"VENTAS"

A shower of brains exploded with Waldo's shot.

My Large Cold froze the concrete.

A junkie jumped on us.

Waldo tore off a chunk of its jaw and the second blast beheaded it.

The other junkies were sliding without control on the ice.

Another boom and one old junkie of the female persuasion got buckshot dead center in the guts. She reeled back and other junkie leaped above her.

-"Reloading!"

I tanked the berzerker with my armor, its teeth biting on my shoulder. Armor, ILooooveyou! "Gotcha"

A second one bit my unarmored forearm. "Anytime now would-'"

The head of the one biting my shoulder evaporated on red mist. I coughed up and kicked the bastard gnawing on my arm.

I went ass over tea kettle.

-"MORE ICE!"

The other were crawling out of the ice, one black junkie already found its footing.

I dug out a stick SHIT, NO RED, NOOO, ZIPLOCK HELL NO! BLUE YES!

"VENTAS"

And the stick stuck on the floor. A damning blue S on the tail.

-"I DON'SEE THE ICE MAN!"

I grabbed the pistol strapped to Waldo's leg and poured lead on the closer one.

The shotgun came alive and never in my life I was happier to be under a shower of hot shells.

My pistol slide locked "I'M DRY!"

Gramps would haveVEIL! Took hold of Waldo and focused all my will on a veil.

Waldo stopped shooting.

The three remaining junkies started sniffing. Waldo patted his bandolier, but no luck. He looked at me and grim faced shook his head.

I took out a machete strapped to my duster, and trembling, shaking like a leaf, I don't know if it was adrenaline, or knowing what grim task I had ahead of me, slowly stood up.

Holding on my veil for dear life, and the bile at the fore of my throat, I raised my borrowed machete.

And once.

Twice.

Trice.

I dropped down and let loose my guts, bile and tears mixing on the blood covered ice.

-"The souls of those officers will rest easier now."

And I grasped those words like a drowning man a plank of wood.

I got on my feet and we checked each other out.

Waldo got a bruise on his face, blood over his vest and glasses. "You look like shite."

He took out his glasses and cleaned them "You looked like a loon the first time I saw you. But gotta admit -" And he touched my shoulder, where the bigandine's steel was showing "-this seems sensible now."

-"My Mean gramps didn't leave the house without armor. You also looked like a loon with so much ammo and yet..."

He clasped my shoulder.

-"Now, let's find out what is giving the bad vibe, eh?"

I nodded, veiled both of us and raised the machete. He took out a pepper spray. We began counting.

Onee.

Twooo.

And pulled open the container doors.

This time the mortician was the one spewing his guts.

In front of us there were scores of little fairies nailed to wooden boards.

And some of them were still alive.