For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 1

               High above, on their perch they were safe. Flat on their stomachs the two individuals laid across the old cracked pavement motionless. The larger figure dressed in blacks and dark browns, his form extended by the rifle he held, stared down the lens of a high powered scope. The second individual was shorter, dressed in grays and dark greens with a hood for protection.

               “You’re clear,” a soft voice said from underneath the hood, a pair of camouflaged binoculars jutting out from underneath the cloth.

               The old bridge that connected the road over the deep valley had been broken on both sides for several years. The wind blew past their ears and the heat beat down on them, the sun was vicious these days. From their perch they peered down at their prey, a lucky lone straggler. Through the scope he could see the young Asian woman, or what was left of her, fidgeting at the hole in her stomach as she stumbled across the rocks. She wore nothing but the muddied jeans and leaves in her hair. Her breasts were small and perky but accented by the large pink and purple butterfly tattoo that had been splattered with dried blood.

               Bronson couldn’t help but think she was probably an attractive woman at one point, but that would have been before she had started walking around without her lower jaw. Now his sights on the custom scope were lined up perfectly between her eyes. He looked past the make-shift suppressor on the weapon and tried his best to account for the wind, he was no amateur though. His gloved finger caressed the trigger with a cool contemplated action. He had been watching her for almost thirty minutes, just waiting for his spotter to make sure all of the other elements were right.

               The rifle made deafening thump, but the noise wouldn’t carry across the valley, and that was the important part. Discretion and subtlety were words to live by in their line of work. Through the scope he saw the small puff of red mist spray from the back of the once beautiful woman’s head. There was a pause that might have been something akin to respect as he looked away, allowing the body to slowly slump to its knees and then on the ground.

               “Count em’, Nyx.”

               She paused and pulled back the hood revealing her short black hair and a devious smirk of deep purple lips.

               “What, you think they’ve multiplied magically?”Standing, she began to brush the dust from her pants and elbows, a fruitless effort out here. “You know it’s been a shitty day. Let’s just bag the heads and get back early.”

               His lips didn’t move. There was just a deep growl in his throat that showed his displeasure to her notion.

               “Hey, I’ve still got to work tonight and I’m betting you do too,” she said wagging a finger at him. “So forgive me if I’d like a few extra minutes to myself.” She said as her eyes glanced upwards at the hot burning sky.

               She quickly replaced the hood and reached down next to where she had been lying, fingers wrapping around the handle of the machete. She gave him one last glance to let him know that she really was done for the day before grabbing the long black spun cords of rope.

               Bronson finally stood and removed his wide brimmed black hat. He slung the rifle over his back and adjusted his side holster with the old colt .45 with the long nosed barrel that he had stolen. The metal of the gun reflected the light of the sun brightly when it wasn’t covered up by the old dirtied duster. His tanned cargo pants and black muscle shirt were torn and singed a bit as well ever since the incident with the fire two weeks back.

               Nyx had already secured the rope around the metal support and was tightening it to her waist. He didn’t like her going down first but she was at the point where she had become impatient. Their hours were long out here: and with the heat on top of everything, keeping arguments to a minimal was preferred. Bronson wasn’t a huge talker anyway and they had been doing this long enough for her to know what she was doing. Even with that being true, he still watched her as she rappelled down the supports for the old bridge. It wasn’t easy getting up or down, but it was the best spot they had found so far, especially for their methods.

               Nyx hit the ground, her hand on the handle of the machete at her belt, just in case. She unhooked and made sure the rope was ready for her partner. A quick nod to let him know and then she was off to start what she referred to as the fun part.

               There were only six today, but that was six thousand credits which meant three thousand credits for each of them. It was more than they could hope to make in a week at their so-called jobs. So though she hated it, Nyx raised the machete from its sheath and let it pause in the air as she focused. The bright hot sun reflected off the metal before it quickly came down and cut into the dead Asians woman’s neck. She’d do three. Bronson would get the others, that was how this partnership worked. She was already cutting the little dangling bits off of the neck base when her partner made it down with their bag.

               Reaching into the black canvas bag he removed several smaller bags and handed three to her before beginning his own work in the valley. The two worked in silence. It wasn’t like the conversation was going to be all that interesting but this practice also helped them listen out for threats while they were tending to the heads of the deceased.

               Once all of the heads were bagged and secured in the black canvas bag it was time to go. Bronson threw it over the same shoulder as the rifle, adjusting both straps to make sure they were secured in place. Nyx always offered to carry the bag, she had worked hard to prove her worth down here and she would have run herself in to the ground to show she was tough enough to do the job. Bronson always refused though, saying the weight of the bag on a good day would slow them down if she carried it. He didn’t let her carry it on light days either though, which she didn’t like. The truth was though that if something ever happened to the cargo in question, whoever was carrying the bag would be held responsible and he didn’t want to put that on her. This was a risk versus rewards job and it was a little too easy to not get any reward if you messed up.

