Three hours after Winston had left, Rick found himself hauling a water pail
from the well behind Jack's house. Apparently, living here meant working
here too.
"Can't get nowhere without a little work to build your character."
He'd heard Jack say as he pushed him out the door, nearly causing him to
trip over the dog deemed Bart.
Rick dragged the bucket by the handle across the "yard" to the empty water trough next to the chicken coop, grunting as he lifted it to the edge to pour it in, nearly dropping it. Meanwhile, the chickens had taken to pecking the soles of his shoes, seeing if he had any food to drop.
"Shoo! Go away!" Rick kicked the dirt a little and the chickens fled to their coop.
As he finished emptying the bucket, he felt a warm wet nose nudge the back of his neck. Frightened, he turned quickly, loosing his balance as he did so, falling backwards into the water. When he looked up he came face to face with the ugliest thing he ever seen. His scream seemed to echo for miles..
Jack ran out from the shoddy house flailing both of his guns and desperately trying to slip his other arm through the sleeve of his shirt as he hopped on one foot.
"Damn it, kid, if you've gotten into trouble already.." But he never got a chance to finish his threat as laughter had overtaken him. There sat O'Connell, drenched in water, slapping away the camel who had come so eagerly to drink.
The next day, Rick found himself on the roof of the shack, hammering nails to keep stray shingles in place. The midday sun beat down on his neck and back, and sweat beaded his nose and forehead all while the coarse roof scraped his kneecaps.
"What are you trying to do, kill me?" He yelled down to Jack, who had come out to feed Bart.
"Last time I checked." He laughed but stopped as he saw Rick's scowl and his arm lifting the hammer higher.
With a roll of his eyes he proceeded to knock down the ladder which led to the roof.
"Okay. Worst case scenario #1. You're running from two scumbags, each with a gun of his own. You've just discovered their plan to kill some government official and you are currently running for you life. You run until you come to a short cliff face, but there is no way to get down. What do you do?"
Rick's eyes widened, his face paling from the bright red of his slow- burning flesh. Was this guy serious? He wordlessly looked over the edge of the roof, imagining his demise if he were to jump. He wished that the ground didn't suddenly look so far away.
Getting on his stomach, he slowly rolled his body off the edge, bracing himself with his arms, elbows slightly bent. His knees were shaking as his feet dangled over the side. Looking down Rick saw that the nearest foothold was the top of a window pane, inches out of his reach.
"Now's a good time to practice 'shimmying'." Jack yelled up to a very frustrated O'Connell.
Okay, this guy is officially nuts. Shimmying?
Rick did the only thing he could and painstakingly lowered himself until he was hanging on by his fingers. Now came the hard part. Swaying his legs slightly he shifted his hands, moving as quickly as he could. Just as he had gotten to the window, a piece of the ledge he'd been hanging onto cracked and split, leaving him hanging by his right hand. Resisting the urge to scream, he calmly brought his arm back up and stepped onto the top of the window. Now to find a lower handhold.
Rick dragged the bucket by the handle across the "yard" to the empty water trough next to the chicken coop, grunting as he lifted it to the edge to pour it in, nearly dropping it. Meanwhile, the chickens had taken to pecking the soles of his shoes, seeing if he had any food to drop.
"Shoo! Go away!" Rick kicked the dirt a little and the chickens fled to their coop.
As he finished emptying the bucket, he felt a warm wet nose nudge the back of his neck. Frightened, he turned quickly, loosing his balance as he did so, falling backwards into the water. When he looked up he came face to face with the ugliest thing he ever seen. His scream seemed to echo for miles..
Jack ran out from the shoddy house flailing both of his guns and desperately trying to slip his other arm through the sleeve of his shirt as he hopped on one foot.
"Damn it, kid, if you've gotten into trouble already.." But he never got a chance to finish his threat as laughter had overtaken him. There sat O'Connell, drenched in water, slapping away the camel who had come so eagerly to drink.
The next day, Rick found himself on the roof of the shack, hammering nails to keep stray shingles in place. The midday sun beat down on his neck and back, and sweat beaded his nose and forehead all while the coarse roof scraped his kneecaps.
"What are you trying to do, kill me?" He yelled down to Jack, who had come out to feed Bart.
"Last time I checked." He laughed but stopped as he saw Rick's scowl and his arm lifting the hammer higher.
With a roll of his eyes he proceeded to knock down the ladder which led to the roof.
"Okay. Worst case scenario #1. You're running from two scumbags, each with a gun of his own. You've just discovered their plan to kill some government official and you are currently running for you life. You run until you come to a short cliff face, but there is no way to get down. What do you do?"
Rick's eyes widened, his face paling from the bright red of his slow- burning flesh. Was this guy serious? He wordlessly looked over the edge of the roof, imagining his demise if he were to jump. He wished that the ground didn't suddenly look so far away.
Getting on his stomach, he slowly rolled his body off the edge, bracing himself with his arms, elbows slightly bent. His knees were shaking as his feet dangled over the side. Looking down Rick saw that the nearest foothold was the top of a window pane, inches out of his reach.
"Now's a good time to practice 'shimmying'." Jack yelled up to a very frustrated O'Connell.
Okay, this guy is officially nuts. Shimmying?
Rick did the only thing he could and painstakingly lowered himself until he was hanging on by his fingers. Now came the hard part. Swaying his legs slightly he shifted his hands, moving as quickly as he could. Just as he had gotten to the window, a piece of the ledge he'd been hanging onto cracked and split, leaving him hanging by his right hand. Resisting the urge to scream, he calmly brought his arm back up and stepped onto the top of the window. Now to find a lower handhold.