The Rifleman - Ch.37 (Patreon)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Malia’s trail

Wesley stepped out of the portal, finding a much cleaner and nicer room than the ones he had seen so far. The previous Outpost was dusty and run down, built of dark stones with moss creeping around the edges.

The contrast with the pure white stones edged in a deep crimson color was stark but was at least hopeful. As was the complete lack of dust. It gave the whole place a professional air, even if it did lack the personal touch. Hank had at least turned up to see who had arrived, but the ornate wooden door in this room stayed resolutely closed. 

Wes pushed through the door, finding a short corridor that led out into a spacious common room decorated with comfy couches, chaise longues, and a curtained area to one side draped with red velvet curtains.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the door chimes,” A woman emerged from the curtains when he coughed loudly. She was starkly different from Hank in every way. Her delicate features, large eyes, and pale skin made her appear ethereal, even if her frame was the rival of any pinup Wes had ever seen. She gestured to the chimes, positioned just above the door where anyone opening it would be sure to send them into a spin. 

“I, uh, came the other way,” Wesley replied, noting the delicate fall of her hair onto her shoulders was artfully hiding a blade at her back. “Do you need the sword often?”

“Ah, a Delver’s Guild member?” She asked with a glint in her eye. “How nice, three in one week.”

“I am,” Wesley nodded, noting she had not answered his question, but her body language was relaxed and open, which meant she probably wasn’t planning to attack him. “Is Malia Kerr here?”

“Claire Delune, it's a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled, ignoring another question.

“Claire of the Moon?” Wesley asked. “Or from the Moon?”

Claire stopped. “Wait. Did you just—”

They stared at each other for a moment before both spoke at once.

“You’re from Earth!”

“Where are you from?” 

“Wait, you go first!”

They looked at each other and laughed awkwardly. 

“Sorry, go ahead,” Wesley offered after almost a minute of silence. 

“Where are you from, and when?” She asked.

“England, what do you mean by when?” Wes asked. “I’ve not been here too long.”

“Yeah, but what year was it when you left?” She demanded. “Please?”

“Uh, 2024,” Wesley answered, slightly confused. “Why?”

“I’ve been here two years,” She sighed. “I was drafted in 1989.”

“What the fuck?” Wesley asked.

“Others told me it was the same with their worlds,” Claire sighed. “Time moves slower here. I guess I just hoped…”

“Shit, that means….” Wesley felt all his hopes of finding a way back vanishing before he was even aware he had them. If what Claire said was true, he was screwed. Even if he did find a way back, he would have been missing for years. Decades if he couldn’t do it in under two years.

Wesley sat back into the large, comfy recliner and sighed.

“Really?” Claire asked. 

“Seriously,” Wesley confirmed. “After the eighties, it was all downhill for movies. At least as far as comedies or horror.”

“It probably seems like a weird thing to worry about,” Claire blushed.

“No, I get it,” Wesley admitted. “I’ve been trying not to think too much about what I’m missing.”

The two had been chatting for a half hour, covering what Claire had missed since she left. The woman seemed to have endless questions and seemed in no hurry to end the conversation, which he wouldn’t be either, at least usually. 

“About Malia?” Wesley asked. “She’s with the Errant Rangers.”

“Oh, right,” Claire slapped her forehead. “She left last night to go check on something and never came back.”

“Wait, what?” Wesley sat forward. “Do you know where she went?”

“East is all I know,” Claire shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll be back eventually.”

“Yeah,” Wesley got to his feet. “But I might go look anyway. Did her party go with her?”

“No party,” Claire shrugged. “Apparently, they didn’t make it. I wasn’t really paying attention, to be honest.”

“Any clue what she’s after?” Wes asked, feeling a little irritated with the complete lack of interest Claire was showing. 

“Nope,” Claire huffed. “If you’re leaving, I might go back to bed. Just make sure to come back soon; I want to hear more about Earth.”

“Sure, sure,” Wesley said as he hurried to the front door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If Malia comes back before me, let her know I’m looking, okay?”

“No problem,” Claire waved as she walked back toward the curtains. “Good luck with your search, or whatever.”

Shaking his head as he opened the door, Wes stepped out of the Outpost and into about a foot of snow.

“Fuck, this place is cold!” Wesley snapped as he trudged through the deep snow, following the only set of tracks he could see. It was almost certainly heading East, even if it did meander a bit. 

