A small stone rolled and bounced its way down the hill, dislodging other stones and causing a small rockslide as it neared the bottom. Eddie looked at the small pile of debris that had now gathered below and smiled in satisfaction. Maybe kicking another pebble would deliver the same result he thought, and looked around for a suitable candidate with a sigh. He'd never been so bored. Why did holst want to go this way? The normal route was mapped and patrolled and all the traders back in town had vouched for it. No raiders had been spotted in months and all mutant activity was centred on Fromberg. Taking this ridiculous route was totally unnecessary.
Eddie scanned the landscape around him. It was a multitude of very small hills and valleys with dotted ponds accumulating whatever water the sun hadn't taken for itself. Petrified trees clung on to the sides of these small hills in enclosed groups, standing like centurions, their jagged branches stabbing at the air like thrusted spears. Over to the west the land rose up to a great heightened plateau, sitting like a great wall stretching to the north and to the south west, hiding whatever lands lay beyond.
"Not a breath, huh?" came a voice from the slope heading down from Eddie's back. Not turning round, he hocked a phlegm ball and sent it cometting down to his newly built pebble sculpture below. The man came to stand at Eddie's side and surveyed the land in front with him. After a short time he sent a similar spit ball in the direction of the first, attempting to reach a greater distance."Did I beat you?" asked Cole, straining to see where his had landed.
"Oh I don't care," came the reply, "it's like you said. There's not a breath of life around here."
"We'll need to get back to Holst and his family soon," said Cole, openin his pocket to reach one of his cigars and taking a bite. "He'll think we've abandoned him."
"Yeah, ok." Eddie said with another sigh. He snatched the cigar from Cole's hand and took a bite out of the other end before moving down in the direction his friend had come. Turning round, he put his arm out, offering the cigar back to Cole. "Well? Come on." he said.
This could only afford one attempt, thought Roland, leaning against the corner of a rocky wall. A quick glance had shown him that the mutant was there, kicking rocks around in between checks of his weapons. Up close like this, the thing smelled of death. The smell of a thousand corpses. A smell this thing must be well acquainted with. Convenient that this smell would have more personal relevance soon enough. Reaching into his pocket, Roland pulled out a small, crescent shaped dagger and sucked in a lungfull of of air to hold. With that, he leapt round the corners, and sprinted at his opponent with a wolf's fervor.
A commotion from behind the mutant caused him to turn round, but all he saw was the flapping shape of a coated figure flying through the air towards his face and delivering a lightening fast arcing strike. Then he saw nothing.
Roland jumped into the air as the mutant turned round, flying towards the beasts head. He delivered a wide, viscious trike at the throat with his dagger, creating a visceral canyon in the mutant's neck, almost severing the head from the body. Both Roland and the mutant hit the ground at the same time, the mutant falling into a crumpled heap, and Roland with pain in his anckle and a curse, trying not to roll with the rifle on his back. No time to check to see if beast was dead. No time for loot. The others were nearby, and he had to reach them in time.