Even after all these years, Harlan struggled to sleep soundly on dry land, but the sound of the three phoenix foxes sleeping on his floor seemed to help some. Their rhythmic breathing and occasional soft growls acted like a lullaby. Still, he stirred awake at an indecently early hour, his instincts sharper than his desire for sleep. As he lay there, willing himself to drift back, a flicker of movement outside his bedroom window caught his eye.

This alarmed him for several reasons, not least of which was that he was on the second floor.

Leaping out of bed, he grabbed his shotgun from its place by the wall and bolted downstairs, with Ignivora, the largest of the phoenix foxes, hot on his heels. He darted out the back door just as he flung it open and stepped onto the rear porch. Swinging the shotgun up toward his window, he froze when he saw the massive, inky black figure perched there.

“Hells be damned, Frank,” Harlan said, lowering the shotgun but keeping his grip firm. “You’re gonna get yourself shot one of these days sneaking around like that.”

“Grggrggrggr,” replied the Mothman in its gravelly, unearthly voice.

“No need for sarcasm; I know you can’t just knock on the front door,” Harlan grumbled, frowning. “Now, not that it’s not good to see you... but what are you doing here?”

“Ggrgrgrggrrrgrgrr,” the Mothman growled, its glowing red eyes narrowing as it delivered its grim message.

Harlan had suspected it was coming as soon as he saw Frank, but even so his blood ran cold at the Mothmans declaration that today was the day that a calamity would befall Blackwater.

The shotgun felt heavier in his hands as he bent over, hands on his knees. If he’d had anything in his stomach, it would have come up, but as it was, he could only spit to rid himself of the sour taste of bile. After a minute of trying to calm himself, he spat on the ground to try and get rid of the taste, stood tall and set his jaw.

“Thank you for the warning, Frank,” Harlan said, his voice steadier now. “You’d better clear off before someone sees you. I’ve got a town to evacuate.”

Frank gave a guttural response before shooting straight up into the sky, disappearing into the early morning light. Harlan stood there for a moment, watching the horizon. Then, shaking himself out of his daze, he turned back inside to get dressed. As he buttoned his shirt and pulled on his jacket, his eyes fell on his sheriff’s badge. He gave it a quick polish, the silver catching the dim light. He’d sworn to protect this town, and this time, he wasn’t going to fail.

“Wake ’em all up,” Harlan ordered the phoenix foxes as they stepped out of the sheriff’s office. mmediately the foxes took off, running down the street barking and flaring their flames. Harlan grabbed the pup, Cinderis, by the scruff of her neck before she could take off. The little fox shot him a grumpy look, but he dropped her into a saddlebag slung over his trusty horse, Pudding.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Harlan said as he swung into the saddle, patting the fox on her head, “but it’s best if you stick with me.”

Pudding snorted and set off toward the deputy’s house. As Harlan rode through the town, he saw heads starting to poke out of windows and doors, the townsfolk roused by the racket. Though they’d grown used to the phoenix foxes’ presence, they’d never been woken like this before.

“EVACUATE! EVACUATE!” Harlan shouted as he galloped past. Most of the faces staring back at him were still bleary with sleep, confusion etched into their features.

Dismounting outside Cole’s house, Harlan strode up to the front door just as his deputy opened it. “Whaddya need me to do, Sheriff?” Cole asked, already pulling on his jacket.

“We’ve gotta evacuate everyone, fast. I don’t know what’s coming, but it’s bad. Tell folks to pack only essentials and head to the reservoir,” Harlan said.

Cole nodded, swinging into his saddle and giving a sharp salute. “I’m on it,” he said, spurring his horse toward the town square.

Harlan remounted Pudding and urged her toward the other side of town, heading straight for the Mayor’s house. He banged hard on the door with his fist until it was opened by the butler, who barely had time to speak before Harlan stormed inside. At the top of the staircase, the well-fed Mayor was making his way down, his dressing gown trailing behind him.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“I say, what is all this racket?” the Mayor demanded, his attempt at a Boston Brahmin accent as unconvincing as ever.

“The whole town’s gotta evacuate, Mr. Mayor,” Harlan said, his tone clipped. “Something bad is coming, and I don’t have time to explain.”

“Evacuate?!” the Mayor sputtered, his jowls quivering indignantly. “But I haven’t even had my pre-breakfast yet!”

Harlan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have time for this nonsense.

“Well, don’t know what to tell you. You’ll have to pack some trail snacks and not much more. Only essentials, then head toward the reservoir,” Harlan said, his voice steady but firm.

