Astrid and the Sheriff follow Frank, but they can’t keep up. Once he flies over the forest, they fall behind and lose sight of him. After that, they just try to go straight, until the gunfire gives them something else to follow. The shooting eventually stops and they are forced to go back to making a blind beeline through the forest.
The two eventually reach a large barbed-wire fence that stops them from continuing. Warning signs are pinned to it at certain intervals, and behind the fence, they see what looks like an abandoned airfield.
The elves follow the fence to a gate. Behind the barrier blocking access for cars, they see a small complex of buildings with the words ‘High School’ above the entrance. They leave their horses near the gate and sneak inside.
Even from a distance, Astrid can smell smoke and burned plastic, along with a weird, sweet scent that’s similar to chlorine. Soulfire. ‘Dad was here... but where is he now? And where are the soldiers?’
They sneak around the buildings under the cover of trees. Finally, they see the first signs of her father’s presence. Trees whose crowns were clearly burned by soulfire. The smell of burned plastic is joined by the disgusting smell of burned meat.
Astrid’s entire body starts tingling. The lack of guards means that her father has succeeded, and while part of her just wants to turn back, the stronger part wants to see what he has done.
They reach an area that must’ve once been a schoolyard. The trees that grew here are now no more than blackened silhouettes. The rubber ground has turned into a layer of ash. The twisted remains of the playground equipment remain, melted almost beyond recognition, and among the scorched debris lie half-burned corpses.
Anticipation turns to shock as her eyes wander over the gruesome scene. It almost looks as though the soulfire fused these people's clothes to their skin. While parts of their bodies are blackened, most of their skin is covered in swollen dark-red patches. The smell of burned plastic and tissue saturates the air, and over everything is that ever-present chlorinous smell. The intense stench makes Astrid start breathing short, shallow breaths through her mouth.
Aside from their footsteps, everything is quiet.
The Sheriff takes in the scene. She looks down at a corpse that is too small to be an adult, yet too big to be a kobold. The woman stares at the burned remains, then looks at Astrid. “Your father must be inside. If all of this made him tired, he might also be resting on the roof. At least that’s what I would do.”
Astrid looks down at the charred remains as they walk towards the school. One body in particular catches her eye. The teenage boy isn’t much younger than she is. His hair is burned off and his eyes are scorched out. His hands are holding his face and his mouth is still open in a silent scream. What looks like it once was a blue jersey is now blackened and fused with burned skin. Astrid hopes his death was quick, but her rational side tells her it wasn’t. She can’t help but imagine herself in a cloud of that golden energy, clawing at her face and screaming as the deadly magic burns her alive. Only to breathe it in, allowing it to consume her from both the in- and outside.
She rips her eyes away from the corpse and follows the Sheriff.
They enter a classroom. The room itself is untouched, but as soon as they open the door, a stench hits them. The smell of burned meat is overwhelming. She gags and leans forward to vomit, but her stomach is unwilling to part with its contents.
The Sheriff watches her, her face contorted in a grimace. “Get a hold of yourself!” she hisses at Astrid.
The two leave the classroom and enter an equally unscathed hallway. Astrid can see a flight of stairs leading up at the end of it. The only thing that is charred is the carpet in front of another hallway. The two elves walk towards the stairs, and as they pass the T-section, Astrid can’t help but look into the other hall. The corridor leads into a large room and she finally sees the source of the smell. The walls are scorched. The ground is covered in what used to be crates, supplies, and people. The remains of dozens litter the floor. All frozen in a position of agony. Astrid draws in a deep breath as she sees the destruction her father has wrought. She can taste the stinking air as it flows into her lungs. The dust and smells cause her to cough, which only allows more of it in. Even though her body is physically disgusted by the smell and sight, the horror turns into a morbid feeling of satisfaction. Her father killed these people for her, and seeing someone who wronged you punished tenfold is oddly comforting. Even though Astrid has no control over these feelings, they still scare her. She would think that the sight of so many people, dead by what might as well be her own hand, would leave her with some kind of sadness. A feeling of remorse. Yet, just like when she killed that woman, they do not. This apathy terrifies Astrid, especially because most of these people probably didn’t even play a part in what the soldiers did. This last thought makes her mind pause. Grim satisfaction is replaced with sadness. Not the burning emotional agony one feels when a family member or close friend dies, but a distant, cold emotion. She regrets that these people had to die, probably for something they had no control over, but at the same time, she does not regret that they are dead. These blackened corpses are those of faceless strangers, some of whom terrorized them and probably would have continued terrorizing this region for decades to come. As her eyes move over a group of scorched figures, clinging to one another, she wonders if she would feel this way if she were still her old self. Would Astrid the human be this distant too, or would she break into tears for the innocents slaughtered here?
