The trees didn’t seem as friendly as they once had. They, like many trees in Oklahoma, were not very tall or very old, the trees they were copied from having sprang up after the last windstorm knocked the taller, less wind-resistant trees over. Now, they seemed to loom over the cramped roads, every thick clump of branches concealing the leering face of a sharp-toothed man-child.

Imaginary, of course. That’s what he kept telling himself as they rocketed down the road, moving at what Jensen would have considered too fast on a highway, much less a country road that kept shifting back and forth between gravel and asphalt.

What was worse, though, was that the Sheriff refused to drive with more than one hand. The other hand was holding onto the revolver that he had again placed on his lap, the massive silver weapon gleaming, a physical avatar for the frigid air pumped out by the truck’s air conditioner. Every vent was aimed at the Sheriff, even the ones on the passenger side, and Jensen was not nearly brave enough to ask him for one.

Luckily, the Sheriff also had the front windows down, with the back windows down halfway, which was creating some airflow.

Jensen had mixed feelings about the window being open. On one hand, it was much easier to see through, given that it had a heavy tint, but on the other hand…

The window was open.

Jensen had seen enough zombie movies to know that having the window open removed an obstacle, however feeble it may be, from whatever monstrosity wanted to drag you out of the window and devour you alive while your panicking friend drove away.

Not that Jensen would dare call the Sheriff his friend. Sheriff Crawford did not have friends, he had associates.

Jensen wasn’t one of those, either. He hadn’t lived in town long enough, which is to say, several years, having moved from Florida after applying for an IT job for the Rand city government. He had been positioned riding along with the Sheriff after being asked to do so directly by the Mayor, in order to keep an eye on him and report back, but…

He was feeling far less confident about it than he had before. He had been expecting political nonsense, posturing between the Mayor and the Sheriff… Not this… this psycho cannibal dwarf crazin

Jensen had been out of the city a few times, mostly just exploring and leveling up his class. He was pretty proud of it; he hadn’t heard of anyone else who had a class anything like it whatsoever. He’d seen a lot of “Brave Fighters”, “Axe Warriors”, and even a “Rage Mage”, but Jensen was the only one out of everyone he had met whose class had a color in the name.

So mysterious! Maybe this time he would reach level three and get another class ability. He had beaten a giant slug with a stick when it had tried to engulf him whilst he slept, sprawled out and recovering in the back of his beat-up El Camino after accidentally triggering the “Roadrunner” Mobile Dungeon. The combination of both evading the Roadrunner and forcing the slug to retreat had leveled him up to level two, giving him the ability he had been relying on nonstop since he met up with the Sheriff at the rendezvous point this morning.

He checked his ability, re-reading it more to assuage his nerves than to actually check anything.

Friend in their Fur When you incorporate an aspect of a creature’s covering, be it fur, skin, or clothing, other creatures of that type or members of that social group are more likely to perceive you as an ally, and are less likely to engage in hostile actions against you.

He was glad the assho- ...sadly deceased dirt-biking forward scout had helped him with his hat, even if he had yanked the tag off. Jensen definitely wasn’t going to be able to return it now.

Jensen was startled out of his musings when the Sheriff suddenly cursed.

“Sonuva...bitch! Where’d the god-damned convoy go!? How in the hell did these idiots get lost, we ain’t turned once! Where’d they go, boy?”

Jensen shook his head, stammering a little as he attempted to formulate a response.

“Why didn’t you keep an eye on ‘em instead of lollygaggin’ with your head up your ass!?” The Sheriff shook his head, cutting off any response from his nervous passenger, knowing the questions were unfair, but unwilling to surrender the only current target for his anger.

Jensen finally found his voice, speaking out loud and finding it surprisingly confident.

“I can get out and go take a look, if you want, bossman.”

The Sheriff looked at him, and Jensen was sure he could feel his glare through the mirrored glasses. Jensen stared back into the glasses, his nerves trembling like he was a child waiting outside the principal’s office.

“You do that, boy. Don’t forget your hat, now.” The Sheriff reached over to grab the hat from where it rested on Jensen’s lap, but Jensen beat him to it, pulling the duct tape off and pressing the ball into the hand that was uncomfortably close to him.

The Sheriff accepted it, slightly surprised, and Jensen took the opportunity to slip the hat onto his head, feeling slightly dirty as he did.

He could feel his ability reach full strength immediately, and the Sheriff nodded, looking satisfied.

“That’s a better look for you, boy. Go find my convoy. Go on, git.” He reached onto his door panel and triggered the child safety locks, allowing Jensen to open his door, which he did immediately, stepping out of the truck.

He forgot that it was lifted, falling completely out and landing on his side. A chuffing filled the air, sounding like a wild hog tearing through the underbrush, and he pushed himself to his feet, mentally preparing to leap back into the truck. As he reached his feet, he realized that the noise was just the Sheriff laughing, the humor he apparently drew from Jensen’s pain making him choke slightly on the tobacco juice stored behind his lips.

Jensen smiled uneasily and said “See you next fall, Sheriff.” The man laughed harder, the lame joke landing harder in his state of mirth.

Jensen shut the door and walked to the rear of the truck. There was nothing behind the massive vehicle, just ...empty road and trees. There were the occasional turn-offs onto various roads, sometimes dirt, gravel, sometimes fully paved, but… Surely no one would have turned onto one of those paths, right…? There couldn’t possibly be anybody living out here, not unless there were some homeless folks camping in the woods, and that didn’t seem likely. Rand didn’t have much of a homeless population; the town was too small for banks to actually go through the process of forclosing on someone who failed to pay their second or reverse-mortgage on time, and the town was too isolated to receive much in the way of itinerant travellers.

Jensen paced over the road, considering. The trees looked the same as the rest of the trees by which they had travelled, and the roads were no different. The only tracks he could see were the ones that the Red Throne had left behind, and a few scattered animal tracks, deer, most likely…

Jensen was stumped. He turned around after staring down the road for several minutes, and finally turned around, ready to admit defeat, even if the Sheriff was going to act holier-than-thou about it.

He nodded. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised, and perhaps should have even expected it.

The Red Throne was gone, the tracks leading ahead and turning onto a side road he could see a little further down the road the way they had been going, maybe a quarter mile or so from where Jensen now stood.

Alone.

Outside the city, with cannibalistic dwarves potentially watching him and plotting to eat him.

Jensen sighed and started walking. After he had gone a few steps, he slipped the hat from his head and tucked it into his back pocket, folding it heavily.