Ginny filled Brendon in about the condition she’d discovered on the deputy’s sheet when she analyzed him, and what she thought that meant while she inspected the bars of their cell. Her musings about whether she’d survive a gunshot wound earlier had gotten her thinking, and her thinking had dragged a couple of recent memories forward. That in turn had given her what sounded like a ridiculous and stupid idea when it first occurred to her, but she figured it wouldn’t hurt to check.
She thought back to when she’d rescued the kids from a Stitch Beast at their car. They’d said it had fully flipped their car when it first attacked before giving up when it couldn’t figure out how to get inside. And then, when it had slammed into it when it showed up for the second time, it had sent the upside-down car sliding through the gravel.
So, Stitch Beasts are strong. Appropriately, monstrously strong. And yet… Her thoughts trailed off, as the image of the Stitch Beast straining against the harpoon while she planted her feet and held it back ran through her head. Ginny had been wondering about her stats for a while. She hadn’t been able to see anyone else’s, so she honestly had no idea how she compared to normal. She was pretty sure her Luck was significantly higher, but what about her other stats? How strong am I? The image of the Stitch Beast straining against her flickered in her mind. Strong enough to hold off a Stitch Beast. She considered the iron bars of the cell they were in and wrapped her fingers around one experimentally. Strong enough to bend some iron bars?
Feeling a little ridiculous, she strained against the bar that her hand was wrapped around. There was no response, or any sense of give to the bar, and she frowned. She glanced over at the deputy, who had moved from the coffee machine to one of the desks and was writing something on several pieces of paper intently. Shifting, Ginny planted her feet while trying to make it look like she was leaning against the bars for support and shoving forward with her shoulders down. As the bars still showed no sign of moving, she was ready to give up and try to figure something else out, she felt a light tickling sensation on the hand on the bar. She blinked at a light coating of white dust on her hand, and as she stared at it in confusion, another trickle of dust fell onto her hand from above. Glancing up at the ceiling, she sucked in a breath. The bars of the cell were sunk directly into the floor and the ceiling, and the mortar surrounding the top of the bar she was leaning against had a thin spiderweb of cracks running through it.
Ginny jumped, startled, as a coarse sounding bark of laughter sounded. She looked through the cell the kids were in to the other side, where the obvious drunk had been, and was still, lying on the cot facing the wall. He let out another somehow slurred sounding laugh, then shifted in place, before starting to snore. Ginny looked from him to the deputy, who had looked up from whatever paperwork he was furiously doing.
“Something funny? Doing something funny? Are you DOING something!? Something funny!?” The deputy pushed himself up, sending the papers he’d been focused on flying everywhere as he did. Ginny quickly stepped away from the bar, surreptitiously wiping the dust off on her shorts. She quickly raised her hands, Brendon following suit, as the deputy stormed back over to the cells, his gun coming out of his holster.
“Who’s being funny!? Who’s laughing!? Who’s laughing funny!?” The deputy pointed his gun at Brendon, then Ginny, and before he could point it at either of the kids in the cell next to them, Ginny quickly stepped forward. “No one’s being funny. It was a cough. Nothing funny about it.”
The deputy stared back at her wildly, gun shaking. “A cough? You’re coughing?” He stepped closer to the cell, gun still trained on her, bobbing his head up and down as he stared at her. “No. Is that a joke? Are you joking? Are you joking with me!?” Ginny winced, shaking her head. “I’m not joking. No one is joking, and no one is being funny!” The deputy took a half-step back as she raised her voice into a shout, and then his eyes narrowed. “Are you SHOUTING? Are you SHOTUING at me!? Are YOU-“ The deputy’s new rant was cut off by the slam of the front door to the station being booted open. Like a scene right out of her movie, some dramatic event occurred just in the nick of time to save her from finding out exactly how much damage getting shot actually did. Of course, even this new reality she found herself in wasn’t that contrived, and the story unfolding wasn’t just hers.
