Chapter 2: Lady Luck

Much to the many complaints, insults of looking ridiculous in the cowboy hat and curses from Dave, they were taking the short way through the hostile, unpatrolled and endless supply of deadly feral creatures ready to kill them all. He only had about twelve rounds of .50 calibers, little over thirty rounds of .44 and, thanks too taking an extra peak in the garage before they headed out, about eighty rounds of .38 left to help plow their way back to Seven Clans. Thankful Dave, the devious raider known as Crankshaft, was keen on having a heavily modified pipe rifle to deal death; coming nicely outfitted with calibrated hair-trigger receiver, glow sighted, long ported barrel, large side magazine and newly refurbished spring recoiling stock. It wasn't his first choice, but since he had lost over a hundred rounds of .50 cal, which alone would fetch a fair price at any trading post, he didn't have much of a choice. The sleet from last night had made everything even harder to travel, muddy and wet they marched on through the woods with the clearing in sight.

"Can we rest once we get out of this shit?" Dave complained after nearly falling trying to climb over a fallen tree.

"Shut up," Hunter stopped before going over the same tree, "can you just close your mouth for a half hour?" His body was also starting to rebel against the travel, "If we get half way across the field and stop will you close your mouth?" he said with a sigh.

"You know I can't promise that," Dave gave a smile.

The field was muddy, but still fairly solid that they could make it with little effort. About half way they took a rest just on the edge, next to a large fallen tree. Hunter scanned the clearing over the trunk slowly, watching for any sign of movement. There it was, off ahead about a hundred yards just inside the tree line. Three armed raiders took up positions, one hobbled with a limp and nursed his arm.

Hunter set down the pipe rifle next to the duffel, swung Vista around and brought her up. "Bye Lug-nut." He centered him in the cross hairs and squeezed the trigger, but before he got it depressed all the way, another shot was fired off to his left from a couple of trees in the field. It struck the fallen trunk and kicked up a couple splinters. He ducked down, and shot a glance back at Dave. He was smiling, a crazy smile, a Crankshaft smile. "Maybe he was more Raider than Dave..." Hunter didn't have time for the disappointing revelation.

Another shot from the sniper hit the tree again and again, a few shots came from in front; some hitting the tree, most flying over head. Whoops and "fuck yeah"'s, got closer as the raiders moved in. The sniper held his fire, either reloading or saving his precious shots. Plenty of firearms up here, but ammo was in short supply. A Molotov broke in front of the makeshift bunker a yard or two away.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Lug-nut cursed out his comrade, "You alright Crankshaft?"

"I'll be better if you don't light me on fire Lug-nut." Dave, no Crankshaft, answered with the same crazy smile. "Is that Piston and Overdrive?"

"Nah, couldn't find them," Lug-nut admitted, "but I ran into one of Markov's patrols and I told them Hunter was after you."

Dave seemed to come back to reality for a second, "Oh, fuck..."

Markov or Mark-Of-Death, which was his full Native name, was one of the most brutal raiders around. Well it explained the quickness of reinforcements and the armament too, he was known to own reloading equipment and nearly cornered the market up here. Operating up here as much as he did, Hunter knew why Crankshaft was worried. Seven Clans had a deal with Markov, he keeps the Slaving Lanes clear to the West and they would sell his ammo. Problem was, the man they left to oversee that Seven Clans upheld their part of the bargain, was the same one Dave had murdered; before he robbed the weapons lock up, stole Vista, blew up the West Gate, shot Hunter's Radmare and then gave him the bird before making his escape. "Yeah, definitely made it personal..."

"Hand him on over Hunter," one of the raiders with Lug-nut called out in a southern accent, "and yeh can just walk away."

Pulling down his cowboy hat Hunter smiled, he knew that voice, Tex. "Disappointing, you should know me better than that Tex." He really only worried about the sniper, but without knowing for sure where he was, the three targets in front of him had to do. "Thought you hated the cold Tex."

