Preparation did not just come in the form of combat experience and the training of individual Falcon Reach members. It also of course came in the form of getting Merlin’s Ranch ready; making it as efficient as possible, making it, in short, as much of a home and a safe place as was possible for all those people who now treated it as their very own sanctuary.

With that in mind, and utilizing the various helpful skills that each person in the Falcon Reach’s Guild brought to the table, there had been many improvements made to the ranch.

From a practical standpoint this was not surprising. The ranch, the family bastion as I had known it, had been home to myself and my mother and my father. Admittedly, there had been seasonal cowboys who had stayed periodically, but rarely more than a dozen. Now suddenly, after freeing all those who had been taken by the Beast King, there were over sixty new mouths to feed. Sixty new bodies to keep warm at night, as the long Montana winter closed in.

Luckily for us, we had the room on our land to expand the ranch and still keep it within the confines of the protective magical bubble. We also had various skilled people, with various magical classes, to grow the ranch and make it more defensible and more comfortable.

In terms of expanding the infrastructure of Merlin Ranch, Dominic Cook and Andrew Peck were perhaps the most helpful and the most, in a way, important. The pair were both Occult Engineers. This basically meant that they used magic to build things—build them stronger and more quickly.

Hugo Sands was also a key asset. He was a Defender class. Under the Beast King he had honed his skills in creating magical batteries that helped the compound fend off airborne monster attackers. Once he had been freed from under the Beast King’s yoke, he had taken these skills and set them to work for us.

“I know that my defensive magical batteries are kind of obsolete, what with the whole supernatural bubble that encapsulates us all,” he said in his big, loud, gruff voice as I chatted to him one morning. “But it’s always been my policy to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

I grinned up at him, and he grinned back at me through his great bushy beard, which seemed to be getting thicker and wilder by the day.

“I think that’s a good policy in this day and age,” I told him.

There were a couple of other Falcon Reach guild members playing key. Holly Dawson was an Artificer like Willa McCrae was. Although she didn’t make buildings or structures in the same way that our two Occult Engineers did, she did help Willa make magically and supernaturally enhanced tools for the construction of the engineering projects. The mild-mannered and soft-spoken wife of Kameel Al-Sala, Farah Al-Sala, also found her skills in high demand. She was a Hydro Mage and as such had great control over the element of water. Without a Hydro Mage, our efforts in making a water purification center, as well as our laundry system, would have been a great deal harder.

However, that would be getting ahead of ourselves and the recollection of such things.

The first thing that I had done, with the help of my father, Don, and the two Occult Engineers, had been to ensure that we had enough beds. We already had a bunkhouse. The main ranch house was big enough to hold those few members who had been with me since the beginning of all this craziness. That was to say, Clint Darlington-Whit, Rick Corral, Willa McCrae, the wheelchair bound Mrs. Mirum, my old man, of course, and Professor Peter Manning, who was taking it upon himself to inscribe every detail of this new unraveling history of ours.

We had also managed to bring Willa McCrae’s family ranch under the protective umbrella of that magic that protected Merlin’s Ranch thanks to the Base Gems we had found. This extended our field of knowledge beyond the farmhouse immediately, and it also allowed us to man that building and make use of the beds on offer.

However, even with the two ranch houses and the bunkhouse, we needed more accommodation. Happily, we had the Occult Engineers.

“At least we don’t have to deal with any goddamn contractors,” my old man had said, when I’d put forward my idea for a new bunkhouse to him. “If we did, chances are, by the time we got this done, the world would have ended for real.”

“That’s one hell of an unexpected silver linings to the end of the world.” I laughed.

My old man’s mustache ruffled, and I thought he might have been smiling underneath it.

After consultation with one another, Andrew Peck and Dominic Cook, the Occult Engineers, opted for a modular design that would allow for easy expansion.

“It just means we can make it bigger more easily,” Andrew explained to me, running his hand through his thinning blond hair as he looked out at the proposed site.

“It makes more sense to start small, but design it in such a way that we can make it bigger, should we take on any more refugees,” Dominic said.

I nodded my assent. “That makes sense,” I’d replied and let the men get to work.

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In style, the new bunkhouse was in keeping with the already existing ranch house and barns. The materials used were durable and readily available. Scavenging parties were sent out into the surrounding countryside, and they managed to salvage a lot of wood and metal and other materials from nearby deserted ranches and houses that we could then repurpose for construction.

The two Occult Engineers kept coming to me or my father to ask questions about what we wanted or how we wanted certain things done. Eventually, I took Dominic and Andrew aside and said, “Boys, there’s an old ranching saying that goes ‘polishing your pants on saddle leather don’t make you a rider.’ With that in mind, just because I banged a few nails in in my time around here and dug a few holes doesn’t make me a builder or an engineer. My dad’s more the one to speak to, but how about you talk me through what you’re thinking of doing and I’ll tell you if I think it makes, in my layman’s opinion, a lick of sense.”

Dominic and Andrew grinned at one another and then nodded.

“Fair enough and well spoken, Dev,” Andrew said. “Here’s what we fix on doing.”