Which was why when the slamming of the door startled the deputy, even as he spun around toward the source of the noise, he pulled the trigger he’d been squeezing anxiously, the bang of the gun going off echoing through the station as he shot Ginny in the stomach.
***
- That was apparently how much damage getting shot in the stomach by a handgun did. The force of it sent her stumbling back to collapse in a heap against the wall, and she felt fresh blood joining the mess of gore on the front of her t-shirt, pumping between the fingers she’d clapped over the wound reflexively. But, despite all that, only 34 damage.
It still hurt like heck though.
“Virginia!”
“Ginny!”
Norah and Brendon both screamed or shouted her name, the latter quickly crouching down next to her, while the former pressed against the bars separating their cells, watching her fearfully in a stark contrast to the little girl’s usual blank demeanor.
“I’m okay.” Ginny quickly gasped out, letting out a hiss of pain as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, her back pressed against the wall. “Dang it that stings!” Trying to bend around and get a look at the side of her stomach, she quickly gave up on trying to tell apart the new gore from the old gore on her side and settled for gently probing the area with her fingers. As near as she could tell, the bullet had just grazed her, leaving a then gash on her side, as opposed to a hole in her stomach.
That was lucky, I guess. Ginny glanced around the cell, giving Brendon a nod to indicate she really was okay, before glancing forward to the front of the station. It would have been luckier if there was enough room to run around in here and use Run it Off.
“What the hell are you doing, Doug? Who are these people?” A large man with dark skin and a bald head, currently slick with sweat under the fluorescent lights of the police station, was gesturing wildly at the cells in the back while looming over the deputy, who was holding the gun he’d just shot Ginny with loosely in one hand. He looked embarrassed and confused, but there was noticeably less twitching and jerky movement. Ginny activated Analyze on him again curiously.
Name: Douglas Dearns
Race: Human
Age: 39
Conditions: Tired, Jittery, Scared, Resolve of the Blue
Ginny raised an eyebrow. The Spiraling condition from the unknown Ravager was gone, replaced with something called Resolve of the Blue, which she focused on for more details, a second blue screen obligingly appearing in front of her.
Resolve of the Blue: The unwavering authority of a figure representing law and order has bolstered your resolve. You are receiving a bonus to resist fear and anxiety-based effects, and a large bonus to resist mental compulsion and domination effects.
She glanced at the large man, who was in the process of ordering Doug to open the cells, a task the deputy turned to with nervous and mechanical motions. Between that and him being the likely source of the condition the deputy had received, Ginny assumed this was the sheriff. She cast another quick Analyze.
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Name: Gregory Turms
Race: Human
Age: 44
She looked up at the large man as he strode into the cell as soon as the deputy opened the door. I can’t see his conditions. Before she could consider what that meant, he was crouching next to her, opposite Brendon. He examined her side, then nodded, looking up at her. “Looks like it just grazed you. Doug, grab the first-aid kit. Are you alright, young lady?” Ginny gave him a thumbs up in response. “I’m okay. Although I’d be better if I could get out of this cell.”
He nodded quickly, standing and then reaching down to pull her to her feet. The sheriff nodded at her, gesturing at the open door to the cell, and then glancing at Brendon.
“Brendon. It’s good to see you, boy. With everything going on, I was worried tonight would be the last of your ‘nature walks’,” The sheriff stressed the words, and a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “What with everything going on tonight. I was going to try and get Doug or someone out to look for you in the morning, but with so much happening…” The sheriff trailed off then shrugged apologetically. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
Brendon shifted uncomfortably as Ginny stepped out of the cell, immediately being wrapped in a hug by Norah, the little girl ignoring the blood that coated her face and hair as she pressed against Ginny’s side. Thankfully, it was the unwounded one. Ginny patted her on the head comfortingly as Brendon gathered himself and responded to the sheriff.
