not too hot they were), he added, "If you go left up there we can stop by Adi's and Rosa's tent. They're usually around it when it's not time to eat."

"Yessir."

Kyle swung a dutiful left.

He heard them before he saw them. And who'd have thunk it? They were indeed shouting. Not at the top of their lungs or anything, but loud enough to guide Kyle through a small pocket of tents near the camp's people movers. There, in front of a sad pod of nylon, a stocky couple with their cheeks full-on red argued about something involving shoelaces that went so far above Kyle's head it might as well have been headed to outer space.

"Don't go too close," Aiden said, his voice sharp and his fingers yanking Kyle's hair.

Kyle grunted. Ow. Pulling hair, huh? Not cool(*). He'd have to take the knife to his skull carpet if it'd grown long enough to turn him into the horse in front of the proverbial coach.

"They'll see if you go up to them, and they'll get suspicious."

"Fine." Not like he needed to get any closer. The wind blew at him from the tent's direction, and all it'd taken for him to rule these two out had been one whiff of air. They smelled of booze and fear and a deeply profound bond.

Fighting they might've been, yeah. But they belonged. And they were harmlessly ordinary.

"Kay. I've seen enough of these two. Who's next?" Kyle asked.

"Really? We just got here."

"Really."

"Okay. I guess we can go see Miss Maren. She'll be in the kitchen, that's in the middle of the camp."

"Kitchen. Middle of camp. Gotcha."

The only house house the small roadside village had to its name was a good old fashioned wirzhaus standing at three storeys high. It had a deep yellow paint job that kinda bordered on orange, a charming trim of dark wood, and flowers sprouting from a bunch of flowerpots hung below its windows. The flowers were surprisingly well mannered, all things considered.

On one side, the wirzhaus had a parking lot fitting maybe two VW beetles (which was to say there was fuck all in terms of room), while at the front stood a long, spacious row of bike stands. Kyle wouldn't have been surprised if the place had once kept itself afloat by serving all those thirsty cyclists going up and down the river.

As the sturdiest and most spacious of houses around, the convoy of survivors had turned it into not only their mess hall, slash communal kitchen, but also some kinda general storage and probably a fallback point should things go to shit.

And as such, the place found itself under decent guard. One dude chilled out on the second-floor balcony while another was posted at the front door. Both eyeballed Kyle on his approach. It was a reasonably mild eyeballing, to be fair, but it did make Kyle wish he had both hands free to do whatever. Just in case, ya know.

"Time to hop off, kid."

"Why?"

"Because."

"That's not a reason."

"Oh, but it very much is." Kyle bent his knees. "Disembark the Crane, please."

"Fine."

Once he'd deposited Aiden on the ground and made sure he had his walking stick to hobble along with, Kyle followed a gradually intensifying scent of food and wandered (unchallenged) through the front door. His stomach rumbled.

Yeah, so— one fish?

Not exactly filling.

Inside, life was a muted affair of shuffling feet and endless chores. Okay, scratch the mess hall and storage bit. The place was, quite literally, the central stop where folks could work on whatever the camp needed while under the protection of yet another dude with a gun and surrounded by thick walls.

Kyle gave the main room a quick once-over.

The front door opened right into it, with a raised bar standing at the far end. A still kinda stocked bar, no less, explaining just how Adi and Rosa had gotten their drink on in these trying times. Behind the bar was the kitchen.

The rest of the space was wide open and had sets of tables spaced out on its dark, wooden floor. A stained glass door exited out on the left (blocked off by the aforementioned armed guard). The sign next to it told Kyle it'd lead to another dining hall, along with some stairs going up and down, respectively.

Judging by the guard, he figured that was where they stashed their critical equipment and their equally critical people, while the big hall was a free-for-all.

His eyes swung the other way.

There was a pair of folks in one corner with clothes piled between them and a sowing machine clattering along; another table with electronic guts spilled all over it while a heavyset woman attacked a circuit board with a smouldering iron; and so on and so forth.

A pretty neat setup all in all, he had to admit.

Too bad it wasn't going to last, huh?

