The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.50

Chapter Fifty

Bad news never comes alone

 The Keeper had left them alone for a minute, which was kind of him. Malia was staring at her badge as if she had never seen it before, and Wesley didn’t blame her. Those people, whoever they had been, were her people. 

“I’m sorry,” Wesley said again, coming to stand next to her. He didn’t put a hand on her shoulder or hug her. He just stood there, letting her know he was there if she needed anything and that she wasn’t alone. Sometimes, the last thing someone wanted was a hug.

After a few minutes of silence, Malia squeezed his hand and stood, wiping unshed tears from her eyes.

“Well, that officially makes us the officers of the delving group Errant Rangers,” Malia said with a forced smile. “So, Joy, do you want to formally join our little group officially?”

“Can I?” Joy asked. “I’m still not a very good fighter.”

“Honestly, I don’t care. I’m changing the rules, as of right now. The Errant Rangers will accept any class that aids us in any way—crafters, cooks, anyone who wants to try their hand.” Malia nodded. “I’ve always wanted to be a part of a group like that.”

“Yes!” Joy looked absurdly proud. “I’d love to!”

“Good,” Malia smiled. “Let’s get that Keeper back in here and see if he has any spare badges we can give you.”

The formalities took a couple of minutes to complete, and it turned slightly awkward when the Keeper asked Joy her name. She chewed her lip for a second, then answered with ‘Joyous Heart.’

The bronze badge—number 4122—looked great pinned to her shoulder, and she kept craning her neck to look at it as they talked to the Keeper. There was a lot of news, and none of it was good. Luckily, their host kept in contact with just about everyone from the sound of it. So, he knew what was happening in just about every corner of the game world.

There was war everywhere, which wasn’t exactly new, given this was designed as a strategy game. What was new was that several groups had formed. Alliances had broken or reformed into larger groups, and their troops were mixing freely. Combinations were being created, much like the mechanized undead they had fought in the swamp. 

While the Necro-mech faction was going strong at the moment, news was starting to come out of much more successful collaborations turning the tide in places. Hexes were changing hands as fast as the system would allow, with barely a chance for the new group to settle in before being ousted.

The Unnamed City was apparently holding strong, mainly due to its status as a neutral trading hub for the different factions but also due to the appearance of a second massive water bubble. One that orbited the city, threatening to drown any army that came its way. 

None of that added up to a good time for the NPCs.

NPCs had been wiped out in several hexes, and the rapid change of ownership gave them no chance to evacuate between invasion events.  

It was a massacre out there. 

Everywhere.

Almost.

The only places not being obliterated were those deemed too dangerous to remove, such as buffers between allies, or those too strong to overwhelm quickly, like the Unnamed City.

“And the poor bastards between the cliffs,” the Keeper said sadly. “Talk about bad luck and bad timing.”

“Who do you mean?” Wesley asked. He had never heard of the people ‘between the cliffs,’ but he had a horrible suspicion that he knew who the man meant. 

“That city in the weird cliff zone?” The Keeper frowned. “I thought everyone had heard of it.”

“You mean the place run by Miles Earnshaw?” Miles asked with a sinking feeling. 

“That’s the one. They only just survived an Invasion, and now there’s no one free to help them.” The Keeper shook his head, clearly excited to be sharing the juicy bit of news.

“What do they need help with?” Wesley growled. 

“Oh, uh, do you know them?” The Keeper suddenly looked guilty. “They are getting Sundered.”

“Right now?” Wesley asked as ice wrapped around his heart.

“They have a few hours. But look, no one answered the call for help. What NPCs are left are bunkering up. It’s gonna be a bloodbath over there.” The Keeper took a step back, eyes flicking between them all.

Wesley stood there, trying to think of something, anything he could do, and came up blank. 

“That’s where your sim’s from, right?” Malia asked.

