I get to Ari's, remove my winter wear and head to the basement where plenty of commotion is already underway. I can almost guarantee that someone already has a Ziploc bag full of snow icing some sort of injury. Changing into my workout clothes, little jolts of panic fire off in my abdomen, I take a deep breath and head to the next room. Raven is there, wooden practice sword in hand, instructing half-a-dozen local residents in the finer details of armed combat.

One by one they attack him, swinging wildly, slashing and hacking away with their own wooden weapons. Raven deflects, parries, dodges and disarms each opponent in turn all the while giving pointers and encouragements. For a brief moment I grin, enjoying the sadistic pleasure of watching Raven outclass six people. The moment fades as I grab my own solid maple sword and head toward Raven. He's smiling that evil smile of his and the bruise on my forearm that I've been nursing since our last session aches as I tighten my grip on the hilt.

"Good day Mr. Killoren, how was the hunt?" he says. He only uses my formal title to rib me.

"Very fine Sir Raven," I answer, returning the gesture. "I took a pair of rabbits and a skunk just for you."

"Tsk, tsk, Mr. Killoren," he says, bowing.

I return the bow and bring my blade up. "Explain to me again, how you ran away, joined the circus and became a professional knife thrower." I know it's useless trying to rattle him, but I have to try.

"My father was a drunken piece-of-shit, which you already know. . ." he thrusts and I parry, the game has begun. "So yes, I did leave home when I was barely a teenager, but it wasn't the circus, it was the Renaissance Faire."

I lash out with a slashing attack, he avoids the first and blocks the second. He deftly counters and whacks my forearm with the flat of his blade in exactly the same spot as last time. "Son of a bitch!" I say, wincing and withdrawing my arm, nearly dropping my sword.

"I grant thee a point for retention," he says, still smiling. "As I was saying, I took up with the renaissance troupe. At first, it was stable boy, then garbage boy, errand runner, whatever they required. But eventually I worked up to squiring for a knight who happened to be a world class HEMA practitioner."

"Historical-something-something, yadda yadda." I lunge, he deflects. I curse, he just smiles.

"Historical European Martial Arts."

"And that's a real thing?"

"Ask your forearm," he says. "Back to my story... I begged him constantly for lessons and once he relented, I trained every moment I could. On my sixteenth birthday I fought in my first performance and was soundly defeated, thoroughly contused, lightly concussed and completely addicted. So from that day forward, I trained and fought whenever I could.

"I met Freya at the faire you know," he adds, then attacks. We cross swords and he slides in close until we are tied up at the cross-guards. His is hooked under mine and he places his free hand on his blade for leverage and with a wrenching motion he sends my weapon in one direction and my body in another.

I look up from the mat, "you know, I used to despise Ari for just this sort of shit."

"Don't blame me, I'm just a lowly circus performer," he mocks. "How about best two out of three, I'll even let you use your little drum sticks."

I accept the challenge and return my wooded sword to the rack and retrieve a couple of eighteen-inch-long pieces of rebar. I have much better odds when I get to use the small amount of Kali I learned from Ari. This does little to assuage my building anxiety as I watch Raven select a longsword from the rack. He returns to the mat and I follow. We both bow and the fight is on.

"You did select a practice sword right?" I ask. "I do rather like all my limbs and digits where they currently are."

"If it were any duller, it would be a bat," Raven assures me.

His initial attack is a series of thrusts and slashes. I am forced to back pedal the length of the room as I deflect the longsword effectively, however not gracefully. Raven's footwork is like a well-practiced dance. My movements are more like a boxer. His swing is powerful and even though he is clearly holding back, I often have to parry with both batons just to match him.

"You don't swing that hard at Freya do you?"

"Oh, she's not afraid of a little full contact. You might be surprised; she dishes it out pretty good. Mind you, she just doesn't have the size to wield a long sword, but she's plenty deadly with a sabre. She'll even duel wield kind of like you. Not that I'm saying you fight like a girl. Although in this case, it would be a compliment."

He feints, I fall for it and his follow-on attack nearly knocks me over. I lash out with a few well-placed strikes, but they are all dodged or deflected. The fight gains a certain rhythm and soon we are both drenched in sweat. The small group of trainees have all stopped training to watch us go at it. They start jeering and cheering as Raven and I try to kill each other without causing serious injury.