She’s torn out of her thoughts by the Sheriff saying, “Look.”
Astrid snaps her eyes away from the charred remains and looks toward a destroyed wall.
Several glass panels in a metal frame formed what once was some sort of office, but the metal beams are now completely bent and the glass shattered, save for a few shards still attached to their supports. The scorch marks on the walls and ceiling point away from the room in a jagged pattern.
“Something exploded in there,” the Sheriff says. She runs towards the room.
Astrid follows with slow and careful steps, making sure not to step on any of the fresh corpses.
The remains of assault rifles, blown ammunition, and other weapons are strewn around the room. Whatever exploded in here must have been stored against the glass wall, firing objects into the rest of the room with so much force that a metal shard of unknown origin has embedded itself into the wall on the other side.
While Astrid stands in the partially intact doorway, the Sheriff picks up a battered assault rifle. “Damn. What kind of heat were these people packing? I wonder…” She tries to cock the weapon, but the small handle doesn't move. “Nope. Busted. Quick, help me look for something that’s still intact.”
Astrid looks at the wreckage. She wants a gun, just to have that feeling of safety she felt when she had Fynn's, but there’s something more important. “We need to find my father.”
“Your father is either dead or perfectly fine. If you really want to find him quickly, help me search.”
Astrid picks up a battered assault rifle, instantly covering her hand in black and red soot. “Ugh.” She drops the charred and rusted weapon. “This is disgusting.”
The Sheriff gives Astrid an annoyed look as she kicks away the broken doors of a cabinet. “Everything’s destroyed. That golden stuff your father spits is some real potent stuff. Really makes my heart bleed to see all these beautiful guns battered and burned.”
“That…” Astrid looks through the blasted-out wall into the large room. She imagines being equipped with assault rifles. It would solve a lot of problems they are no doubt going to have. “…does suck.”
“It really does… Oh, look.” The Sheriff leans down and picks up a grenade pin. “Guess we know what blew this whole thing to hell… No, they must’ve been packing something stronger. Probably some plastic explosives. Ah, who cares.” She sticks her hand into a hole in a cabinet that once doubled as a desk. Most of the wooden container is still intact, protected from the explosion by the large and completely destroyed bookshelf next to it. “Here we go.” She moves her fingers inside the box then pulls them back out and opens the charred, sliding plastic door. “Jackpot.”
“What?” Astrid asks and runs to join the other elf. Inside the cabinet, the soldiers placed a large green metal box next to office supplies. A bit of soulfire must have gotten inside as the paint has cracked and exposed the now-rusted metal beneath in several places. There is white text written on the side of the canister, but Astrid can’t make out what it means before the Sheriff leans closer and covers it with her body. “Curse this dyslexia…. 8-4-0 c a r t r… cartridges… 5… 5.56 millimeter. Yes!”
“What is it?” Astrid asks.
“This, my girl, is a metric crap ton of ammunition.” She pulls the box out, causing it to slam onto the ground with a loud metallic crash. The top of the box opens to reveal hundreds of cartridges. Astrid looks at the mass of brass and lead, causing grim butterflies to fly in her stomach.
The Sheriff looks like a little girl that received a pony for Christmas. “Half empty, but this has to be at least three or four hundred shots.” She slams the lid back on and snaps it shut. “Let’s get this back to the horses.”
