Bart

  I gained 100 experience points for my part in the craw-ant slaughter. I ignored the earlier level up notification because ‘ain’t nobody got time for that.’ Turning my focus on surviving the poison gnawing through my veins like acid-fed termites, I did it now so I would have more health points to endure this god-forsaken poison.

  “Level up.” I muttered, calling to the system gods.

  You have gained enough experience to level up. Do you wish to level up now? Yes/No

  “Yes.”

  The stat increases impressed me. Every one of my abilities increased when it usually was just one or two. I really liked how using skills and abilities increased their levels. It was like working out, if you put in the work you saw the gains.

  I put two points in Strength bringing the total up to 22, because I needed to keep getting stronger. Based on Jeremy’s strategy, I put two points into Intelligence, which would help me get more points on level ups. Jeremy also told me Intelligence would help me learn new abilities and skills too, so I really hoped he didn’t make that up.

  Thinking about him hurt. I really hoped he was alive. My pessimist side told me he didn’t make it. All the crap I’d been through had taught me not to hold out hope for too long. It is a bad way of thinking, but I'd rather be pleasantly surprised than disappointed.

  While I loved my dad, it would be difficult for me to forgive him for all the chaos and carnage he had caused. Forgiveness felt like a betrayal to all the people he had killed. Jesus taught us to forgive, but my human side wanted justice.

  This whole internal debate continued to drive me crazy. Dad needed help, but I wanted justice. I wanted to allow Dad the excuse that magic had changed him, and I wanted him to pay for what he had done.

  For now, we would stay out here as long as it took.

  Actually right now, I had to concentrate on getting rid of the venom coursing through my veins. My healing magic basically pushed the poison back down to the entry wound, but as soon as I stop healing, the venom raises its ugly head and attacks my health points again at a rate exceeding my magic regeneration rate. I fought a losing battle.

  I had never made an anti-venom before, but I knew doctors or scientists used the original venom to create it. The scientists milked venom from the source, then using various animals they would develop anti-bodies from the animal’s blood after injecting diluted venom into them.

  I possessed three bottles of the venom conveniently stored in bottles for my use .

  “Dad?”

  “What?” he gruffly replied.

  “Can I borrow some of your blood?”

  “What the hell for?”

  “You have a natural immunity to this toxin,” I said. “You are my only hope of developing a cure.”

  “Do you think you are some sorta scientist now?” he snorted and actually smiled a little.

  “No, but I’m pretty smart and desperate. For some reason, I have this idea to use your blood, my blood, and a little water to make a potion to cure this stupid poison.”

  “How much do you need?” he said, sounding reluctant. He stared at me, eyes flickering between doubt and something softer.

  I held up an empty water bottle and my knife gleamed in the moonlight. “Can you fill about half of this bottle for me?”

  Without saying another word or even wincing, he sliced his palm deep and started squeezing his dark blood into the small opening of the bottle.

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  “Thanks, Dad. I love you. So much.”

  “Just don’t waste it!”

  Shaking my head in disbelief, I looked at my bandit buddy. “Starla, can you help heal his hand, hun?”

  She stared at me for a minute, then went over to Dad and started licking his hand.

  I had no clue what I was doing, but I didn’t have any choice. Before I started my mad science experiment, I used most of my magic to heal myself.

  I had this feeling I needed to mix a portion of water with a portion of the actual venom, then add it to a portion of blood.

  Using the other bottle, I cut it with the knife removing the top, and made the mixture. After a few minutes, I looked at it and didn’t see any sign that the concoction had worked.

  What was I missing?

  “You put any of your magic in it?” Dad asked, sounding petulant.

  “What do you mean…Oh! Dad! That just might work!”

  Concentrating until my brain hurt, I focused my magical energy on the hand holding the bottle. The energy finally flowed directly into the liquid, causing it to swirl and bubble as if it were in a beaker above a Bunsen burner. The liquid steamed, but I didn’t feel any heat coming off of it.

  Are you kidding me? I actually did it!