Wes had left the Outpost behind about an hour ago, having been surprised to find it was something like a small step pyramid in shape. There had been a multitude of tracks heading into the place, but only one set that left, and they even went in the right direction. 

His initial enthusiasm had quickly waned as the cold bit into him, walking through an endless landscape of snow, snow, and more snow. Not a stone, tree, or change in elevation anywhere to be seen. 

Well, at least as far as he could see. 

Vision vanished into the light fog, the sky and land blurring together into one bright, white glare that even Hawk Eye seemed to struggle with. 

“At least you two look fine,” Wes grumbled as he watched his two simulacrums marching happily along on top of the snow, unaffected by the chill winds as far as he could see. “Lucky, wispy— ah, fuck me!”

Wesley Lancaster, college dropout and failed actor, Rifleman extraordinaire, finally figured out he was being a moron and activated Were-wisp. 

The cold vanished as he stepped up onto the snow and shook his head. One of these days, he was bound to run out of luck and do something this idiotic in front of other people, effectively ruining his reputation in one fell swoop. 

“We tell no one about this, ever!” Wesley admonished his sims and took off, sliding effortlessly across the snow as his speed built. A quick check showed his sims keeping pace easily, so he pushed it further, following the blurred tracks in the snow. 

Only a half hour later, as the land began to curve gently upward, Wesley heard the sound of something steel slamming into stone. Not wanting to lose the tracks, he kept following, coming across chunks of ice and piles of snow as the tracks became complicated and erratic. 

Five minutes later, he found Malia Kerr.

She was clinging to a small ledge in a giant wall of ice with one hand, her other being busy swinging her massive greatsword wildly at the lumpy, icebound forms below her.  Blood splattered the snow, bright red against the white, and she looked exhausted, her arms shaking and tension in every line of her face. 

“Malia!” Wesley called. “Hang on!”

“Is that a fucking joke?” Malia snarled. “I’ll kick your ass, whoever you are!”

Wesley chuckled to himself as he cast Improved Flare, using four charges and pushing the energy into his hands. It moved significantly easier than before his Tier Ups and even seemed a little brighter as he focused it into two glowing gauntlets over his hands. 

“You two, kill the elementals, use Hot Shots!” Wesley kicked off from the snow, surging forward as he closed on the elementals. So he named another one of his own made-up skills, so what? 

His glowing fist connected with the closest ice elemental, sending it reeling as a burst of steam erupted from the blow. He immediately had the attention of the group, and they closed on him just as the first two glowing, slightly see-through bullets slammed into another icy form, shattering it.

Seeing the difference between the two hits, Wesley changed strategy. He gave the next elemental a powerful jab with the heat energy pulled back, then followed up with another, forcing the energy into the cracks. 

The ice elemental shattered, and Wesley grinned as he moved on to the next. 

“Okay, that was impressive.” Malia groaned with relief as she dropped to the snowy ground. “Maybe I can forgive the joke after all.”

Wesley approached her, but she swung her sword in the way, instantly suspicious.

“Who are you, and why did you help me?” Malia growled. “I may be tired, but I will still kick your ass.”

“It’s me, Wesley,” Wes said, dropping Were-wisp as he held up his hands. “You gave me a bit of advice when I first arrived at the Unnamed City?” Things were about to get really embarrassing if she didn’t remember him. He did not get Drafted to another world just to end up looking like some creepy stalker. 

“Players’ Ass!” Malia laughed and slumped. “What are you even doing here?”

“Mind if I heal you while I talk?” Wesley asked, “No offense, but you look like you might die.”

Malia chuckled again and waved him forward.

Wesley cast two charges of Lesser Regenerate and one of Emergency Heal, watching the glow of the latter settle deep into her injured arm.

“You did say to come find you when I made it to Tier Six,” Wesley said with a weak smile. “And, well, here I am.”

“Oof,” Malia winced. “No way you made it to Tier Six already without every step of the way being a nightmare.”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty fair assessment,” Wesley admitted. “Now you’ve stopped bleeding, shall we get you somewhere warm before you finish freezing to death?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Malia nodded, and he helped her up, supporting her as they limped away from the wall. He was planning to use My Domain, but the area near the wall felt… strange. He had felt the same thing in the cities, so he guessed it meant the land was already claimed; luckily, he knew it wasn’t too far until the feeling faded, so they wouldn’t have to travel far.  

