After rounding up the bodies and securing the guns, John found a fallen log to sit on. He grimaced as he sat down, finally acknowledging the pain he had been in for most of the fight.

John might be tougher and faster than most people, thanks to his unique circumstances, but that didn’t mean he was invincible. With a grimace of pain, he gingerly removed his overcoat. The thick leather of the coat had fared quite well against the bullets fired at range, but he saw at least two holes in it from impacts that had struck his chest.

After inspecting the article of clothing, he set it aside on the log and took in a shallow breath before reaching over to unbutton his armored vest. He couldn’t tell the extent of his injuries until he disrobed, but he knew he had at least one broken rib. Probably more going by how much pain he was in.

He shrugged the vest off, not able to lift his arms now that the high of the fight was wearing off. Next came his shirt, which was soaked in sweat and a bit of blood. As the shirt finally came free, John got his first good glimpse of his injuries.

There was a massive black bruise on his arm that extended out from a spiderweb of burst blood vessels. He gently probed the area, wincing slightly from the pain but not finding the bone in his arm broken. That was good, it would heal quickly then.

After another shallow breath, John started to probe the mass of black, blue, and sickly green that his chest had turned into. Each gentle probe sent fiery pain shooting through his body, but he didn’t stop. He needed to know if his ribs were broken as quickly as possible.

The first cracked rib he touched made him gasp in shock and nearly topple off the log. John managed to catch himself. After sitting up, he wiped the sweat-soaked hair from his face. Feeling around the rib, he didn’t feel any protrusions. So it was probably just fractured. That was not ideal, but it was better than having it sticking into his lungs.

It took another half an hour before he located the other two cracked ribs. He sighed in relief when he realized he wouldn’t have to cut his chest open and move any bones back into place. He had been forced to do that only once in his long life, and he would prefer never to experience that again.

John sat on that log for the next two hours, letting his body’s much faster healing do its work. He would still need to take it easy for the next day or so, but the cracked ribs should mend themselves enough that he could ride if he needed to within another hour.

With equally gentle motions, John put his clothes back on, then he headed for his horse.

After stowing the four rifles, he walked the horse down to the remains of the camp. While the man he had questioned didn’t know about the disappearances, Frederick had told them they first started here. It’s why John had decided to start his search in this spot.

The Foreman might have just told him that to lure him into this trap, but somehow he doubted it. Frederick did not seem to be a very forward-thinking man. If he had been, he would have realized setting up John was a failure from the beginning. Even if he had died here, Mr. Novarez would have just sent someone else. Knowing the man, his boss probably would have sent an entire team next time. And anything the foreman was trying to keep hidden would be exposed.

John pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he walked around the camp, looking for anything out of place.

It wasn’t easy given that these missing miners had vanished before he had arrived in Ember Creek. The area was also littered with tracks from people coming and going as well as scattered bottles and other junk. But those were all things he expected to see. And even though John wasn’t a very good tracker, he had picked up a thing or two in the last two centuries.

The first sign he spotted was a thin grey smear along a rock face where some lichen had been disturbed. The smear was ten feet off the ground, meaning it likely hadn’t been caused by an animal. He might have missed it himself if the color didn’t stand out from the rest of the lichen-covered stone around it.

He glanced up to see if he could spot the top of the bluff, or any mines nearby. But there were no other signs humans had been in this area. It seemed like someone had climbed this cliff face and had seemingly done it with little effort if the single boot scrape was anything to go by. He didn’t find any fibers lying around to indicate a rope was used either, but those could have blown away in the wind.

Looking at it, even John couldn’t climb this cliff without assistance, at least not without the aid of the serum that made him this way. He knew the Harc’otti had access to an artificer. If the same people who employed them were stealing the workers, perhaps they had used some sort of artifice lift. The only other option was yet another group, and John didn’t want to entertain that option. He had enough bullshit to deal with having just the Harc’otti and their backers.

Despite what John wanted, he knew he was going to have to get up to the top of this ridge and check it out.

***

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It took him most of the day to find a way up. One that didn’t involve him climbing in his injured state that is. Whoever had picked the location knew what they were doing. It was nearly impossible to access without a rope. John had lucked out and stumbled across a fallen tree that led to a rock shelf about halfway up. That shelf had a nice gentle ramp to the top. Or as gentle as he could expect for a rough stone outcropping.

Once at the top, he had to backtrack to where he had found the original clue. Thankfully he had marked a tree at the base of the bluff with a piece of cloth. From there he searched the plateau for any signs of the kidnappers.

It didn’t take him long to find them. There were over a dozen sets of tracks and drag marks all leading toward a rocky cleft.

As he made his way down the cleft, he discovered it led out the backside of the plateau. At the bottom, there were signs that a camp had been there not too long ago. Smaller than the mining camp, but going by the amount of crushed vegetation, there had probably been at least twenty people here. There were also two deep imprints in the ground that he wouldn’t have recognized a month ago, but now he could clearly see belonged to those of a walker.

