by John Davis
“Sounds like a good plan.” Cambria said as she looked for a place to rest.
The roof on its own was pretty large, to her estimation it was about thirty feet wide by thirty feet long. Aside from the steel trapdoor that stood between the survivors and flesh eating dead below, there were a handful of steel pipes along with a flat surface of concrete.
They had plenty of room. The problem seemed to be the lack of supplies. No type of shelter, little food and nothing to put between themselves and the cold concrete they would be resting on.
Shortly after, the group became quiet. It was the perfect opportunity to rest, though little sleep would be had. Dead flesh pounding roughly onto the thickened steel of the roof's trapdoor.
Quiet times were always the worst for Dalton. He was a man with a laundry list of life events, most of them not so great when it came to re-living them. And as he sat on the ledge of the Trading Post, with legs dangling and cigar ashes falling down onto the crowd of Drifters, he began to think about his old crew.
“Damn woman, you got a death wish or something?” Dalton said, quickly pulling his revolver to the ready as Selina approached softly.
“You are alive, right?” he asked as the barrel remained on her.
“What does this tell you?” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply.
“Tells me this trip 'aint been a total loss.” Dalton replied with a grin.
“May I sit?” Selina asked. Dalton simply pointed to the ledge beside him as Selina sat down gracefully.
“Do you think we'll be alright?” she asked in a somber tone.
“Hard to say,” Dalton replied as he took a deep inhalation of Rum treated cigar. “I expect that if anyone makes it out of Geartown alive, it'll be us.” he added.
“I hate that all of this happened, but I'm really glad you're here.” Selina said as she looked deeply into the smuggler's wide eyes.
“I'm sorta' glad I'm here too,” Dalton replied, drawing another lung debilitating puff. “Truth is, this has me feeling more alive than I have in a long time. Don't get me wrong, I could do without the crowd of undead. But otherwise, it's kinda peaceful out here in the Drifts.”
“It can be,” Selina said with a grin. “At least before all of this happened anyway.” she added.
Dalton agreed with a nod, flicking his cigar stump onto the crowd of animated flesh below.
“Technology has a way of complicating things. Has a way of pulling people apart and taking the luster away from life's greatest moments.” Selina said.
“That's deep,” Dalton said, his eyes widening just a bit. “I get it though. “I've been a lot of places and seen a lot of unhappy people. Most of them were living on the cutting edge of technology.” he added as he pulled a small flask from his coat.
“Crash landed once; well, more than once,” Dalton said prior to taking a healthy swig of whatever his flask was readily offering. “The planet was off the map, nothing to speak of really. Just a village full of the most primative people you could ever meet. But they were good people...happy people.” he added as Selina squeezed him a bit in hugging fashion.
“Really? What happened to them?” Selina asked, intrigued by his story.
“Oh they all died,” he said, starting to take another swig as he realized the damage. “Not that we are gonna die or anything.” he added quickly.
“Well this is a very encouraging conversation.” Selina replied softly.
“Ah, don't fret it none babe, I'll come up with something.” Dalton said.
“I hope so,” Selina said with a concerned look. “Everyone is looking to you.” she added as she slowly stood up to find a nice spot to rest for the night.
They were looking to him, especially Cambria at that very moment. Watching his every move. Wondering why such a good hearted man would hide away from the world beneath the shield of his brown coat. As she lay there, she continued to stare at him. The way he sat calmly on the ledge let her know of his experience in battle, but the way he gently placed his hand on the pup beside him let her know of his good spirit.
She was becoming confused under the worst possible conditions. But still she thought only of Dalton James as she slowly drifted into a world of dreams.
“All we can do is sleep it off,” Dalton mumbled as he sat on the rooftop and prepared his duster in a way as to present the illusion of a fine mattress. “Nothing else we can do.” he added as he lay down and rolled away from the group of survivors.
