Flynn’s eyes wandered over the empty stretch of dirt where the bodies of the skinwalkers had been the night before. No trace remained. No blood. No fur. No bodies. Just the faint scent of smoke and iron hangin’ in the cool morning air. Either the pack had snuck back in the dead of night to drag their dead away, or the bodies had simply dissolved into D?o energy, vanishin’ like mist at dawn. Neither answer sat right with him.

  What did sit right was the weight of new power settling into him. He could feel it in his bones, in the way his body moved—quicker, more precise, more sure. He wasn’t sure he liked how natural it felt, as if he’d been walking in a weaker body up until now. The last fight had filled a few notches on his belt, but not as many as before. Ever since hitting Level 4, the energy came slower, like the path ahead was getting steeper. Made sense in its own way. A man doesn’t learn as much from easy fights.

  He figured he’d need time to break himself into this new strength. Like a fresh-cut saddle that needed wearing in. The fire was still smolderin’ from the night before, its embers glowin’ faintly beneath a layer of ash. Flynn crouched beside it, stirrin’ it up with the toe of his boot before adding fresh kindlin’. Flames licked to life, cracklin’ in the quiet morning air as he set the coffee pot over the heat.

  He knew full well he brewed his coffee too strong for most folks. That didn’t bother him none. Coffee was meant to be strong enough to float a horseshoe. With practiced ease, he set the beans back on, crisped up some leftover bacon, and let the familiar scent settle around him like an old friend. When breakfast was ready, he placed the food on a flat rock near the fire to keep warm, then stepped away from camp, searching for a place to sit.

  The riverbed stretched out around them, its walls high and weathered, a long-forgotten wound in the land. The trail behind them felt longer than it ought to. The road ahead, endless. He found a good-sized rock and settled onto it, coffee in hand, letting the world move slow for a while. He didn’t have many memories, but somethin’ about this moment—the quiet, the warmth of the fire, the weight of a tin cup in his hands—felt right.

  Like he’d done this before.

  He let the thought drift away as the tent flap behind him rustled, followed by the slow, deliberate sound of someone stretching the sleep out of their bones. Jed stepped out first, his face still lined with sleep, but his movements steady. He stretched, cracking his back with a deep, satisfied sigh before sniffin’ the air appreciatively.

  “Smells good, son,” he said, rubbing his hands together against the morning chill.

  Flynn tipped his cup toward the fire. “Coffee’s hot, beans are warm, bacon’s crisped up nice. Figured you two’d be wantin’ some when you finally rolled outta that tent.”

  Luann followed right behind her father, her hair a wild mess, eyes still heavy with sleep. She ran a hand through her tangled locks and let out a yawn loud enough to wake the dead.

  “You know, gunslinger,” she said, stretchin’ her arms over her head, “if you keep feedin’ us this well, I might start thinkin’ we should keep you ‘round.”

  Flynn smirked against the rim of his coffee cup. “That so? Ain’t sure if that’s a compliment or a threat.”

  Luann grinned, bending down to poke at the fire. “Bit of both, maybe.”

  Jed settled himself on an overturned crate, reaching for a tin cup and pouring his own coffee. He took a long sip, watching the steam curl into the crisp morning air before nodding toward the horizon.

  “If we push hard and don’t run into no more trouble,” he said, “we oughta make Paradise Valley by sundown.”

  Flynn took another drink, mulling over the words before nodding. “That’d be welcome. Could do with fresh supplies. Maybe a proper bed for a night.”

  Luann scoffed. “A proper bed? You goin’ soft on us already, gunslinger?”

  Flynn smirked. “Ain’t nothin’ soft about wantin’ a real mattress under my back.”

  Jed chuckled. “Boy’s got a point. I ain’t one to turn down a good bed, neither.”

  The conversation drifted into easy silence, broken only by the occasional clink of tin cups and the low crackle of the fire. They ate their breakfast without hurry, the sun climbing higher, warming the cool desert air. When the food was gone, Flynn helped pack up camp, making sure the fire was properly put out before gathering the rest of their gear.

  The land stretched wide and empty, rolling hills of dry earth and sun-bleached rock as far as the eye could see. The riverbed they’d camped in cut through the landscape like an old scar, its walls towering on either side. Though it hadn’t seen water in years, it still carried the memory of floods long gone. Flynn ran his fingers along the saddle horn as he tightened the girth on his horse, adjusting the reins before swinging himself up. The animal shifted under him, eager to move.

  Jed climbed onto the wagon, checking the oxen’s harnesses before giving them a light snap of the reins. The wagon creaked forward, wheels crunching over the dry earth. Luann settled into her saddle beside Flynn, adjusting the Henry rifle slung across her back. She glanced at him, a slow grin pulling at the corner of her mouth.

