To the victor go the spoils.

That's what they say – the warmongers, that is. Like everything else it's big business. There's profit to be made. The winner of any conflict always reaps additional awards, exploiting their victory to further entrench their interests. Collecting the spoils.

Ava looks around. The townsfolk are buzzing. They rush about in their peasant clothes, performing their peasant preparations for war. The air stings with the acrid odor of melted plastic. The blacksmith is now a plastic-smith, molding arrowheads and spear-tips. Nasty little saw-toothed toothbrush-shanks like they're living on a prison planet.

Ava watches a group of men—Paul among them—raise a fallen section of the palisade using ropes and pulleys and more than a little bit of brute force. But once it is stood back up they can see that the underside is rotted and termite-ridden. It's a useless barrier – just more junk.

To the victor go the spoils.

Ava takes a deep breath and blows it out.

What spoils could a man like Horst possibly desire in such a destitute settlement?

“I'm with you guys,” Darby explains, “Uri and I fought side-by-side. I'm honor-bound to see him return.”

“Then that settles it,” Ava says, “the four of us will head out together. You and Ellie will return with Uri while Bach and I stay behind to gather what's needed to equip the militia.”

“You're sure you can find your way back to where you left Uri?” Ellie asks.

“Mostly, yeah.”

“Guess that'll have to do.” Ellie fingers through a satchel. “Same as these herbs the doctor saw fit to send along. He says to mix them with mud and press the compound into Uri's wounds if they look infected.” She frowns. “I don't know. Whatever happened to antibiotics?”

Ava watches one of the Slayer Apprentices scurrying around to his comrades carrying a box half-filled with wicked little plastic shanks. Passing out arms to the enlisted children. She sighs.

“Yeah,” she says, “guess we'll just have to make do.”

They set out traveling light. Ava carries the [Omega Key] and Bach the empty pistol which the new Sheriff has seen fit to return to the party – though not to Ava herself. She's just a kid. Just the child who leads them, after all. But once on the trail Bach gives it back to her. He has a crude hatchet for defense and gathering logs and some flint and steel to make a fire, just in case. That's all he'll need. And he says the gun is worse than useless to him, anyway:

“Even if we had bullets – not like I could load them on my own.”

Time Remaining: 45 hours 12 minutes

“I think this is exactly where I came tumbling out.” Ava kneels to inspect the wagon rut trail. There's a divot in the dirt – shaped just like her metal hand with its fingers splayed. She's no skilled tracker but this trail isn't hard to find. Looking up from where she's kneeling, it's plain to see where the twigs and branches are broken. Plain to see where she came barreling out of the forest, its many hungry denizens nipping at her heels.

“Should we split up now?” Ellie wonders.

“Let's stay together at least long enough to locate Uri.” Ava stands and brushes the dirt from her knees.

“I'll lead,” Bach says, “if we're going to be ambushed I can take the hits best.”

They press through the brambles and the branches. Birds sing in the treetops. Ava concentrates on breathing. The memory of her panicked exodus is still fresh. The memory of the Scum-bat's glistening face and its bloodsucking tubes and the way they insinuated themselves sickly into the soft flesh of Uri's throat.

But the forest is uncommonly quiet this morning and nothing tries to kill and eat the company. Whether it's because the creatures intent on killing them spawn less frequently during the day or perhaps the size of her party intimidates them – Ava doesn't care. She's just grateful for one less thing to worry about.

Because there's still something hot and heavy in her gut and this time it isn't the motor – it's that old familiar Dread. Uri could very well be dead. Bloated and decomposing on the riverbank. Or Horst might have found and taken him. When they arrive there might only be footprints remaining in the mud. Ava concentrates on breathing. There are multiple outcomes which could bring pain and misery, and only one which can afford them relief.

Bach halts the procession and cocks his ear.

“Hear that?”

Ava listens. It's the river, just a short distance ahead.

“This is it.” There are still signs of the fight which took place here. Downed tree-branches, broken by the sheer force of the downthrust wind generated by the Scum-bat's flight. Scorched spots on the grass where Horst missed with his zap gun.

Ava stoops to pick up a scrap of Javors' white silken tank-top. His terrified face flashes in her mind, from that final moment before the portal sealed shut and stole him away.

She leads the others to the riverbank and Uri is still there, half-sunk in the mud, a blanket of broken reeds drying out upon him.

“Uri!” Ellie rushes to be at his side. She kneels in the black mud and works at removing the reeds. “Can you hear me?”

