How To Avoid Death On A Daily Basis: Book Two Read online

  When I woke up, my right arm, shoulder and back all ached. My stomach was also cramped up. Pretty normal reaction to doing some exercise after years of doing none, but if it was like this now, by tomorrow morning I’d be crippled.

  It was late afternoon and the others were all dozing in the sun. I got to my feet and did some stretches, which helped a little, and then I woke the others up. No one felt like more walking, but a few choice swear words and a threat to leave them behind got them moving.

  Our clothes had dried and we quickly got dressed and set off again. We decided to travel along the river bank rather than the road. We found various bushes and brambles covered in berries growing along the bank and picked loads of fruit. It was slower than the road, but we had a rolling buffet to keep us busy, which made things more interesting. And then it got a bit too interesting.

  There was a roar from somewhere in the forest. It didn’t sound very close, but it did sound very terrifying. We rushed back onto the road. We heard the roar again, this time a little closer. We started jogging.

  Ahead of us, the road continued to the horizon with no signs of buildings or people.

  There was a noise like a tree falling over. Followed by more trees being ripped out of the ground and hurled into the air. We were so fixated on watching for any signs of a monster—not that I knew what to do if one did turn up—that we nearly missed the path leading north through the field.

  It was two thin tracks divided by a mohawk of grass, like it had been made by a wagon. Far in the distance, there seemed to be something, but too far to make out what exactly. A building?

  As we stood at the intersection wondering if it was worth diverting from our planned route to investigate, a crash followed by a lot of splashing made the decision for us. We sped down the track.

  3. The Farmer’s Wife

  The sounds of destruction continued behind us. We picked up the pace as we speed-marched down the dirt track.

  “What’s the plan?” said Maurice. “I mean, if that thing comes after us, what do we do?”

  “We run,” I said, “and hope whatever’s at the end of this road has plenty of places to hide.”

  The silhouette in the distance had started to take on the shape of a building, but it was still too far away to be sure what kind. In this world, when you ran from danger, you were just as likely to be running towards it at the same time.

  “Do you really think we can outrun it?” said Claire, nervously looking over her shoulder.

  “We don’t have to outrun,” I said. “We only have to outrun each other.”

  This comment, which I felt was simply stating the truth, did not go down well.

  Claire sped up until she was ahead of me and turned her head to give me a full-in-the-face glare. “You really think it’s okay to let Flossie get eaten?”

  “Hey,” said Flossie, who was bringing up the rear and panting quite hard, “ah can move when ah have to.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Dudley. “I won’t let you get eaten.”

  “Worry about yourself,” said Flossie as she zoomed through the crowd and took the lead.

  Everyone started overtaking each other, but in a casual ‘I’m not really running, I’m just stretching my legs’ kind of way. Nobody wanted to be at the back where monsters could get you.

  Fortunately, whatever it was back in the forest didn’t come out, although the unnerving noises continued. We slowed down a bit as the sounds receded into the distance, partly because we felt safer, and partly because we were all knackered.

  The fields on either side of the track had changed from grass to crops—corn, wheat, various green vegetables—and the building appeared to be a farmhouse. It took us about an hour to reach it.

  The ranch-style house was a one storey wooden building with a large porch out front, and a small barn stood next to it. Chickens wandered around the yard and a goat tied to a post bleated at us as we approached. I didn’t see any people. Of course, as soon as we got within a few yards of the place, I found myself back in the lead with everyone else huddled behind me.

  “Watch out for the goat,” said Maurice. “It might be trained.”

  I wasn’t sure what he thought it might be trained to do, but it did have rather larger horns so I gave it wide berth, just in case. After everything we’d been through, I refused to be taken down by an attack-goat.

  Our tightly packed group nervously advanced through the chickens—which had apparently been trained to shit everywhere—and climbed the steps onto the porch. Or, at least, I did. The lonely sounds of my footsteps on the wooden boards indicated the others had stopped just short and allowed me to take the final few steps alone.

  I had the sword in my left hand. If things went pear-shaped, I could draw it from its scabbard and wave it around like someone who doesn’t know how to use a sword properly. Will I hurt you? Will I hurt me? What could be more intimidating?

  After a moment to calm myself and think over what I was going to say, I knocked on the door and took a step back. I heard someone approach and then the door was yanked open to reveal a small woman. She was quite fat with her brown hair piled up on her head in a bun.

  “Yes?” She wiped her hands on the apron around her waist. She didn’t look the least bit surprised to see me standing there. She didn’t look particularly pleased, either.

  It took me a moment to remember what I planned to say. “Oh, hello. I’m Colin. How are you?” None of which was part of my prepared speech.

  She looked me up and down, then past me at the others.

