dead west

Bays watched as his rifle tumbled away from him, down the stairs, until it hit the sidewalk and discharged.  The beast and its rider were not moved.

“Move for the gun,” said the rider.  “And this spear will end your life.  You are the supply carrier?”

Bays nodded.  “Yes.”

“Where are they?”

“The lock box, on the right side,” Bays pointed to his bike.

The rider made a strange rolling sound with his tongue, and kicked the beast.  It began to turn away, and he kicked it again.  Slowly, the beast backed away from Bays, its long, crooked tail dragging by its side.  The rider kept the massive spear held high, and poised to throw.  When they had reached the bike, the rider stuck his long spear through a crack in the pavement and used it to slide off of the beast’s back.  The beast stared at Bays and growled, pulling back its upper lip to reveal those nightmarish shiny-black teeth.  When he was done searching Bays’ bike, the rider shimmied back up the pole wearing the supply bags around his neck, and Bays’ helmet on his own head.

“No, see, that helmet wasn’t a part of the delivery!” said Bays.

The rider turned to look, but his expression was hidden by the faceplate of the helmet.  He yanked the spear from the ground, and turned his beast to the edge of the jungle.  Here he called the beast to a halt and turned, raising the spear once more.  Bays had stood to watch them depart, and now he dove down the stairs, reaching for his gun.  A piercing screech echoed through the jungle as he fumbled with the rifle.  By the time he was looking down the sight of the gun, they had disappeared into the jungle, amidst swaying branches and falling leaves.  He lowered the gun, and looked to his bike where the spear had impaled it, freeing neon-green cooling-fluid in a mess.

If he couldn’t make it back to the city by 2pm that day, when his shift started, he might be fired from his job-his legal job-and might be banished into this dangerous wasteland just as Ralph had been.  How could he cover that amount of ground in such a short period of time without a working hover-craft?  His apartment wasn’t much, but it was a civilized way to live.  There was no way he was going to live in this humid, bug infested hell-hole.  Beast-douche had just smashed his ride, stole his helmet, and took the delivery without payment.  And to top it off, he would probably be expelled from society by the end of the day.  He cursed and threw his rifle on the ground in frustration.  It discharged again, this time the blast hit his bike and set it ablaze.

Start walking home?  Or chase after Beast-douche, ask him for a lift?  The bike remains smoldered.

05-02-08 xwestx TO BE CONTINUED