The others arrive in time to see him open his eyes. It's not quite the relief Ava was hoping for. He's different, somehow. His green irises are somehow a shade lighter and his sclera is bloodshot, marbled with exquisitely vivid red veins. Ava knows there is no such thing as vampires—at least she thinks she knows this—but his skin is so pale and flawless and—

“You're so cold to the touch,” says Ellie and then, turning to the others, “we'd better get him back to town right now.”

“We should fashion a stretcher,” Bach says, “so you two can tow him together. I can show you how. First, we need two narrow timbers – at least a littler taller than him.”

“I'm on it,” Darby says.

“Make sure they're flexible. Not dead. It's important they bend before they break.”

“What can I do?” Ava asks.

“We'll use some of these reeds to make a sort of hammock between the timbers. Don't gather the dead ones – they need to be living,” Bach explains, “so pull them up whole out of the mud. You and Ellie will need to complete this task alone. It will require both hands.” He holds up his gnarled stump, in case Ava had somehow forgotten.

They get to work gathering materials for the stretcher. Soon Uri returns with two lengths of aspen while Ava and Ellie have produced a pile of freshly-pulled reeds. Bach oversees the operation. He's stoic but Ava watches him, watching them, watching the woods in case anything comes out to attack – and she can't help but feel a little more hopeful. This is the most alive he's been since—

Since Mom mutilated him.

Time Remaining: 43 hours 55 minutes

“Alrighty,” says Bach, “good work. Now we're going to weave the reeds into a hammock—really just a blanket—and attach it between the timbers.”

And at the sound of his words:

The recipe for the hammock component also appears, simply requiring one-hundred pieces of some material appropriate for weaving – reeds, ropes, et cetera. But Ava has never woven anything. She's sure it can't be simple – and the finished product has to be sturdy enough to carry Uri all the way back to Cripple Creek.

Trepidatiously she takes a length of reed in each hand. And the instant she conceives of beginning to weave them together her hands start to act all on their own, moving in a blur, fashioning one-hundred pieces of reed into a tightly-woven hammock over the course of just a few seconds. She gasps and drops the finished hammock as though it were a cursed object which might burn her skin.

The others are all staring at her. Only Bach is smiling.

“I'd ask how that is possible,” Ellie says, “but I doubt I want to know.”

Ava assembles the stretcher in a similar fashion, at the same break-neck speed. They roll Uri onto it and tie him in with reed-woven restraints Ava doesn't even recall making – simply an automatically-included aspect of the crude stretcher's composition. Again, Ellie and Darby look at her like she has two heads while Bach just smiles.

“Do you think the two of you can handle it?” Bach asks.

“No problem,” says Darby, nodding at Ellie.

“We've got it,” she agrees.

“Be careful,” Ava says.

“Of course.”

“We won't keep you two any longer,” Darby explains, “and I won't be taking us back through the forest. I know a way around from here, following the river – the trip will take a little longer but it's much more safe.”

“Alright then,” says Ava, “we'll see you back in town once our task is complete.”

Ellie takes up the rear of the stretcher and Darby takes the front in a reverse grip, leading them on their way downhill.

“Be safe, Slap,” Bach says. Darby grins.

And Uri just moans: “Uma....”

“When we inevitably come under attack,” Bach says to Ava as they prepare to re-enter the woods, “I will be of little use.”

“Bach—“ she stops herself. He stares straight ahead, into the forest, frustratingly pensive. Everything is now a trigger, reminding him of what he was. But maybe she can sort of empathize. Not so long ago everything was a trigger for her, too – reminding her what she didn't know.

“I know,” he says, “I suck. I'm pathetic and being around me must be an unbelievable drain. I'm sorry. I don't know how to get unstuck.”

“I think maybe that's another way trauma works.” She takes his hand. “Sometimes it makes us forget—scoops up the bad memories—and maybe other times it does the opposite. Sometimes it won't let us forget, no matter how much we want to.” She squeezes his hand. And then she just hugs him around the middle.

And she feels his breath catch in his chest.

She looks up at him and it's true – there are tears in his eyes. And as she looks closer, there's something else, too:

Bach wipes his eyes and interrupts the transmission of his data. But Ava has seen enough. His level is zero. The most fearsome monster she's ever known is nothing now. His reset must be the result of having his skill-chips removed.

And for a moment Ava wants to cry, too. For him; for her – for everything. He truly is back to square one – factory specs, as Darby called it. Ava clenches her jaw, swallows her melancholy, and fights to muster some courage.