The Mayor, clearly overcome by the announcement, sank onto the bottom step of his staircase, mumbling incoherently about rugs and rare cheeses. Although he wasn’t a bad man and had never caused Harlan any trouble, he was undeniably accustomed to the comforts of his well-to-do life. Harlan suspected the Mayor would struggle to leave behind the trappings of wealth he had so meticulously accumulated.

Harlan watched the Mayor’s dramatics for a moment, then turned to the butler with a curt nod. “Can you make sure he, and anyone else here, evacuates?”

“Certainly, sir,” the butler replied with a polite bow.

Uncertain if he was supposed to bow back, Harlan gave an awkward nod before turning to leave. He began working his way through the rest of the town, banging on doors and urging people to pack up and evacuate. By the time he reached Madam Sein’s establishment, the sun was already climbing high in the sky, casting long shadows across the constant stream of townsfolk making their way out.

As he approached the brothel, Madam Sein was already waiting for him on the front steps, her composure unshaken despite the chaos.

“Yes, I know, Sheriff. Evacuate,” she said, her voice calm and precise. Even now, she looked impeccably put together, her hair neatly pinned and her dress pristine. “I appreciate your concern, but you need not worry. My girls and I always have go-bags ready. We’ll leave momentarily.” Her tone softened as a flicker of worry crossed her normally stony face. “I would ask, though... if you can, save my house. This is more than just a place of business for me. You know that, don’t you?”

Harlan felt his breath catch. The brief, unexpected showing of emotion struck him harder than he’d anticipated. “Petra, I... I’ll do what I can,” he said, his voice rough with sincerity.

“Thank you, Harlan,” Madam Sein replied, a sad smile tugging at her lips. She turned to go back inside but glanced over her shoulder one last time before disappearing.

Harlan stood there for a moment, shaken. He couldn’t quite explain why her words lingered in his mind, but they did. Shaking it off, he continued. Other people had their own responses to the evacuation. Garrett, the blacksmith, agonized over which hammer to take, waxing poetic about the sentimental value of each one. Norvill the apothecary on the other hand, barely reacted. That didn’t surprise Harlan, and he wasn’t entirely certain that the man had understood what he was saying.

As he stepped out of the apothecary’s shop, Harlan paused to watch the townsfolk evacuating. Most were on foot, carrying what they could in hastily packed bags. A few had horses or wagons, and some had hitched carts to give younger children and the elderly a place to ride. Despite the urgency, a sense of community shone through as neighbors helped one another pack and load up.

Pride swelled in Harlan’s chest as he watched his people come together. But it was accompanied by the crushing weight of responsibility. This immense mobilization was happening because they trusted him. He would save their lives, he was sure of that. The town wasn’t its buildings, it was its people. But he also knew how much work they’d poured into building Blackwater, and he vowed to do everything he could to save it.

As he stood there, drawing strength from their determination, a flash in the distance caught his eye. A second later, the sound of an explosion washed over the town, the reverberations rattling the already anxious crowd.

Acting on instinct, Harlan sprinted across the street and leapt onto the roof of a low building, silently grateful for [Agility of the Fox]. He strained his vision, scanning the horizon for the source of the explosion, but nothing was immediately visible. Then, as he focused, the magnetic lines he could see thanks to [Senses of the Fox] caught his attention. They were warped. Wrong, pulling in directions they shouldn’t.

Turning, he followed the lines to their source. Crossing the road again, he leapt higher onto the roof of a two-story building. His breath hitched as his eyes locked on the distant figure. It was a moving mountain, massive and deliberate. Lava glowed faintly as it seeped from the joints of the black rock that made up its monstrous body. A face of molten fire leered out from its shifting form, its movements slow but purposeful.

Harlan’s stomach twisted as he realized the creature was turning toward the source of the explosion. A direction that would lead it straight through Blackwater.

Jumping back down, he began urging the townsfolk to move faster, his voice sharp and urgent. He wasn’t sure how much time they had before the monster arrived, but it wasn’t enough. He doubted his chances of stopping it outright, but he could buy time to ensure everyone got out safely.

Whistling sharply, Harlan called for the phoenix foxes as he sprinted back to the sheriff’s office. He grabbed a couple of boxes of Ice Shot for his gun hoping it would be enough to at least slow whatever that thing was. As he locked up the armory with practiced efficiency, the sound of growling in the main office made him freeze.

Gun raised instinctively, Harlan stepped back into the room. There, plain as day, stood the man he’d encountered behind the saloon. The same man he’d told to shove off, the same man he suspected of being responsible for the Blackwater massacre.

Harlan’s grip tightened on his shotgun, his jaw clenching.

“You”

“Me” said the man, raising his hands.