Getting the wagon outside was a little bumpy, but Cassie seemed to enjoy being jolted around, laughing and yelling like she was on a rollercoaster.

We only had to fight two opponents on our way out to the street, one in the back yard and one in the front. I guessed it had been over four hours since we’d last been out here, but it looked like that wasn’t enough time for the area to fully repopulate. That seemed mostly like a plus: if we could get a number of people outside fighting, we could probably keep our neighborhood fairly safe. Not lounge-on-a-beach-towel safe, but know-you’ll-only-get-jumped-by-one-enemy-at-a-time safe. That would make travel like this much more doable.

There was the negative side, though. If each enemy gave 12 points, it would take any one person 12 solo kills to reach the first threshold. Twice that many if they were working in a duo, three times that many for a trio, and so on. It seemed like between our front and back yard we’d had maybe six enemies spawn over the course of today, not counting the ones that had rushed us from our neighbors’ properties. If everyone went outside to fight, we could easily reach a situation where people couldn’t find enough opponents.

Still, I hoped we could get to that situation. Comparatively speaking, that would be a great problem to have.

As we neared the corner of Russet Road, we started having to fight more and more. I gave up on dropping my notes off at people’s front doors immediately, settling for stuffing them inside mailboxes as I passed. It seemed like I could barely take a few steps before I was dropping the wagon handle once again to face another opponent. Assisted Strike was a godsend. Anytime I used it, I could put the spear right where I wanted, no matter how the leafenrats dodged. It wasn’t an “I win” button though. I hadn’t figured out where to put it to guarantee an instant kill, and it didn’t seem to add any force. If I thought about trying to cut off a limb as I activated the ability, I could definitely hit a joint, but not cut through it. The ability made fights go much faster, but I tried to use it sparingly for now, unsure of my limits.

The wagon was also working very well, although I regretted not stuffing the books in plastic bags before taping them on. One corner had taken a squirt gun blast and was looking a bit soggy. None of the leafenrats had even tried to go after Cassie. Maybe they didn’t know she was there?

There was one other thing… I was lucky Russet Road was relatively flat. Most of our neighborhood, Autumn Hills, was as sloped as the name would suggest. Even Russet Road had some incline, and one time I looked up after a fight to find that Cassie had rolled nearly forty feet back before catching on the curb. Nothing had attacked the wagon, but she’d been very upset, and only the emergency fruit snacks I’d stuffed in my pocket had calmed her down. Couldn’t pull that trick too many more times though - eight more crises, and the box in the cupboard would be empty. I’d have to face parenting without emergency fruit snacks to dole out.

Grim.

Cassie did cheer up after the fruit snacks though, and I noticed her take the occasional potshot out of the wagon with the squirt gun. At first, I wasn’t sure if she was just messing around or if she was actually trying to hit the leafenrats, but a few fights later I heard Pointy congratulating her in a squeaky voice for earning three points.

The noise of our fights had drawn several people along the street to their windows. I waved a note ostentatiously at a woman in the nearest house, then stuck it in her mailbox. She shook her head at me in an exaggerated fashion. The message was clear: she wasn’t coming out to get it. I frowned, but since I wasn’t making my way to her front door either, I could understand. Who knew how many enemies hid in the treetops between us? The answer probably was definitely more than zero. Another woman had opened a window to shout at us, only to have a leafenrat immediately try to tear through her screen as soon as the solid barrier disappeared. She’d slammed the window shut in a hurry.

I didn’t have a solution. We needed to communicate, but I couldn’t afford to fight the extra battles it would take to hand-deliver these notes. We were a little over halfway to the Turners’ house, but the boys’ squirt guns had run low enough that I’d had them switch to the spares. I thought we’d make it, but not if we were fooling around. I needed to get this information to people, but what was the point of sticking them in mailboxes if no one would come out?

“Mom, look!”

Micah interrupted my thoughts, drawing my attention to the entrance of one of the courts. There, almost to the Turners’ house, was another person. Outside.

From far off, it was hard to tell much about them other than that they were human, but as we got closer I could make out more details. I thought it was a man. If not, it was a very tall, lanky woman. The person wore leather pants and a leather jacket, with a yellow motorcycle helmet completely concealing their head. They had a baseball bat in their hands and were using it to mercilessly beat any leafenrat that came near. One blow knocked a rat all the way across the street, where it hit a car with a crashing sound that was loud even from where we were standing.

“Whoa,” said Micah.

“Whoa indeed,” I said. I still remembered kicking one of those things. I’d gotten one to roll ten feet or so, but this guy had hit one more than 20 feet through the air? The leafenrat evaporated into dust as we watched, killed from the trauma of the impact.

The guy - I was pretty sure it was a guy now - seemed to see us for the first time, looking past his kill to where we stood. He raised an arm toward us, the universal neighbor sign for “Hey, I see you. We both live here.”

