Right. It wasn’t because it was ‘right’, but because of her specific priorities. Something to be careful of.

“We ran into someone who wigged out, full sanity breakdown,” Capricorn said. “Same with you?”

“Not with me. I’m… background. I can’t say much more.”

“Yeah, we got the same from them, too,” he said. “Come on.”

Anyone who was anything had a gun to their heads, it sounded like. The people with powers, the people who’d come in to help were now obligated to, and nobody seemed willing or able to elaborate on particulars.

It made me nervous. The idea of the brain-fucking stuff bothered me more than the shackled guy turning into the Wretch-like flesh puddle, back in the woods. My heart didn’t race, but each pound of it felt monumental and heavy in my chest.

We made our way to the next house. It was more intact than the last, but getting to it without risking being shot by anyone in the windows was tricky. Too much open space between buildings.

The woman pulled off her bandanna, then held it over her head, venturing into the open space. Nobody shot. She approached the house, and the side door opened. A middle-aged man met her on the extended stairs that acted as a kind of porch.

She beckoned for us to approach. I decided to do it, because I had my defenses.

I was very aware that the sound of the ongoing confrontation had changed. Things had moved closer. It was hard to map out just where people were, because the camp had a more village-like settlement stabbing through the lower half of it, dense enough to block the view of the streets and the far side. The settlement was densest in the southeast, closer to the road and the ‘big house’. There were more scattered houses and fields to the north and west. Those would be harder to reach.

I flew to the house, landed on the grass, and walked to the porch. Arriving directly at the porch could be seen as threatening.

“What’s on the far side of the trees?” the middle-aged guy asked. He had a salt-and-pepper beard and broad shoulders. He looked like a farm worker, with tattoos that would’ve been fit for a sailor if they had been less biblical and more nautical.

“People in uniform,” I said. “They’re armed, but they’ll only shoot if they see weapons. You should leave yours behind.”

He glanced at Nan.

“They’ll guard you, and they won’t arrest you,” I said, firmly.

“You say. We don’t have guarantees.”

“You don’t,” I said. “But as much as people don’t like you guys as a whole, people have no grudge with you and the amnesty holds until you’re charged with something. Only the ones in charge are a concern, and that’s mostly because that’s how they handled this whole thing.”