“We need to search for my father!”
“Yes. Right after we get this out of here.”
Astrid glares at the Sheriff. “We’ve already wasted enough time and we can come back to get this later. After we’ve found him.”
“This might not be here later. Or the soldiers might come back. You go look for your father. I’ll get this to the horses.”
“What do we even need this for? We don’t even have guns anymore. And we shouldn’t split up!”
The Sheriff picks up the crate. “You’re right. Grab a few of those broken assault rifles. We might be able to use their parts to jury-rig something.”
“Okay, but then we go look for my father!”
“Yes. Sure. But I’m not leaving this here.”
Astrid grabs a few of the broken rifles. At first, she’s careful to touch the dirty weapons as little as possible, but they’re heavier than she expected.
The Sheriff is already standing in the doorway. “Come on. Just make sure the barrels aren’t bent and grab three or four of them.”
Astrid lets out an angry sigh and grabs four of the weapons. Her entire t-shirt and arms are immediately covered in the fine, black-red powder.
“All right. Let’s go look for your father. He’s not here, but the roof should give us a good view of the surrounding area. If we don’t find him dozing there.”
They climb the stairs to the roof. What was once probably the door that led outside is now nothing more than red dust and shattered glass. The two corpses that lie here are little more than charred bones with a bit of burned flesh. Astrid looks across the roof but doesn’t see her father. All she sees is a broken skylight and a pool of blood next to it. A trail of the dark liquid leads away from the skylight and runs over the edge of the roof.
Astrid follows the trail and looks down at the parking lot below. There is nothing there.
“Where could he be?” she asks.
The Sheriff heaves the metal box onto her shoulder and points at something far away. “Is that him?”
Astrid follows her finger. Her eyes widen and her heart sinks as she sees her father on the field. He's left a red trail on the road and exposed the soil where his body dragged across the grass.
Astrid screams, “Dad!"
They turn and sprint back down the stairs. Over her shoulder, the Sheriff yells, “Come on. Let’s get the horses.”
The smoke and stench flows into Astrid’s nose as soon as she opens her mouth, making her cough as she runs down the stairs. “No! We have to get to him now!”
“Don’t be stupid. Galloping will be much faster than running with this stuff and we can’t leave the horses alone.”
A heavy weight lies inside Astrid’s stomach. Taking even that detour feels like wasting time, but she concedes and follows the Sheriff.
They run back to the horses. Out of breath, Astrid drops the broken guns, jumps onto Ranger and gallops ahead, while the Sheriff tries to secure the box of ammunition and the rifles on her horse.
Astrid doesn’t check whether the other elf is behind her. Ranger’s reins are as loose as she can make them and the horse runs as fast as it can. Every step takes Astrid closer to her father, but she doesn’t know what she'll do when she reaches him. All she knows is that she needs to get to him as fast as she can. The galloping forces her to focus on her posture and Ranger’s movements, but a deep feeling of guilt still seeps into the corners of her mind. The thought that her father is dead and that it's her fault tries to force itself onto her, but before the feeling can become a thought, she pushes it away.
Ranger stops right next to her father. Red spots dot the dragon’s body and his entire form looks broken, like an animal that’s been hit by a car.
“Dad?” She walks towards her father’s head. As it comes into view, she sees one of the soldiers trying to pry open her father's jaws, which are locked around another soldier.
He looks up as he says, “Karen….” He trails off when he sees Astrid.
Astrid’s body tenses. Her eyes lock onto him and the slow, sorrowful beating of her heart is sent back into overdrive. ‘His rifle is on his back. I could lunge and tackle him before he reaches it. Probably.’ She stands there, ready to jump him, but he doesn’t try to grab his weapon.
His left arm looks burned. His hand has the texture of a well-done steak. The burns reach all the way up his arm and both down to his leg and up to his left cheek. Astrid tries to focus on his face. It’s difficult to make out his features and she doesn't recognize him.
