Sam

Will took a minute to catch his breath, trying to look like he was casually holding Sam by the arm rather than clinging to her for dear life. He was working up a cold sweat, trembling with weakness, and his eye moved fitfully beneath its lid. Even so, he refused to stay still for long. Once he got moving, he headed right for the group of idle Laborers who were just standing up to resume their construction work.

"Which one of you is the sergeant?" Will asked, his voice carrying an edge of cool command despite the dismal state of his body.

The militiamen wore no uniforms, many of them in sweaty undershirts or simply stripped to the waist, and had no distinguishing marks except green scarves tied around the upper left arm to make it plain from afar that they were the lord's men.

"Gone for a piss," grunted one man without more than a glance in Will's direction. "Oh. There he is."

A graying fellow came out of an adjoining alleyway, walking stiffly as he fiddled with the knot on his trousers. He stopped when he looked up and saw Will.

"You missed a bit of commotion, sir," said the first man.

"I'm aware," grumbled the sergeant. The green of his arm cloth was braided with white to demarcate his rank. "There was enough carrying on for half the damn city to hear." He gave Will a suspicious once-over and hooked his thumbs through his belt. "So. One-Eye, is it?" None of the laborers were wearing swords, but there were plenty of hammers and mallets and other such tools that were no less deadly in the hands of a Laborer.

Will nodded. "The same."

"You're supposed to be six feet under, ain'tcha?"

"Nothing a bit of digging couldn't fix."

"Good for you." The sergeant cleared his throat, spat a brownish gob off to the side. "So, what are you here gawking at me for?" His gaze shifted to Sam; her face, her sheet, back up again. "And you—why aren't you working? Where's your squad?"

"I'm not with the militia," Sam explained.

"Huh. Work for this mole rat, do you?"

She patted Will's arm. "He seems to think so, and I just haven't had the heart to tell him otherwise."

The sergeant cracked a lopsided grin at that. "Right charitable of you."

Sam made a peace sign and stuck out her tongue. "Aren't I just?"

"It seems some of Sheerhome's citizens are taking issue with my continued existence," Will said, cutting off their aside. "It's slowing me down, and threatens to cause wider unrest in the streets if it goes on. You and your squad will accompany me to the city gates, keep people from getting too excited."

The sergeant gave a snort of a laugh, crossing his arms. "Here's the thing. I honestly couldn't give a shit whose side you're on—I don't take orders from assassins." A few of the other Laborers muttered agreements as they went about their work.

"Wanna bet?" Will asked, brows shooting up.

"Not particularly. So quit wasting my time and get thee gone. You want my help? I'll say a prayer for you." He sucked on his teeth, shrugged. "A short one."

"No, you'll be coming with me."

"And why should we do that? 'Cause we're so goddamned scared of you?"

"Because it'll buy you an hour of slacking off," Will nodded toward the half-finished building, "not doing this shit. Maybe two if you slow-roll it getting back. Anyone make a fuss, as far as you knew I was in the chain of command."

The sergeant chuckled, motioning at Will with two fingers. "Now that's more like it." Hand on hip, he turned to his men. "Well, boys? What do we think? Feel like babysitting this asshole for a while?"

The general consensus went along the lines of 'Fuck it, why not?'.

"To be clear, we'll stand around and look tough," the sergeant said after sending the junior member of the squad off to fetch their weapons, "we won't be sticking anyone on your account."

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"That'll be plenty, sergeant," Will replied with a polite smile.

Anyone that might have considered giving Will more trouble quickly thought better of it when they saw that he had a militia escort. The soldiers did not take their jobs too seriously, rambling along with untucked shirts and sword belts hanging loose while they joked around and harassed one another, but Will didn't seem to mind. Their presence was deterrent enough.

Crossing the city was slow going, but they managed it without further incident. The soldiers followed them past the sparsely manned gatehouse to get some fresh air in the countryside—at least once they got past the scorched, abandoned carcass that had once been the Outside slum. The Laborers were pretty nice fellows, as it turned out, and she got to chat with a few of them before they eventually went their own way while Sam and Will curved around east, heading toward the forest through a landscape of mottled gold and black; crop fields partially ruined by the fires.