I finally manage to parry a strike with a single baton and create enough of an opening to whack his lead leg hard just above the knee. He winces, curses and hops back a couple paces.

"That should slow you down a tad," I say, but the words are barely out of my mouth when Raven spins his sword so that he holds it by both the hilt and blade then lunging at me he drives the cross-guard deep into my shoulder striking the median nerve. Parts of my right arm go painfully numb and the baton falls from my grasp. What happens next is something akin to an all-out no-holds-barred wrestling / mixed-martial-arts full contact demo, much to the delight of everyone looking on. It doesn't end well for either of us.

Five minutes later I'm sitting next to Raven, we are both icing our multiple injuries. "We need more ground rules next time," I say. "I think I chipped another tooth."

"Yeah. Good workout though," he replies with a wink.

I get up slowly and begin the short but painful wobble home. "See you at the meeting tonight."

"Sure thing."

* * * * *

Some of my fingers are still tingling as I take a seat next to Jake, he looks unusually grumpy this evening.

"You just wake up or something, you look like shit," I tell him.

"Fuck-off," he replies without turning his head. "What's wrong with your arm? Raven whack you with his little stick again?"

"Something like that," I reply. "I seem to remember watching Raven whack the living Christ out of you once upon a time. Haven't seen you spar with him since."

"If some jack-ass comes at me with a sword, I'll shoot him and piss on his corpse. I have zero interest in Ari's little army."

"You are pissy tonight," I say and change topics. "How's Heather doing?"

"She's alright, she's getting stronger every day that passes, that infection was rough going, but she's much better now. I think she does much better at home with me than in the hospital—sorry," Jake pauses. "I'm sure Kate's getting good care. She still in quarantine? What's it been six weeks?"

"Eight."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, getting hard to explain to Heath why he can't see her. How do you tell a kid that he could make his mom sick if he gets too close?"

"Shitty situation."

"Yes it is."

I get a tap on the shoulder and Hartt plops down beside me. "Hey Connor, glad you could make it."

"I always make it."

"Hartt, let's light a fire under this, I ain't got all night," Jake urges.

"Okay, okay." Hartt replies, stands up and heads to the end of the room. The room is a converted double car garage belonging to Gene Coatsworth. It roomy, tidy and heated with a small potbelly stove. A few rows of mismatched patio chairs provide ample seating for the two dozen or so who make the meetings. Mostly it's the folks who work the patrols, sometimes a few of the more involved homeowners come out as well. Gene's home is almost dead centre in the neighbourhood and has become the de facto headquarters for our group as well as a supply depot and armory. We keep a small number of long guns locked up here, as well as extra radios, flashlights, batteries, water and rations. There's always hot water on the stove for the patrols to make themselves some tea, and when available something more substantial like soup or stew.

"Take your seats please!" Hartt shouts over the conversational din. "Let's get things going so everyone can get back to doing something more important."

It takes a few minutes for everyone to fall in line before Hartt can continue. "I will try to get through this as quickly as possible, but if you have any questions speak up. First up, Freya will give us the run-down on the neighbourhood patrols."

Freya, seated in the front row, stands and turns, "Unless anyone has failed to report it, the phantom sledder has not been seen this week. There is nothing to update in that regard, we still have no idea where he is from or what he is doing. The popular theory is reconnaissance, mostly like our friends from downtown. On the supplies front, Jake took a good size deer last Sunday, he will process the meat once it has aged enough at which point we will divvy it up. See me after the meeting if you know of anyone who may require extra portions. We have two cooler's full of perch thanks to those still brave enough to get out on the lake take what you need, but eat what you take. Lastly, Lucas Philips has requested to join the patrols, he's a minor, but I told him we would put it to a vote."

"How old is he?" I ask.

"Fourteen, last month." Freya answers.

"Too young!" Someone in the back comments.

"All in favour?" Hartt says.

I look about and only count a smattering of hands, only a couple people make the whole effort and say 'yea'.

"Against?"

Over a dozen of hands shoot into the air.

"Okay," Hartt says. "Freya, can you let him know we do not need his services in the patrols at this time. However, when the weather improves I'm sure we can find lots of work for any willing and able-bodied person and he's welcome to help with food deliveries."

