Treading High Water

Shakily, I stand up while breathing so heavily it sounds more like coughs than inhales and exhales. My body is so starved of oxygen that everything in my vision swims and swirls. The world around me is so squirmy that I barely even notice Dakota has just as many issues as me.

The little fox held his breath under the water just as long as I did. The poor guy is hacking up water beside me as he also struggles to recover from our several minute-long life-or-death hide-and-seek with the Hunters chasing me.

I pat him on the back a few times before slowly picking him up and holding the little guy. He's still slightly out of it from that man's concussive roars that hit us. My legs then begin to carry me southwest with stumbling steps, but I hesitate. The Hunters know we are trying to go in that direction because Johnny said so.

I should take a detour or something so that I don't come across them again. With the wounds I suffered just now, I'm surely dead should they come across me again. The bandages Heath gave me are great, but they will take at least a few days to heal me completely. The bullet wound in my calf, the gash in my back, and the damage to my arm don't seem like easy things to heal.

Shaking my head, I leave all those things for later. I need to get moving in case they come back. I don't think that trick will work again, especially if they come with more people. And now that I think about it, I don't hear the gunshots from Johnny, who was fighting Darkstep.

That is quite ominous. I hope he's okay, though. Johnny can be an ass, but I've learned he means well. That, and he took the hottest heat for us all when we split up. I can't imagine how he'd escape that crazy old lady. When I fought her for just that little bit before, it was almost like she moved faster than I could see.

One second she was there, and then she wasn't, and vice versa. Her speed is crazy. I know it has to be a combination of many skills or maybe even a combination of Quilts, if that's possible. It has to be. Otherwise, she'd have to be a 7th Sigil or something to move like that with just one.

My feet slowly carry me straight south to begin as I slowly meander my way west as well, trying to go around the Hunters and not get caught. Luckily, though, the surrounding area seems relatively safe as the Letiche's fury drove away most of the dangerous critters. That's a blessing for me as I know very little about this marsh and that which lies within.

I constantly check vines, mosses, and dark corners for anything that might be hiding, and I'm thankful for that paranoia. Several times I barely notice something alive before touching it. This whole place is an environment of poison and survival that constantly is at odds with each other.

My attention can never falter as I move through this swamp with Dakota. One mess up, and we both could die. I'm already wounded, and I'm confident that we're dead should we get ambushed before these bandages do their work.

So, even while I move carefully, I use the remaining amount of my Ether to move through the swamp under Stealth. Not a single foot is placed without the swirling clouds of Ether within my body to dampen the sounds.

But not all sound can be dampened as I'm splashing about, even if it is carefully. Around the time the sun goes down, the sounds of Sinscreak grow so much louder in volume. Everything puts me on edge, from gurgles to ominous crickets in the air. Even Dakota is constantly looking back and forth as we move.

Thankfully, we haven't been caught yet by anything actually dangerous. Only a few small snakes or toads here or there. Nothing is truly a threat to our life. But I feel like that will change with the coming of the night. Should I try to find a place to rest and stop moving? Probably. But I have no idea how to. Everything here looks the same. Greens, browns, and in-betweens meld together seamlessly, confusing me immensely.

The only way I'm able to keep my sense of direction is through the celestial bodies above. The sun aided me during the day with its obviousness, even under the canopy, but the moon is a bit harder to notice. I have to partially climb one of these trees to see it clearly. Which is not an easy task with a bum leg, one arm, and a fucked up back. But hey, gotta do what you gotta do.

I take a quick moment to do exactly this as I lose my direction because of a detour around a snake that was hanging from a tree in front of us. Dakota was the one who spotted it and growled toward it to inform me.

And after a few minutes of painful and stressful climbing with a slip here or there, I make it to the top of this mangrove tree that grows from the knee-deep water. I take a quick glance at the moon to reorient myself, and then I start to head down. But right before I do, I take a few minutes to look around for any danger from this vantage. Nothing is obvious to me at first, but something ahead in the direction I'm about to go catches my eye. A tiny flicker of movement behind a tree, one that is larger than any other I've seen so far out here on my own.

I slide down the tree and slowly make my way to it. There is a chance it's Otto or Blake. It's highly likely I found them as we are all heading the same way, albeit with slight detours to avoid capture. They might be wounded and need my help. But there is an equal chance that it's one of the Hunters as well or even a dangerous monster that lurks in this place. I'm not sure, so I take my time.

Slowly, I creep in a roundabout way. Gradually the figure that alerted my senses comes into view as I near. My heart sinks as I recognize who it is.

A man is slumped against a mangrove with blood covering his whole body, dying the surrounding water red. His right hand is clenched around a necrotic wound on his stomach, and his left is on his neck, which has a similar injury. Both look absolutely terrible, with a foul smell that emits from them.

Johnny's eyes are half-lidded and barely open as the man doesn't even acknowledge me walking up to him with my shambling steps. He's so out of it that he is unconsciously staunching his wounds with his hands.

I drop to my knees in front of him and pull out all my bandages from Heath, using them all with hesitation on the man before me. I wrap several around his neck after moving his hands and many more on the rest of his body as I realize how many wounds he is covered with.

Every last one of my wraps is used on him as I try my best to stop the bleeding and the spread of whatever Darkstep got him with. A kind of black tissue spreads from every wound he has as if he was hit with pestilence manifest. I'm forced to simply cut away this tissue to save the healthy tissue.

And I thought I was wounded. Damn, Johnny. What did that lady do to you!? How did she do this to you!? You about killed me with a single second on the clock, yet you… you've been reduced to this… How did you even get away from her in this state?