Will was clearly exhausted and weak, but refused to let her carry him or rest for more than a few minutes at a time.

"I need to do this," he said with a tight smile. He had tripped on the gravel path and was slowly working his way back up. "I've lost… so much of myself. I have to prove to myself that there's still something left."

Sam nodded, and took her hand off his chest once he had his balance back; standing close, but not so close that she was obviously hovering. He didn't like her fussing over him, even when he severely needed it. And probably a kick in the ass for good measure, but she reckoned she could just put that on his tab for now.

She did sort of understand his reasoning, though, and she was more than a little impressed with his resolve. Despite the bad leg, and the cramping stomach, and the vertigo, and the blindness, and the skill fatigue, and all the other little hurts, he kept moving. Even though he was losing his balance more and more often, he kept getting back up with barely a twinge of discomfort showing through his stony expression.

Maybe that shouldn't have surprised her. Will had always been like that, after all. Unbending in his convictions. Not invulnerable, but unbreakable all the same. She'd spent half her life trying and failing to imitate his resolve.

He was the reason for her superhero obsession. Because he had always been her hero. It was because of him that she understood just how much difference a single person could make in someone else's life.

So even though Will was swaying like a drunkard, and his breathing came ragged, and his brow was beaded with cold sweat, she didn't stop him as he got to his feet and soldiered on. Even though it cut her deep, having to see him that way. Even though she wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and do the hard part for him.

She had the feeling that he was more badly shaken than he put on. That if she intervened now, it would finally shatter his abused resolve.

They left the farmland behind and entered the dense woods east of Sheerhome around mid afternoon. The path had narrowed considerably by that point, trafficked only by Will, Mongrel, and associates. Will was clearly struggling to maintain enough of his extrasensory perception to avoid the pits and stones and exposed roots hoping to trip him up. Even when he did perceive them, his injured leg was so worn out that he struggled to maneuver over or around the little obstacles, often having to lift the leg manually with his hands.

Very reluctantly, he allowed Sam to hold onto his shoulder to help him with his balance. When his vertigo got too strong, he'd stop and lean on her for a minute until it passed. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch.

"I'm really sorry, by the way," Sam said.

"About what?" Will asked.

"You know… what happened back there. Those people—they were so awful to you."

Chuckling, Will said: "Do you really think the opinions of strangers would be enough to affect me?"

Yes, she thought, but said nothing out loud. That sort of thing would affect anyone, no matter how resilient.

"If anything, it's a good thing," Will continued. "People hate me more than ever, it's true, but it would be pointless to try and rehabilitate my image at this point. It would only make me look weak and/or incompetent. Better to lean into people's prejudices. Public opinion, when properly harnessed, is a powerful tool."

Sam pursed her lips, holding back a snide retort.

It got late while they were in the woods, and Will mentioned that he was sensing a lot of grinners around. They were keeping their distance, but he told her to be careful regardless.

"There's probably a massive infestation of them in the greater Sheerhome area by now," Will explained. He slipped on a loose rock, and she hauled him upright before he could fall. He gave a grunt in thanks, and resumed what was apparently the start of a lecture. "You see… most monsters are completely sterile. They can't reproduce naturally, and more can only be created by the influence of the Unmaking.

"Grinners are an exception, able to reproduce asexually. When a grinner has gorged itself on a large quantity of human flesh, it will go off to gestate. A few days later, it will vomit out a new grinner, which then rapidly grows to full size.

"Based on what Buck said, it seems that the grinners around here made quite the feast out of the refugees trying to flee the city. Tens of thousands, at the very least. If a grinner requires about a full human corpse to reproduce, that means a lot of new beasties running around."

"Geez…" Sam muttered. "We never catch a break, do we?"

"No, we don't," Will answered dryly. "The grinner infestation will need to be dealt with eventually to maintain the Iron Road trade route and keep the farmlands safe, but I guess it'll have to wait for the time being." He shrugged. "Who knows, if we're lucky there might be so many of them that they have to compete over territory, start killing each other off."

"You think that's likely?"

"Who knows. But I like to assume a worst case scenario to avoid disappointment, so let's say probably not."

"Yay..."

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