‘I should kill him. With that burned arm he won’t be able to grab his weapon. I should rip his throat out for what they did.’ Primal, irrational anger has replaced the grief in Astrid's mind. Her guilt has turned into rage. She welcomes it and lets it consume every part of her. Still, she doesn't attack.
The soldier looks down at the dragon. Then back up at Astrid. They stare at each other for half an eternity, until the soldier asks, “Who… who are you? Are you Lieutenant Johnson’s daughter? I’m sorry, he’s gone…”
“What? No! I’m not any lieutenant’s daughter. I…” Astrid trails off. ‘He doesn't know who I am.’
“Wait….” The soldier’s eyes widen, as he realizes the only possible explanation for Astrid’s earlier cry. “This… This thing was your father? How could anyone do this?”
Astrid growls. Through clenched teeth, she hisses, “How could anyone massacre dozens of people because they wouldn’t let themselves be extorted?”
“Your people shot first!” he yells. The man clenches his wounded hand and flinches in pain. His features sink and his gaze wanders away from Astrid and onto the corpse in her father’s mouth.
‘Now’s the moment to attack. I could lunge at him while he's distracted. There is no way he can fend me off with his burned hand,’ Astrid thinks, but she doesn’t jump.
The soldier turns back to her. His mouth is slightly open and his head tilted. Small tears come out of his eyes. “First we shoot each other, then this monster kills everyone. For what? We just wanted food and now everyone is dead. Your people, my people. Everyone. We should never have let the Sergeant talk us into this.”
Astrid didn’t expect this display of weakness. It causes her to recoil a bit. She stands up straight and balls her hands into fists. “We didn’t want any of this. You attacked us. The deaths of our people. The deaths of your people. The death of my father. They're all your fault!”
“Our fault?” he yells back. He looks like he wants to say something else, but his mouth just closes. His features fall and shoulders slouch. “No. You’re right. The Colonel was right. It was all a mistake. Just… leave. There's been enough bloodshed today.”
“Where are our weapons?” the Sheriff asks, trotting up to them from behind. Astrid didn’t notice her catch up.
“We gave them to people. They must've been in the auditorium when your friend here brutally murdered every last man, woman, and child in there. They're probably dust. Just like everything else.”
The Sheriff clenches her teeth and lets out a deep, angry breath. “Astrid. Let's go.”
Astrid turns to her. “What? Where?”
The Sheriff glares at her. “To the others. We need to find a place to stay for the night.”
Astrid looks at the broken corpse of her father. Even though she hoped he would be alive, now that she sees his battered and perforated body, there is no more doubt in her mind. As much as she doesn’t want it to be true, her father is dead.
“We need to bury him,” she whispers.
The Sheriff fakes a laugh. A hollow, empty sound. “What? That two-ton thing? Have fun with that.”
“This is my father! We can’t just leave him here to be eaten by wild animals. We need to do something.”
The Sheriff glares at her. “We have to get out of here before your father attracts some monster, or worse, a few surviving soldiers.”
“I—” Astrid starts.
The Sheriff cuts her off before she can say anything. “You! Have already done enough for today.” The Sheriff takes a step towards her. She's so close that Astrid can feel the heat radiating off the Sheriff’s naked chest. Astrid leans back, but doesn't take a step to put more distance between them. Spit flies out of the Sheriff's mouth as she yells, “I told you not to tell anyone what happened. But you couldn’t listen, could you? No. Instead, you told your father, who immediately went on an absolutely stupid revenge trip that got the only one who could protect us killed. Now we have no weapons, no dragon and for what? To kill a few dozen assholes?”
“Forty-three people. He killed forty-three people,” the soldier wails.
She turns to look at him. “Same difference.”
Astrid takes a step back. “This is not my fault. This is their fault. They attacked us. They raped you. This is not my fault!” she yells. She's not sure if her eyes are tearing up from anger or sadness. Probably anger, because she wants to rip the Sheriff apart. Her words hurt Astrid more than any knife ever could. Not because they are insulting, but because they give voice to a feeling that Astrid's anger is doing its best to suppress. She wants the Sheriff to agree with her. To tell her that this was worth it.