“How’d you know I’d be out in the woods tonight? And what do you mean by ‘with everything going on tonight?’” Brendon pointed at deputy Doug, who was struggling out from a closet on the side of the room with a suitcase-sized white case with a red cross on the front. “Doug said you told him this was all some kind of drug thing.”
The sheriff shook his head slowly. “You’re always out in the woods on the first weekend after you buy a fresh bag of reefer, son. And Jimmy is always over at the Stumbling Log spending all the money you just gave him trying to get himself pickled. Saw Jimmy there yesterday doing just that, so…” The sheriff shrugged. “As to this being a drug thing, I did tell Doug that. Needed to tell him something, man was hyperventilating about all these blue screens appearing. I think that jester said something to him.” He lowered his voice at the end, glancing at the deputy, who had managed to extricate the first-aid kit and was lugging it towards them. “Truth was I didn’t really believe it myself even when I said it. And now…” The sheriff reached down to his belt, snapping open a large pouch on one side, and pulling out something, holding it up to Brendon. Ginny took a step closer to get a better look, and her eyes widened slightly.
Still covered in traces of a familiar black ichor, the sheriff had a small pot made of some kind of grey ceramic, one side of it completely shattered. Venn’dar had shown her something similar when he had asked her about the Stitch Beast she’d killed. Based on that, she could guess what the sheriff had seen.
He gently sat it down on a desk next to him, giving it another glance before turning to take the first-aid kit from the deputy. “…Well, now I think things are a fair bit worse than all that.”
The sheriff paused in the middle of pulling a roll of gauze out of the kit. Brendon’s face was a mask of confusion as he looked back and forth between the sheriff and the cracked pot. Something on Ginny’s face must have looked like recognition, since his expression tightened some as he started cleaning the wound on her side, her shirt hiked up to her ribs. The shirt had taken the worst of her repeated gore spattering today, but it still wasn’t exactly the kind of clean you wanted an open wound around.
“You’ve seen them, haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question, but Ginny nodded in response anyway.
“Yeah. Out in the woods, and on the road.” Ginny glanced at the two kids hovering around watching her get patched up. “They’re called Stitch Beasts.” To her surprise, the sheriff nodded in response. “Noticed that. Bit on the nose.” Ginny shrugged, and the sheriff finished cleaning up her side as best as he could and started winding a bandage around her torso. The deputy responsible stood off to the side, shifting nervously from foot to foot and avoiding looking at Ginny as much as possible. She thought about telling him it wasn’t his fault, probably. She thought about telling him that an ancient supernatural story ascended into some kind of evil authority figure for an even more ancient mysterious system that was in the process of destroying their world for fresh reading material had possibly controlled him with magic.
She thought about saying that.
Instead, as soon as the bandage was tied off, and the sheriff was leaning back, she pushed herself to her feet. “We need to get out of here. The Grace Period is going to run out soon, and we need to find a safe place before then. Preferably one with a Depths Door that leads to a shop.”
The sheriff didn’t respond immediately, his eyes having taken on that distant look of someone viewing a Depths screen. Brendon cleared his throat. “I’m all for another visit to the melon man, but I don’t know if we’re gonna find anywhere more secure than the frigging sheriff’s office.” Ginny hesitated, scanning the room around them. It wasn’t exactly a fortress, with the wide windows and glass double doors leading into the front. More importantly, she still wasn’t sure where that Spiraling condition had come from, but it had definitely gotten worse while they were in the police station. With that in mind, she didn’t want to be anywhere near here. Luckily, the sheriff shook his head, his eyes coming back into focus. “Hmm, a level-up for First Aid. Makes sense, that’s the first time I’ve patched someone up than the annual training the whole office did last winter.” He focused on Ginny. “Lotta folks got woken up by that initial message and ended up in a right panic after that jester got done terrifying everyone.” He rose up to his default state of towering over everyone. “Lots of calls in, ended up getting those that didn’t go right back to sleep gathered in one place.”
“Where?”
The sheriff gestured for the deputy to follow, and the smaller man quickly and gratefully fell in behind him. “The only place still open at this hour.”