  “We’re on our way to Fengarad,” I continued, getting back on track, but suddenly rushing so everything came out of my mouth at a million miles an hour. “We were hoping we could buy some food from you. We can pay. With money. Eggs, milk, bread, anything really. We don’t mind helping out if you need a hand or something like that. Do you have any? Food, I mean. We have money, like I said. Nice place you have here.” I made myself smile in what I hoped was an amiable manner, although it was probably more creepy than friendly.

  She stared at me a bit more. It was the kind of look you rarely see outside a professional boxing match. It made me want to crawl away and take my chances with the monster in the woods.

  “You’ll be the Visitors who arrived a few days ago.”

  It wasn’t a question, and I couldn’t tell if she considered our arrival to be a good thing or not.

  “Yes. Will you help us? So far, everyone we’ve met either ignores us or treats us like idiots for not knowing how things work in this world.”

  A baby started crying somewhere inside the house.

  “You better come in, then.” She turned and walked away, leaving the door open.

  I followed her, rapidly joined by the patter of four pairs of feet behind me.

  4. There’s No Such Thing

  The interior of the farmhouse was large and airy. The room contained a stove with a number of pots simmering on it, and a wooden table with benches on either side and a chair on each end. It could easily seat eight, maybe more.

  We stood in the doorway, all wiping our feet on the mat for longer than was required. The woman came out of a side room carrying a whimpering toddler. The kid stopped the moment he saw us and stared. Mainly at Maurice.

  “Sit down, then,” said the woman as she walked over to the stove where she began stirring one pot after another. “My name’s Margi.”

  We all introduced ourselves as we took a seat at the table. Margi didn’t seem too worried about having five strangers in her house, but then, she looked like she could beat the crap out of us with the kid in one hand and a rolling pin in the other.

  “My husband’s not here at the moment,” she told us, “but he should be back soon. I take it you’re not here for the rogue ogre.”

  We all looked confused.

  “What’s a rogue ogre?” I asked. “Don’t all ogres run around smashing things up and roaring for no reason?”

  She gave me the look I knew only too
well from the people in Probet.

  “And please remember we don’t have ogres where we come from.”

  Her face relaxed a little and she shifted her son onto her other hip. “You’re right, it isn’t fair to expect you to know these things. Ogres, in general, aren’t particularly troublesome—if you leave them alone, they won’t bother you. But every now and again, one will suddenly become enraged and go on a rampage.”

  “There was something ripping up trees in the forest,” said Maurice. “We didn’t see it, but it sounded pretty mad.”

  “That’ll be him,” said Margi. “No one knows what sets them off, but the only way to stop them is to kill them. It doesn’t happen very often, but recently we’ve had a spate of them. That’s why my husband’s gone into Fengarad to fetch someone to take care of it. At first, I thought maybe that’s why you were here, but by the looks of you, you aren’t ready for that kind of a fight. Not yet, anyhow.”

  The ogre we encountered on our first day had been enraged for sure, but the one we saw eating rabbits had been calm, almost docile. So what Margi was saying seemed to be true. They weren’t aggressive unless something provoked them. Knowing what that something was would be quite useful.

  “Can they talk?” I asked.

  She looked confused. “Can who talk?”

  “Ogres,” I said. “Are they able to speak?”

  Despite my explanation for our ignorance, she still cocked her head like she couldn’t believe just how dumb a question I had asked. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never spoken to one.”

  “Perhaps,” said Maurice, “if you asked it why it was upset it would tell you.”

  This received a very long stare.

  “Sure,” said Margi. “I suppose you could try asking as it ripped your arms out of their sockets.”

  I know what you’re thinking. Here we were learning about some mysterious reason that drove ogres to kill and destroy—clearly the starting point for a quest. All we had to do was discover what this reason was, and we could bring peace to the valley. At least that’s how it would go in a game.

  The villagers shower us with gifts and hold a festival in our honour. Maybe the ogres, grateful for our assistance, bestow on us the blessings of their god, Og the Mighty (sounds like the kind of name an ogre god would have). We would level up and claim our quest reward, Shield +1/+1. Ding! Quest complete.

  Yeah, well, quest declined. I had no intention of doing anything like that. In a game, you can try one approach, get killed, then try something else. In this world, getting hit hurt like a motherfucker. I hadn’t experienced what it felt like being eaten alive, but I got the impression it wouldn’t be much fun. And as far as I could tell, you didn’t respawn at your last save point.

  “Your husband’s going to hire some people in Fengarad? People like us? I mean, Visitors.”

  “That’s right,” said Margi. “There’s usually a few willing to help for a fee. Of course, it would be easier if the army took care of it like they’re supposed to, but they’re always too busy.” She rolled her eyes.

  Having seen Captain Grayson deal with an ogre, I assumed it was something that wouldn’t be much of a problem for the army. I wondered what it was they were busy doing.

