The convoy had been out of the city for less than ten minutes when the first attack came.

A tiny man was standing in the middle of the road. He was roughly the size of a ten-year-old boy, but much more muscular. It had a bit of a lean, hunching forward, and it almost resembled a shaved chimpanzee. It was holding a curved piece of metal that looked like it had been taken from a vehicle and sharpened into a crude kind of sword with a large scythe-like curve at the end of the blade.

Vo'estanehesono, they were called. Someone had looked it up after killing one, and apparently it meant “enemy dwarf.” The locals had started calling them “Vonos”, said like “oh no”, because if you saw one, they almost certainly already had an ambush set up.

The Sheriff rolled to a stop thirty yards away from the Vono. The two dirt bikes shot ahead, stopping ten yards ahead of the truck. They both looked back at the Sheriff, and he flashed his headlights once, knowing they would not be able to see him through his virtually opaque tinted windows.

They both gave a curt nod and snapped their views forward, revving their bikes. One shot to the left of the road, circling the Vono, and the other charged directly at the small creature, dirt spraying behind the back wheel in a great fountain.

The Vono smiled, showing long, yellowed teeth, and licked its tongue over the top row slowly. It stepped backwards quickly, the blade resting on its shoulder.

Special Treat was about five yards away from the Vono when the ground gave way beneath his dirtbike, gravel-covered dry sticks cracking beneath the weight of the vehicle. He tumbled into the newly-revealed pit, disappearing from view.

The Vono smiled and looked at the Red Throne. Inside, Jensen shuddered, hoping the Sheriff had not noticed. It felt like the creature could still see him, despite the tinted windows.

*****

Party Zero shook his head as he circled around the Vono and the pit trap.

What a dumbass. I told ‘im not to smoke so much weed before we go out on a run. Stupid bullshit “it helps me focus” no it does fucking not, that’s what the meth is for, for fuck’s sake.

He revved his bike hard, putting in speed as he circled behind the leering dwarf, three times thumbing the horn on his bike, the prearranged signal for a hidden enemy.

The first was when he saw another Vono cleverly concealed behind a pair of large branches in a small walnut tree. The Vo'estanehesono were incredibly skilled at tucking themselves into crevices, gutters, or even into the undersides of vehicles and they rarely travelled alone; this was expected.

The second was when he was another Vono right behind where the first was now standing, tucked into a small trench and covered in more road gravel. The thing might not have been visible at all if the standing Vono had not disturbed some of its covering.

Dumbasses. Like we wouldn’t think of that. And what’s it gonna get you? It’s gonna get you run the f-

The third time Party Zero triggered the horn was by accident, and it lasted longer than the others. The pit opened up a moment before he touched it with his wheels. Startled, he slammed on his brakes, but it was far too late, and the loose gravel of the road gave him no traction. He rode full speed into the pit, the crunch fully audible to the occupants of the Red Throne.

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Incredibly, Party Zero was still conscious. He groaned, barely able to catch his breath after having slammed his chest into the handlebars of his bike. He began rubbing the sand from his eyes, his riding goggles having been knocked loose.

His eyes cleared, he began pushing himself up, only to find his leg was pinned underneath the dirtbike. Worse, the bike itself was partially buried in gravel that had slid in with him. He looked upward, squinting. The pit was deeper than he had thought at first, almost ten feet, give or take, and had obviously been very carefully prepared by the Vo’estanehesono. He stared at the clouds.

He felt his mind speed up, his thoughts tumbling after the one before it like someone had opened the grease vat behind the Barbeque Barn without having a drum ready, slow and churning at first, and then an unstoppable flood. Everything he was doing came to him in a flash. If he had known the word, he might have called what he was experiencing an epiphany.