The Sheriff just turns around. “Let's go.”
While the two elves yell at each other, the soldier simply stands up and walks away. Back towards the forest where he and the others were ambushed on their way to kill the dragon. ‘How could this all have gone so wrong?’ he asks himself, as he stumbles into the undergrowth.
Astrid looks back at her father's broken form. He was magnificent. Large and powerful, yet elegant. Now he just looks like roadkill. She quickly looks away and follows the Sheriff. ‘No. I don’t want to remember him like that.’ “Goodbye, Dad,” she whispers, without turning back.
By the time the two elves return to the site of the massacre, the sun is beginning to set. The ruined tractor is abandoned. The only people waiting for them are Elijah and Fynn.
“Where's Dad?” Elijah asks as soon as he sees them.
Astrid considers lying to him, but knows that would help with nothing. “He's dead. He killed all of the soldiers, but in the end, he died of his wounds.”
Elijah blinks several times. “What?” He looks genuinely confused, as though he really doesn’t understand what Astrid just said.
Astrid doesn’t want to repeat herself. In fact, she doesn’t even want to look at anyone.
“Where are the others?” the Sheriff asks.
Elijah’s eyes are fixed on Astrid, who refuses to meet his gaze. “Is he really gone?”
“Yes,” the Sheriff hisses. She leans towards him, her entire body quivering. “He is dead. No, there is no way he might still be alive, we saw his bullet-ridden, crash-landed corpse. Now, where are the others? This has been a very, very long day.”
Elijah jumps to his feet. “That’s impossible. Dad had healing powers. Like Wolverine. How could he die?”
The Sheriff growls, “I guess he couldn’t heal through an assault rifle salvo. Who would have guessed?!”
“Sheriff—” Fynn tries to say.
Her eyes snap onto him. “Where did the others go?”
Fynn opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again before he finally answers the Sheriff's question. “They went to the junkyard. Just through the forest.”
The junkyard is surrounded by a chain-link fence. Piles of old appliances and containers cover the entire premises. Some of the devices are rusted, some look almost new. All of them have been thrown together, and are waiting to be salvaged for parts. There are two buildings: a small office with a massive garage, and a barn filled with heavy machinery that just a few days ago shredded paper and other things, but now lies dormant and abandoned.
Astrid spent the entire way trying to think of how she’s going to tell her mother that her father is gone. Even though the journey took several minutes, her mind hasn’t moved a bit. It feels so surreal that she half expects him to be waiting for them when they arrive. Of course, she knows he won’t be. So many others have died and once they’re gone, they’re gone. Still, she doesn’t want to tell her mother. She doesn’t want to tell anything to anyone. She’s grateful when the Sheriff announces she wants to sleep. Because that’s all Astrid wants to do too. She doesn’t want to talk to her mother, or her brother. She doesn’t want to give them a summary of anything. Doesn’t want to hear her mother’s cries or Kilian’s questions. All she wants to do is feel the sweet embrace of a dream she will barely remember. One that will purge that horrible emptiness she feels in her stomach and the weight crushing her head like an anvil. All she wants right now is to be alone.
As they get closer, she leans in to Fynn. “Fynn. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you tell my mother and brother what happened? I just don’t have the strength for it.”
He looks at her and considers her request. He scowls, but says, “All right. What should I tell them when they ask why you’re not the one telling them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that I feel worse than I ever have in my life and that I need to get some sleep before I have a breakdown.”
The Mayor greets them as soon as they walk through the gate, but the Sheriff just pushes past her with a, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Leave me alone, or I swear I’ll rip your guts out.”
Astrid manages to find a quiet corner on a pile of tires in the garage. A dirty cloth covers them and they are anything but comfortable, but with the sofa and chairs in the office building already occupied, it’s better than nothing. Whatever awaits her tomorrow, it can only be better than today.