  “You ready, gunslinger?”

  Flynn let his eyes drift one last time to the trail behind them, then turned toward the horizon.

  “Let’s ride.”

  The land stretched before them like an old, cracked hide, baked hard by the unrelenting sun. Dry, rolling hills rolled out to the horizon, pocked here and there with the stubborn remnants of what used to be creeks and rivers. What little vegetation was left clung to life with a desperate kind of persistence—scraggly mesquites twisted from the wind, tufts of brittle grass rooted deep into whatever moisture still remained underground. Buzzards circled high above, their lazy spirals a promise of death to something too slow or too weak to keep moving.

  Flynn rode alongside the wagon, his horse’s hooves crunching over dry earth, the wagon wheels creaking with every bump and rut in the hard-packed trail. It was slow-going, but steady. Jed sat up front, reins in hand, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, while Luann rode a little ways off to the side, keeping an eye on the flanks.

  For a while, they just rode in easy silence. Nothing but the wind and the steady rhythm of travel. Flynn had been chewing over a thought for some time, and finally, he decided to speak on it.

  “This land always been like this?” he asked, tipping his hat back and giving a slow glance over the barren expanse.

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  Jed gave a low chuckle, but it wasn’t a happy one. “Nah, son. Used to be different. Not lush, mind you—we ain’t never had much rain out here—but there was water. Enough to keep the land goin’. Used to be creeks runnin’ through some of these gullies. Some places you could even find a patch of green. Hell, my spread had a lake on it once.”

  Flynn frowned. “What happened?”

  Jed let out a long breath and scratched at the grizzled stubble on his chin. “World changed. Somethin’ broke. I don’t claim to understand it all, but it started after the world got introduced to all this D?o nonsense.” He flicked the reins lightly, guiding the oxen over a particularly deep rut. “Some places got stronger, got more energy. More water, more food. Other places, like this? Got bled dry.”

  Flynn mulled that over. He still didn’t quite know what to make of the D?o, or this so-called ‘system’ he was tangled up in, but what Jed was saying struck a chord. A world thrown off balance. Some places thrivin’, others dyin’.

  “How’s somethin’ like that happen?” Flynn asked.

  Jed shrugged. “Dunno. But I seen some folk who claimed to. Some years back, right after that plague hit, a bunch of scientist-types rolled through. Weren’t like the usual kind—these fellers wore strange clothes, drove up in a carriage that didn’t need no horses.”

  Flynn raised a brow. “A horseless carriage?”

  Jed nodded. “Damn thing moved all on its own, hummin’ and whirrin’ like it was alive. They set up out near my place, started takin’ readings, measurin’ things, talkin’ amongst themselves in words I couldn’t follow. I remember one of ‘em sayin’ somethin’ about the world spirit bein’ outta balance, about the energy flowin’ wrong. One place gettin’ stronger while another got weaker. Said there weren’t no way a world could keep on like that forever.”

  Flynn narrowed his eyes at that. “And what’d they say would happen?”

  Jed shook his head. “Didn’t get that far. When I asked, they looked at me like I wasn’t supposed to hear it. Told me not to worry. That ‘everything was gonna work out in the end.’” He snorted. “Ain’t that just the way? The folk who know somethin’ always tellin’ the rest of us not to worry.”

  Flynn leaned back in the saddle, tipping his hat forward just enough to block the sun from his eyes. The more he heard, the less he liked. “And you believe ‘em?”

  Jed was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he shook his head. “Not a damn bit.”

  Luann, who’d been listening quietly, let out a short laugh, though there was no real humor in it. “Pa’s been talkin’ about leavin’ for a while now,” she said. “Gatherin’ up what folks are left, headin’ someplace better. Greener pastures, as he puts it.”

  Flynn glanced at the old man. “And why ain’t you?”

  Jed sighed, his grip tightening on the reins. “’Cause this land’s my home, son. Always has been. Ain’t easy to walk away from the only piece of ground you ever called yours.” He cast a long look out over the dry, broken land, the wrinkles in his face deepening. “Reckon I’ll probably die here.”

  Flynn let the words settle between them, thick as dust on the trail. He understood that kind of stubbornness, even if he wasn’t sure where from. A man ties himself to a place, to the work of his hands, and when the world starts shiftin’ under his feet, it don’t sit right to just up and leave.

  They rode on in silence for a while after that, the wind whistlin’ low over the dead earth, the sound of their travel the only thing breakin’ up the quiet.

  ****

  Flynn spotted it first, a shimmer on the horizon that looked like a mirage, just another trick of the heat and dust playing with his eyes. But something about the way it sat against the dying light of the sun didn’t feel right. He narrowed his gaze, then let his instincts guide him. With a thought, he called up Eagle Eye

  Paradise Valley. If it could still be called that.