  Margi opened the little door in the stove and, using the hem of her apron, pulled out what looked like shepherd’s pie. It smelled amazing. She dropped it on the table with a clatter, and then produced plates and cutlery (real knives and forks!) for everyone.

  She managed to serve the pie and dole out vegetables from one of the pots, all while carrying the kid on her hip. It was pretty impressive.

  The kid kept a suspicious eye on Maurice throughout.

  “Now eat up, especially you,” she plopped an extra large portion of pie on Claire’s plate. “Men round here like a girl with a bit of meat on the bone, like your friend here.” She served Flossie another huge portion. “You’re going to be right popular with the boys, and no mistake.” Her eyes positively glowed as she ran them up and down Flossie’s curves.

  Now, I’m sure you’ve seen movies or TV shows where the characters come across some classic situation and they act like they have no clue what’s going on. It’s like the characters have never seen a movie or TV show themselves. It’s understandable why it’s written like that, but it’s still annoying. Personally, I’ve seen a ton of movies. And this scenario was feeling very familiar.

  Isolated farmhouse out in the sticks. Surprisingly friendly matron-type with the racist baby; eyeing up the chubby girl and practically licking her lips; force-feeding the skinny girl in an effort to fatten her up… It’d make you wonder what kind of meat was in the shepherd’s pie, right?

  “This looks fantastic,” I said, moving the food around my plate, looking for a finger or eyeball, “what kind of meat is it?”

  “Mutton. Do you have that where you come from?”

  “Yesh,” said Maurice through a mouthful of food. “But it doesn’t taste as great as this.”

  Obviously, I was being silly. The others were tucking in with gusto. The smell was too much for me to resist.

  It tasted as amazing as it smelled. Freshly cooked and perfectly seasoned. I think it may have been the best meal of my entire life, even if it was soylent green.

  After we’d stuffed ourselves I felt a bit dazed, like I was stoned. I just sat there feeling full. We were very grateful and expressed our thanks repeatedly.

  “Is it just you and your husband here?” asked Claire.

  Margi laughed. “Oh no. My boys are out working the fields. Six in all, including little Dom here.” She cuddled the boy in her arms. He pulled a face and tried to wriggle out of the embrace.

  The news of five more sons had an unsettling effect on me. There was no reason to believe they were anything but wonderful young men, but a pinching feeling in the back of my head urged me to not wait around to find out just how wonderful.

  “We should get going,” I said.

  The others looked taken by surprise by my suggestion.

  “My husband should be back tonight. If you’re heading to the city, we make regular trips. He could give you a ride in the wagon.”

  “How far is it to the city? asked Maurice. “If you were on foot.”

  She thought about it for a moment. “Three days?”

  The others turned to me with pleading eyes. This was the problem with being well-fed and comfortable. It made you sloppy.

  “I suppose we could stay for a bit, if it’s okay,” I said, like an idiot.

  “Of course,” said Margi. “Having Visitors is an honour. One day you may become great people, and you’ll remember little Margi who helped you when you were just starting out. You can stay in the barn. It isn’t much, but it’s warm and dry, and a straw bed is more comfortable than the ground, that’s for sure.”

  It seemed a reasonable deal. A hot meal and a warm place to sleep, in return for which she’d have the gratitude of five potential legendary heroes. Of course, the greatest thing we were likely to achieve was not dying, but she didn’t know that.

  The warmth in my stomach, the eager looks on the faces of my party, they all contributed to me ignoring my natural instinct to spend as little time with people as possible.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  5. When You Got To Go

  Margi looked out the window over the sink. “Oh, I can see my boys. Perhaps I should show you the barn now. Once the boys get here, I won’t have time to do anything but shovel more food at them. You want to see some real appetites, you don’t see them bigger than my boys’.” She beamed with pride.

  She led us out to the barn, which was full of bales of straw. Ladders led up to a loft, and the place had a comforting smell to it. Like summer in the park.

  “Oh, and another thing,” said Margi. “That little shed we passed on the way here, that’s the outhouse. Feel free to use it when you need to take care of your business.”

  The kid in her arms finally spoke. “Poo poo.”

&n
bsp; We were left to settle in and everyone flopped down on the bouncy straw. Compared to sleeping on the ground, this was like a bed of clouds. Full of food and feeling safe for once, we lay there revelling in the luxury of not having to fear for our lives. Once the farmer returned, we might even be able to get a lift into the city. It seemed too good to be true. Which, of course, it was.

  The warmth in my stomach shifted downwards. I struggled to my feet and decided to give the outhouse a visit. As I walked out of the barn, I could hear voices drifting across from the farmhouse. I couldn’t make out any words, but the occasional hooting laugh made it sound like a jovial get together.