Tim’s mind whirred with a mixture of relief and rage. Relief that someone had survived, someone who would understand. Rage that it had happened, that it hadn’t been stopped, just like before. And, hidden behind it all, uncertainty in what action to take from here.

Tim turned once more to his pocket. “Philbert, did you find any others?” Maybe if there was just one more survivor, one person that could take in the kid, there could be hope. Unfortunately, his hopes were immediately dashed by the rat.

“No, no one is left. All the village is searched, searched. All that are left are the bugs and the lesser ones.”

“Great, just great.” Tim muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, and turned towards Bert, ignoring the rage in the dwarf’s eyes.

Despite everything that had happened, Tim was still not a city native. “Hey, Bert. You know anywhere in Drassington we can bring the kid to? Something like an orphanage?”

Bert’s shoulders jumped in a quick startled movement, and then his eyes refocused on Tim.

“No, I wish, but the last orphanage in the city ran out of funding a while back.” As he knew well, the city had no infrastructure for struggling families or unwanted kids.

Tim closed his eyes. It was worse than he thought. “Damn. Of course not.” The city was more corruption and gangs than anything else. “And I guess since the kid doesn’t have any backing or family left, there’s nowhere else to go.” He dropped his hands in frustration, kicking at the dirt as his mind searched for something, anything he could do. Fucking heroes.

Then, a movement so small that Tim almost mistook it for dirt being shifted by the breeze caught his eye. He turned towards the hole in the floor, and his breath caught in his throat. The kid had moved. More specifically, they had started to move towards the light, towards the fragile stairs that held still through all the chaos.

“Boss… I don’t think we can do much about it right now…” Bert’s voice interrupted from the side, obviously seeing the same picture as Tim was. “Maybe we should just grab the kid, feed ‘em up, and ask then?”

Tim ignored the slight tremble in Bert’s voice as he nodded in assent. Yes, he really wasn’t asking the right questions. And he didn’t want to see more death today. Not children at least. Tim motioned towards Bert, who dropped down into the hiding spot with a sturdy thump.

“Hey, kid,” Bert said in a gentle voice, “help’s here.” And then, without any further ado, the dwarf carefully hoisted the small limp form over his shoulder and climbed out of the hole.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Several hours later, a scavenged iron pot filled with a hearty stew simmered over the steady campfire the duo had made with wood from the splintered houses. In front of the pot sat Bert, with the orphan nearby, both gazing expectantly at the stew. It was nearly done, and the scent wafted all over the village, almost covering up the acrid stench of smoke. Almost.

Sitting across from the two was Tim, once again appearing deep in thought, rousing himself only to speak a few words to his pocket, or to wave off small clumps of rats to scout. Or at least that was what Bert hoped. This day had seen too much destruction for his tastes already without his boss adding to it. Of course, that wasn’t to say that those rats were all bad, they did grab a deer for the stew and did some search and rescue, but anything he could do to stop Tim from using them was a win in his book. There was just something unnatural about them.

Bert’s eyes shifted again, drawn by the rustling of cloth besides him. He masked a frown. The kid hadn’t spoken once but was at least moving. Sure, the kid was still covered almost completely with hoods and blankets scavenged from the house, but baby steps, he supposed. No matter they were still hugging their legs to their chest. Any progress is still progress. He nodded towards the kid at his side. “Almost done, should be nice and savory.”

Beside the dwarf, the orphan gave slight nod, but still not a single word. Bert shook his head and decided to try something different, pointing towards the largest blanket that was wrapped around his silent companion. Compared to something bought at a specialty shop in the capitol, it was a bit plain, but despite that it still held color. Patterns.

“Is that your blanket?”

A silence, followed by a nod served to grow the seed of hope in Bert’s stocky chest.

“Did your mum make it for you?”

A small head slightly shook.

“Your granny then?”

A small nod. “Ah, I shoulda’ guessed from the start. It’s beautiful. She really knew her stuff, didn’t she?” the kid nodded again.

Silence again. Bert noticed an even more fragrant smell of stew coming from the pot and pretended to ignore the soft sobbing sounds emanating from near his arm. “Well, looks like food’s up.” He took a spoon and tested the soup, only somewhat burning his mouth. Good enough. He grabbed three carved bowls he had scavenged, and ladled hearty portions into them, nudging one of them into the kid’s hands. It was quickly snatched out of his palm, and Bert gave his first genuine smile for days when a small whisper of sound floated up into his ear.

“Thank you.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Behind the two figures, Tim slowly ate away at his stew and contemplated his next move, brows crinkling in thought. They had been on the road for a few days, the town for a day, and the return journey would take a few more. That does bring forth the question. Who do I need to focus on, to worry about, to avoid? Three heroes were in the capitol near the end of last week. One was damaged by the gas, one was searching for me with either a name, a face, or both to go off. Well, probably not a name at least. Otherwise they would be checking for half-elves named Tim at the gate when I left. So a face. She has something on me, no reason for her to come back to the capitol and search for someone otherwise. Tim shook his head, dispelling the short rant that was forming in his head. No use in getting hung up on one fact. And that brings us to the final of the three. The one where I have almost no information on.

No use getting hung up on that either. He needed to get somewhere. They’ve got high resistances, but if it’s relentless or powerful enough they’re affected like any of us, if only to a lesser degree. I know Kevin was affected by the mustard gas, no need to go to the hospital if he wasn’t. That’s one hero weakened to some degree. Two if I count Elena, when the rats wounded her arm at the bastille. Tim hummed slightly. Maybe he had done better than he thought. Then, a sudden thought entered his head like a bucket of cold water. Oh. Right. Cleric hero. I don’t know how good a job the rats did on her arm, so she might have saved it. Damn. This would be so much easier if I could just magic them into nonexistence.

Wait.

That’s right.

Didn’t that book on those World Wars mention some other weapons? I don’t remember much. I think it was something about… IEDs?

The little orphan hid behind Bert as Tim’s grin surfaced once more. He could feel that he was on to something good.