You old grump.

He sighed.

Well, how was he not supposed to be grumpy? He was hungry.

Speaking of—

A reed-thin grandma type with white curly hair and bejewelled spectacles scooted out from the kitchen. She pushed a food cart in front of her, which she navigated out from behind the bar and then set on a course that'd take her to the guarded glass door. A pot, along with a bunch of deep plates and cutlery, jingled on the cart.

"That's Miss Maren," said Aiden. "And that's her stew."

A quick glance down to Aiden leaning on his crutch by his side showed the kid having grown deep, suspicious furrows on his brow. Which was totally the opposite of what happened on the grandma's face when she spotted him.

She lit up, all big smile and happy eyes.

"Aiden!"

Aiden shrank as Miss Maren hurried forward to she could pull the cart to a stop right in front of them.

"Murmurings be you've been up to mischief this morning."

The shrinkage got worse. "Sorry."

Miss Maren leaned forward and nudged her spectacles down so she could peer at the squirming kid from over their encrusted rim. "You could have gotten into terrible trouble with the Company over that, so what in tarnation were you thinking?"

"That I need to find Sabrina, that's what I was thinking," Aiden (kinda) fibbed.

"Oh." Then, finally, she noticed the crutch. And Kyle. Who'd been feeling strangely invisible at this point. "Oh, dear. What happened to your foot!" Miss Maren explained before her eyes cut upwards, finding Kyle. "And who's your friend?" She squinted. "I can't say I've seen you here before, young man."

Kyle plastered on a friendly smile. "Name's Crane. I'm the guy who stopped the mischief. Ma'am."

"Did you now?" she said.

"He did," Aiden confessed. "And he's alright."

"Is he now." She left the question mark off this time around, shook her head with a smile, and patted Aiden on the shoulder. "You should make sure to be around for dinner tonight. They got us meat last evening, so if you make it early enough you might get to have some!"

"…okay…" mumbled Aiden, and then watched her like a hawk as she got her cart moving again. Once she'd gone far enough not to hear, he added, "I'm not eating that."

Kyle snorted.

"What?" Aiden threw him a look of muted indignation. "You heard what she said! Sabrina vanished two days ago, and now she's probably in the stew! They just waited for a bit so none'd be suspicious."

"That's not it, kid."

Aiden groaned. "Yeah, how would you know, huh?"

Why, by smelling the scenery, of course. And no one's serving people meat here. I'd be the first to know.

He wouldn't say that out loud, of course. So, instead, Kyle got his hand around the kid's shoulder and carefully negotiated him to face the front door. "Just trust me, okay? Now— who's next?"

Aiden puffed out his kiddy cheeks. "Pey-ter."

"Pey-ter. Right. Here we go."

Peter had set up 'shop' near where Kyle had first met Aiden. He had a rickety lean-to made from GRE tarp pushed up against the wall of the building Aiden had come pelting out of, and there he sat, on a wooden box and surrounded by more wood.

Older than Miss Maven, Peter was short, had the old leathery skin of a man who'd worked outside most of his life, and had maybe three hairs left on his head. A bushy, white beard stuck to his chin.

All of which was perfectly ordinary. Less ordinary was the deformity sprouting right next to his nose. It was some sort of tumour about the size of a large egg, and while maybe not detrimental to his health, it sure as hell drew the wrong attention to him.

As the situation Kyle found Peter in certainly liked to prove.

See, spectacular timing had always been one of Kyle's best qualities (or the worst, depending on the when and the how and the what), meaning when Kyle and Aiden rocked up to Peter's little tent, Peter was in the process of being bullied by a pack of teens.

There were three of them. Kyle'd watched them walk up to him while he'd kept pace with Aiden limping by his side, and by the time he'd reached the scene they'd gone all in on harassing the dude.

One of the skunks kicked at something laid out in front of Peter. Another leaned forward and called the man an old freak. And the last one stood there, laughing.

No one batted an eye.

Ab-so-lu-tely no one.

What the hell?