“You'll be strong again,” she tells him, “maybe in different ways – but you're still a badass, Bach.”

“Okay, Ava. Let's get to work.”

Time Remaining: 43 hours 8 minutes

It only takes a single step into the forest for Ava to feel unsafe. Sure, at least it's daylight this time—the sun nearly directly above, indicating the noon hour—but it was still only just last night when she ran for her life out of this place. Her legs are still sore, so stiff and tired she doesn't expect she could run again if she had to. She follows close behind Bach as he trudges along, scouring their surroundings for the materials they're after:

“Clubs and spears and poles are simple,” he explains, “we're just looking for medium-sized logs. But for each bow we'll need a supple branch and a bowstring – and for the bowstring we'll have to find nettles.”

“Nettles?”

“Yes, a stinging plant. We'll crush and strip the stalks for fibers.”

“Do you know where to find some?”

“Not exactly.” Bach peels back a handful of thin branches so that Ava can pass through a tight space without getting smacked. “But in general nettles are invasive and can be found all over – though they do require moist soil.”

“So,” Ava wonders, “just how many nettles do we need?”

“Approximately forty to fifty plants.”

“Wow. That's a lot.”

“For each bowstring.”

He keeps walking but Ava can barely make her foot move. Forty or fifty plants for each bowstring? A medium-sized log for each club, spear, and pole?

“Hey hold on,” she says and he stops and turns to face her. “How are we going to get all this crap back to Cripple Creek?”

Bach grins. He puts his boot on the trunk of the narrow pine beside him and grunts and slowly pushes it over until its base uproots from the soft earth.

“We're gonna drag this back to the clearing by the river and you're going to build us a cart. And I'm going to pull it.”

Time Remaining: 41 hours 37 minutes

Bach drops the uprooted pine in nearly the exact same spot where Ava last saw the ratman Javors – right where he was sucked into the portal.

“Okay, you go gather us another reed,” says Bach, “and I'll get to work stripping off these branches.”

“We're going to make a cart out of a tree and a reed?”

“Not we – but yes, you're going to do exactly that.”

“Sure,” she says, “but seriously – how many reeds do we need?”

“Oh it'll require hundreds,” he grins, “maybe thousands.”

“Are you nuts? We don't have time for me to pluck the whole bank.”

“We're going to need a dozen more trees like this one, too.”

“You've got to be messing with me,” she says, “this plan is stupid, Bach. Have you been sneaking slugs from your flask while I wasn't looking?”

He just laughs.

“Ava,” he says, “you know at least as well as I that you can turn one reed into many. And a single tree into a forest, if you wish.”

It's true: she can summon items from thin air. She's done it many times before. But there was also the incident with Bach's flask – when she found herself unable to use her weird power. What if that happens again right now? If Bach's plan to arm the townsfolk has always relied on her ability to cut corners and save them the time it would typically require to harvest these materials – then what if she can't?

She thinks of Paul and Miss Sessions. She thinks of the drunken blacksmith. What if they've all been drawn into something now because of her – something that might be made much worse if she suffers another episode where she can't summon the required items?

She pushes her performance anxiety down. Bach believes in her. She should, too. But even as she pulls up a reed she's thinking, what if I let him down, too? He's just starting to emerge from his grief. If she fails, could it set him back?

He's done stripping the branches from the pine and he stands with his foot on its trunk, looking proud and smiling. Ava brings the reed. The moment of truth is upon her.

“Here goes nothing,” she says, closely studying the reed in her hand. And it only takes a moment to find:

She looks to Bach one more time, and he's there just exuding moral support. Grinning like a dork. She remembers when she woke up during the night once and how for a moment she believed he was her father.

Get it together.

Ava concentrates. She visualizes the reed's ItemID and in her mind's eye it's more like an equation than it is a simple integer. It's more like x + y=ItemID0048558.

What if I add another operation to the equation? she wonders.

Then it's more like: (500)x + (500)y=(500)ItemID00448558.

The wind suddenly picks up, whipping the branches of the trees at the edge of the forest, flattening the grass around her. For a moment Ava fears the Scum-bat has returned. But it's simply Nature. She's creating brand new matter in abundance – and the cosmos can't help but react. It's like she's the singularity at the center of her own little Big Bang and then suddenly a heaping pile of reeds materializes on the grassy ground beside her. She's stunned. The pile is as tall as her.

“I always believed,” says Bach, “now do it again – we're gonna need way more.”