Disclaimer: this is a mature story wih violence, moderately gory details, and adult themes and language interspersed throughout the story. Read at your own discretion.
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Recap
"I've got a proposition for ya," you reply, ignoring the pert query, "what says you and I partner up for a while? The greenhorn the Hunter's Collective saddled me with went and got hisself killed, and you're obviously in need of someone to watch your back out here. You help me secure the bounty from the hell-bitch I came to kill, and I'll give you 20% of the cut."
His face contorts a little, clearly displeased with the potential payout but recognizing fully his lack of position to negotiate.
"Make the cut 30%, and you got yerself a deal, mister."
Impressed by the brazenness of his response, you nod your head, and slowly lower your rifle, allowing your new partner to slowly rise to his feet. Before his hands have a chance to fall down to the holsters at his hips, you whip your own revolver out of its holster and cock the action in one swift, fluid motion, the barrel pointing right at the boy's chest.
"I've been at this for longer than you have, boy, you try anything funny and it will be the last thing you ever do, y'hear?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hears you loud and clear, a'right? You can put yer damn gun away, let's do the job and get the hell outta here."
Just as deftly as it came out, your revolver returns to its holster. You nod in agreement and turn as your new gun-slinging partner known in these parts simply as "The Kid" joins you in wading through the swampy water of the bayou, but you're left with a choice:
(A.) You take point. Your own experience and expertise as a Hunter gives your new partnership an edge over your adversaries, and years have tempered your judgment enough to make cold and calculated decisions in the heat of the moment. BUT, you leave your back somewhat vulnerable to your young and impetuous new companion.
(B.) The Kid takes point. This allows you to keep an eye on him, and he can serve the purpose of a bullet-sponge in the event of a firefight. However, he is less experienced and more foolhardy a Hunter than you are, which could put you in a sticky situation that could have been avoided.
Better let The Kid take the lead. Not sure if he can be trusted, and it's better to have his head poking around first instead of mine... might make the difference in me keepin' it.
Chapter 3: An Unlikely Companion
Image Artist: @anikekirsten
With an open palm, you gesture as if to say "be my guest." He pauses for a moment, eyes flitting between your outstretched hand and your face. After realizing that you have no intention of leading the way, he smacks his lips and begins to walk in the direction you indicated with a look of chagrin.
"Don't suppose you could, uh, y'know... tell me where it is we're goin', could ya?" The question was posed with a poorly veiled tone of annoyance. "Or was you plannin' on babysittin' li'l ole me outta here?"
"I heard tell of a beast needin' put down at the graves nearby the old chapel. You familiar with it?" You respond.
"Yeah... I reckon it's been about 5 years since I been there. Folks didn't take too kindly to me and my brother tossin' rocks up through them fancy colored windows..." a mischievous grin crosses his face, "taught them to take tithe and put it towards pointless shit!"
"Funny," you respond, "you don't strike me as the religious type... or to have a moral compass to speak of, judging by the general irreverence of your speech."
"Ha! Naw, I ain't religious. Just felt right to stick it to them self-righteous pricks up on the hill," he retorts defensively. "B'sides, if they believed what they was preachin', they'd put that money in the hands of the poor folks 'round them, not the fuckin' building."
You give a nod of assent. Hard to argue with that logic.
"I'm headed that way, anyhow. Got myself a job there'n needs doin'."
"You? You have a job?"
"Well, yeah!" He exclaims indignantly, "Why else would I be out here in this fuckin' shithole with them rotten bastards all about?!"
You raise your hand in a disarming gesture. "Fair enough, kid, I meant no harm. Though I'm supposin' that cut I offered you to be a bit disproportionate now..."
"Dispro- Di... Dispropo- what the hell does that mean?"
"Nevermind. Just thinking out loud. Let's cut the chatter, we're likely not the only ones out here with a contract."
Your unlikely partner nods in agreement, and continues to press on through the mud and tepid waters ahead. A mixture of swampy waters and dry patches of land stretches out in front of you. You would have preferred for the carriage that brought you here to have dropped you off a bit further in the swamp, but the path was too dangerous - riddled with the undead and unsavory characters alike. Typical, that when the modern world as you know it comes to an end, civilization crumbles and the baser motivations of men has a tendency to overcome their more altruistic sensibilities.
Hell broke loose in more than one way, it seems. At least, it brought out the hell in many ordinary men...
You continue to press on, sloshing through a section of particularly deep, but traversable swamp. The water creeping up almost to your waist. In order to keep your guns dry, both you and Turner draw your weapons from their holsters, holding them above the water as carefully as can be managed. Ahead there are several boardwalks, a smattering of small, makeshift shacks long abandoned by their former inhabitants, and a lazily sloping incline leading up to dilapidated structures of red brick and stone.
We're getting close. Best make ready to face the hellthing that lurks within...
As these words form in your mind, Turner goes stiff in front of you, then whips his head to look down and to his right, leveling one of his pistols at something in the water. Before you have a chance to intervene, he fires a round into the water - the blast ringing out from the muzzle of the revolver is amplified across the still water of the swamps around you. You stand there in stunned disbelief for a split second before quickly checking your surroundings for signs of movement. What the hell was that, boy? It doesn't take long for this immediate thought to come out in an expression of frustration.
"I felt something grabbin' at my ankle, didn't want it pulling me under or somethin'!" he objected. As you draw a breath to further reprimand him for his foolishness, you see just beneath the surface of the water a faint outline of what seems to be a corpse drifting slowly away.
Maybe the kid was right, maybe a grunt was lurking underwater and was roused by our movement... a knife still could've done the job just as well, though.
Before you have the chance to form another thought or phrase, though, a blast rings out from a distance and the water nearby explodes as if struck by lightning. Shit! Cover's blown!
"FIND COVER!" You yell to the stunned Jenkins boy, who still seems to be processing the events of the last few seconds. "IF WE STAY HERE, WE'RE AS GOOD AS DEAD!"
Another report from the far bank travels out over the still waters and an invisible projectile collides with a cluster of cattails nearby, cleaving a few of them from their stalks. This seems to cause Turner to snap back to attention and frantically begin wading through the murky, muddy waters towards the boardwalk and shacks not far ahead. Adrenaline is coursing through your veins, and though the water and mud are deep and deterrent to your advance, your body and legs push onward as if with a mind of their own and only one objective: survive. Another shot. This time, you can hear the zip as the bullet whizzes by, mere inches from your ear. Too damn close!
Moments later, you reach the nearest shack and burst in through the door. Turner isn't far behind you, breathing heavily from the exertion of running for his life through the mire. He leans against the door, a revolver clutched in each hand, readying himself to either continue running from cover to cover or to stand and fight. You've already stabilized your own breathing and reset your natural adrenaline response to steady your breathing and your hands - increasing your ability to shoot with deadly accuracy.
"Well, kid, looks like it's time to earn that 30%!" You state with a wry smile. "Let's go hunting..."
He takes another deep breath, readjusts his grip on his revolvers, then gives a quick, succinct nod. It's going to take the two of you working in coordination to get out of this alive, but you're left with a choice:
(A.) Stake up here and wait for your attackers to hopefully reposition so you can see where they are and return fire from a distance with your rifle while Turner watches your back.
(B.) Have Turner rush out the door to the next shack or two in the hopes of drawing some fire from the bank, giving you a bead on their position but separating you and Turner.
(C.) Continue to move together, leapfrogging from shack to shack, in the hopes of closing ground between you and the brick and stone of the cemetery. Potential for better cover, but greater risk for both of you.
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Your friendly neighborhood dork,
~Thinkr
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