Ethan cursed himself as he sped back toward the tanker.

  “Idiot, idiot, idiot,” he repeated over and over, chastising himself profusely.

  Henry asked me to have his back, and I went off and did… whatever I did, Ethan thought in self-reproach.

  Weaving through the wreckage of the fight, he dodged scuttler corpses that turned the field into an obstacle course. He leapt and sidestepped as fast as he could, praying he wasn’t too late.

  He hit the back of the tanker, caught a metal rung, and swung around the corner. A scuttler was already lunging, its jaws yawning over Henry’s throat.

  Ethan didn’t think. He reacted on instinct. He gripped his garden hoe in both hands, lifted it overhead, and hurled with all his strength.

  The hoe blurred towards its target as it cartwheeled end over end, and smashed into the scuttler. It went down in a bloody heap. Ethan’s satisfaction was short-lived as two scuttlers wheeled around and surged toward him.

  Now defenseless, he fumbled with the clasp of his knife sheath. Just as he freed it, the lead scuttler slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. He lost his grip on the knife as his breath left him in a whoosh that had him heaving.

  He grappled blindly, managing to clutch the neck of the scuttler pinning him down, barely keeping its chomping mandibles from tearing into his face.

  Pain exploded in his leg.

  The second scuttler had clamped onto him, its powerful jaws biting deep. Ethan sucked in a ragged breath and screamed. The scuttler on top of him pushed closer, its ugly mouth inching toward his face as it slowly overpowered him.

  He scrabbled desperately with his free hand, searching for his knife, or a rock, or something to fend off the creatures.

  He found nothing. One jagged mandible dragged painfully across his cheek, leaving an angry red trail in its wake.

  Ethan screamed anew, his rage now fully replaced by fear as he experienced the pain that would likely be the last thing he ever felt.

  Just as the mandible was about to cut into something vital, a bulk slammed into the scuttler, sending it flying off of him and granting sweet relief from the cutting pain.

  The scuttler chomping at his leg also let go and turned to confront the new threat. Ethan looked up in a pain-induced haze, and his jaw dropped at what he saw.

  “Scuppers!” he cried.

  The small dog was bravely facing down the two scuttlers, his teeth bared as he gurgled a deep growl. The monsters circled Scuppers, forcing him to dart his head back and forth between them.

  Ethan looked around desperately for his knife. Scuppers had courage, but he knew the small dog wouldn’t last long against two larger foes. Ethan gritted against the pain in his leg, not daring to look down at what the monster had done to it.

  A red orb, he thought. I need a damn red orb.

  His fingers brushed metal. The knife.

  He grabbed it just as he heard one of the monsters screech. Ethan whipped his head around in time to see Scuppers prance deftly to the side of the charging creature and bite at one of its many legs.

  Scuppers locked the leg in his powerful jaws and yanked his head back and forth with startling ferocity, rending flesh and causing the scuttler to fall to the ground in a writhing heap.

  The move, while brave and effective, had left Scuppers’ flank open to attack, and the second monster surged forward. Ethan, unable to move, hefted the knife by the sharp end. He had occasionally trained throwing the knife at a tree, but never planned to do it in an actual fight. Except as a last resort.

  “Not knowing how to do something never stopped me before,” he muttered.

  From his seated position, he awkwardly flung the knife at the second monster. It whirled end over end and stuck into the monster. Not a killing blow, but enough for it to cringe back in surprise as it oozed black ichor from the wound.

  Scuppers ceased his rending of the first monster and stepped back warily. His attention shifted to the other. The dog’s too intelligent eyes appeared to take in the knife protruding from the monster.

  Scuppers seemed to concentrate for a moment before the air shimmered and slightly warped around his mouth. Ethan blinked as a second knife, identical to the first, popped into existence, clutched in Scuppers’ jaws.

  Ethan’s mouth dropped open. Before he had long to consider the ramifications, he watched as Scuppers lunged forward with his knife, driving it deep into the scuttler’s face.

  The creature reeled back in pain and thrashed about. The display was short-lived, however, and the monster soon fell to the ground.

