Eryth’s unplanned power nap was short lived, as she quickly returned to wakefulness thanks to Sam shaking her like a wrapped gift.

“Eri! Oi! Eri wake up! The fun isn’t over yet so no sleeping on the job!”

Sam’s smirk was the first thing to greet her as Eryth opened her eyes.

“Wow, you look like ass. And you smell like a regurgitated protein bar.” Sam commented lightly.

“Thank you for your assessment.” Eryth mumbled as she wiped a dribble of sic from the corner of her mouth. Probably the cause of the smell. Also probably an actual bit of regurgitated protein bar.

Eryth looked over Sam and frowned in confusion. Aside from a sheen of moisture on her face Sam seemed weirdly ok for somebody who must have just burned a ton of blood. Maybe slightly pale, but still standing sturdy enough to shake Eryth like a rag doll.

That meant one thing. Somehow, Sam had barely used any blood for her attack.

“Just how dense is your vis?” Eryth muttered, looking over her companion.

Sam laughed lightly at the exclamation.

“Not dense enough.”

Sam reached down and easily pulled the smaller woman to her feet. Steadying Eryth when she almost immediately lost her footing thanks to residual dizziness.

“I have now added another experience to my big list of things worse than death.” Eryth joked while trying to remember how walking worked. “How do you even come up with weaponizing somebody’s sense of balance?”

Eryth’s eyes widened as she remembered that they hadn’t quite finished defending the treadwagon behind them.

“Shit! Sam there’s still a-”

“Took care of it already.” Sam cut her off.

Eryth paused for a moment as Sam chuckled at her surprised expression.

Did you really think I would miss one? Who was the one lecturing you earlier about paying attention during a fight.” Sam tutted at Eryth before continuing.

“After purging the build up, I saw dusty over there puking on the ground and you napping. After that,”

Sam levitated a metal ball from her pouch and lightly tapped it to Eryth’s forehead before letting it fall back into the bag.

“I finished up.”

Eryth could feel the sharp disconnect between her idea of Sam as a giggly prankster, and the violent storm of twisted metal she had witnessed. The shift in conversation felt so smooth, like talking about death was no big deal. Her own kills bubbled around in her consciousness as well, summoned via association. Before she could latch on and start spiraling though, the thoughts lightly slipped away.

What was she thinking about again?

The low hum of an energy rifle discharging on her left caught her attention. Not because it was especially loud, but because everything else was so much quieter. Well, relatively quiet. The murmuring of the treadwagon's engines still permeated the air and the whisper of wind blew past Eryth’s ears as it flitted towards the Break.

The sound of combat though? The crack of rifles, shouts of pain, the revving of smaller vehicles as they swarmed the caravan like starving flies? That was almost gone. Only the occasional potshot, or whoosh of somebody doing something fancy with vis could be heard now. Most of it was distant as well, probably stragglers messing with the back of the wagon line.

Finally leaving her adrenaline-imposed trance, Eryth glanced up and really looked at her surroundings.

Warm and inviting sunshine bathed the bodies of the caravan protectors scattered about the roof. Nobody was really bothering to crouch against the perimeter wall anymore, those who could stand were taking the opportunity and walking around, looking at faces.

Sam, noticing Eryth’s slightly furrowed brow, explained.

“They’re checking to see who made it.”

At that Eryth noticed how some of the protectors were lying near the walls. Well, some of the protector’s corpses were lying near the walls. Aside from the really unlucky ones who were probably victims of an obscure vis power, they sat in messy red pools. It felt dead.

One protector walked up to a corpse, squinted at its face for a bit (it was a messy one) and smirked.

“Lucky, looks like Rob won’t have to pay back Jeanette anymore. I was wondering how he’d come up with two silver rolls.” Sam raised her voice and shouted her congratulations at the man, who sheepishly waved back at her.

Stolen story; please report.

Eryth looked at Sam in surprise. “Do you know everybody’s name or what?”

“No, not everybody. But I do remember the names of everyone who owes me from star.” Sam scrunched up her face as if a lemon had snuck in her mouth. “Though I guess the only reason Jeanie wanted him to pay up was to settle with me..”

At the center of the roof there was a makeshift field hospital of sorts. Somebody had pitched up a tarp over some metal poles, and the injured were being treated by a mix of vis and medical skill. As the couriers ambled up to the impromptu medical facilities, the same woman who had numbed Eryth's arm earlier approached them.

“What are you doing walking around?” She pointed at Eryth, then pointed to a grimy stool somebody must have dredged up from the bowels of the engine room; the pungent odor of petroleum saturated the air around it. It would probably burn better than a firestarter it’s greasy coating was so developed.