"Yeah, that I do, but oh man the booze up here warm..." Tex trailed off before he could finish pulling up his gun.

Hunter kneeled up, and took his shot on the southern raider. The left side of his face blew off from the impact of the .50 cal round. Before the casing hit the ground, he had put another round into the chamber and let the round hit the other raider next to Lug-nut. The sniper opened fire, not on Hunter, but Dave. He dove beside Hunter and reached for the pipe rifle, but took a hit to the face from the butt of Vista.

"Run Lug-nut, find Piston and Overdrive before he puts a hole in your dumb ass." Dave called out, grabbing his broken nose.

Hunter had an idea where the sniper was, but it wasn't worth wasting the precious rounds on a guess. Best to stick to the tree line and run for the road. A couple more shots whizzed past, one catching the top of Dave's outside bicep, sending a spray of blood out. It wasn't lethal, but still must of hurt like none other. With his gear recovered and secure, Hunter let loose a few rounds from the pipe rifle. "Move it Dave! I don't have a shot." Following his order, he got up best he could with bound hands and ran, using the trees for cover.

Hunter pulled a dose of Med-X out of his jacket and drilled it into his injured leg, "Run and gun time." He hopped the bullet ridden tree trunk, fired wildly and ran like a drunken man; full steam, stop, go, slow then bolting again. He fired toward the sniper's location blindly, trying to keep the sniper from getting a clear shot on him and letting Dave go; who was just bolting along the trees but toward the road. He didn't stay on Hunter for long, but couldn't get a shot to hit Dave either. The muddy ground finally caught up with Hunter and caused him to lose his footing and slip. It couldn't have happened at a better time, since a round ripped through his hat where his head use to be. "Damn lady luck." He rolled over, grabbed his hat and bolted deeper into the trees. He figured the clip was empty and the sniper would have to reload giving him the time needed to catch up with Dave.

Meeting up with Dave, who was huffing and puffing behind a tree, they regrouped. "If I survive this, I'm going to kill Lug-nut." He said as Hunter reloaded. "Cut me loose Hunter." Holding up his bound hands.

"I will," holding his breath trying to slow his breathing, "when hell freezes over, now get moving."

Crankshaft was back, cursing out Hunter and refusing to move even as another blow from the pipe rifle's stock knocked him to his knees. "Okay, just give me a second!" He pulled out a long white and green plastic syringe, with a yellow capped end, from under one of his shoulder armor plates. It was a pre-war adrenaline shot, potent stuff that seemed to slow time, similar to jet, but wasn't as addictive; mainly due to the fact that it was almost guaranteed to blow out your heart first. Gabbing it in his chest and smiling, he shot a glance up at Hunter. His facial muscles started twitching like a psycho addict, which he also probably was, "Party time Hunter!"

He was up and off before Hunter caught his own breath for another sprint fest. One more shot went off, but it wasn't close and only another two went off before going silent as they neared the road. Watching Crankshaft fly out of the woods and across the open grassland, arms open wide like bird was scary. Either he figured he had nothing to loose, or that stuff just made you feel invincible. Slowing his stride to a more manageable pace, Hunter kept his eye on him, surprised Crankshaft nearly made it to the road before collapsing.

Feeling out of danger, he walked up on the unmoving raider, "You better not be dead, or I'll shoot you again." He noticed the raider was still breathing, fast and loud the closer he got. "Get up..."

Crankshaft didn't, just laid there taking heavy breaths, probably dying from a heart attack. With only fifteen minutes or so out from what remained of the West gate, he started dragging him. Dave...Crankshaft, who or whatever was left in that dying body was limp the whole way to the dirt road. Hunter huffed more, letting go of the sweat drenched hoodie of the limp body, and falling to his knees trying to recover.

It was loud, the sound of a rifle round striking the shotgun pointed at his head. Only Lady Luck, could have prevented any of the shrapnel from shredding his face. On instinct, he fired his last shot up the metal armor and sending the round smashing into her lower left jaw, under the skin of her cheek, then bursting through the skin plowing a deep gash as it travel up along her face toward the sky.