Kyle's chest filled with uncomfortable heat, stoked by a spot of pain blooming somewhere deep down. This kinda shit twisted up a part in him he'd carried around for as long as he could remember remembering. It was an ache that flared whenever he saw someone get hurt, especially those who couldn't (or wouldn't) stand up for themselves.

Like kids. Or animals. Or grandmas and grandpas.

Meaning Kyle wasn't gonna let this go. He stuffed a finger into his mouth and let out a whistle so sharp, his own ears gave a little ring.

The teens perked up.

"Hey!" he added, drawing the skunk pack's full attention just in time for them to watch him strut forward with decisive, murderous steps that'd make a boulder have second thoughts about being in his way. "Get the fuck outta here."

The teens did not waste a second. They scampered.

Aiden groaned. "You're making everyone look," he complained. "You're a terrible detective sidekick."

"Yeah, well, I don't like bullies. And neither should you," he said, before calling on ahead to the startled Peter on his wooden box. "You doing alright?"

"Ja, ja— mir geht's gut," said the old dude while he leaned forward and rightened the row of whittled critters the teen had kicked over. Then he looked up to Kyle and Aiden— and he smiled. A genuine, deeply-felt smile that shone in a pair of cloudy dark eyes. "Die wissen nicht besser."

They don't know any better, huh?

Well wasn't that just so fucking sad.

"Dann müssen's halt lernen," Kyle said, then turned his eyes down at Aiden and his big, clueless stare.

A stare which turned into a befuddled blink when Peter picked up one of his critters and held it out to Aiden.

Kyle had zero idea what it was supposed to be. A giraffe with a distinctly blob-shaped body, maybe? A comfortably fat, long-necked cat?

"Trotzdem danke," said the old man. Not to Kyle, mind you, but Aiden, who finally accepted the little mystery statue with his lips squished together tight.

"Say Kein Problem," Kyle whispered.

Aiden echoed the words about as badly as one would expect. But he did it, which managed to get those cockles of Kyle's heart all warmed up and whatnot. Especially since there was no way Peter was their ne'er-do-well. Nope. Nothing but mouldy weariness was hanging off the man, lifted only by the soft touch of a light that refused to die, no matter the ache in his body and the cruelty of the world.

Kyle shut himself off to the scent as quick as he'd caught it.

If he inhaled much more of it he'd fucking cry.

"So, that's four down, one to go," Kyle said once they'd left Peter to more whittling.

"You think they're all innocent?" Aiden replied after a moment's delay. He was busy turning the wooden statuette around in his hands, his kid-brows furrowed in concentration.

"Mhm."

"Why?"

"Because my nose tells me," Kyle said and tapped said nose.

He earned himself a squint.

"I take it back," Aiden muttered. "You aren't a terrible detective sidekick. You're the worst."

"Don't judge me just yet. You'll change your tune once I've cracked this case wide open for you; you just wait and see."

Aiden scoffed. "If you say so." He added an exasperated shrug. "I dunno where Florence is. I've kept an eye out for her, but I can't see her anywhere. Maybe she's sleeping."

"That's alright." 'course she's gone. She bolted. "I'll find her, okay? Now... where do you usually crash? We should get you off that ankle. Rest up."

Aiden's eyes hopped to Kyle in a hurry. Worry fluttered over his face. "Will you stick around?"

Awww, Kyle thought while his heart pinched again. "Sure. I'm beat, too. I had to fight a bunch of Virals, remember?"

Offering Kyle a severe nod, Aiden swung his crutch out and hobbled off to the side. "Then let's go this way. There's a barn with an attic that's got straw in where I sleep."

"Sweet. I love attics. And straw."

"What about spiders?"

"Eh. No feelings either way."

"Okay, good. There's lots."

And there were also mice, Kyle was told. And, sometimes, an owl hooted around in the night. And the people downstairs snored and sometimes did 'other things,' and there was a crack, slash, window, in the wall that the wind whistled through and so on and so forth, and, honestly, Kyle just ended up smiling through it all, well aware he looked a bit like a doof.

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(*) Exceptions apply between two (or more) consenting adults.