While Eryth made a face and sat down, deliberately not thinking about the way her butt kept sliding around the slick surface, the woman started to busy herself with Eryth’s injured arm. Moving with precision, she began suturing up Eryth’s wound. The doctor was so laser focused on her work, she barely bothered to tell Eryth off for moving around too much, only smacking her in the head a couple times for squirming.

Which Eryth was finding pretty difficult not to do (squirming, that is, not getting whacked in the head since getting whacked wasn’t all that complicated). The air felt strange, and Eryth’s eyes were being drawn to the injured protectors. Everytime one of them would move, Eryth twitched. It was as if somebody had suddenly poked her, making her jump.

Between the whacking and the painful whines that kept slipping from Eryth’s mouth, she was finding this all to be terribly awkward. Naturally, this led Eryth to try her best to make some conversation with the lady invading her personal space.

“So um, you don’t seem very concerned to be operating on somebody without a matrix.”

Smooth as sandpaper.

The doctor however, rather than tensing up or refusing to keep treating her like Eryth half-expected, merely scoffed.

“Don’t insult me. I’ve been giving triage for years now. If I got jumpy whenever someone dinged up their little magic boxes I’d have quite a few more accidental deaths on my hands.”

As she spoke, she bandaged up the injury tightly, ensuring the sutures would be held in place.

“Besides, it takes days for the body to be corrupted by an unhealthy vis build up, and the mind can be even more stubborn than that. Only a coward would get jumpy around a civilian like you mere minutes after a matrix loss.” The irritable doctor ranted with a huff.

Eryth nodded along to her explanation, barely paying attention. Apparently dusty was just a bit of weirdo. To be honest, Eryth was now just trying her best not to further annoy the person who was currently operating on her. Eventually, though, her brain finished processing the healer’s words.

“Wait, what was that about accidental dea-FUCK!”

Eryth abruptly cursed as her previously disconnected nerves were reattached.

“Don’t use that arm if you can help it, matrix wounds are often slow to heal even when removed whole. Don’t submerge the sutures in water, and make sure to keep the area clean.” The healer blandly rattled off a spiel about wound care while Eryth cursed up a storm.

Just as the doctor, no just as the sadist turned to go torture somebody else, Sam asked a question Eryth was too frazzled to remember to worry about.

“When are they gonna distribute the emergency burners?”

“Later tonight I imagine. Company policy is to reorganize personnel after an attack, so I’d expect all that to be sorted out then.”

She didn’t even turn around as she primly paced towards an approaching group of ragged looking protectors.

“Are all caravan doctors evil?” Eryth asked her companion with a wince.

Sam laughed. “Only the good ones.”

The pair ambled over to the ladder leading down into the cargo hold and descended back into the grimy space, passing the ever-deafening engines and emerging back into the familiar rows of crates.

“Now, where could candle boy have run off to..” Sam murmured

Eryth blinked. “You know where Arnold is?”

Sam gestured around the barrels of fish piled up to the ceiling surrounding them.

“He longed for the smell of home and sought refuge amongst your natural enemy.”

Eryth was well versed in Sam-speak. “He stayed down here?” Eryth wondered.

“He was too spooked to climb the ladder” Eryth clarified. “Poor guy scrambled away like a scared puppy.” Sam stated with mock sagacity.

As they traipsed back through the storage hold in search of their lost courier, Eryth started to mentally rehash all that had happened so far.

She had helped defend a caravan, survived getting shot, and experienced the worst bout of vertigo her poor body had ever endured. All in all much more intense than her usual delivery routes. Although, she hadn't needed to directly interact with any seafood vendors, so it could be worse.

As the duo walked through the mostly dim room and small shafts of golden light played over their figures from the new holes peppering the walls, Eryth wondered at why she was doing so well.

Mentally that is. Her arm still fucking hurt.

Did the caravan not stock up on anesthetic? Or was that doctor just that much of a sadist?

Anyway, Eryth thought she was feeling pretty ok, all things considered. There were some moments when she started to freak out, especially at the start. Eryth had the vague recollection of feeling like she had done something wrong, but for the life of her couldn’t remember what it was. The shock of getting injured must have knocked some sense into her brain.

Yeah, that’s probably what happened.

They were almost to their little hangout spot when some dust blew into Eryth’s eyes from outside.

“Aww, really?” She sighed.

Wait a second. Wind. Inside. That’s not usually where the wind was. Mostly.

After rubbing the grit from her eyes she opened them to a jagged series of holes torn into the wall of the caravan. It was a huge contrast from how dingy the space typically looked. Dark corners went from shadow and mysterious, to just really fucking dirty looking. The place needed a good scrub. Maybe several.

Barrels were overturned and crates fragmented, spewing their cargo across the floor and mixing into a slimy mess of packages and fish guts. It was all pretty wrecked.

And on the ground, a good couple meters from the ruined wall, was Arnold.

He was in a small puddle of his own blood.