I pull up his eyelids to see if he's awake or not, and I see that his eyes are rolled all the way back. I expect him to be unconscious with these wounds, but the thing that shocks me is that his eyes are entirely red, almost as if they are about to burst, with slight golden veins running alongside the edges of the eyeball. I don't know what any of that means, but I worry for the man's vision. Hopefully, Darkstep didn't leave him blind. The man is out cold, but at least his heart is still beating. I spend almost a full hour making sure that the man is alright before I rest, sitting beside him. And as I do, I realize that almost nothing he brought with him is still around.

The only things remaining of his belongings are spent cases that have rolled off his clothing and his Colt that has sunk down into the water beside him. I have so many questions, but none of them will be answered. The man is barely alive, let alone capable of answering my endless inquiries.

I lean my head back as I talk to Dakota.

"Looks like you've lost your spot on my shoulders. Gonna have to carry Johnny that way, buddy."

Like a complaint, I hear a low moan come from the fox as he splashes a bit of water toward me.

"Sorry, buddy. And I hate to ask, but can you watch out for a bit? I need to sleep. You napped here or there on our walk here."

I give the fox some motions as if I'm going to sleep, and the fox moves over beside me and sits on a dry part of the tree I'm sitting against, looking out. I nod at his movement and pull out another of Heath's sleep aids. No way I'm falling asleep naturally like this. No way in hell, but I need to. I'm hurt, and resting is the only way I get better.

My head leans back and rests on the mangrove as I put the needle into my arm, but right before I put myself to sleep, I remember something. Something so vital that I can't believe I didn't immediately think of it when I saw Johnny.

The compass that Darkstep had that could track Johnny.

I need to go. Now. Right this fucking second!

With a burst of renewed energy, I place the syringe away and move over to pick Johnny up as a bit of pain at being unable to taste the sweet release of sleep. Dakota looks at me curiously as I do so, struggling to put the man on my shoulder with one arm.

"Johnny's being tracked. We must go right now and get to the Laughing Reeds as fast as possible. Sorry buddy, but he's gonna get my shoulder instead of you. Can't be dragging him through the water."

I hear a groan come from Dakota as he stretches and moves back toward me, once more entering the water of Sincreak that is just about everywhere except the higher trunks of trees.

With a huff and a groan of my own, I manage to put Johnny on my back. He's heavy. Very heavy, especially with my fucked up leg. But I won't put him down. It'd be easy. So, so, very easy to just leave him and walk away. But I won't. Maybe I would have had this occurred before that conversation on the rock with him. But not now, after I figured out how vulnerable this man is.

He acts all tough, but in reality, he's doing this all while hanging on by a thread. Trying to make a better world despite there being no other reason for him to do so besides his own morality. His daughter is gone, and most of his friends have died or left him. Few remain, and yet, the Gunfighter will still draw his gun.

I respect that. I respect him far too much now to leave him to die in this hellhole of a swamp. I respect him enough to die with him should we get caught by that crazy old lady.

Demanding steps come as Dakota follows behind me, struggling to walk with this extra weight. And it's not just physical weight that I'm working to carry either. It feels as though I temporarily take upon his responsibility and the weight he holds for the rest of us as a leader.

My steps become a bit heavier yet not actually producing any extra force. It's a weird phenomenon that I think I only notice because of the essence of my Sigil. It seems to be all about restrictions, responsibilities, and the mind.

I try to ignore this weight as I force my way through the swamp, desperately wading the waters southwest.

Dakota takes up the mantle of battling any dangers as we walk. The fox catches and kills several serpents, frogs, lizards, and even a tiny crocodile as I shuffle my way forward. Every time I want to help, but I am simply too weak. My muscles feel like lead, and my mind is like the mud beneath my feet.

Thankfully Dakota is a bit rested up from earlier to defend me for a few hours. But eventually, he begins to grow weary as well, minor injuries stacking up alongside the exhaustion of moving through the high water. It goes up to his chest in some areas, after all. We become so severely tired at some point that we both just fall over near a fallen log and rest on it. Before I take my rest, I put Johnny on it as well, but not as carefully as I should have. I feel a twinge of guilt at how hard he lands on the log, but I can't help it. My arm won't even move anymore, and I don't have any room for Ether to get it moving forcefully.

For the first time in likely over a month or so, I fall asleep without the help of Heath's pain medicine.

********************

I jump awake to the sound of ghostly screams that resonate in frequency and gunshots that are followed by bestial roars. I look to my right and see Dakota already primed and looking around for threats, then I look to my right and see Johnny breathing shallowly.

With a glance upward, I see that I only fell asleep for an hour or so at most. The moon was almost set when we collapsed, and the sun barely rises now.

I wipe the grogginess from my eyes with my hand and stand to attention. The one thing that seems to always be able to destroy any semblance of sleepiness from me is danger. It must be an instinctual habit or something.

The screams sound like they are coming from every direction simultaneously, but the gunshots are southwest. The path that everything seems to be on at the moment. Otto or Blake are likely the sources of that. Possibly even both of them. Blake does have that one ghost under her control, after all, and Otto carries around many different types of weapons.

After spending a moment to shake the rust off of my arm and to get myself into motion, I pick Johnny back up with a heave. Then, I start walking toward the danger, looking to join in the fun. Or not so much fun. Everything has a little twinge of hurt to it, after all. My rest was cut short. Only an hour or two at most by the weight of my eyelids. I know Dakota feels the same as the little guy groans, standing up beside me.