“So, how have you been?” Wesley asked, making Malia chuckle. 

“Yes, you can join the Errant Rangers,” Malia rolled her eyes. “If you still want in?”

“I didn’t come all this way out to a glorified ice cube for nothing,” Wesley smiled. 

“And here I thought it was my charming personality,” Malia joked before starting to cough.

“This is far enough,” Wesley said.

“For what?” Malia frowned. “I really do need to get somewhere warm.”

“My Domain!” Wesley called, and the hex they were on rippled as the safe room slowly rose from the ground. “It was a hectic few weeks,” Wesley noted as she gaped at him.

“Tell me all about it in the warm,” Malia said with a shiver, and he helped her into the safe room.

Ten minutes later Malia was soaking in a warm tub set up behind the screen with the assistance of the Sara sim. Wesley had no idea if they even really had genders as sims, but he went with caution, which was the better part of valor in this case. 

Plus, the male one still looked like him, which just couldn’t send a good message.

As for him, Wes was telling the story of his adventures while he cooked a huge meal for the pair of them, the better to chase away the cold. 

So far, Malia had only commented once when he got to the bit about telling the Watchmen the truth. She had groaned and called him a fool.

So, great second first impression in the bag.

By the time he had finished his story, Malia and he were both stuffed to the gills with meat and nice, fresh vegetables, courtesy of Mayor Earnshaw… sort of. 

“You’ve been through a lot,” Malia said when he finished. 

“Seems to be a common theme in this world,” Wesley said with a shrug. “At least I lived,” He cast a glance at the Sara sim, who was busy cleaning Malia’s armor for her. “Not everyone is that lucky.”

“True,” Malia sighed. “Look, I don’t really know you, but you did save my life, so can I assume that if I climb into that bed, you aren’t going to try and join me?”

“You’re fine,” Wesley said simply. “I’m not the kind to try something like that.”

“Good,” Malia stretched her back, which popped audibly. “In that case, I’m going to sleep for a few hours.”

“Rest well,” Wesley nodded to her.

Wes spent the next hour or two carefully repairing Malia’s armor and sword, using a few shields around himself to block the noise, which seemed to work. Next, he changed out the bath water, had a bath himself, and then decided to have a quick nap. Sleep was something he was needing less and less as he Tiered up, or maybe it was the Tempering? Either way, he still enjoyed it, and even if his body didn’t tire as quickly, his mind still liked the rest. 

//////////////

“Show off,” Malia muttered good-naturedly as Wesley wandered along on the top layer of snow, his wisp form keeping him safe from the cold. 

Wesley chuckled and cast an Improved Flare, letting the energy stay diffuse in his whole body, melting the snow and warming the area around him.

“Okay, that, I like,” Malia said. “You’re kind of an all-purpose party member, you know?”

“I try my best,” Wesley said with a happy smile. “So, once we get back to the Outpost, what’s the plan?” He was getting more used to the echoey effect of his wisp form voice now, even coming to appreciate the harmonics it added. 

“Send a report, then move on,” Malia said confidently. “We have to try and catch that bastard.”

“Good point,” Wesley noted. “Who, or what, are we after? I didn’t have much time to gather information before I left.”

“A golem,” Malia growled. “Selling cursed potions for its master. The damn thing is still running on automatic even though the bastard who made it has been dead for years.”

“What do the potions do?” Wesley asked.

“Wipes their minds and makes them desperate to get to the tower the maker used as a slave pen. The tower is gone, as is he, but the Golem's potions still carry the curse. Everyone goes to that spot, even if it is currently a lava flow or a lake. The ones who survive the trip simply stand there until they die.” Malia spat off to the side of the path, “We don’t even know how long it has been happening, given how many of the people were eaten, boiled, drowned, or changed when the zone control did.” 

“Fuck, that’s grim,” Wesley grimaced. “What about the rest of your group?”

“The other two are dead,” Malia growled. “Golem got one, the other drank one of the potions—thinking it was one of his—during the fight and promptly turned and ran off a cliff.”

“Sorry,” Wesley said lamely. He knew well enough how little words mattered with losses like that, but he still wanted to say something, at least.