It was a silly little thing, but so normal that I really appreciated it. It was exactly the same friendly arm-raise I’d received countless times as I passed other people on the sidewalk. After seeing the smack he’d given the leafenrat, I’d been unnerved enough to consider turning around and heading back home. I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a hit like that, and the kids’ pepper oil wouldn’t incapacitate him, not with that full-face helmet. But… I really had no reason to believe he was an enemy. Just the opposite, really. Too much caution would kill us just as surely as too little.

I raised my hand in response, then turned my attention to the next bush, checking it for enemies.

As we kept moving, I saw that he was working his way toward us as well. When he fought, his swings were wild and brutal, but if anything he was advancing even more cautiously than we, doing his absolute best to flush out any rodents before getting close. He only had himself, and he was clearly working hard for every kill he got.

When we finally reached him, he was fighting. He got a good whack in against his target and sent it tumbling toward us, though not with the explosive force of his earlier blow. Gavin managed to hit it with his squirt gun, and I sunk my spear into its neck as it wailed.

“Aw, y’all a bunch of KSers, huh?” The voice was light and joking. In spite of the ‘y’all’, he spoke like a northerner.

“How is it a Kill Steal if you deliver it right to our feet? Kill gifted, more like,” I said, trying to match his casual tone.

“Hah! I just knew you had to be gamers. Knew it. Still, what are you doing out here with these kids? Something wrong with your house? One thing for me and you to be out here, another thing for them. Even with your magic squirt guns.”

I grimaced. “I’m trying to get to that house over there,” I pointed at the Turners’ home, only four houses away now. “Once I do, I’m sure they’ll let us inside and I’d be happy to answer all your questions. I’d rather not chat outdoors if we don’t have to.”

He seemed to think about this for a second, then extended a hand. “Alright. Alright. I’ll walk with you, then. Name’s Darryl Packard.”

I took it. “Meghan. Meghan Moretti. Thank you.”

The last distance didn’t take too long. Darryl had already cleared out a lot of the most aggressive leafenrats, and we only had to fight four more, two in the Turners’ front yard. That was almost convenient, as the noise drew Priya. As soon as we finished off the second rat, she opened the door and let us in.

“Meghan! Meghan, what is wrong? Is your house okay? Why are you here? I’m glad you’re here! I’m glad you’re safe! Why did you take your kids out in this?” She grabbed me in a hug as she peppered me with questions.

I hugged her back, but quickly extricated myself. “One second. Let me get my gear off and get Cassie out.”

“That’s a good idea. It’s still hot as balls outside,” Darryl said. Short, fluffy dreadlocks bounced up as he removed his helmet. His face was young, with that stretched-out almost-hollow look a lot of guys get when they haven’t quite caught up with their own growth spurt. He noticed Priya staring at him in shock and looked embarrassed. “Uh, pardon my language, ma’am.

“You’re not Vince!”

I winced. Meghan, her three kids, and a helmeted man show up at your door? Obviously the man was Meghan’s husband. Priya probably hadn’t looked at him too closely and noticed the differences in height and build.

“I met Darryl here on the way over. Vince was on a business trip.”

Priya put a hand to her mouth. “Oh no. That’s right. I’d forgotten. He was going to… Ohio?”

“Colorado.”

An awkward silence followed. Priya looked ashamed to have forgotten. I wanted to tell her it was okay. But while I wasn’t mad at her, the situation really wasn’t okay and I couldn’t bring myself to say it was. Darryl had the deer-in-the-headlights look common to people exposed to strangers’ personal trauma.

Fortunately, we weren’t alone.

“Sorry we had to bring the Wank in your house and make your floor dirty!” said Gavin.

“Y’all brought the what?” asked Darryl.

“The TAGON, Gavin. The Tagon. You cannot call the wagon-tank a Wank!”

Priya and Darryl lost it. They were still laughing when George appeared at the top of the stairs. “Did I hear…? I did! Meghan! What are you doing here?”

I didn’t answer right away, instead lifting the roof off the wagon. Cassie sighed dramatically and drooped over the side of the wagon as bonelessly as a ragdoll. “Finally! I was in there forever and ever and ever.”

“Well, you can get out now. Could I borrow Pointy for a little bit while you play with Samar?” Arnav was closer to her in age, but was nearly a year younger. Cassie played with Arnav, but loved the six-year-old Samar. I unzipped her vest and lifted her out.

“Samar? Is he here?” The mention of her idol, her bones and energy returned. I nearly dropped her as she tried to get out of my grip to go find him.

George, who’d been slowly making his way downstairs, gestured over his shoulder. “He and Arnav are up with Anju in the playroom.”

“Yaaaay!” yelled Gavin, bolting up the stairs. Cassie followed close behind, her determination making short work of steps that came knee-high for her. Micah watched them go, expression torn.

“Mom, do you need my help for anything?”

I smiled. “I absolutely, 100% NEED you to take your gear off and go play with Anju. It’s critically important.”

Micah laughed, but didn’t ask again. “Anju! Annnnjuuu!”

“Tell Gavin to take his gear off too, please!” I called after him.

Kids taken care of, I gave my attention to the other adults. “Friends, old and new, meet Pointy Turtle.”