"Okay, will do."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, I would like to make a motion for us to go and divide up the supplies left in the Kim residence. I'm worried that either things will spoil, or mice will get in there or it will get broken into. We have lots of people in need of supplies, I think it's the right thing to do. It's a waste to just let everything sit."

I'm at once, both relieved that Freya brought it up and a little embarrassed that I didn't. This time around, the 'yeas' have it by a large margin and a small group a volunteers make plans to go into the empty house the next day and begin removing foodstuffs and useful items.

"Next up, current events," Hartt says. "The hospital still has a quarantine in place, no visitors should you have loved ones in there." Hartt avoids looking in my direction as he makes the announcement. "They are only operating the generator for a few hours a day. They have an engineering team from Frost Enterprises working on putting a biomass boiler in, if that works they will at least have heat, steam and hot water."

Heath pauses and looks over the room.

"Just get on with the bad news." Jake prompts.

Hartt grimaces. "Our last scout of the area around Raven Ridge shows renewed activity by the GFA. There was a short engagement, no injuries on our side and the GFA retreated."

"So they're probing again." Jake says.

"Sergeant Moore wants some civilian volunteers to bolster the ranks, he's talking about doing a recon-in-force manoeuvre."

"Last time we sent civilians to Raven Ridge, half of them didn't come back," I say.

"They don't call 'em the Blood Fields for nothing," someone in the back quips.

The Blood Fields lie in the general vicinity of the hamlet of Raven Ridge, which sits near the halfway point between Rose River and Grey Harbour. The hamlet is bisected by Grass creek, a north-south running waterway and natural border that cuts across three-quarters of the county on its way to the lake.

Those untended fields have seen a number of engagements between us and the GFA over the winter months. The GFA managed to occupy part of Raven Ridge for a brief time, but we held them at the aging steel truss bridge. The counter-action that ensued pretty much razed the entire hamlet.

We have used the county's geography to our advantage and have been able to deny the GFA much movement by destroying a couple small, but key bridges. However, Raven Ridge and the surrounding, newly named Blood Fields offer an efficient route to Grey Harbour.

"If we don't hold them there, they'll be knocking on our door come summer," Harrt says.

I look at Jake and see he's nodding. Frankly, I don't relish the idea of spending time in or near the Blood Fields. Nor am I keen to find myself holed-up in the shattered remnants of a farmhouse in Raven Ridge. I'd like to avoid combat entirely if possible, or when possible, and going for a stroll in the Blood Fields is a sure fire way to guarantee you will see combat. However, the reality of it is, either we fight them there sooner or fight them here later. If they try to take the bridge, we will have no alternative other than to engage them.

The meeting adjourns shortly thereafter, a few people stay to discuss topics of little interest to me. I invite Jake and Hartt back for a drink, Jake declines but Hartt is up for it.

"Say hi to Heather for us," I say as Jake departs for home. He fails to acknowledge the gesture.

"He's one angry dude." Hartt says when Jake is out of earshot.

"Seems to be getting worse," I add.

"Yeah, we all have our demons, but if I didn't know better, I'd say his are getting the best of him."

"Maybe things will turn around with Heather getting better and moving in, she always seems to have a positive effect on him."

"Let's hope so. Things can get pretty damn uncomfortable there when he gets in a bad mood."

"I've offered you the spare room, my door is always open."

"I might have to take you up on that," Hartt replies. "But I feel like I need to keep an eye on him."

"I think that might be a task for Heather, I'm sure she'd let us know if we should intervene. Maybe he needs a little space."

"Yeah, maybe you're right."

"So what's it gonna be tonight—cribbage or gin?" I ask.

"Crib."

"Sounds good."

Our feet crunch in the crusted snow, a welcome sign that the spring day-night freeze-thaw cycle is well underway. Nights are very dark and quiet, the darkness makes the world feel small and the quiet make the world feel lonely. In the distant the unmistakable BRAAAP! of a two-stroke engine revving breaks the monotonous silence.

"Phantom sledder?" Hartt opines.

"Possibly." I answer. I don't mention my sense of relief in the simple acknowledgement that we are not completely alone in the dark. Even if the phantom sledder is a person of dubious intention.