PROLOGUE
 
>I’m going to ask you, dear readers, one question
>it’s a question that I ask myself at least once a day
>in a life-or-death situation, when your number's almost up, it’s the bottom of the 9th, and Elvis is about to leave the building, do you think that rate of fire is more important than bullet penetration power?
>thousands upon thousands of people have asked this question, long before the Internet was ever conceived
>at least, as far back as 1964 AD,as far as I can prove
>well my answer to this question is very simple, and you can quote me on this
>”no”
 
>I was well awake when the /K/onvergence happened
>I had already been up for about 20 minutes, eating breakfast, brushing my teeth, about to watch an old VCR tape of Zulu, as I had a few hours to kill, before taking the bus to work, at 30 minutes past noon
>but then, I remembered I should go call up Walkerbro, ask him to pick up me, since my truck has a busted piston, and he told me he was gonna go to the range today and try out his new Colt Walker repro, and I could bring my SAR-3 for us to mess around with
>that’s right, baby, Springfield SAR-3, the Greek HK-91 clone that got imported into the USA back in the early ‘90s
>scored one at a dead boomer’s estate auction, the kid was a little into guns, but he wrongly thought that the SAR-3 was shit, since it’s Greek, not German
>not wishing to fail at capitalizing on someone’s ignorance, I paid $600 upfront to take it off his hands
>on my other guns, my FN FAL is a kitbash, made up of a STG-58 parts kit, while the rest of it was piece-mealed off of an Israeli parts kit, it’s like the forbidden love-child of a Jewish prisoner and a camp guard
>I also have a Para-Ordnance 14.45, the first double-stack .45 1911, a pre-Remingshit 1998 model
>why yes, I enjoy Monster Zero Ultra and Quake 3
>but Duke Nukem 64’s 4-player splitscreen was my bread and butter
 
>as I put together my range bag, filling it with 300 rounds of .308, medical supplies, Monster energy drinks, and some foldable targets, I felt a red wave
>not just any kind of wave, it was like a red Doom Classic BFG energy burst, but it was as if I knew what I saw in that split-second was only in my head, yet still...real
>I went outside, and there were gray clouds that seemed a bit too close to the ground, and it was too gray to be morning mist or fog
>at least, no fog in this part of the country looks like that
>so I climbed onto my roof to get a good view
>fires, fires in almost all directions but west, although they were at a distance from my house 
>so I grabbed a fire extinguisher, thinking I should do a good deed for society and stop at least a bit of these fires, firefighters can’t stop ALL of them, after all
>and that’s when it hit me
>that is, a flight of about 5 dragons came out of nowhere, and one of them was flying a bit erratic, like it was hurt
>I would have felt some sympathy
>but then it did a nosedive, stopping about 40 feet above me
>it’s shockwave shattered my windows, and knocking me off the roof, onto the grass
>my back was hurting, my fire extinguisher was spewing fluid all over the lawn, and my brain was full of fuck
>as I got up, I was devastated ever harder
>my 2007 Dodge Dakota was totaled, the shockwave had flipped it over, and it was totaled, from sheer friction
>and so, I went back into my house, went into the bathroom, popped the recommended dosage of aspirin, and had some water with it
>I grabbed my guns: putting the FAL, 5 mags, and all my .45 ACP and 1911 mags into my backpack; the 1911 went into its holster, the holster went on my ankle; and I slung the SAR-3 over my shoulder
>I was ready to rock and roll
>I don’t really know what’s going on around town
>I don’t know where I’m really headed towards
>and I don’t know how I’ll get there
>but I know I must kill 
>and damn, those dragon bastards are gonna PAY for smashing up my ride
 
(now playing: Pet Shop Boys - Suburbia [original version] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=setkn6jzHIs)
 
 
 
 
 
CHAPTER 1 : ANARCHY IN THE TX
 
(Now Playing: Raccoon City from Resident Evil 2 1998 https://youtube.com/watch?v=9RrHmtGqyHQ )
 
>imagine being a very pissed off and well-armed man with a obsession for the final fifth of the 20th Century
>now picture that man on a mission
>a mission to hunt down the flying overgrown iguana fucks that wrecked his ride and damaged his house
>wait, why am I imagining
>that’s me
 
>I notice that the dragons were headed south
>proceed to walk down Springvale Drive, decide to grab some food for the walk from the local HEB supermarket
>all around me are familiar faces
>and it’s a manic panic
>had some beers with my pal Jimmy Thrushville only 3 days ago, told me that he couldn’t even raise his voice at work, much less hit someone
>now he’s on his front lawn, bashing some teenage cholo burglar’s head in, with a piece of rebar
>just goes to show you what people really are when the chips are down
>most of my neighbors are trying to get their electronics working, their cars, motorcycles, cell phones
>some are spraying their now-on-fire homes down with hoses and fire extinguishers
>nobody’s helping anybody, looks like it’s a free-for-all
>even that hedge-clipper kid Ernesto is looking like he’s gonna bawl his eyes out
>I don’t blame him, heard he put a lot of money into that portable video game system of his
>some of my neighbors are asking me where I’m going with all that gear on
> tell them what happened, and that revenge is a dish best served with a steel-case .308 to the cranium
>take a westwards alley path, and as I pass by Rayburn Middle School, I clearly see some teenagers celebrate that school’s gonna be out forever
>some of them are popping fireworks off the roof, and popping BB’s at un-strapped people who walk by
>smart move, bless their sociopathic rotten souls
>as I cross the corner of Gage Street and Cedarhurst Drive, some jackass in a ATV nearly hits me
>guy drove off yelling “They called me nuts for putting my Leslie in a Faraday cage, and who’s laughing now you peabrains! See y’all on the sunny beaches of Port Aransas, ‘cuz I. AM. OUTTA. HERE!”
 
