Bo dragged himself out of bed the next morning, ready to tackle a handful of important tasks. The first items on his checklist were fairly straightforward. He gave Jenny her marching orders, shared some breakfast with her, and gave his first scout as much information as he could about where to find the magical spawning ground of the thunder bison.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jenny said, with an impish grin. “I’ll find those big suckers before nightfall, despite your shitty directions.”

“Let’s hope so,” Bo said. “We’ll get together over dinner and figure out our next moves.”

“War, probably,” Jenny said. “Right?”

“Probably,” Bo agreed. “If we get the bison on our side, we can hit the grunge elves hard and fast. By the time they figure out they’re under attack, there won’t be anything left of them.”

“You want me to reach out to the bison once I find them?” Jenny asked.

“Better not,” Bo said. “I figure it’s kinda my job to negotiate with other leaders.”

Jenny grinned at him, tousled his hair, and stood up on tiptoe to give Bo a long, lingering kiss. “This whole mess has turned you into a different man, Bo Houston.”

Then she tugged on the horns that jutted from his head and chuckled. “Maybe man isn’t the right word.”

They both laughed at that, then Jenny was gone, vanished into the breeze thanks to the powers of her scout card. Bo stood in the community’s entryway, looking out for some sign of Jenny. He was glad when he couldn’t find any, and hoped that meant their enemies couldn’t, either.

After that, Bo tracked down Sunglasses, the man who’d taken over the leadership position of Martin’s men. Turned out his name was actually Gary, and he was more than willing to work with Slick to train folks with their new weapons and armor.

“I don’t have any military experience,” Gary said, “but we can show them what we know.”

“Teach them to fire those bows in volleys,” Bo added. “And how to make a shield wall with the spears. I think that’s probably the best we can expect. Hopefully, it’s enough.”

“According to Slick, this new armor will let us stand up to a tank shell,” Gary said with a grin. “Don’t worry, boss. We got this.”

The men bumped fists, then Bo headed back to the smoker, grabbed some brisket, and wolfed it down. He waited until there was no one to see what he’d do next and then slipped out of the cavern.

You aren’t telling anyone where you're going? Barbie asked.

“I am not,” Bo said as he casually walked across the former parking lot. “They’d just try to stop me. Or come with me.”

You don't think that's a good idea? Barbee asked.

“I absolutely do not,” Bo said. “This is a quick job. I don’t need a bunch of people slowing me down.”

What if you run into a bunch of mad jackalopes? Or some other monster we haven't even met yet? Barbee asked. Because you didn’t fare so well the last time you were left alone.

“I’m still here, aren’t I? If we get jumped by something I can’t fight, I’ll use Hog's Hop to boogie out of there before it eats me.” Bo shot a glance over his shoulder as he wound his way through what used to be a parking lot. All the cars had transformed into massive rocks or enormous fallen trees, which made little sense. The Oklahoma plains weren’t known for their forests or fields of boulders. Still, Bo supposed the overlay had to do something with all those vehicles, and he wouldn’t complain about anything that worked in his people’s favor. Bad guys attacking the entrance to the cavern would first have to navigate through a maze of obstacles.

The obstructions also gave Bo a fairly easy way to sneak away from the camp without explaining where he was going. After his emotional conversation with Gertrude, Bo needed some time to clear his head. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Or as alone as you ever get, Barbie reminded him.

“Yeah,” Bo said. “That.”

Despite the demon’s sarcasm, it left Bo alone for most of their walk. The pitmaster’s long, hoofed legs ate up the miles as they hustled toward the rendezvous with the silver hounds.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Bo tried not to let his imagination run away with him, but he saw more than a few visions of the hounds eating the gnome on the insides of his eyelids. He hoped he was wrong, but it had been hard to read the spectral mutts. He really didn’t know what to expect when they met again.

You're very gloomy these days, Barbee said. You should try not moping. It's a distraction for what you've got coming head.

“No shit,” Bo said.

But try as he might, it was hard for the pitmaster to be cheerful. Even if everything worked out perfectly on his side, his people were still about to go to war with a force they knew nothing about. He needed every ally he could get, including these hounds. Because without them, the pitmaster could easily find his people outnumbered and outgunned.

How will the dogs help with that problem? Barbee asked.

“Reconnaissance,” Bo said. “They’re fast and can get around without being seen. That makes them very useful. They could tell us a lot about the grunge elves before the fight even starts.”

An excellent point, Barbee said. It's nice to see you thinking like a leader.

