CHAPTER 3
The sun had sunk behind the horizon, its dilapidated rays retreating for another day as night fell over the wastes. Flickering light projected itself from the small fire as sparks escaped into the air; visible for a brief moment then fading into nothing. Orange light from the flame framed the features of the sole occupant of the small camp. Shadow's danced across his face as he gazed off into the darkness, as if staring at something that was not there, but always there. Regardless of how much he fought, how many evil people he brought down, he couldn't win. For every bastard he took out, another took their place. It frustrated him to the point of madness that he couldn't stop the tide, only stem it briefly. He picked up a stone from the ground and tossed it into the night, in some weak defiance of its slowly encompassing reach. It was at times like this were he wondered if it even mattered if he kept fighting. I mean, the world was supposed to end with the bombs, but yet here the people are, still killing and thieving and doing horrible things. Maybe there's no saving a world this far gone.
He picked up another stone Maybe there's no use in being a good guy in hell.
Standing, he moved to kick dirt on the flame. It sputtered out and he turned in the dark to find his small tent. Crawling inside, he slunk beneath his blanket and drifted off.
Once again the sun peeked its way through the choking clouds, and onto the barren wastes below. Joe stood before the mouth of a valley and considered his options. Through this valley was the quickest way to the nearest Settlement, Dead Rock, but it looked mighty suspicious. However, the alternative was a long trek around, which would add at least 2 days to his journey. Also, the wind had been kicking up dust all day, and within the valley there would be more visibility. He looked the entrance up and down once more, sighed slightly and hoisted his pack on his back, and maneuvered his rifle to sling by his side. Walking forward, he took his first steps into the valley.
Further down and on the lip at the top of the 20 foot high cliff face lay a man, automatic rifle in hand. He checked the clip and the safety again, as well as the scope he had fixed onto the body. Finally he checked the forestand, which rested on a rock in front of him. Peering through the scope, he picked out his companions, all in position as agreed. He whipped sweat from his brow; the dusty black and brown uniforms they wore where not at all comfortable in the midday sun. But that was not what mattered now.
What mattered now was the target.
Joe sat down on a near by rock, and pulled out his water flask. He had been walking for about an hour and the end was no where to be seen. But, then again, he hadn't expected it to be. He unscrewed the lid and took a swig, and enjoyed the cooling effects of the water as it slid down his throat. It wasn't cool by any means, but any water was good water. In the wastes, you took what was given to you and didn't ask for more. Sliding his pack off his back, he looked up around him as the pack slumped to the earth. High cliff faces all around, no way of climbing up without some serious gear. The clouds moved in swirling patterns above.
A bad sign.
Out of the corner of his eye, Joe caught the glimpse of something. Turning quickly, he only just had enough time to roll behind the rock before it was pumped with lead. Joe crouched low, the boulder covering him from the fire, but not by much. Where is my gun?!? He thought, scanning the surroundings.
Of course. The gun lay with the pack, on the other side of the boulder. He was pinned, with no gun. He peeked over the boulder, but was met by more fire that he quickly dodged. He had to think of a plan. Looking up, he saw across from him a large, plinth like stone. Best shot I got he said, and readied himself.
Launching off the ground at a sprint, he narrowly dodged the bullets that ricocheted off the dirt, kicking up small clouds of dust. Diving, he ended in a roll behind the plinth, and stood to find a man in black and brown fatigues standing in front of him, sword in hand. The assailant swung his long blade in a downward arc, which Joe dodged, followed by a slice in the opposite direction. Joe backed into the plinth as the attacker readied another strike. Thinking quickly, Joe ducked under the incoming strike from the side. With a satisfying thud, our hero looked up to see the blade embedded in the rock. Following through with a crouching uppercut, Joe caught the man on the chin, sending him flying onto his back. Drawing his hidden blade, the regulator moved to finish the downed assassin. As soon as he got within a meter of the man, however, he launched up to his feet from his back, using his lower abdominals to do so. Swinging wildly with his fists, he caught Joe in gut, doubling him over.
"It's done" said the man, as he held his fists above his head, poised to deliver the final blow.
*SHUNK*
Stunned, the man stumbled backwards, as he looked down at the blade protruding from his chest. Falling backwards, his eyes rolled back into his head as he breathed his last breath. Joe stood, and gave a brief nod to the fallen man, in acknowledgment of fight well fought.
Pulling the sword from the stone, he pushed his back flat against the plinth, and used the blade to catch the reflection of gunman. Scanning the cliff top, he caught the gleam of the scope, just as he had before. He studied his surroundings and his mind worked overtime, formulating a plan.
Got it
Somersaulting forward, he withdrew the blade from the man's chest and crouched behind a nearby boulder. In his mind he counted how many shots he had heard. Having figured it out, he took a deep breath and ran from the cover.
The man opened fire again, shooting around the weaving and sprinting Quiet Joe. The bullets kicked up the dust around his feet, but none so much as grazed the Regulator. It wasn't so much that he was particularly fast, just that the man was not a great shot by his standards. Within the mind of our hero, the bullets where counting down.
5…2…1...Empty
Skidding to a halt a meter from the cliff face, he arched back his right hand. Held in a loose grip was the blade, wet with the blood of the fallen assailant. Targeting the man, he launched his arm forward, sending the blade flying straight for the man. Before he could even reach for the second clip, the knife found its home within the man's eyes. He slumped and fell forward over the cliff face, landing with a sickening crunch. Satisfied that the threat was over, Joe turned on his heel and was met with the barrel of a gun. Standing before him was the last assassin, dressed like the others, and holding a 10mm hand gun to his forehead.
"Don't make any sudden movements, you son of a bitch. You've played very well, but this is the end of the line for you, bud" spat the man angrily, as he cocked the handgun. "Got any last words" Joe could pick out the sound of the bullet making its way to the chamber. He should have been really afraid, and he was for all of two seconds, but then he smiled.
"Just two. Don't Blink"
Suddenly, the wind picked up incredibly, blowing dust everywhere. The rising sands quickly obscured the view of the last assassin, and he sputtered as it entered his gaping mouth. Wind kicked the sand every which way, and it spiral upwards just like the clouds above. A bad sign, for some. As it cleared there stood the two figures, one with the gun to the others head. Joe held the gun tightly, and had it firmly planted within the man's eyes. He was staring defiantly up at the man.
"Go on, hero, pull the trigger. Then we'll see who the hero is"
Joe pulled the gun away, and the other man relaxed, before he brought back across his face in a harsh slap, sending the man sprawling onto his face. Walking over, Joe pulled the prone man up by the scruff of his neck.
"Who sent yo-" he started, but stopped quickly. The man was dead, and froth escaped from his mouth in bubbling waves. His eyes had rolled back into his heads, and Joe stared hard into the vein covered whites of the dead man before him. Cyanide Pill. Dammit! He thought, releasing the man who slumped back wards in an awkward position. Joe fell backwards into a sitting position and stared upwards at the sky, observing the clouds again.
"This was no random hit. They knew I was coming this way. And it was too well planned for these guys to be random raiders. So, that leaves one possibility"
Standing he reached down and started searching the corpse for any kind of insignia. The sunlight caught the gleam of a pair of dog tags, which Joe quickly removed with a sudden tug. Staring at the tag, he only saw a number and a strange symbol. Engraved into the tag were three shapes, all touching. He had never seen it before. Pocketing the tags, he went to retrieve his stuff.
Someone wants me dead, someone organized wants my head.
He stopped and looked towards the direction of Dead Rock.
And I'm gonna find out why