               The pair walked out of the valley the same way they had come in, each observant though they were both already in the mindset of what they would do when they returned back home. Once out of the valley they could see what used to be the city to their right. The skeletons of old sky scrapers and temples of the all-powerful dollar lay hollowed out, destroyed, or just abandoned amongst an almost desert terrain. Even though it wasn’t discussed, each time they got to this point Bronson would pause and admire the city for a moment or two and Nyx remained quiet in this time. Though the more they came down the less he seemed to linger. It had been years after all.

               The two followed what used to be Interstate 15 for five miles. They stopped to rest after they reached the once green faded road sign that read: “Las Vegas 20m”, a usual rest place for them. There were fewer dangers on the road.

               “Wanna call in?”

               Bronson nodded to her. Nyx reached down to her belt where there was a small black box attached with several blinking blue and green lights that let her know the device was working and connected. She removed a slender ear piece and stick from the box. Placing it in her ear and listening across the channel before she spoke, she cleared her throat.

               “Rat pack calling Mithras, rat pack calling Mithras,” there was a pause as she called the sun god. “Come in Mithras.”

               “Mithras here,” a broken voice said across the line.

               “Requesting extraction Mithras, when is your next scheduled pick-up?”

               There was a few seconds of radio silence, a moment that always made Nyx nervous.

               “I’ve got ya, girl. I’m coming in now. There’s another party needing a lift at LZ-121 if you can hoof it over there you can ride.”

               The man on the comm. With the southern accent sounded friendly but she got his meaning, don’t be late unless you want to get left. They could always wait for another transport but then what was the point of knocking off early this trip? She glanced at Bronson to make sure he agreed with her but the big man had already started walking.

               “Roger Mithras, party of two incoming to LZ-121. See you there.”

               If there was a response she didn’t wait for it. The earpiece and microphone were replaced on the black box as she picked up the pace to catch her partner. Running in this heat could spell disaster if you weren’t careful. Bronson knew all of the survival tricks though, and he had made sure Nyx had learned enough not to slow him down.

               The landing zone was only two miles from where they were and they had made pretty good time. It was an old abandoned drive in theatre, now just a flat paved surface really with a few lingering structures that showed what used to go on there. They leaned against the wall of the former concessions stand and Bronson checked the canvas sack, checking their investment.

               “Looks like we’re the first ones here,” Nyx said re-adjusting her sleeves and hood after the run. She lifted the collar of her shirt to check for the golden cross on the silver chain that she wore around her neck. “I’m not used to waiting on them.”

               “I used to hate waiting for trains,” Bronson grumbled. “Best and worst part about New York was the public transportation.”

               Nyx sneered, “I bet it was nice before, you just don’t like anything.”

               There was a rumble in the sky, like if thunder was set on loop.

               “There we go. I don’t hate that sound.”

               Nyx laughed and stood. She was feeling more relaxed now since they were about to leave and was about to say something snarky to him. That was when she noticed him staring off into the distance though at a small dust cloud over a hill, she had to squint to see it. Right then the black box attached to her waist began to vibrate violently against her and she almost jumped. It was a warning. Her hand moved quickly to retrieve the headpiece and place it back to her ear. Again she paused to listen across the airways before doing anything else. This time a frantic voice, no Mithras but someone else, was yelling across the radio.

               “That boat better be ready to go! I’ve got a whole horde of dead fucks behind me! Do you hear me Mithras, anyone!?”

               “Bron, we’ve got trouble.”

               Before she could even finish he had already thrust the Canvas bag in her arms and was bringing his rifle up. The sun flared slightly off of the rifle’s scope, there was no prep time and these would be hard shots.

               From the dust cloud, over the hill an ATV popped up with a small jump from its speed. As it landed back in the sand the tiny vehicle bucked and pulled the wrong way, leaving the driver trying to regain control. The goggles and head gear of the rider wore didn’t look familiar to Nyx. She didn’t have time to think about that though as she saw the other spots coming over the hill, bobbing heads and shoulders all walking grouped together. There had to be thirty or forty of them at least she thought: all different colors, shapes, and sizes and all hungry.

               Even if Bronson’s rifle wasn’t silenced she wouldn’t have heard the shots. The sky broke out in another loud roar as the blue-white flames of afterburners burned away the clouds above them. A halo-like circle had been made as the grey metal ship that was about the size of a small house came in slowly to land on the old cracked pavement.

               Throwing the canvas bag over one shoulder Nyx fished for her sidearm with her free hand, though she wasn’t sure if this was going to go well if they got close enough for her to use it. Bronson’s rifle moved just slightly after each pull of the trigger, taking out the ones closest to them. He knew this wasn’t going to do much though as he saw the others piling over the hill, a wall of corpses that he had nowhere near enough bullets for. A part of him couldn’t help but realize how much money he was sacrificing there as well. Bullets were expensive and there were no heads to show for them.

               The ATV sputtered as it hit the main road and raced towards the parking lot. Nyx looked up at the craft, their way home, and silently prayed for it to move faster. From the cockpit the pilot eyed the situation and his hands moved quickly. The ship spun around with a burst of the right afterburner. The large dome-like cylinder shot out a blue flame and now the back of the ship faced them. Without even touching the ground yet the large cargo door fell slowly with the robotic pistons that held it in place.