It would be hard for them to sleep. Damn near impossible, actually, as dead flesh continued pounding against the thick trapdoor of steel which separated them. Eventually, seemingly hours later, the beating subsided. Those on watch noticed a lack of interest by many of the Drifters, who began finding their way back out into the streets in search of less difficult victims.
The interior of the ship was different from anything he had ever seen before. That's what had first caught Dalton's attention. Gauges that looked alien, yet eerily of death.
As Dalton first sat up, his reaction was to check for Whiskey. But the faithful running mate was nowhere to be found. As was the same fate for his sidearm, in fact, as Dalton felt around for it his holster was no longer a part of the uniform. His eyes told a tale of unanswered questions as he glanced down to see himself clad in solid white. It seemed surreal.
Jumping swiftly to his feet, Dalton began to visually search the room. Solid steel walls, though not a single seam could be seen with his naked eyes. He wondered how such a ship could have even been constructed, seemingly flawless in every respect. There did appear to be a door, and as the wily smuggler began to approach it slowly in search of answers, three colored triangles illuminated the wall directly above it. All of them brilliant red and further adding to the mystery.
Moments later, the door opened quickly enough to startle Dalton back against the wall. His reasoning led him to only two possibilities. Either he had been drugged or the Drifters had indeed found him. Maybe his dream was merely a part of the conversion process, leaving the mortal world and joining a very feared nation of walking dead.
Normally, Dalton would have played out each scenario in his head, but his train of though was interrupted as two figures entered the room. Though visible, they both seemed a bit blurred, almost as if his eyes could not focus them. Both were clad in solid white, from boot to riot style helmet. Even the shielding of their helmets glimmered a satin white, while three red triangles formed a larger triangle as the only marking on their helmets.
Dalton felt the need to ask questions, and had started to approach them before stopping dead in his tracks. A tail of some sort was visible as the soldiers turned to the side in order to watch the door. It extended slightly from the rear of their helmets and seemed to penetrate the top of their spinal cords. Though the soldiers remained perfectly still, the brown tail wiggled a bit, its tissue both knobby and covered in scales.
It was unlike anything the smuggler had ever seen before, the sight truly scaring Dalton for the first time in many years. He felt a chill run through his skin, raising bumps all along his arms as his hands shook a bit, preparing to fight for life if needed be.
All of that changed with the entrance of a third. Solid white cloak, hood pulled up to protect both emotion and identity. Dalton's heart nearly stopped beating when it became evident what was about to occur. The hooded figure carried a glass cylinder in one arm; inside the cylinder a small creature. Its tail matched that of the ones draping from the helmets of the posted guards, though the rest of the creature was also visible.
It was almost flat, though it had six legs clad in scales of dark brown and the eery tail that appeared to form a large needle-like shape at its tip. The creature began striking toward Dalton, almost as if it were a venomous snake waiting to be loosened from its cage. As the cloaked figure slowly pulled the hood from its head, Dalton began to cry aloud.
“Help us.” Adam Michaels said, a monster similar to the one encased in glass at
tached to his skull with tail running down into Dalton's former Captain's spine. Just as Sasha's overpowering screams could suddenly be heard, Adam threw the encased monster toward Dalton, its glass confines quickly disappearing as the freed monster lunged for him.
“Dalton!” Cambria said in a loud whisper, trying her best to force the smuggler to awaken.
He had started to come to a bit, though he remained, for the moment, between the world of dream and that which required oxygen for survival.
“Dalton, are you alright?” Cambria asked again, this time her words filled with concern.
“Yea,” he replied, hand gripping his head a bit. “Splitting headache and,” he added, seemingly holding back for a moment. “Really bad dream.”
“It's alright, we all have them.” she replied.
“Not like this one. God, it seemed so real.” Dalton said.
Cambria gripped his shoulder for a moment, a gesture to let the smuggler know she was by his side.
“I woke you up because day is breaking,” Cambria said in a soft voice. “Be a good idea to assess our situation.”
