The Scrapyard Dungeon Chapter 6: Cleaning Up (Patreon)

While he hated the idea of going back outside, Huck needed some things. At least he could turn on the porch lights now and look out the windows first. He left the table jammed between the two doors and went out the front. Houses were close together in this part of town. A side yard was the three feet between one house and the next. In some neighborhoods, you didn't even have that; one rowhouse started where the other stopped. They had a bit of grass and a porch in front and a larger back yard where you saw everything your neighbors were doing, and they saw you. At least as long as your neighbors were there. On either side of Huck were abandoned shells, with rotting plywood covering the first-story windows and doors. The weeds between the houses were a yard tall and tangled with wild raspberry vines and ivy. Once a year, Huck brought out a gas-powered weed cutter with a steel saw blade attachment. It was noisy and heavy, but it easily cut through weeds, scrub trees, and bushes. For now, he just pushed on through to the back.

He needed a bag of dog food. Otherwise, they'd eat the sofa cushions and anything else they could chew. Junkyard dogs don't get regular meals and tend to eat anything that looks even remotely edible. Auggie was worse; labs would eat anything, edible or not. He was always chewing on sticks and grass or less identifiable things. The back was a mess, what little lawn had been there was torn up from the fight, and blood from Bruno and Huck stained the ground. Of the boggles, there was no sign. Huck picked up some coins and a clear die he'd missed before, stuffing them into his pockets. He didn't like leaving the grill, and gas can back here. He poured the gas into the truck and tossed the can and the remains of the generator on the flatbed. The grill got hauled to the front porch and then inside the living room. He couldn't use it inside, but it would be safer here. If the power went out, that was his only way to cook food. Another trip for dog food, and he locked up for the night.

He gave each dog a dinner fit for a king, consisting of a full bowl of dried dog food, milk from the refrigerator that would probably be bad by morning, and topped with a leftover hotdog. He'd have to take them out later, but they were content to lay in the house and nap for now. Auggie's foot looked better. He'd licked the wound clean, and Huck would check it in the morning. Bruno seemed surprisingly good for someone close to death an hour before. He was breathing easily and didn't seem to be in pain. Huck knew how he felt. Neither of them might have made it without the red dice and whatever they did. He spent some time scratching and petting each of his mutts and then grabbed the pile of coins and dice to take a tally of his rewards for almost dying to the small nightmares.

The eight boggles had dropped piles of coins that came to ninety-seven dollars and eighty-nine cents. It was like another Christmas. This time around, it had to go to repairs. They needed a new generator, for one thing. Huck wanted to get a propane-powered generator this time. He could fuel it with a tank like the one under his grill, and propane didn't catch fire like a can of gas. He hoped to hell the boggles didn't know how to start fires. Even a modest generator would set him back the hundred dollars plus some of his other money. He was going to be broke again. He thought about the Morgan dollar the woman at the bank had told him was worth some money. He should go talk to that coin dealer. Especially with the new coin he'd found.

He'd found the shiny golden coin where the bogglebitch had died. The date on it said 1922. Huck wrapped a napkin around it and stuck it in his pocket. It said twenty dollars on it, but he was pretty sure that a coin dealer would pay a lot more for it. All the other coins looked normal, mostly Eisenhower dollars and bicentennial quarters. He loaded the coins into a bread wrapper and rolled them up to take to the bank tomorrow.

Next up were the dice. They did things; he'd seen and felt it. His head had cleared some when the D4 had glowed blue. The blue glow had names: Clarity, cunning, and intellect—fancy names for getting smarter. Charlie got better when he used the first dice and grabbed another one tonight. Huck hoped it worked like the first one had. He'd been steady during the fight and thought to bring his rifle, something Huck hadn't considered at all. The red ones had healed him, but there was something else they did. He almost knew what it was, but it kept sliding away. What had the bogglebitch said? That he'd taken a reward, and it had hinted about why that made him not get hurt at first. It had sure as hell hurt him a moment later. Those claws had cut deeper than the little boggles, tearing apart the protective sleeve. He needed something stronger. Maybe wrap it in wire mesh and rivet it on? Iron plate would be too heavy, but a welded mesh would be hard to cut through. He thought he had some in the machine shop. That was for tomorrow though, right now he wanted to test an idea.

Wondering if what he was about to do was a stupid idea, he went to the kitchen for a fork, some napkins, and a gauze bandage. He figured he might as well do it to the left arm; that one was already sore. He stabbed his skin with a fork, pushing the prongs into his skin a half inch and pulling it out. It didn't hurt, and the wounds barely bled a drop. When he wiped off his arm with a napkin and some rubbing alcohol, it didn't sting, and the puncture was gone. With more confidence, he did it again, trying to feel what was happening. Again, there was no real wound a moment later. He got the distinct feeling he was losing something, chipping away at his protection. He tried again, bringing the fork down in the same spot. It went into his skin a full inch and stuck there; blood welled up, and it hurt like hell!

Yep, that had been a stupid idea. He reached for the gauze bandage and held it to the wound until the bleeding slowed. The dogs looked on, curious about the game he was playing.