“Basically,” Dominic said, overriding his companion in the familiar way that the two men were known for doing, “so far as the foundation is concerned, we’re going to elevate the bunk houses slightly to prevent flooding.”

Dominic was a large man, who could sweat even on the coldest fall day and was not prone to speed. Be that as it may, he bounced along on the soles of his feet like a rubber ball when he was excited or agitated. I noticed he was bouncing with keenness now.

“Then we’ll put in a simple concrete and river stone foundation to provide stability,” Andrew added.

“Sounds good so far,” I said.

“Now, so far as insulation goes,” Andrew continued, his eyes shining with the fervor of a man discussing not only a job but a passion, “that could be tricky. Obviously, we’ve got to keep everyone from turning into popsicles in the winter.”

“Aren’t there any hardware stores around that can help us out with that?” I asked.

Dominic waggled his hand back and forth. “Montana folk are practical, Dev. They’ve been at war with the elements since they settled this land. Unsurprisingly, insulation was one of the first things to be looted, at least in the hardware stores that I’ve gone through.”

“Then what do you suggest?” I asked.

“Well, we could salvage materials like blankets and carpets, and try and repurpose foam from the interior of some of the buildings in town.”

“Okay,” I said.

“But I wouldn’t mind talking to the al-Salas as well,” Andrew said. “I think that maybe combining their hydro and fire magic we might be able to set up some sort of diverted hot water system from the river. I’d have to nut it out with them, but you never know.”

“It’s worth a try,” Dominic said, slapping his buddy on the shoulder.

“It’s worth a try,” I agreed.

“Is there anything you think that you’d like to add to the design, Dev?” Andrew asked.

I pondered on this a moment. “We should have multiple entrances for easy access and escape. I know we have this protective supernatural dome arching over us conveniently, but who knows what those bastards in the System might do. They might get bored and crack it open, and then we’re going to need every building to be a miniature fortification should monsters come calling. Hell, monsters might not even be the worst things that decide they want a piece of us and our ranch.”

Dominic and Andrew nodded their heads grimly.

“Same goes for the windows?” Dominic asked.

I nodded. “We want them, obviously, to be nice and wide and let in natural light and air. But we should also be able to secure these openings. Gotta be able to keep out an enraged griffin if necessary.”

As one, all three of us looked around for some wood to touch and settled on a fence post nearby. We grinned sheepishly at one another.

“You can never be too careful,” Dominic said.

I grinned. “That’s just the kind of horse sense that I want to hear from an engineer.”

After that conversation, I did little more than keep an eye on the construction of the bunkhouse. Thanks to the many magic-users among us, the site was prepared and cleared in record time. For example, Rashad Rogers, our resident Warlock, could summon demonic entities to help carry the larger boulders, pull stones clean out of the ground, and pile them neatly to one side.

As Dominic and Andrew had told me would be the case, the foundation was quickly poured; a mix of concrete and river stones. The frame went up soon afterwards. Salvaged wood and metal was used mostly, and this included the walls and roof structure.

“Goddamn satisfying,” I overheard Dominic say to Andrew one evening.

“What’s that, my friend?” Andrew asked.

“Hm? Oh, just this whole new mentality this end of the world business has brought about,” Dominic replied. “You know, how we’re reusing and repairing rather than just replacing stuff.”

“Agreed,” Andrew said, turning back to smile at the frame standing stark in the gloaming.

After that, the building, apart from being aided by magic, was fairly mundane and everyone joined in to speed the labor.

“Doesn’t matter if you ain’t got a lick of construction or handyman knowledge,” my dad told people. “This is the brave new world, folks. This is the dang Wild West all over again, The frontier. Adapt or perish at your own risk. Ain’t nobody in this world who can say, hand on heart, that they’ve got enough skills.”

The exterior cladding was made from more salvaged planks, and was also built half with logs, for protection against the elements. Corners and entrances were reinforced with bolts and magic. So far as the interior finishing went, things were comfortable but simplistic.

“This is a post-apocalyptic Montana ranch bunkhouse,” Ike Winchester said to me when I voiced concerns for the comfort of those sleeping in the bunkhouse. “It ain’t the bleedin’… It’s not not the… the… the bleedin’ Marriott Hilton on Laguna Beach or whatever the hell.” The wad of tobacco the man was chewing moved around his mouth with a soft squelching noise.

“Well put, Ike,” I said. “Eloquent as always.”

The furnishings were basic but well made. Bunk beds, storage shelves, and communal tables, all constructed from locally sourced wood by our two skilled Artificers. There were also simple partitions rather than rooms to create individual sleeping spaces for the occupants.

All in all, it was a surprisingly easy and expedient process to erect an entire new safe and comfortable building. It was mighty satisfying once the new bunkhouse was up, but what was more satisfying still was the camaraderie that blossomed in the hearts of those who had done the work.

It fostered a sense of ownership and community spirit, I realized to myself, after the construction was done and a few beers were consumed in celebration.

I made a note to make sure that subsequent building endeavors were the same in terms of Falcon Reach Guild involvement.

Everyone becomes more invested in the place with every nail hammered in and every spell cast, I thought happily.