On top of everything, they were out of cigarettes.

Mongrel tried to ignore the fact that if he didn’t manage to pull something out of his ass, he’d never see another one of those happy puffs again.

Mongrel and Oatmeal walked through the day. The uneven terrain was hell on his feet. The boys were in a foul mood because of the whole thing with Nix. They didn’t like her, and the idea of bringing her back was getting them riled up. Number Four kept pinching the back of Mongrel's arm, as though that would convince him to turn right around and head back. Maybe he was just feeling mean-spirited.

They found evidence of grumpling habitation in the woods. Burrows under trees, animal bones strewn about, standing idols rattling in the wind. Luckily, they didn’t come across any of the inhabitants. Mongrel figured they would be licking their wounds after how many of them had been culled. Or they had lost their coordination without the nettlegeist to guide them.

Either way, Mongrel was grateful for the reprieve. He was one setback away from neurosis.

Oatmeal got to Level 5, and they agreed that he should pick up another rank in Orienteering. He wasn’t doing too bad, that kid—aside from his chronic cowardice, at least.

The forest grew denser and their footing more treacherous as they went, their feet sinking into squelching, water-logged moss. It was slow going. Mongrel would have kept them going past nightfall to make up for it, but he didn’t want either of them to trip and break an ankle in the dark.

They made camp atop a large, flattish boulder, away from the worst of the damp. The boys didn’t find much usable firewood except the dry, powdery innards of a dead tree, which Mongrel was able to turn into a small fire, at least. He drained the water from his boots and placed his sodden socks near the fire to dry them. They ate jerky and hardtack, a meal so depressing it only served to further dampen his spirits.

Oatmeal reached into his pack and brought out Gug’s notebook. He offered it to Mongrel.

“Here,” he said. “I can’t read it, but I thought maybe…”

“Man, put that thing away,” Mongrel said, trying to dislodge a piece of dried meat stuck in his teeth. “Didn’t I tell you not to worry about him anymore?”

Oatmeal's shoulders drooped, and he pulled his cloak tighter about himself. “It’s not like we have anything else to do. I thought it’d be funny to go through it or whatever.”

Mongrel reluctantly took the notebook. He had half a mind to throw it on the fire, but in the end he left it in his lap.

“It’s not healthy, doing this,” he said, leafing idly through the pages. “I’m telling you this for your own good, kid. Don’t get attached. Not to anyone.”

Oatmeal frowned. “That what you do?”

“You should try not to get attached because you will fail. You will get attached. So you should at least keep that number as low as possible. Your heart can only get torn up so many ways before it stops working. I’ve seen it out here. Some people die on Earth begging for one more day, then they get here, see some shit, and end up hanging themselves. You understand me?”

“I guess so.”

“Good.”

Oatmeal chewed thoughtfully on his last piece of jerky for a good long while, grinding it between his molars until it was finally soft enough to swallow. He looked small, all curled up inside his cloak.

“Do you think I’m going to die?” he asked, only briefly glancing up from the fire.

“I’d give you a week if you’re lucky,” Mongrel said. “Honestly, I thought you’d bite it way before the big guy. You Explorers tend to burn out pretty fast.”

“And… you’ll do the same thing to me when I die? Leave me in the dirt somewhere? Forget my name?”

“Kid, I never even learned your name to begin with.”

“It’s Wesley.” He didn’t even look offended. Just sad. Sad and scared.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

They sat in silence for a long while. The fire burned low, and Mongrel added the last of their wood. It got pitch black around them. Kalamere and all her stars shone down on them through the trees.

“What if Will dies?” Oatmeal asked. “I could be misunderstanding something, but aren’t you two good friends?”

Mongrel’s eye twitched. Then he forced out a laugh. “He’s not going to die, kid. Will’s got too many plans and schemes for something inconvenient like death to slow him down.”

Oatmeal went quiet again, fidgeting with the hem of his cloak. “If I say something you don’t like, will you, like… beat me up or kill me or something?”

Mongrel shrugged. “Probably not. Depends how cunty you’re being.”