“Off 'yer asses!” Dalton yelled loud enough to wake everyone who still slept. “It's time to put our heads together, find out what we got and what we don't got.” he added, nodding his appreciation to the Captain of the Outer Heaven.
“It's official. What we got is eleven survivors, five bottles of hooch, three bottles of water and two cans of pork and beans.” Tank said with a touch of disgust.
“Twelve survivors.” Dalton added as Whiskey barked loudly in order to be counted, his angle, simply put, to be considered for the pork and beans.
“We also have guns.” Skulls said.
“Yep, that we do got. May just be our biggest asset at the moment,” Dalton replied, turning to the remainder of the survivors. “I know my crew and Johnny are damn capable with a weapon,” he said with pause. “Any of the rest of you a decent shot?”
The barkeep, older man who held a child in his arms and one of the younger men stepped back a bit. Experience with a weapon was surely not on their list of skills.
“No Dalton, I don't. I'm sorry.” Selina said.
“It all good,” he replied with a cowboy wink. The kind that was accompanied by fatigue, bad hair and whiskey laced breath. “What about you?” he asked of the remaining man.
The man had medium length hair, dirty blonde, though his clothes were anything but. The light-skinned man wore dress slacks and a pinstripe vest that rested over a white shirt.
“Yea,” the man replied. “I served with the Legion during the first Glimmerian War. I put a right many Colonials into the grave, so I guess that qualifies.”
Dalton bit his tongue as he thought back to the first Glimmerian War. He had been involved as well, on the Colonial side, and had watched dozens of his friends butchered in a losing effort. There was even a good chance that the man who stood in front of him fired a shot or two that may have ended the life of a friend.
But these were different times. Different circumstances. Once bitter enemies, they now stood together with a common goal. Survival.
“I fought there as well. Fought for the Colonials,” Dalton replied as the air that surrounded the group seemingly got very thick. “And if we were in any other situation, the words you just spoke to me would have been paid for with teeth,” Dalton added, looking the man from head to toe. “But the war is long over, and we need every gun we can get.”
“Fair enough,” the man replied, extending his hand. “The name's Christopher.”
He was testing Dalton, and the brown coat smothered man of ill-repute was sure of it. Purposely crossing the line to see if Dalton meant his words. His gut told him to slug the son of a bitchn' redcoat, or better yet, shoot his ass and be done with it. But Dalton soon realized his gut hungered for food too, and the sooner they smoothed things over when it came to Glimmeria, the better.
“Dalton James.” he finally replied, shaking hands with a man he would have been under orders to kill back on Glimmeria.
“We need to figure out if this is the spot we call home, or if we go looking for something else.” Johnny said.
“This is the spot. It's a safe spot, otherwise they would have gotten through during the night.” Cambria replied.
“Agreed,” Dalton said. “So we need to form a small group. Go scavenge what we can and get back before nightfall.”
“What are we supposed to do for food all day?” Selina asked.
“What we got goes to the kid,” Dalton said with seriousness. “We can make it days without eating if need be, but won't have to. Just need to make it through one.”
“Well who's going?” Tank asked.
“You and I got things to work out, so we're both in.” Dalton said.
“Huh?” Cambria asked with amazement.
“One of the things you need to understand about smuggling is there will be arguments,” Dalton replied. “Lots of arguments,” he added. “Hell, my previous Captain and I used to fistfight when it came down to it.”
“What the hell does this have to do with scavenging?” Tank asked.
“You need to learn that no matter what we got going on between the two of us, we always get each others backs.” Dalton said.
“Yea right.” Tank added, blowing the advice off.
“Which is why you aren't taking a weapon.” Dalton said.
“The fuck I 'aint!” Tank replied with anger.
“You'll be carrying all of the luggage. You a big 'sumbitch, we'll be able to carry a lot more this way. And I'll be there to watch you back, just like Johnny will.”