God damn… the sky is beautiful here. I could have been anything with the Sor… Ysari System… I could have learned how to fly… I could have taken Magical Rider… why did I pick Iron Eagle Rider? They’re just people, for fuck’s sake… They’re just pe-

The Vono that was inside the small alcove carved into the interior wall of the pit directly underneath the camouflaged trench was gracious enough to give him his moment. Exerting an amount of willpower almost legendary for its kind, the Vo’estanehesono waited a full two seconds before moving the four foot long piece of rebar, a scavenged human creation that had been sharpened and curved into a hook the size of a cane handle. It carefully, slowly, slipped the edge of the hook under Party Zero’s chin and yanked.

*****

The stretched-out terrain, handily, seemed to contain a similar infrastructure to what was there before it. Roads were elongated, power lines, relays, and towers sprang into existence. There were even new cell phone towers in some places, although it was entirely dependent on whether those places had cell phone service originally. The citizens of Rand, Oklahoma liked to joke that they were grateful it made new roads instead of copying the conditions of theirs.

This was mostly a good thing; everyone needed roads to truly travel, especially with the distances now involved, and it let those unfortunate individuals who had lived outside of the city limits stay in touch.

This was not one of those times. The convoy was limited by the terrain surrounding the road. Both sides of the road had a slope almost seven feet deep, surrounded by trees. The Jeeps would be fine going down it, certainly, and perhaps even the trucks, if they went slow… but both would be dragged down and likely flipped by their trailers. Many of the vehicles further down in the convoy were already parked cockeyed to the line of vehicles, having angled to try and determine the nature of the holdup.

The Red Throne, the massive red and chrome Chevrolet Crew Cab Extended Bed Silverado 1500 High Country (as the Sheriff was prone to telling anyone in his vicinity that had the audacity to talk about anything vehicle-related without mentioning his pride and joy) was sitting in the front of the pack, its massive engine idling. The Sheriff stared at the tiny man still standing in front of him, mockingly smiling.

As if he had made a decision, the Sheriff leaned to the side and spat into the styrofoam cup still nestled into his shirt pocket. Despite what had happened to the concrete, it did not punch through the cup and into the voluminous mass of the spitter, instead sinking softly into the wadded paper towel and lip-gristle at the bottom.

He revved the engine once, and then stepped on the gas, accelerating forward in a wild spray of dust, gravel, and dirt. The little man only smiled wider.

At the last moment, the Sheriff yanked the wheel to the left, curving around the too-confident Vo’estanehesono by a margin of five feet, almost dipping off the road entirely. Jensen craned his head forward to see behind them via the mirror, but the dust was too thick, totally obscuring any trace of the way they had come.

The Sheriff muttered an ability name, and Jensen could feel the effect take hold, almost like he was back in the spinning-UFO ride at the carnival.

The passenger would not have expected a class ability with the name “Best Go Back the Way You Came” to have that effect, but he could see it happening in front of him.

The Red Throne seemed to rewind itself, travelling backwards over the exact same path it had shot forward. The dust that it had displaced did not return, and there was an eerie sensation of floating as the truck travelled the same path anyway. Within moments the Red Throne was where it had began.

The little man smiled at them, leaning casually on the makeshift bollard that had popped out of the trench behind him, punching through the middle of what appeared to be a fake Vo’estanehesono made of cloth and straw. The smiling Vono gave a wave, and then hopped forward into the pit between himself and the convoy.

“I hate those little pygmy shits.”, the Sheriff said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But, much as I hate ‘em, once they get some meat, they go. We should be fine to pass by now.”

Jensen nodded, too scared to speak out loud. Some meat!?

The Sheriff smiled at Jensen. He wasn’t sure when the man had turned his unseeable gaze towards him, but ignoring that smile was like ignoring a growling dog. Jensen nodded back, and finally stammered out a response. “Should be good to go, boss.” The Sheriff gave him a brief stare, and then stepped softly on the gas, driving around the bollard.

Are we going to check on the riders?

The question died unvoiced on his tongue; he already knew the answer.

They were brought along as insurance… or sacrifices.