“I see. Well…” He hesitated. “Honestly, boss? It doesn’t bother me that Gug died. I mean, it’s like you said—it’s a thing that happens out here. I had friends that died in the slave camp, too. It’s not like it’s all new to me.

“I just don’t feel like forgetting him. I think, if there’s no one to remember us, there’s no point in all this. We don’t have families. We can’t have kids. The only people who can carry you on are the ones you share your fire with, like this.

“I’m thinking this might be more of a ‘you’ thing than a ‘me’ thing. Maybe it bothers you a lot, the people you’ve lost. And you tell yourself to forget them because, like you said, you know you’ll fail.”

Mongrel snorted at that. “All right. Mr. Existentialism all of a sudden.”

Maybe he was right. Mongrel didn’t know, and he didn’t feel like thinking on it, either.

With a creaking of leather, he opened the book in his lap. He wasn’t very good with his letters, but he at least fumbled his way through the title written on the first page.

“The… Adventures of Greg the Human, something like that.” He chuckled. “Self-insert hack.”

Mongrel was glad to have the chimps piled on top of him when he was going to sleep. Not quite so lonely.

*****

He kept getting worse.

Will had only woken up briefly to mumble incoherently. Fever ravings. She didn’t manage to get any food or water in him before he passed out again. She didn’t even know if he should eat, or if his guts were too fucked up to process anything.

The wound was getting infected. She kept cleaning the entry and exit as best she could and forced potions of cure disease down him, but she couldn’t tell if it was helping any.

She stayed with him the whole time. Number Three had to do most of the work around the camp; gathering firewood, keeping watch, building a shelter with the tarp when it started raining. He cleaned Bee’s wounds, too, bandaged her up.

Bee let it all happen around her. Time seemed to stretch and compress at once. One long moment of staring at Will’s drawn, pale, one-eyed face. She could feel him through their bond. Luckily, he wasn’t in much pain. But he was very confused when he was lucid enough to think at all.

She sat with him into the night. Number Three gave her some food and offered her a sympathetic pat on the back. Sometimes, it was creepy how human the chimps could be. But right then it was nice.

Bee refused to entertain the idea that it was happening again. He’d be all right. Mongrel would be on his way back with the demon soon.

He’d have to be, because Will was getting worse by the hour. She didn’t know how many he had left in him.

She spoke to him, partially so he wouldn’t feel alone, but mostly to keep her own frayed nerves in check.

“You were such a little freak when we met,” she said with a bittersweet smile, stroking his sweat-slicked hair. “You used to follow me around, remember that? Didn’t even talk to me. You’d just, like, draw me or whatever. I almost kicked your ass one time ‘cause I thought you were stalking me. Which, to be fair, you kind of were.

“But then you showed me who you were. Even though you were weak, you always managed to help me somehow. Things I never could have fixed by myself. When you said you never lose, I believed you. I thought, no matter how bad you got hurt, that you’d always win. Invincible.

“Then you died, and I lost faith. And you proved me wrong, as usual.”

She bent over Will and gathered him softly in her arms, putting her forehead to his. “Please prove me wrong again. Please, please, please.”

When he didn’t reply, she turned her attention upward instead. “If there’s really some kind of goddess up there, will you help me out? I’ll, uh, pray to you or something. I’ll go door-to-door and hand out pamphlets, whatever the fuck you want. Just fix William.”

Please.

*****

At some point, against her will and better judgment, Bee drifted off.

She found herself in the library, all bright and clean and empty.

Oh, right, I leveled up—completely forgot about that.

It didn’t feel particularly relevant at the moment, but she figured it was best to get it over with. If she didn’t allocate her rewards now, the Concord would keep bringing her here every time she fell asleep, and that was a headache she could do without.

As expected, there was a stack of books on the help desk. Four books for four attribute points.

Less expected, however, was Will standing behind the desk, hands on the countertop.

Two eyes, ten fingers, and wearing an ugly knitted sweater. He was smiling.

“Hey, stranger,” he said in a light, conversational tone. “Fancy meeting you here.”