Everyone Dies in the End #69
Susan
The blonde nudged the ropers with the shotgun. “Drop ‘em”
They did, and the kid deflated. “Pack it up,” he shouted, and the men with guns holstered them and headed for their trucks.
The ropers turned to the blonde and muttered something Susan couldn’t hear. The blonde shook her head and pointed toward the trucks. The ropers shrugged and walked away, obviously dejected over the loss of their guns. The blonde tracked them with the barrel of the shotgun. After everyone mounted their trucks, the self-proclaimed nightmare pulled the pistol from Spindly’s head and gave him a shove. The kid stumbled, righted himself, and turned to face them. “One day, man. One day you are going to be mine.”
Susan’s rescuer shrugged. “Perhaps, one day, but not this day. Get in your truck and leave while you still can. Take your prizes to Vader, get your pat on the head.”
Susan saw the kid’s eyes widen. “You know Vader?” He laughed. “You know what we do?”
“I know,” the nightmare answered, his voice as cold as the evening chill. “Go”
The kid’s head bobbed. “Yeah, I’ll go man, but one day. One day I’ll put your ass in those pens.”
The nightmare didn’t respond, but watched silently as the kid stepped into a Chevy S-10. A moment later the small convoy was headed away, their headlights stabbing the gathering darkness, engines echoing off the nearby hills.
“You know them?” It was the blonde, shotgun in her hand, the roper’s assault rifles slung over her shoulder.
The man didn’t answer at first, bending to Susan, offering her his hand. She accepted, surprised at the coolness of his skin, and he pulled her to her feet. He seemed oblivious to her shredded shirt, but the blonde didn’t. “Here.” The assault rifles and shotgun lay on the ground, and the blonde held out a blue jean jacket. “Put this on until we find you something better.”
Two more men appeared and her rescuer glanced back at them. “Get the weapons, put them in the truck.”
The men picked up the assault rifles.
“Her’s too.”
One of the men glanced at the blonde, she shrugged, and he picked up the shotgun. The men disappeared into the darkness from where they had come.
“Are you going to have a snack?” He regarded her icily.
Susan spoke, her first words since the attack. “Thanks.”
The man and the woman nodded in response.
“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful or anything, but what did she mean,” Susan pointed at the blonde, “a snack?” The man shrugged. “It is of no matter.”
“Old habits die hard, don’t they, Ramzke?” The blonde chuckled. Continuing, the blonde gestured at the man called Ramzke. “Hero boy is not quite what he seems. He is…how can I say this delicately?” The blonde’s tone was mocking, and her finger tapped her chin in a parody of deep thought. Her face brightened, and she held up the finger, mimicking a moment of profound insight. “How’s this? He’s a blood-sucking, son-of-a-bitch.”
Perhaps the blonde’s cold statement was meant to shock. If so, the effect was lost on Susan. She had lived her life on the fringe; the edge of where the normal met the not so normal. She had never met a vampire, but then again, she had never met the Pope. Didn’t mean he wasn’t in Rome
“And you?” She questioned the blonde.
The blonde laughed. “What about me?”
“I saw what happened. You didn’t sneak up on those ropers, you materialized next to them.” The blonde didn’t answer, her eyes not leaving Susan’s face.
Susan swept her hand across the horizon. “This war has brought more than bombs and missiles. This war has brought an evil, given rise to things,” She looked at Ramzke, “vampires, cannibalism, I’ve heard of Lycan in the Appalachians .” She turned back to Cindy. “What are you? Who are you?”
Cindy pointed to herself. “Me? I’m Cindy, just Cindy.” 
Comments