Christina rode through the eerily silent town. The dead laid in the streets in piles, nobody had time or energy to bury them. Again. Shivers ran down her spine as she guided Betsie towards the Sheriff's office. Whether they want it or not, somebody will have to take care of the corpses, if only to pile them up and burn them, otherwise they will attract rats and diseases will start to spread. Not talking about the horrendous smell that was already clouding the town.

“But it would be a classy way to greet the Devil when he arrives,” Christina whispered into Betsie’s ear. “I’m sure he would prefer streets lined with rotting dead instead of rose petals or red carpets.” It felt strangely rude to talk out loud, even though there was nobody listening.

There was a small crowd gathered in front of Sheriff Reilly. Too small. Have the people chosen to flee town? Or just locked themselves at home, hoping the upcoming disasters will somehow miss them? Or was this all that was left of the thriving lively town? Christina chose to ignore that option.

Listening to the Sheriff's speech felt so surreal. Were they really standing here in broad daylight, seriously talking about the Devil coming to the town? She got off her horse and moved closer, nervously playing with the reins in her hand, finding herself near Jack and the mysterious stranger. Apparently, the big black horse was his, which seemed very fitting.

She giggled when she noticed Jack mumbling something into his horse’s ear. Somehow that put him in a different light, she couldn’t just see him as a cocky pretentious womanizer anymore, the image of him talking to his very normal black and white speckled steed would always come to mind. 

“I don’t think the Sheriff is going to give us actual badges,” she said after Jack asked for a shiny one. “Kinda hard to imagine he is storing dozens of those things in his office.” She scratched her forehead. What did she know, perhaps he did. “Anyway,” she turned to Sheriff Reilly, “I don’t really care for badges or titles, but I was born in this town, I spent my whole life in this town, and I’m willing to fight for it.” Especially when it seemed like they had no other choice. Nonetheless, her speech brought out some approving shouting from the gathered crowd. “But I have to ask. Fighting whatever sorcery brought the dead back to life is one thing. But the Devil? How exactly do we fight the actual Devil? I don’t think shooting him in the gut will do the trick,” she giggled nervously. Religion wasn’t really her thing, but she did go to Sunday school and remembered that Devil is not somebody you want to pick a fight with. Unless you are God.

“Also,” she frowned, suddenly remembering something the mysterious voice said, “what did he mean by ‘You only have yourselves to blame for this.’?” They weren’t the most lawful town in the West, but certainly not some lair of sin and depravity. The Devil surely would have some better places to go than Longwater.