“Yeah, Sara,” Wes nodded numbly. “Some of the rest of the squad is still there. At least two, maybe more.” His mind seemed to lurch and jump as it tried everything, his mind spinning faster and faster to try and find a solution to the problem. It had always been this way for him. The cold shock, the drifty feeling, then the snap back into motion. Wesley had often seen people panicking and losing it and almost envied them. Panic was a very different feeling for him. His mind became cold and clinical as it worked the problem.

Every problem has a solution. Sometimes, that solution was that there was nothing he could do, but still….

“I’m going,” Wesley said with finality. He wasn’t stupid or suffering from delusions of grandeur. Going was likely suicide, but it all came down to that one thing.

That little bit of him, of who he was when he came here. 

They were friends, and Wesley Lancaster did not abandon a friend in trouble. 

“I’m sorry, Malia,” Wes said earnestly. “I know you need people for the Rangers, and I know it’s probably hopeless, and I’ll just die… but they are in trouble.”

“It’s not about them,” Malia smiled. “That’s your whole thing, isn’t it?”

“Pretty much,” Wesley admitted. “But this time, it’s about them and me.”

“You’re a good man, Wesley Lancaster,” Malia sighed and smiled sadly. “But there is no way you can save a zone.”

“I don’t plan on trying,” Wesley admitted. “But maybe, just maybe, I can save a few people.”

“That’s all?” Malia asked. 

“I think that’s gonna be pretty tough on its own, don’t you?” Wesley asked. 

“A few people,” Malia wondered aloud. “That’s all you're after?”

“Well, given Peterson and Split won’t exactly abandon their posts, I’ll still be in the thick of it, but hopefully, I can save them.”

“Anyone else?” Malia asked. 

“Whoever I can, really,” Wesley admitted. “I’m just going to go there and do my best.”

Malia groaned, and Joy looked dumbstruck. 

“What?” Wesley protested.

“Get your stuff,” Malia chuckled, “You stupid bastard. Let’s get there first and take it from there.”

“Wait, I’m not asking you to come with me,” Wesley said quickly. “This is probably suicide.”

“You’re still my recruit,” Malia grinned at him, “And I intend to take care of your noble ass.”

“You’re sure?” Wesley asked.

“We are!” Joy yelled. “Let’s go and be heroes!”

“No hero shit,” Malia corrected her. “We are going to protect some of Wesley’s friends, not die in some stupid last stand.”

“Let’s go and NOT be heroes!” Joy yelled with equal excitement. 

“Joy, no offense,” Wesley started, but Malia cut him off.

“She’s a big girl; let her make her own choices. That’s one of the only things we have, remember?” Malia insisted, so Wesley guiltily dropped the idea.

Using his argument against him was dirty pool.

//////////////////////

“The Outpost is not too far from the city,” Wesley told them as they got ready to enter the portal. “It’s a few hours, maybe less.”

“People are going to be pretty damn jumpy over there,” The Keeper was hovering around them nervously. “They might not take kindly to people just turning up suddenly.”

“They called for help, remember?” Malia replied. 

“Also, Hank is the Keeper at that Outpost. He knows me.” Wesley added.

“Well, if you are really sure.” The Keeper gave them a look but activated the portal anyway.

There were as many ways to activate the Outpost portals as there were Keepers. Some did it with a theatrical flourish, some intoned an ominous-sounding incantation, and some even whistled, according to Malia. This one simply stamped his foot, and the portal arch filled.

“Oooh, I see the place is closing in a few hours, so you better get going if you want to.” The man waved and left the room.

“Last chance for any of you to back out,” Wesley said gravely. “I’d completely understand.”

“Just get in the damn portal,” Malia sighed. “We don’t have much time.”

With no further argument, Wesley did as she asked. 

With a flash of silver, he once more stood in the run-down-looking portal room of a familiar Outpost. A few seconds later, Malia and Joy came through.

“Someone needs to get out the dustpan and brush!” Joy squeeked. “Look at this place!”