  As they drew closer, Flynn got his first real look at the town, and it was a sorry sight. The place had the bones of a proper settlement—weathered buildings, a main street, the remnants of a stable off to one side—but the life had been bled out of it. The air hung heavy with stillness, thick as a graveside hush. A handful of folk stood around, not working, not talkin’, just... there. Listless. Their faces were lean, their clothes hanging off them loose. Hungry. Real hungry.

  No dogs barked. No horses milled about, no chickens pecking at the dust. Even the tumbleweeds rolling across the street looked like they had more life in ‘em than the people did.

  Near the front of a boarded-up store, a little girl sat in the meager patch of shade thrown by a broken porch post. A wooden toy lay in front of her—some kind of carved horse, whittled down with care—but she didn’t play with it. Just sat there, staring off at nothing, her arms limp at her sides. Flynn felt a twist deep in his gut at the sight. He wasn’t the sentimental type, didn’t reckon he had the luxury for it, but something about a child too tired to even pick up a toy was enough to make a man’s chest feel tight.

  The wagon creaked as they pulled up in front of what looked to be the saloon—the biggest building left standing. The old sign above the door still swung, though half the lettering had faded away. As soon as Jed hauled the oxen to a stop, a pair of figures stepped out onto the porch, waiting for them like they’d known they were coming.

  The man wore a gambler’s clothes, or what was left of ‘em—faded shirt unbuttoned at the throat, no vest, and no hat to shade his eyes from the setting sun. He had a look about him that said he’d been handsome once, but hard times had worn him thin. The woman at his side was done up pretty, or at least, done up in the way a woman who made her living selling smiles might be. Painted lips, rouged cheeks, hair all curled up, but it was the kind of pretty that was just a little too careful, too artificial. Flynn had seen her kind before.

  The gambler stepped forward first, hands loose at his sides, but there was a weight in his stance—like a man waiting for bad news that he already knew was coming.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” the man said, voice rough and tired. “Jed Weston, ridin’ in like the cavalry. You’re overdue, old man.”

  Jed climbed down off the wagon with a grunt, his boots kicking up little puffs of dust as he hit the ground. “I came soon as I could, Clay,” he said. “Ain’t like I was sittin’ back twiddlin’ my thumbs.” He turned and motioned to Flynn, who swung down off his horse in one smooth motion. “This here’s Flynn. He’s the reason I got here at all.”

  The woman crossed her arms, looking Flynn over. “Ain’t seen you before.”

  “That’d be because I ain’t been seen before,” Flynn replied easily, dusting himself off. “Just passing through.”

  The gambler, Clay, gave a slow nod. “Well, Flynn, reckon you picked a hell of a place to pass through.” He looked back at Jed, jaw tightening. “I won’t sugarcoat it, Jed. Most of the folk needin’ that medicine... they’re already gone. We got a handful left, but... we was holdin’ on by threads waitin’ on you.”

  Jed sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, the weight of the words hitting him deep. “Damn,” he muttered. “Damn.”

  Clay wasn’t done. “And while we’re on the subject of bad news, I s’pose I oughta mention—Bloody Bill’s wife is out there. She rode through here a few nights back, talkin’ crazy, swearin’ vengeance.”

  Jed nodded grimly. “Yeah, we ran into her husband. He’s dead.”

  That made Clay’s eyebrows go up. “Well now. That is news.”

  Jed spat into the dirt. “Don’t mean she’s gonna be any less dangerous. That woman’s got blood in her eye.”

  The saloon girl scoffed, shaking her head. “That woman’s got death in her eye. You best be careful, stranger.”

  Flynn just adjusted his hat. “Ain’t the first crazy woman I’ve dealt with. Doubt she’ll be the last.”

  Jed, looking to change the subject, clapped his hands together. “Well, we didn’t come all this way just to jaw about bad tidings. Got a whole wagon of supplies needs unloadin’. Any of y’all feel like workin’ for a drink?”

  That, more than anything, seemed to get the town’s attention. Heads lifted, tired bodies stirred, and before long, folks started drifting in, more than a few lured by the promise of whiskey. Clay gave a nod. “We can handle that.”

  What followed was a flurry of movement. Flynn found himself carrying crates alongside men who looked like they hadn’t done a hard day’s work in weeks, but now moved like a bit of purpose had come back to them. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows as the wagon was unloaded, the boxes hauled into the saloon’s back storeroom. The oxen were led off to be tended to, the spare horses stabled.

  By the time the last crate was carried inside and the wagon stood empty, the sky had turned a deep indigo, the first stars flickering into existence. The scent of dust and sweat filled the air, mingling with the rising tang of spilled whiskey as someone cracked open a bottle to celebrate.

  Paradise Valley was still breathing. Barely.