The Bizarre Detective Agency

Chapter 632: To the Inevitable Finale

The Wastelands.

Once, oases dotted these barren lands like stars. But after the Plant Calamity arrived, the desert spread like a shadow, swallowing them whole.

The natives who refused to leave were buried under the yellow sands, while those who sought to escape streamed toward the cities and ports like ants.

A massive, sprawling caravan was crossing the hills that had once been an oasis. The withered shrubs had not yet vanished beneath the dunes, and it was strange to see the procession moving deeper into the Wastelands, against the tide of refugees.

Their only companions were the tumbleweeds, driven by the wind.

"There's nothing here but wind and sand," Koplend grumbled, spitting out a mouthful of sand. He was tired of the abrasive sting of grit against his skin.

"You forgot something, Land," Makdonald remarked as he passed the halted Koplend. "There are also anomalies."

"That's not funny, gentlemen," the squad leader, Khaints, turned and added sternly. "Focus. Don't forget our mission."

"Of course, esteemed leader of the Night Watch," Makdonald offered a theatrical bow. He waited until Khaints had turned away before shrugging at Koplend. "They're all like that, the Night Watch. Heartless. You'll get used to it."

Koplend and Makdonald were the only two Investigators in the five-person squad. Their mission was data collection and reconnaissance, but the time for that had not yet come.The massive caravan advanced a few more miles before the front section slowed its pace. Koplend turned his head and saw a native guide running toward them, shouting something. "We're entering its zone! From now on, no sounds! If you hear a bell, freeze on the spot without making a single noise!"

A new Calamity could emerge at any moment, so silence was a crude but effective solution.

Khaints took a deep breath and addressed her squad. "Check yourselves. Get rid of anything that might make a sound, or put it on the wagon."

"Already done," Koplend replied.

Even the lowest-ranking member here was a level-two exorcist. No one would be so foolish as to make such a simple mistake.

The guide, having reached the rear of the caravan, turned and headed back to the front. A few minutes later, the procession resumed its advance. The caravan fell into a deathly silence. The crunch of wheels on sand and the shuffle of feet were swallowed by the howl of the sandstorm.

The Third Calamity could appear at any moment. Or perhaps it had already arrived, dissolving into the caravan, waiting.

Koplend felt more sand fill his mouth. He couldn't spit, so he could only gather the bitter grit with his lips and wipe it away with the back of his hand. He only succeeded in smearing the sand from his glove across his face.

After a long, silent journey, the sky began to darken, and the caravan halted once more. The guide walked back from the head of the column, making hand signals.

It was the signal to make camp for the night.

Khaints didn't approve of the decision—why stop in the Calamity's zone instead of pushing on to their objective? But she ordered her squad to comply.

The exorcists around them began to light fires and lay out their bedrolls, all in absolute silence.

Occasionally, someone would accidentally make a sound and freeze in place. Only after a dozen seconds, once they were sure nothing had happened, would they exhale and move with even greater caution.

Khaints lit a fire for her squad, added some wood, and stood up, surveying the surroundings.

Evening was falling, and the distance was sinking into twilight.

The caravan had stopped in a hollow behind a hill, where the gusts of wind from the windward side were weaker. In the desert, with its drastic temperature swings, shelter from the wind was everything.

Those who were far from the fires could already feel the nightly chill of the desert.

The exorcists sat by the warm fires, washing down their food with gulps of water to muffle the sounds of chewing.

After dinner, there was no entertainment in the camp—even reading was impossible, as the turning of pages made noise. Everyone crawled into their sleeping bags, hoping that morning would come quickly.

An ominous quiet settled over the camp. Those still awake could hear only the distant howl of the sandstorm, the crackling of the fires, and the snorting of horses nearby.

Koplend carefully settled into his sleeping bag, which was laid out on the still-warm sand, and pulled it over his head. He didn't want to die because he snored, muttered in his sleep, or got a face full of sand.

Though soon enough, a lack of air forced the sleeping Koplend to poke his head out.

...

In the cold of the morning, Koplend slowly awoke.

He instinctively started to roll over and get up, but a hand clamped down on him, holding him still.

The shock of being woken so abruptly jolted Koplend fully awake, as if he'd been doused with icy water. He looked up at Hefferson from the Night Watch. The man pressed a finger to his lips but made no sound.

Koplend understood and froze, his eyes darting around.

The fire was nothing but embers. He could see that Khaints and the others were already awake and, like him, were silently surveying the camp.

The camp had awakened, but it was bound by an unnatural silence.

So... the Calamity had struck at dawn?

How many had died, and who...

Koplend knew all too well: the discovery of a new Calamity always meant someone's death.

Fortunately, it never lingered for long—it would usually leave after several dozen minutes.

The awakened camp was forced to maintain a dead silence for an entire hour.

Clap!

A sharp clap echoed over the camp. A few seconds later, an old man's voice called out, "It's gone. Get up, children."

As soon as the words were spoken, the awakened exorcists scrambled out of their sleeping bags, asking each other what had happened.

"Mr. Alvin, do you know what happened?" Khaints asked the old man who had dared to break the silence, her tone respectful.

"Neil's squad..." the scholar Alvin sighed.

The others learned the details from Neil.

Neil had been the first to wake. The sleeping bag across from him, where Louis slept, was empty.

Wary, Neil waited a few minutes. When Louis didn't return, he carefully got up. He woke his leader, who then proceeded to rouse the commanders of each group at every fire.

Koplend looked over at Louis's sleeping bag by the neighboring fire. It still lay perfectly flat, as if it retained the last of his warmth.

It didn't matter if he had turned in his sleep or muttered a few words. The exorcists only needed to remember one thing: caution.

If a member of the Night Watch of True Vision could fall victim to the Calamity without a sound, then they were all vulnerable.

The Third Calamity had retreated and wouldn't be back for a while. The camp took advantage of the respite. The exorcists counted their numbers and discovered that it wasn't just Louis who was missing; three of their comrades had vanished without a trace during the long night.

Khaints and Koplend returned to their fire. Koplend silently rolled up his sleeping bag, ignoring the hated sand stuck to the bottom. Khaints unfolded a parchment map, locating the hill where they were camped.

The oasis marked on the map was about thirty miles away.

All they could do was hope that they would reach the oasis before their next stop and put an end to this Calamity.