“Yeah, Hank’s kind of laid-back about that stuff,” Wesley answered her. Speaking of which…” Wes pushed open the door to the short corridor, hearing Hank’s dulcet tones clearly almost immediately.

“Get lost, the pair of you. Every day you come here, and every day I tell you, no one has come through. Do you need me to tattoo it on your arse to get the message? If someone comes, I’ll send them your way!” Hank roared at some unlucky pair. “No one is coming! Get it?”

They heard a door slamming shut just before they rounded the corner into the common room.

“Hey Hank, how’s business?” Wesley said as casually as he could. 

“Well fuck me!” Hank’s face split into a grin. “Wesley!” He came over and shook Wesley’s hand with a vicelike grip that trembled slightly at the end. “I’ll be honest, lad, you and your friends should turn right round and head back the other way.”

“I heard about the Sundering,” Wesley said. “To be honest, it isn’t much safer out there, anyway.”

“Liar!” Hank laughed sadly. “Still, I can’t say I’m sad to see you, even in a time like this. So, who are your two friends?”

“This is my boss, Malia,” Wesley said with a smile. “And Joy, our new cook.”

“Oh, Ho! We have gone up in the world,” Hank joked. “Are we waiting for your butler, too?”

“Who are you kidding?” Wesley laughed. “I am the butler.”

They both laughed at that, a lot harder than it strictly deserved. Tension did that to people. 

“How’s Earnshaw doing?” Wesley asked when they wound down.

“That was a pair of his boys just now,” Hank told him. “He’s been sending them every day, just to check. Honestly, I didn’t think we would be this bad off.”

“The war’s got everyone busy,” Malia noted. “It’s a bad one.”

“Aren’t they always?” Hank snorted. “Every now and again, the Players get all hopped up, but it passes.”

“I think this is different,” Malia explained. She repeated everything they had learned about the wider world while Hank merely listened and nodded occasionally.

“Sorry to bring bad news,” Wesley said once she was done.”

“You know what?” Hank brightened. “It’s better I know. Honestly, I thought everyone had just decided to let us die alone out here. This way, I know people just have bigger issues. Sucks for us, but at least we can know our friends didn’t abandon us.”

“Maybe more will turn up before the end,” Malia offered. “You never know.”

“True,” Hank nodded. “Well, I tell you what. I’m about to pull out of here, but you are welcome to use the place until you decide to move on.”  

“Where are you headed?” Wesley asked.

“Going back to the Guild until this all dies down.” Hank looked slightly guilty. “I ain’t much of a fighter unless I’m in my Outpost, but….”

“I'm Glad to know a friend will be safe from all this,” Wesley said, offering his hand, which Hank shook. “Now, if only a couple more could make the same decision, we can all skip this shit and drink ourselves stupid instead.”

“I know who you mean, and good luck with that,” Hank nodded to them. “Nice to meet you all, and if we meet again, I’ll buy you all a drink and a meal.”

“See you,” Wesley agreed. “Stay safe, eh?”

“Will do,” Hank said.

“Oh, can I raid your stores if you’re off for a while?” Wesley called after him.

“Have at it, kid,” Hank called back.

“We should really leave some money,” Joy insisted as they carried another barrel out of the Outpost and across to where he had set up his Domain, which was restocked nicely.

“I’ll do that,” Maila called back. “We’ll be using this stuff, so it’s only fair.”

“Wait,” Wesley called. “Let’s give it to him when we leave or the next time we see him. Someone might steal it otherwise.”

“Fair enough,” Malia nodded. “So, we have everything?”

They had done an excellent job of clearing out the Outpost stores of everything edible or useful. It was clear that Hank had not brought in much, as he planned to evacuate, but there was still enough to get on with.

Not much in the way of repair materials, but it was a start.

“Everyone clear the Domain; I’m putting it away again,” Wesley warned. When everyone called to confirm that they were clear, he released the spell. 

“Ramblers, let’s get rambling,” Wesley nodded to the others.