“I’m glad you appreciate my tactical genius,” Bo said. “But I wish I didn’t have to think about anything for a while.”

And with that, Bo tried to shut his brain down. He breathed deeply of air that seemed impossibly pure. There wasn’t a single whiff of exhaust fumes or chemicals on the breeze. It was as if this countryside had never seen a car, tractor, or airplane. Every breath of that clean air made Bo feel a little better.

Sure, he’d lost a lot of things—including his sister—when the world went to shit. But maybe it was worth it to live in a world that had returned to a state most of them had never experienced. The old world hadn’t been worth fighting for, in Bo’s mind.

But this new one?

Yeah, he could see himself putting the boots to the grunge elves or anything else that tried to destroy it.

As Bo traveled toward his rendezvous with the silver hounds, he saw that the countryside itself had grown harsher and more primal. Thick stands of grass and straw grew in patches between slashes of blood-red clay, covering the plain in a crazy quilt of green and gold and crimson. The few trees Bo saw towered above the plains, taller than redwoods, bigger around than most houses.

They say everything’s bigger in Texas, Barbee thought.

Bo chuckled at that because they did, in fact, say that. Or had when there’d been a Texas. Now the world was wide and wild, and Bo wasn’t sure if there’d be a Texas again. He didn’t correct Barbie—they hadn’t crossed the Red River and so were definitely still in what had once been Oklahoma—because it didn’t seem worth the effort. All those borders and governments were a thing of the past. One, perhaps, best forgotten.

Bo pondered that when they came across more of the saplings from the Crimson Forest. The pitmaster rooted them out of the ground and tore them apart with his gloved hands. He stamped the tattered, fleshy roots into the clay, cutting them into mince with the sharp edges of the black keratin.

“Good work,” a deep, somber voice said when Bo finished murdering another sapling. “We’ve been digging them up wherever we can find them, too.”

The silver hounds had arrived and surrounded Bo as he worked, so silent he hadn’t noticed their approach. Bo’s eyes skimmed over the pack of dogs, searching for the gnome. He didn’t see the little creature at first, but then let out a relieved sigh when he spotted the diminutive creature standing next to the pack’s leader.

“I see you didn’t eat Jizzdoogle,” Bo said.

All the dogs let out little chuffing noises, which Bo supposed was their version of laughter. The leader of the pack strode forward, the gnome hustling beside him, and sat down in front of Bo. “Welcome back. We have returned this one just as we promised.”

“They were a delight to be around,” the gnome said, bobbing his head agreeably. “I think we’ve learned a lot from each other.”

“Perhaps,” the hound agreed. “But it is time for us to go our separate ways. This place is not good for my people.”

Bo’s heart jumped into his throat at the hound’s words. He raised one hand and said, “I need to ask a favor before you go.”

The hound tilted its head toward Bo, but its ears lay flat back against its scalp. “You may ask.”

Bo took a deep breath and gestured in the direction of the grunge elves’ hex. “We have enemies not far from here. It won’t be long before they come for my people. I plan to hit them before they attack.”

The hound shook its head and thumped the ground with its tail. “The battles of your people are not our concern. We have much to learn of this world, and we can’t do it in this hex. There are too many dangers for us. We must roam until we find a place to settle.”

Bo pursed his lips and struggled to find words that would change the hounds’ minds. He needed their help as scouts. He wanted the information they could give him. But the pitmaster realize none of that mattered. Because the hounds were right. They hadn’t asked to become part of his battle, and he couldn’t force them to join it.

“That’s a shame,” Bo said. “But I understand. Will we see you again?”

The hound rolled its shoulders in a surprisingly human gesture of uncertainty. “I don’t know, Bo. I really don’t. We didn’t ask to be here. We must figure out what comes next for us, just as you have to do the same for your people. But you have my word that we will never come to your door in anger. Let us part ways as friends. If we should meet again, we will do so as the same.”

The hound lifted a paw, and Bo kneeled to take it. The two of them shook, and Bo leaned forward to rest his forehead against the hound’s. The spectral creature was surprisingly solid, despite its ephemeral appearance. Bo felt the warmth of its skin against his, and smelled its fresh, earthy scent like the air after a hard rain.

“Thank you for not eating me,” Jizzdoogle piped up.

“It was a close thing,” the hound said, then licked its chops.

The gnome’s jaw dropped open, and Bo chuckled. By the time the sound had left his mouth, the hounds were gone, as if they’d never been there at all.

“Can we go home?” The gnome asked. “I’m starving.”