Dakota pulled, wrenched, and shoulder-slammed. Nothing worked. He might as well have tried pulling hens' teeth.

Leaning against a wall, he took a breather. Perhaps hitting it with something heavy would work. Wasn’t that how SWAT teams broke down doors?

He found a stone the size of a large melon in the rock pile. It sort of worked. While the board did loosen from the post when he hit it with the rock, the impact jarred his entire body. Groaning, he slammed the stone into the board again. And then again…and then again. On the fourth hit, one side of the board came undone.

Dakota heaved the stone to the other edge.

SLAM…. SLAM…. SLAM…. SLAM.

The board dropped to the ground.

He rubbed the small of his back. This felt too brute force. He needed to be smarter! If he wasn’t smarter, he died.

A memory resurfaced. While driving home for Christmas one year, he blew a tire and was unable to change it. His breaker bar had been too small. Not enough leverage to undo the bolts.

“Seems like I have the same problem here.”

Dakota needed leverage. Back home, he would have grabbed a crowbar and sledgehammer and finished the job in a few minutes. Such luxuries were - regrettably - not available. It was amazing what he had taken for granted.

After more rummaging, he found a scrap of two-by-four. It was only two feet long but it would have to do Fifteen minutes later, another board fell to the ground.

He tossed the two-by-four aside and watched it clatter across the board he had already loosened... The ten-foot-long board made of strong wood which wouldn’t break if he pried on it.

Hauling the ten-footer up, he pried off three boards in quick succession. There was hardly any resistence. It only took another twenty minutes to disassemble an entire stall, at the end of which, Dakota had nine, ten-foot-long boards and eight, four-foot-long boards.

Dakota’s back creaked as he loaded up a second ten-footer. These things were heavy! It took him another fifteen minutes to hoof all the lumber to the farmhouse where he began denailing the boards with his hammer rock.

It was slow work. The nails were huge and gripped the wood with impressive tenacity. Each board had ten nails. Ten mother-loving nails. He shant complain though. The nails were valuable and could be reused. As he mused, the rock-hammer skipped off the end of a nail to be replaced by the tender flesh of his hand as it slammed downward. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. This was going to take a while.

Two hours later Dakota pounded the last nail out. His arms ached and his right hand was cramping but he felt satisfied with his work. Seventeen nailless boards lay scattered across the deck. Time to move on.

There was nothing to cut the boards with which left him to position them as they were. The long ones were too tall to stand upright inside but nailing them horizontally wasted too much of the board. He settled on angling the boards just enough to fit under the ceiling. That way, he only needed three long boards to cover each window.

There were two windows in the kitchen-dining room area, one window in what he assumed was the storage closet, and one window in the bedroom. It took about an hour to barricade each.

The sun was beginning to wane, along with his strength, as he finished the last window. His stomach grumbled and he realized he had not eaten anything all day. Lightheaded, Dakota stumbled to the well. A splash of cold water helped clear his mind but did nothing for the gnawing hole in his stomach. He wanted to sit down and take a break. A little rest wouldn’t ruin him.

His eyes fluttered close as he sank into the grass. The ground was so soft. Why hadn’t he slept out here before? His mind drifted, his body relaxed, his…

His head snapped up.

“No.”

If he lay down and took breaks during the day; if he became undisciplined. He would not survive. There was work to be done, and preparations to make.

“Cmon Kota, a little discipline never hurt anybody.”

Dakota lumbered to his feet. The door still needed barricading.

Pounding boards across the entry would not work, this needed to be portable.

A triangle brace might succeed. It would act like jamming a chair underneath the doorknob. But that left most of the door unsupported.

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What if he created a slot on either side of the door which he could drop a board into. That would support more of the door and be easier to move.

Dakota started by nailing two four-foot boards on either side of the door. Another two four-footers joined the boards he had just nailed but ten inches higher. This created two slots which he managed to jam his fifth and final board into. It ran horizontally across the door securing it in place. He stepped back to admire his work.

“Not too bad for a city slicker.”

His vision fuzzed. There was a face, laughing, as the person clapped him on the shoulder. "Not too bad for a city slicker". This person, Dakota knew him. It was... the vision ended, leaving only the vague impression of recognition. He tried to dredge the face up for several minutes afterward but like a barely remembered dream, the details escaped him.

He gave his head a shake. Maybe the hunger was getting to him. Speaking of which, the green sprouts coming out of the potato mounds appeared to actually be potato plants which boggled his mind. The sprouts had grown like crazy over the last three days and were already beginning to leaf out. He wasn’t an expert farmer but plants growing this fast seemed absurd, not that he was complaining.