“You a crazy motherfucker! No way in hell that I'm going out there unarmed, especially with you and Johnny. I'll be dead within five minutes!” Tank said.
“No you won't, cause what you will learn really quick is the smuggler's creed.” Dalton replied.
“Oh yea, what's that?” Tank asked, his words filled with both mystery and sarcasm.
“That no matter how bad you piss me off, I got your back.” Dalton said, nodding his head to show everyone the truth of it.
“Or as I like to say, trust not, eat not.” Johnny added.
“Skulls will stay behind,” Dalton said. “Not that you're no good in combat my man. But in the event that we come hauling ass back with a crowd on us, you're the only one skilled enough to thin them out.”
“I have no problem providing overwatch. It's what I do best.” Skulls replied with a nod of approval.
“Ever have to use a slugger to bring peace back to the bar?” Dalton asked of the bartender.
“A bat? More times than you can count.” the barkeep replied.
“Same principle,” Dalton said as he un-sheethed his large blade and handed it to the man. “Drifter comes up, you swing for the hills. This blade will cut the sumbitch' in half.”
“I'm coming too. Right?” Cambria asked, hoping to impose her authority.
“Not this time out. If things go to shit we need someone capable of putting together a rescue plan.” Dalton replied.
“What am I supposed to do? Just hang out here?” she asked.
“Hand Christopher a piece and keep these people safe. Stay on that trapdoor and pray we make it back in one piece.” Dalton said.
Several minutes later, the survivors had laid out everything they would need for the scavenging group's trip. Several empty sacks, a couple of throw sacks using thick shirts and a few bare-chested men.
“Dalton, I cannot believe you had the nerve to ask me for my shirt!” Cambria said, furious that he had used the excuse of Drifters as reasoning.
“Hey, just trying to do my part.” Dalton said, chuckling as Johnny, even Tank, joined in the laughter a bit.
Skulls, Christopher, the barkeep, old man and another survivor all lent their shirts. It would allow the three man scavenging party a chance to scale down the rope, rather than attempt their way down a stairwell which led to sure Drifters.
They geared up, weapons in h
and and belt, while Tank's firm grip held a dozen or so makeshift sacks.
“We'll drop down and hit the Eastern side of Geartown. Remember to keep sights on us.” johnny said as a very pale-chested Skulls nodded.
And while Dalton embraced Selina one last time, harboring his body in the warmth of her own, even he noticed the dedicated stare of Cambria Sims. He had seen it many times, and knew that it was one of love unexplored.
He tested his theory, purposely walking past her without saying a single word.
“Dalton,” Cambria said, approaching him slowly. “Please be careful.”
“Will do,” he said with a grin. “And when I get back, I think it's time we had a little talk.”
“Talk. About what?” Cambria asked, her question answered with a simple glance.
Oh God! Cambria thought. How could he know? How could he possibly know my feelings? Are they that obvious? Did keeping them a secret even matter to her anymore? She had fallen so suddenly, so head over heels with a man who might be marching to his own death just to feed the survivors.
Knowing it could be their final moment together, she wanted to reach out and kiss the man so desperately. Plead with him, beg him if needed be, to stay and let someone else go in his place. But she knew why had had thrown himself in the situation. Because otherwise, the scavenging group wouldn't survive.
“Just take care of my damn dog and quit with the last moment together ever look.” Dalton said with a smile.
Cambria wanted to curse his arrogance, maybe even curse herself for exposing such feelings. Instead she just smiled wide and nodded her head, doing her best to hold back tears that could have easily fallen if she would have let them.
The plan was a simple one. Repel down the rope made of less than expensive shirts, which they had knotted together to form a rope. Johnny would lead the group, his familiarity of the town was key.
Tank would follow next, his large size allowing him to carry the bulk of what they had found. Even though his job for the upcoming trip was technically that of a pack mule, it was also the most important. He would be the one who brought back needed supplies for an extended stay.
