I awoke with a start, body clammy with dried sweat. I had to sit still for a second to wait for my heart to slow back down.

  I looked down at my legs finding Starla licking my foot. A banner hovered there:

  That. Was. Cool!

  “Good girl!” I said.

  I blinked at the banner, then at her tiny paws. Feeding her had been nothing but instinct, yet here she was, healing me. II scratched behind her ears, imagining her little claws glowing with more power someday. God knew I’d need all the healing I could get.

  My health bar was almost full. I falsely assumed after a good night’s rest, I would recover all my health, but apparently, that only worked in old video games. I guessed I would have a serious gap in health points until I got medical attention.

  I picked Starla up, and she purred like a kitten. For the first time since starting this journey, I let myself smile. She exuded a legitimate positive vibe. I wondered if Starla had some kind of mental fortification ability.

  I looked out the window for that stupid gator turtle, hoping it had moved on and was hunting something else. Not seeing any immediate threats, I opened the bus door and stepped out onto the deck.

  As I walked around assessing this structure built with the finest redneck ingenuity, I marveled at how it was all held together. The decking was solidly bolted to the bus with galvanized bolts, and the floatation buoys were situated in all the right places to provide adequate flotation stability. The bus was chained to metal rods that were built into the decking.

  “No wonder this thing is still standing and floating,” I marveled. I couldn’t help but slap one of the chains and say, “That ain’t goin’ anywhere!”

  Dad would've grinned at my joke. I shoved the thought away so I could focus on my journey.

  If I could get some of this wood to break free, I could probably use it to build a makeshift boat and float home like Huckleberry Finn. Maybe I could use some of the wood as a weapon.

  I tried everything I could think of, but no matter what I did, I wasn’t able to break anything free that I could use. If I had a crowbar, I could work some wood loose.

  If I have a crowbar, I could use IT as a weapon. Big dummy. I’ll prolly find one after I leave the bus, because, you know, can-opener.

  If all else failed, I could use the chocks as some kind of nunchucks. I giggled at that mental image of me flinging those things around making kung-fu sound effects like Bruce Lee.

  Weighing my options, I realized I had two choices again. I could either continue my trek home, or I could wait it out where I was, relatively safe, and hope for a boat to come by.

  If Dad had made it back to town, he’d have mobilized half the parish. Cajun navy to the rescue. Swamp folks didn’t wait for permission. When someone didn’t come home, they noticed fast and acted swiftly.

  I figured waiting a few hours wouldn’t hurt, since it would give me time to rest. From the houseboat-bus I would be able to hear and spot other boats if they came my way.

  Back inside the bus, I opened the can of green beans. I ate over half the can, drank some of the bean water, and gave the rest to Starla. She sniffed them, made a weird face but ate away dutifully.

  While she ate, I poked around for a few minutes testing the flooring, cabinets, and shelves for anything removable. I tried to break the table, and to my surprise, the top came loose with little force. It was mounted to a thick metal pole connected to the floor. If I could pry the pole up, I would have a decent blunt weapon.

  I grabbed it with both hands ready to heave with all my new strength. The effort was unnecessary because it pulled straight up. I almost hit myself on the recoil. Holding my new weapon, I read the information provided by my interface.

  That description. The interface had adapted to me, specifically. I gave a single finger salute to the sky, and I didn’t bother trying to get more info from the smart-ass gaming system.

  I had a weapon. I didn’t know if I could take on a gator turtle, but at least I wasn’t defenseless. With renewed confidence, I changed my mind about staying at the bus, deciding instead to head home.

  I took the extension cord and wrapped it in a large loop and put it over my shoulder like a bandolier. I also took the dull kitchen knife, which still had a point at least. I had no clue what I was going to use the cord and knife for, but it was better to have and not need them than the other way around.

  I got about fifteen steps from my previous refuge before I saw another swamp rat.

  Yes!

  I grinned wide enough to hurt my cheeks. Easy prey, and a chance to level up. I think I only needed a few more points so maybe one or two rats would get those points.

  I figured there had to be more than one. As I approached, I saw two more rats a few feet away from the first, foraging. Banners floated over their heads, but I didn’t take the time to read them. I walked right up to the closest one, and it charged me. I punted it. Hard. Like I was playing kickball. The sucker flew for about fifty yards. It made an “aaaaahhhh” sound like the famous Wilhelm scream. I couldn’t help but laugh.

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  “No! I have to kill the other two first.”

  “Gosh dangit! Give me a second! I said, “I have to kill the other two first!”

  The second one charged me from the side. I didn’t have time to turn and kick it, but I did have enough time to switch hands with the metal rod and take a swing. I missed.

  It didn’t. It took a nice bite out of my calf.

  Starla comically growled and barked at the freak of nature, but she didn’t attack. "You tell 'em girl!" I encouraged her.

  The rat turned to face off against her but didn’t rush. This momentary loss of focus actually worked in my favor. I switched hands and swung the rod hard, contacting the buck-toothed prick’s head. The gong sound was delightful, but somehow the rat didn’t die, so I hit it two more times, finishing it off.

  “No! I have to kill the other rat, you impatient nag.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned at the incessant notifications. “Not yet!”

  True, the banners didn’t block my view since they were semi-transparent, and if I ignored them, they faded into the background. Still, they were an irritating distraction, and I refused to let a notification be the reason I got hurt or killed. I needed to think up a way to store “death” and “loot” notifications until my fighting was done.

  I searched for the third rat unsuccessfully because the sneaky prick was probably stalking me. I couldn’t see a banner or any movement anywhere near me.

  Since I saw nothing within 30 feet, I felt relatively safe and decided to see what the level up thing was all about. Did I have to kill something else to get the option, again?

  I looked up to the sky and asked, “Level up!?”

  “Yes! Thank you!”

  “Nice!”

  Looking at each stat, I realized I only knew what a few of them actually meant. Strength, Endurance, Luck, and Dexterity seemed pretty obvious. I had no idea what Constitution, Charisma, Wisdom and Intelligence did for me.

  I didn’t really know what to do. I would definitely need to get help on these stats, but right then I figured it wouldn’t hurt to raise the lowest one.

  “Screw it. Put all three points into Constitution.”

  I felt a sudden surge of energy, similar to the one I felt after picking my lineage the day prior, but on a much lighter scale. I wasn’t levitated, and the surge only lasted for a couple of seconds

  Nothing else happened.

  I glanced down at my three status bars, but there was no visual difference. The health bar was still sitting just above half full, and the other two were maxed out.

  I felt a tickle on the back of my leg and found Starla up on her hind legs licking my calf wound. I could see the banner floating above her head indicating minor healing.

  “Good girl, Starla!” I said as I bent down and scooped her up. “Now let’s get out of here, shall we?”

  Off in the distance, something let out a thin, ragged, wail sending goose pimples to pop up on my arms and shivers down my spine.

  It wasn’t a howl in the way wolves do, steady and solemn.

  No. This sound bent and twisted as it rose, like it didn’t know what note to settle on.

  It reminded me of Sister June at church, belting out Amazing Grace from the bottom of her soul, not remotely on key. Sweet woman, terrible singer. Everyone loved her too much to say anything, so we’d just grin through our winces, quietly snorting into our hymnals while Dad elbowed us for being disrespectful.

  Icy cold tendrils coursed through my veins. Whatever made that noise was either in a lot of pain, or it was really, really ticked off.

  And it was close enough to matter.