“What’s a rambler?” Joy asked.

“No idea,” Wesley admitted. “Just a line I heard once and kind of liked.”

“Yeah, I like it,” Malia nodded. “What about this, ‘The Rambling Rangers?’

“Not feeling very Errant lately?” Wesley asked.

“Not so much,” Malia admitted with a smirk. “Hey, give me your badge for a second?”

Wesley handed his over and saw them flash. Checking his badge when she handed it back, the name had changed.

The Rambling Rangers

(2nd in Command)

Badge number: 4077

Wesley J. Lancaster

“I like it,” Wesley nodded.

“Thanks,” Malia nodded. 

“So, I’m second in command?” Wesley asked with a grin. “Can I be trusted with such awesome power?”

“Fuck no,” Malia laughed. “But you had seniority over Joy, so there it is.”

Wesley remembered walking this same road on the eve of the Invasion, it had slowly clogged with people as they got closer to the city. 

Passing the tree where Wes had shot his first Rock-Eater Gerbil, it was obvious how much had changed. 

Not a soul was in sight, ahead or behind. 

“Mind if we side-track slightly?” Wesley nodded to a small farmhouse in the middle distance. “I met the woman who lives there. She lost her family during the invasion, so I want to check if she’s gone to the city.”

“Sure,” Malia nodded. “We are headed that way, anyway. Sort of.”

So, Wesley led them down the side path, heading toward the distant farmhouse. For some reason, he moved quickly, almost feeling like there was a rush. 

Something about the memory of the woman walking away from the city was just so desolate.

The feeling of anxiety just got worse as they came to the farm itself. There was a stillness to the place, a silence that was somehow ominous. It didn’t matter how much he told himself it was just his anxiety. 

“Hello!” Wesley called. “Just checking you are okay? Anyone here?”

“No one is stupid enough to answer that,” Malia shook her head. “It’s what any bandit would claim.”

“I escorted your family to the city? During the invasion?” Wesley called as they approached the door. 

It was slightly ajar, and for a moment, Wesley felt his hopes rise.

She had evacuated, not bothering to lock the door because it was a Sundering. What were the chances the place would be here afterward? They had to be pretty slim, right?

That hope died as he picked up a smell that was becoming all too familiar. 

The smell of death and rot.

They found her in the main room, her feet swinging a couple of feet above a tumbled chair.

“She wanted to look her best,” Malia noted as she saw how fine the clothes were. “In the end.”

“Fuck this world,” Wesley said, staring. Death had taken the attempt and destroyed it. Rot was never pretty. “Fuck this whole fucking world.”

“Joy, why don’t we go and wait outside?” Malia withdrew, taking Joy with her. 

Wesley stared at the woman’s corpse. It was bloated and rotted but not too far gone yet. Not more than a few days at most. 

It was sad, a tableau of misery and suffering only made worse by the woodcut lying broken at her feet. She must have been clutching it as she died.

He could barely distinguish the figures but knew who it would be anyway.

The family she lost. 

Hate uncoiled itself in his heart again, that fiery, destructive feeling surging through him. Just for a second, he allowed himself to hate. A deep and abiding hatred for the Players. They never knew of this woman or her family. They never saw her suffer and would not care if they did.  

Collateral damage.

For a fucking game.

Wesley let the hatred flare, embraced it, and then let it go.

Hating the Players was a waste of time. They were simply too far above him for anything he did to ever affect their precious lives.

Still, he swore at that moment that if ever he could… He would fuck with them any way he could.

Wesley walked out of the burning house, casting the last few charges of Improved Flare over his shoulder as he went. They may have taken her family, but he would burn that body to ash.

No one would ever see her in her finest clothes, stained by the rot inside them, on some corpse pile, or as a shuffling zombie.

It wasn’t much, but he could do that for her. 

“You okay?” Maila asked as they walked away from the burning farm.

“Not even slightly,” Wesley said with a bitter smile. “But I will be.”