  I raised the bottle, hesitated, then downed it in one gulp. It tasted like a Bloody Mary had had a one-night stand with a White Russian; spicy, creamy, and violently wrong. My throat rebelled. My stomach threatened mutiny, but the poison effect vanished, and my health bar stopped decreasing.

  Before I could celebrate the accomplishment, I saw another banner floating in my vision.

  “Dad,” I said. “They made it back!”

  “Good, now you can stop wining about it.”

  ?

  Steve

  The police officers were just doing their jobs, but Steve and Pow were tired and ready for bed. Without a choice, they stood there and answered questions. Deputy Mike Vicari and his partner Susan Johnson had been working the case since Bart brought Sheriff Crochet to town with multiple injuries. Vic moved through the ranks fast earning second in command even though he was only 25 years old. He had a degree in criminal law and could’ve worked in any big city, but he came back home to Assumption Parish and hoped one day to be sheriff.

  “Steve…Micheal,” Deputy Vicari said as he came up to the two rescuers. “You guys have had a helluva night.” He took his straw cowboy hat off and rubbed the sweat off his dark, clean-shaved head with an old kitchen towel. He never wanted anyone to see him sweat.

  “Hey, Vic,” Steve responded. “Yeah, it’s been one. You know we didn’t do any of this, right?”

  “Yeah. But we still gotta ask the right questions and file a report. You know how it goes. You guys wanna come over to the shop and get a cup of coffee?”

  They sauntered over and, after getting some caffeine in their system, they began the interview.

  “Can you walk me through what happened out there?” Vic asked.

  Pow started with his story about how they had gone out to help Bart find his dad only to be attacked by animals. “It was like they all gone completely feral and were just attacking for no reason.”

  “Yeah. Like something done upset the lot of em. Even harmless critters were actin’ a fool out dere,” Steve added.

  “Where exactly did all this happen?” Vic asked.

  “Literally in the middle of nowhere. Upriver.”

  “So, animals didn’t shoot Dusty, do you know who fired the weapon?”

  “Nah, I missed that,” Pow said.

  “It probably was friendly fire, though,” Steve said.

  “So, you think this was accidental?”

  “Had to be. None of the critters had guns,” Pow said.

  “I hate to ask, but do you guys know if any drugs or alcohol was involved?”

  “No. Nothing like that,” Steve said. “We all went out sober as possum in church.”

  “Did you guys find Bart’s dad? And Where is Bart?” Vic asked.

  “We found him,” Pow said. “He ain’t acting right. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like he wants to stay out dere. Bart didn’t wanna leave him alone so he is gonna stay with him until we come back.”

  “He ain’t actin right? What does that mean?” Susan asked, speaking for the first time.

  “Ma’am,” Steve answered, “it’s like his mind is all screwy. He don’t know where he’s at. I think Bart and Mr. Cash were in a boat accident, and Mr. Cash got bonked on da head real good. Every time we get him convinced to come back, he runs off like a bat chasin’ bugs at a spotlight.”

  “It sounds like he needs to be brought in for questionin’ too.” Susan said, looking at Vic.

  “Can you guys take us out there?”

  “All due respect,” Pow answered, “but it’s real dangerous out dere. We’ve already lost so many lives. If we can’t bring an army out dere, I don’t think anyone should go back.”

  “Yeah,” Steve added. “I’m pretty sure Tony, Shaun, and Joe Fontenot are all dead. Dorien is dead, and we never found Danny. Keith died, and we couldn’t find Deputy Wills dat came out wit Sheriff Crochet.”

  “Vic?” Susan looked at the deputy with tears in her eyes. “I think we need to get the state in on dis. We might need a helicopter and more people to fight whatever is happenin’ out dere.”

  “I hear ya.” Vic wiped the sweat from his brow again, his towel starting to show the wear from overuse that night. “Okay. You two head on home. I’ll go back to the station and call the State police and see who they can send us. They ain’t gonna believe all dis, but I’ll try to convince them to send their chopper. Alls we can do is pray for Bart and Will now. Dey’ll be on der own tonight.”