  A red orb shot towards Ethan, surprising him since he hadn’t been the one to deliver the killing blow. He gritted his teeth as the power surged through him and mostly repaired the damage to his leg. Despite the residual pain, Ethan scrambled to his feet, spotting Henry lying in the dirt where he’d fallen. He wasn’t moving.

  “Oh god, oh no,” Ethan whimpered as he started toward the old farmer. He skidded to a stop, having an idea. He turned around to see the monster Scuppers had attacked, still moving weakly.

  “Scuppers!” he cried. “Don’t kill it yet, We need it for Henry.” Scuppers froze mid-crouch, poised to pounce on the scuttler and end its life.

  Ethan rushed over and yanked his knife out of the dead creature, and dragged the barely living one toward Henry. Scuppers grabbed a leg, helping to pull faster.

  They reached Henry, and Ethan knelt next to him, pressing the blood-soaked knife into the old man’s weathered grip. To his relief, Henry flexed his gnarled fingers and clasped the knife firmly. His eyes fluttered open and locked onto Ethan’s face hovering above him.

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  “Henry, use the knife to kill this bug,” Ethan said urgently, trying to keep the panic from his voice. “It’ll give you a red orb thingy.”

  Henry said nothing, only nodded weakly, and looked at the scuttler next to him. He raised his trembling arm and drove the knife down into the dying monster. The scuttler stopped twitching, and while Ethan couldn’t see the red orb enter Henry’s body, he saw the surge of energy and healing in the old man.

  Henry immediately began to breathe easier and seemed to relax,. Ethan let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and rocked back onto his haunches. Henry was still pretty beat up, but seemed to at least be in a stable condition. Scuppers crept forward and began to tentatively lick Henry’s face, prompting the old farmer to reach up and pat the dog reassuringly.

  Ethan looked down and surveyed his leg for the first time. His pants were in tatters and soaked in blood. He shivered to think what it must have looked like before he killed the scuttler and had been healed. He pushed wearily to his feet, driven by guilt and the knowledge that they were likely still not safe.

  Henry propped up on one elbow and pulled something out from beneath him — Quynh’s bamboo hat. To Ethan’s dismay, it was smashed on one side, making it unwearable. Ethan looked down at Quynh’s garden hoe in the dirt, it was completely covered in black blood. With a great deal of effort, he suppressed the sudden urge to vomit that arose within him.

  Just finish it, he thought, forcing himself to focus. Gotta make sure the farm is safe.

  “Scuppers, stay and watch over Henry,” Ethan commanded as he stooped to grab the hoe, sickened by the carnage he had wrought with it. More than the carnage, he was disgusted with himself and how he’d lost himself in the mindless slaughter, leaving Henry alone. He was responsible for the wounded state Henry was in now, and hated himself for it.

  Ethan paused, shame showing in his hunched shoulders and tear-filled eyes. He looked down and met Henry’s gaze — the old man stared fixedly at him, saying nothing. Ethan’s heart gave a wrench at what he saw there. Not anger, or confusion, or reproach. No. Ethan could have dealt with those.

  Fear. Fear was what was etched on the old man’s face. The man who had nursed him back to health, fought a horde of monsters head-on for him, and treated him like a son… was now terrified of him. Ethan felt shame and regret stronger than anything he’d felt in a long time. He wanted to run away and never see Henry again. See that look in his eyes.

  “I… I’m sorry, Henry,” he said softly, his voice catching with a sob. He turned away and hefted the hoe, twisting the grip so hard he heard the wood creak beneath his hands.

  Ethan took no joy in the remaining killing he had to do. The few remaining scuttlers were mostly injured or disoriented to the point they posed no threat, but he wouldn’t risk them getting any closer to the farm. Not after what he’d discovered they did to the soil.

  Unfortunately, the cleanup left his mind mostly unoccupied, so he had plenty of time to be alone with his thoughts. Something he really didn’t want at the moment. The memory of Henry’s fear-stricken face kept pushing itself to the forefront of his mind.

  Ethan felt sharp anguish twisting within him about how Henry probably thought of him now. He’d abandoned Henry. Not only that, he’d gone on a killing spree, and if Ethan was being honest with himself, he had enjoyed the power he’d felt. And that instilled a sickening sense of self-loathing unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  I’m just like Dad, he thought as he slammed his hoe down mercilessly on a scuttler that had been dragging itself away. He had never felt rage like that. Not just rage, a bloodlust. He could feel it lurking even now. He pushed it down, focusing on what he could possibly do to fix the situation.