               “In, now,” the voice said over the outside speaker system.

               The metal door clanked on the pavement as the ship hovered off the ground still just a bit, its struts shaking from the tension of the still pulsing engines. Nyx looked up to see the ATV turn sharply up onto the ramp with another choking sputter. The vehicle didn’t slow much and had to screech to a halt in the loading dock of the Mithras.

               Bronson fired one more shot with his rifle into the fray hitting the lead ghoul in the ankle, almost obliterating it. The figure slumped and fell but there was no time to make sure it stumbled up his brethren, like Bronson had hoped it would. He turned sharply as the rifle strap was flung back over his shoulder. He glanced to Nyx, she was safe and she had the bag. The door to the cargo area was already closing. He heard the mechanical whirring of the pistons as they struggled to speed through the closing procedure.

               “Let’s go,’ barked the man in the goggles at the pilot.

The door wasn’t closed yet though and Bronson was already climbing in up over the lip of the ramp. He cussed as he slid down the metal. The door wasn’t even sealed yet when the pilot called back.

“Hold on to something!”

There was a rumble and the tail end took a small dip as the thrusters re-adjusted. The horde that had been following behind the rider was almost at the ship, and they’d pay for that. The engines roared and the flames shot out in two heavy plumes of hot whites and blues which incinerated the first few corpses and burned about five or six others to the ground where they stood. The ship shot upwards and Nyx could see out the side that the once faded pavement was now pitch black with little splashes of color from the flaming bodies.

They soon hit the clouds and the rumbling of the ship lessened. Nyx had been clutching the canvas bag the whole way up to make sure nothing had happened to it. She was turning to ask Bronson if he was alright even though she knew the answer, her surprise was that he was not only already standing but with a single punch had just knocked the other cowboy off of his feet and onto the metal grate floor.

“You piece of shit!”

The guy looked stunned from his new position on the floor. Nyx wasn’t used to seeing Bronson this angry, she wasn’t sure if she should try to intervene or not. It didn’t matter though. Her partner hadn’t finished his tongue lashing.

“You recklessly endangered all of us by going into a populated area didn’t you? You took in a vehicle when you’ve been warned the noise attracts them, didn’t you?”

Bronson raised his hand again as if he were going to backhand the man. He wasn’t going to, until the guy started reaching for his sidearm, the one he couldn’t even bother to use to help the others with the mess he had made.

“Back off,” the guy stuttered out as he pulled the pistol. A size thirteen black boot was already pinning his wrist back down to the metal though.

“For what,” Bronson asked the guy as he glanced over at the ATV and the green sack with blood stains at the bottom, “three, four heads? You almost got us killed for that?”

“Fuck you,” the rider hissed. “Let me up, now. You don’t know who I work for.”

The cockpit door swung open just after the boat finally leveled off.

“What the hell is going on,” the pilot asked with an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, his uncut blonde hair hanging over his eyes slightly.

“Get him off of me!”

Bronson finally obliged and took his boot off of the man, but he was watching him closely. Tension stained the air as the hull shook and the atmosphere was broken. The pilot looked over Bronson and Nyx, then to the other man. He looked around before speaking to him.

“You’re Jonah Pierce, the guy that called me down earlier right? Thought there were three of you?”

“They didn’t make it,” the rider said with a crack in his voice. “I’m the one that called you, but they got eaten.”

“Great,” the pilot remarked sarcastically. “Two more problems to deal with next time we come down.” He turned to Bronson and Nyx. “I’m glad you two were here, I’m Tower, Jason Tower.” He extended a hand to both of them. “I’m going to get us underway, you guys sit tight.”

Tower headed back to the cockpit and shut the door. There was a moments pause where Bronson was looking across the cargo bay at Pierce.

“Once again you prove to be good at making friends,” Nyx commented with a smirk.

“We saved his life,” Bronson said low. “He endangered ours, he’s lucky I don’t report his ass.”

A voice broke back over the intercom, Tower making sure he had made his point. “Keep it friendly back there while I’m taking us in. I’m overworked enough as is without you guys causing a ruckus.”

Pierce shot his two saviors a look before he began checking over his ATV. Nyx and Bronson strapped into the bench on the side of the hold, the green leather straps and silver metal buckles securing them into place. The shaking began to increase and Pierce almost fell over trying to strap himself in.

Bronson eyed the small leather pouch that Pierce had his hand clutched firmly to, something more important than the heads he had collected. Glancing at Nyx to tell her something, he realized she was caught up in the spectacle outside of the ship again. He glanced out the thick dusty window with her as the last bits of blue faded into black and the engines burned hot and fierce to propel them further upwards. Amongst the blackness of space, just above the planet, a web of metal and lights stretched outward. Their home, amongst the stars, grew closer. Nyx watched it in awe. She hated Earth, and she whispered a silent prayer every time they left unharmed.