Brendon groaned. “The bowling alley?”
Ginny looked back and forth between them. “Seriously?” Brendon rolled his eyes, and the sheriff shrugged. “It’s big enough, somewhere everyone in town knows, they were already open, and people can get something to eat. Or drink, in many of their cases.”
“Norah and Mark’s dad headed for town after their car broke down. Is he there?” The sheriff shook his head in response. “I don’t know. One of my other deputies was coordinating things there, I was on patrol around the town, checking in on people we hadn’t heard from.” His expression tightened but he quickly pressed onwards. “We can check when we get there. It’s where you all should be anyway.” He frowned sternly at the deputy next to him, who stuttered in response.
“They were… she’s covered in blood, sir! And she was armed!” The sheriff looked back at Ginny, eyebrow raised in question. She shrugged in response. “Most of it is mine. And what isn’t didn’t come from…” The image of Rodney being squeezed by the Blood Drinker Queen until he exploded, showering her face in a hot spray of blood, flashed through her mind “…people.” She inclined her head toward the Stitch Beast pot on the desk meaningfully. “I need to get my weapons back; they’re in the trunk of the cruiser outside.”
The sheriff hesitated for a second, then nodded, ignoring the look of consternation on his deputy’s face. “Going to have some questions for you, young lady, and you Brendon, but it can wait until we get to the bowling alley. I’ll radio ahead and check if anyone’s seen Mr. Miller tonight.” Turning to the doors at the front, he started to stride forward.
“What about him?” Ginny gestured back to the only still occupied cell. The sheriff turned and looked, then did a double take. “Damn it Doug, how many people you got locked up tonight?”
The deputy raised his hands defensively. “Just a drunk sleeping it off, sir. Was relieving himself on a stop sign a few blocks over, with an empty bottle in one hand and a half-empty bottle in the other. He passed out right after I brought him in, hasn’t moved since then. Wouldn’t know he’s still alive if it were for the snoring.”
The sheriff considered for a moment, then held out a hand to the deputy. “Keys.” The deputy sighed and deflated but quickly unclipped the ring of keys from his belt and handed them to the sheriff. After pulling one large silver one off, the sheriff tossed the keys across the room, where they landed in the occupied cell with a loud jingle. The deputy stared at him in horror.
“Sir!”
The sheriff shook his head. “I know, deputy. But this is shaping up to be a crazy night, and I’ll not run the risk of the poor man waking up sobered up with no one here to let him out. And I’ll certainly not run the risk of leaving him unconscious with the door standing open. We’ll collect your keys later. Or get you a new set.”
The deputy nodded, although he continued to sulk as they all filed out of the police station, stopping briefly to retrieve Ginny’s harpoon and Blood Drinker’s Bane from the trunk of the cruiser they’d been brought to the sheriff’s office in. The sheriff hesitated even longer when he saw just what Ginny had been armed with, his gazing lingering on Blood Drinker’s Bane. He shook his head as she retrieved her weapons, slamming the trunk closed. “Crazy night”, he repeated.
Rather than have all of them cram into the backseat, they divided themselves between the two cruisers, with Ginny and Norah riding with the sheriff, and Brendon and Mark with the deputy. At the little girl’s insistence, Ginny let her ride in her lap up front, which the sheriff allowed after making sure the seatbelt could get around the two of them. The harpoon took up most of the back seat, while Blood Drinker’s Bane was back in her vest pocket.
The familiar weight of the knife, which Ginny felt more than physically, eased the growing sense of anxiety some, but not entirely, and she stared steadily out of the front of the cruiser, worrying her lip between her teeth.
We’re almost out of time.
The appropriateness of that thought got driven home less than a minute later, Ginny feeling Norah stiffen slightly in her lap, and the sheriff quickly stopping the cruiser in the middle of the street, as large blue screens appeared in front of all of them.
Warning! Grace Period ends in five minutes!
They almost made it.