  Henry. His only human friend in the world was terrified of him.

  Hell, maybe the only other human in the world for all I know, he thought. No answers came to him as he finished piling most of the bodies of the dead scuttlers into a massive heap.

  He felt hollow as he took in the disgusting, blood-soaked mass. The wind was blowing the barren dirt of the field into the heap, sticking to the coagulating ichor that oozed from the pile. He sighed sadly. Knowing what the toxic blood was doing to the soil wrenched his heart, but he was unsure what to do about it now.

  We’ll burn it tomorrow, he thought drawing an exhausted hand across his face. Assuming Henry doesn’t kick me out.

  He worked up the courage to go back to where he’d left Henry and Scuppers, only to find them missing. He noticed tracks leading back toward the farmhouse.

  At least the old man is well enough to walk, he thought.

  Ethan glanced at the tanker truck. What should have been a quick errand had turned into a nightmare that nearly cost them their lives, and potentially destroyed his relationship with Henry. Ethan shook his head in disbelief at the day’s events before turning and hesitantly making his way back to the house, unsure of what awaited him there.

  Ethan stood, one foot on the bottom step leading up to the porch of the farmhouse. Scuppers had apparently entered the house with Henry, as he wasn’t in his usual spot on the front porch. He looked at the front door, still ajar, and couldn’t bring himself to mount the steps. Feelings he didn’t have names for swirled within him, but one thing he knew — he couldn’t bring himself to go inside. He felt dirty and didn’t want to bring his filth into Henry’s home.

  He sighed, turning away and walked toward his garden planters. Without any conscious decision to do so, his feet came to a stop in front of Joel. He sat down in a huff, one hand dipping idly into the S-Tier soil he labored so diligently to cultivate, letting it fall idly from his closed fist back into the garden box.

  “I messed up, Joel,” he said quietly. He told Joel everything. The flight from the horde, his rampage, Henry’s face… he couldn’t get that image out of his head. Henry had looked at him like Ethan had looked at his father when he was in one of his… moods. He told Joel how he was worried everything would change after today.

  “You’re too big for me to just pack you up and put you in the trailer,” Ethan said, noting Joel’s seemingly supernatural growth. Joel now came up to Ethan’s chest, having grown dramatically since being planted in the high-quality soil. Ethan knew that eventually Joel’s green bark would change into the rainbow of colors he’d seen in the encyclopedia Henry had given him.

  Ethan looked around at the plants surrounding him. They represented hours of labor and were the only thing he’d felt proud of in a long time. All the plants seemed to benefit from the rich, nutrient-filled soil. He glanced over at the leafy greens that were coming along quite nicely. He hoped he’d be around to taste the fruits of his labor.

  Ethan sighed as he considered his predicament. For what felt like the hundredth time, he felt like Henry would kick him to the curb. The difference this time was that he felt he deserved it. Maybe it would be better if he just left on his own. He told all of this to Joel, along with everything he was feeling, idly rubbing one of the eucalyptus leaves between two fingers as he talked.

  Ethan had the sensation he was pouring his pent-up energy and frustration into the plant and getting… something back in return. A white orb spiraled lazily up from Joel’s root and traveled up his trunk before descending to be absorbed in Ethan’s chest.

  A calm emanated out from his heart, and the anxiety and stress Ethan had been feeling dissipated before whatever magic this world now possessed. Exhaustion took hold of him, and he laid back, one hand still gently grasping one of the leaves.

  “Thank you, Joel,” he said as he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

  Ethan slept the deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion. It wasn’t until late morning the next day that he slowly came awake, aware of a rough wet tongue lapping at his cheek. He smiled and reached up to pat Scuppers on the head.

  “Good morning, dog breath,” he said affectionately as he sat up. He froze. It was only at that moment that he realized Scuppers was not alone. Henry loomed over him, seeming to be as tall as a mountain. The moment stretched, Ethan unable to make out the old man’s expression as he was backlit by the morning sun. After an eternity, he cleared his throat.

  “We need to have a talk. One long overdue.”

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