“So the group bankrolling the artificer is behind the kidnappings, but why?” He asked himself as he let his eyes follow the tracks into the distance where rugged ground and thick forests dominated the area until the base of the distant mountains.

The obvious answer was mining. But certainly, it would be far cheaper and easier to just hire miners than it would be to abscond with them in the middle of the night.

“What don’t you want people finding out about?” he spoke quietly before turning around and climbing back to the top of the bluff.

Whatever this unknown group was hiding, he would uncover it eventually, but the only way he was crossing that inhospitable terrain was either on foot or with a walker of his own.

Thankfully, he had one back in Ember Creek.

***

The ride back was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of John’s long life. Every little rock and bump the horse made, pulled at his injuries and made his breath hitch.

He supposed that was karma for being so reckless and stupid. He should have suspected a trap long before he crouched near that boulder to watch. But he had let his finely honed instincts lapse since the war. Not enough to get him killed, but obviously enough to bumble into a kill zone.

Had he realized it sooner, he would have circled around the valley ridge. Then he could have picked off the four without taking a single shot in return. Too much time spent babysitting a spoiled rich manchild.

John sighed and tried to ignore the occasional twinge as he passed through the edge of Ember Creek.

Deputy Seline was the first to approach him. “John! Oh, Thank the stars, you’re back.”

John pulled the mare to a halt. “Whoa, easy girl.” He patted the horse on the neck. “What’s the matter, Deputy? Is everything alright?”

She shook her head. “No. Shortly after dark someone murdered the Foreman.”

“Murdered?” He hadn’t expected that. Did that mean someone else in town was working with this outside group?

“And that’s not all. They also stole all the gold and Federal currency stored inside the office.”

“Wait! He stored gold and other currency inside that building, you’re certain?”

She nodded. “There are always people bringing in small amounts of gold, precious gems, or trading in their real cash for…”

“The fake stuff,” John finished for her.

“Um… yes. They trade it in so they have money to spend in town. Normally that all gets shipped out on the train.”

“But the train is still stuck here getting repaired.” Dammit all. Whoever these people were, they had been two steps ahead this entire time. With the Foreman dead, any chance of John finding out who he was working with went up in smoke. And with the Terminus Mining headquarters robbed, that would ruin people’s trust in the money, even if that trust had only been superficial.

John should be happy about that, but without a replacement for the mining notes, people were going to riot.

“Who knows about this?”

“Most of the town knows about the Foreman’s death. But only you, me, and the Sheriff know about the theft.”

“Keep it that way, and show me to the crime scene.”

“…Um, are you sure? The Sheriff is over there right now.”

“I’m sure. If the Sheriff has such a fragile ego that my mere presence sets him off, he doesn’t deserve to be the Sheriff, now lead on.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised when she led him to the same building where he had first met the portly Foreman.

A few people milled around outside, talking and gossiping about the man’s death. John ignored them as he followed the Deputy inside. She led him to the back of the building and then up a flight of stairs to the second floor. The door at the top was open and John could hear two voices. One was the Sheriff’s but he didn’t recognize the other.

“Sheriff, he’s back,” Seline announced as they entered the room.

The Sheriff and a tall but skinny man in his late twenties or early thirties exited another room on the same floor.

“About damn time,” the Sheriff spat. “Must be nice to just wander off and do whatever.”

The other man just shook his head and extended a hand. John accepted the offered hand. “Dr. Ezekiel Hawthorne. Although most just call me Doc.”

“John Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, John,” Dr. Hawthorne smiled.

“Yeah, yeah,” the Sheriff waved in annoyance. “Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, what can you tell me, Doc?”

“What I’ve already told you, Wyatt. He died due to strangulation and a broken neck, what more do you want from me?”

The Sheriff threw his hands in the air. “A lead perhaps.”

The Doc sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already told you twice. I’m not an investigator. Everything I saw in there points to suicide.”

“You expect me to believe, that fat piece of shit had the balls to off himself? He barely had the wit to wipe his own ass without Mr. Novarez’s say so. Seems to be a common theme for people who work with that man. Present company excluded of course,” he added as he looked at John.

John ignored the insult. The sheriff being testy was better than him being drunk or hungover. “So you think it was a suicide?” he asked Hawthorne.

The Doc shrugged. “Everything points to a suicide. But as I told Sheriff Blackwood, I’m not an investigator. Since my skills are no longer required, I’m going to go. I need to get the undertaker over here with a cart so we can remove the body and prepare it for burial. You three have until then to finish your investigation. It was nice meeting you, John.”

“Likewise, Doc,” John nodded as the man walked past him.

The Sheriff grunted but waved the man off. Not that the doctor waited for his dismissal before walking away.