That night, he holed up in the farmhouse, feeling marginally better about his chance of surviving the dark. He waited for the customary cries to sound through the forest…but none came. He couldn’t tell whether that was comforting or not.

“Hopefully it’s a sign things are turning around.”

[Frontier Farmer Level 7]

[New Skill - Basic Carpentry]

- Break

Dakota’s eyes opened to reveal darkness. Where was his digital clock? Reaching out, he felt for it. His hand connected with wood but not the wood of his bedside table. This wood was rough and grainy. As awareness returned, he realized how sore was. Every part of his body ached. And the hunger, the all-consuming hunger. Rolling onto all fours, he searched for a wall. This wasn’t his room.

Creaking footsteps echoed from somewhere in the darkness.

His heart lept into his throat. Why did he feel so panicked about some footsteps. It was probably one of his parents going to the bathroom. Except…his house didn’t have wood floors and he didn't live with his parents.

Wind whistled through a crack nearby as the steps approached, multiplying. Why were there no voices? Where was he?!

Dakota stood but as he did, his foot knocked against something. The steps outside ceased, leaving an eery silence. Reaching down, he felt what his foot had knocked. A handle. A handle to a hoe.

Recollection slapped him in the face. This was not home, this was the farmhouse. A farmhouse that sounded like it was surrounded.

He gripped the hoe. Now that he remembered where he was, it was easy to navigate to the kitchen window. He peered through a slot. It was cloudy but faint moonlight illuminated an image straight from his nightmares. Dark shapes clustered around the farmhouse, glowing red eyes twitching back and forth.

His vision was cut off as a dark shape moved in front of the window and then… red eyes, staring from only a foot away.

Dakota leapt backward as a cry broke rose the creatures outside. A thundering crash sounded from the window he had been at, followed by another…and another. They were trying to break in!

On wobbly legs, he stumbled back to the window. If these sons of guns wanted to rumble, he would rumble.

He wrenched the door open startling two goblin creatures. His hoe took one across the face as the other fled screeching.He hoped a decisive attack would scare them off like last time.

Dakota charged outside roaring. He rounded the side of the deck and laid out two creatures in one devastating swing. The main crowd was in the grass appearing uncertain whether they wanted to rush in or not. A bellow from his left seemed to decide for them and they flooded forward.

He waded into them. He would not be stopped.

A front-kick sent the first goblin flying so hard it caught air as it crashed into its companions. He spun the hoe in a looping arc, cracking another goblin across the head. He used the reverse momentum to hook another’s legs as he jammed the handle into a goblin’s face sending both creatures to the ground.

Then they were on him. Goblins climbed his back as others clawed his legs and dragged his hoe down. He dropped the hoe, using both hands to tear a goblin off his back and slam it into the ground. He caught another by the throat and began squeezing, its eyes bulged before more creatures attacked his arm forcing him to drop the creature.

He decked one across the face with a haymaker, elbowed another, and sent a third flying with another kick. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to generate significant force with any of his blows. The press of bodies prevented windup. He needed distance.

Goblins clutching his body, Dakota surged toward the barn.

His longer legs outpaced the creatures but he was only seconds ahead of the mob. Careening through the sliding doors, he sprinted to the top of the stairs and stopped.

The first goblin after him ate a signature front-kick sending it tumbling back down. It bowled over others on the way resulting in a heap of bodies at the bottom. Goblins which had ducked in time continued up. Why didn’t they leave him alone! Surely he had dealt enough harm for them to think twice about attacking him.

With only one direction to worry about the goblins were not as much of a threat. A few had spears but he was able to rip them away before being stabbed. After a couple of minutes of being tossed down the steps, they smartened up and retreated.

Dakota hunkered down in the loft, he wasn’t about to walk into an ambush at the bottom of the steps. He could wait. And wait he did. The first light of dawn was seeping through the walls when he finally crept down the stairs.

There was no sign of an ambush. Poking his head outside, he looked for any trace of the creatures. The only evidence of their presence was the trampled grass around the farmhouse. He released a breath, exhaustion mingling with relief. He was alive. Yay.

Collapsing into the kitchen, Dakota waited for sleep to overtake him… and waited… and waited.

Tears leaked from bloodshot eyes. He could fight and be fine. He could work hard all day and not sweat it. But the hunger and lack of sleep were driving him insane. He wanted a bed with a hot plate of bacon and eggs. He wanted to be home.

Sniffling, he sat up. He had slept a bit last night. And hadn’t he pulled all-nighters before, really this wasn’t that bad.

He just needed some food.