She fell on her ass, still very much alive but stunned with blood, fear and surprise. The officer from the tower grabbed the back of his uniform and started dragging, "Was my last round," He gave a groan trying to keep his footing in the snow. "You're not dead yet, get back in the fight." With that a syringe was stabbed into his arm.

Not taking a second to think about what happened, the revolver's cylinder burst open sending spent casings into the snow and covering them with blood and dirt; as his body was dragged away toward the last set of sandbags and a single ammo box. The woman reached over and pulled up his rifle on him, shots exchanged between the two...the pressure around his neck...around his neck.

With a cough, he eyes burst open and hunter slugged the man before he could finish locking the collar around his neck. The pipe rifle was no longer near him, but luckily the revolver was nestled in her holster. Hunter choked a couple times as he tried to pull up and tear the collar off at the same time. They exchanged fire and his .44 round tore into the slaver's chest. During the exchange the slaver was able to get two shots out before breathing his last. As the rounds hit, the first round struck a plate dead on and stopped; while the other round clipped the edge of a plate and shattered into both his skin and jacket lining. He doubled over again, gripping his bleeding side. The pain was numbed by the Med-X, but it was slowly wearing off. Hunter reached up to ensure the collar was off, and kicked it as far away while on the ground. "Never only one slaver," almost if on cue the butt end of a rifle confirmed his thought.

"Don't kill him, damn it!" A female voice barked as the stock came down again on his body.

Trying to shield his head and face, he noticed that Crankshaft didn't have a collar on, nor was he dead. His eyes popped open and a devious smile crept wide while pulling the knife from the woman's boot sheath. He drilled it deep into the side of her knee and forcing it out the back in a spray of blood as an artery had been torn.

Hunter took advantage of his distracted attacker and rolled to his back, pulling up his revolver. As he did so, he noticed there was a slave bound and tied to a harness on his own attacker, his hands shook. "Breath, just breath," he fired a round into the slavers chest, but there must have been some plated armor under his jacket for he recoiled, but no blood spattered. The slaver brought the barrel of the R91 assault rifle down on him, Hunter also brought his gun down; but his was at the slaver's kneecap. A .44 round blew the unarmored joint into a bloody, fleshy mess. Screaming in pain the slaver fell, his shots going wide, and unintentionally dragging the scared slave down on his face.

"Drop your weapon, I don't want-" before Hunter could finish the sentence the slave's collar exploded with his head, along with ripping the slaver's throat open and sending gore all over Hunter. "What the fuck!" screamed in his head as his mouth failed to form words and his eyes couldn't close to hide the horror.

Crankshaft smiled as blood covered his face, a clicking sound kept going off every time he hit the trigger on the detonator. The slaver leader was dead from her own knife sticking out of her throat. Crankshaft dropped the detonator, realizing the fun was over and this would be his only chance for freedom with the knife in front of him. On his way to the knife, he was met by a kick to the face and a fury of fists.

The limbs belonged to a black female slave on the ground, flailing around in blind attempt to defend herself from everything. She was squeezing her eyes shut with such force that the tops of her cheeks almost touched her eyebrows. A heavy metal object on her left forearm struck Crankshaft in the mouth, then the chin, as he tried to climb over her to the knife.

"That's enough..." It came out as a whisper instead of a command. "That's enough!" Hunter had managed to get to his feet, moving as fast as his body would allow. Blood was starting to slow from his side wounds, but with ever step he made, fresh blood flows squeezed out. He gave Crankshaft a pistol whip to the back of the head, then pulled him off the girl.

"Please! Don't hurt me..." her face was dirty, bruised and stained from tear trails.

"It's okay, they're dead, everything is going to be fine." It wasn't totally true since there was still the issue of the slave collar around her neck and a crazed raider possibly holding detonator. Hunter tried to calm her while keeping an eye on Crankshaft. "What is your name?"