>get to Valley High Drive
>walk a block eastwards, to Dollar Tree for some cheap Rip-Its 
>you could see the Air Force trainees running all over the base, from even out here
>like a legion of headless chickens who just found out what the farmer’s hatchet is for
>head into Dollar Tree, grab 5 Rip-Its, a bar of soap, 1 can of green spraypaint, a not-yet-inflated balloon, and a Blue Bunny chocolate ice cream cone
>paid for them with a $10 bill, told the cashier to keep the change
>said cashier was chomping on some pot brownies and was wearing 2 Burger King crowns, one taped on top of the other, ranting about how he was gonna be the big boss now
>at least one person here is having the time of their life
>as I went outside, a couple of bums were crowding around the payphone in the back, mumbling to themselves about who won a bet that the Russkies were gonna invade any minute now
>walk into HEB
>and that’s when it looked like all hell was let loose
 
>the restroom was on fire, to begin with
>looks like someone covered the whole thing, both male and female sides, with toilet paper, then threw a live cigarette into it
>causing a huge line for the one-person family restroom
>the candy aisle was 99% empty, save for the candy corn and black licorice
>not even a starving African would eat that crap
>Rayburn students were all hanging around the frozen food section, eating all the ice cream, yogurt, and clearance section wine that their pubescent bodies could handle
>I’m just here for some Everclear and freeze-dried astronaut/hiker food
>head over to the booze section
>it’s 95% empty, seems most people here are still wise enough to not get the hyper-giga-ultra-tough stuff at a time like this
>grab 2 bottles of Everclear, stick ‘em in my ruck
>notice 4 other folks that seemed to have been following me
>they’re all wearing mismatched UCP/ABU uniforms and equipment
>probably airsoft punks or off-duty airmen trainees
>they look at the Everclear, like what I did made a lightbulb go off in their heads
>they start climbing over each other to get the rest left
>guess I better get some rags and a zippo
>you should already know where this is going, or else you’re a brainlet
>grab some bags of the freeze-dried food
>don’t need a water bottle, there’s more than enough water fountains and sinks around this city to keep me hydrated
>the tapwater isn’t some iron-filled poison, the Edwards Aquifer takes good care of us
>couple of middle-age folks give me the thumbs up, 2 give me high fives
>they’re impressed by my complete ERDL outfit, except for the ETLBV, those only exist in M81 Woodland colors
>whole thing dates back to the early ‘80s, definitely from the last batches before they were completely phased out for M81
>see some millennials wearing surplus PASGT helmets
>think to myself that maybe I should have gotten one, instead of shelling out $140 at an auction for an authentic MACV-SOG ERDL bandana
>nah, I’m aesthetic as shit, and my head feels comfortable, unlike them
>stupid outdated interior webbing, the MICH really was light-years better
>then my first close encounter of the third kind happened
>a naked wolf-man walked into the front door, looking like he had a headful of mad
>not the Lon Chaney kind, or the kind that hunts limey spec-ops through the Highlands
>but the kind straight out of a Japanese cartoon
>just a guy like you and me
>except for the lack of simian-type ears, replaced by 2 fluffy-lookin’ triangular ones on the top of his head
>he also had fur on his arms, legs, and chest, but still had regular, hairless, opposable-thumbed hands
>white skin, light-brown hair/fur, my hunch was that his kind’s like one of those small terriers
>he walks up to some teenager, kid looked like he was one bark away from pissing himself
>wiener-dog-man sniffs him, then politely asks where the meat seller was
>after about 5 straight seconds of awkward silence,we all pointed him to the correct aisle
>some old lady also told him that there was free clothes, then pointed to the clothing section
>I bet he felt embarrassed, but come on, someone had to tell him
 
>with my shopping now done, I walked out of the supermarket
>decide to walk southwards, parallel to Loop 410
>only one thing left to do before that
>check the post office 2 buildings down
>I was expecting a M40 gas mask to arrive yesterday, a brand new green-tinted-lenses one
>straight outta the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit
>walk up to the front door
>it’s open, but the blinds are totally closed
>as I go inside, it’s packed to the brim with people waiting to be called on for their mail
>it’ll be the last mail they’ll get for a while, I can understand the urgency
>but I’ve got 2 rifles, a chunky pistol, an outfit that makes me look like a Rambo extra, and I gave them my best unhinged smile
>after some awkward silence, I state that I’m only expecting one little package, and that I’ll be on my way once I get it
>the crowd mostly parted for me, and I was at the front desk in less than 10 minutes
>after asking for my package, the postman tells me they didn’t receive it, and that with computer systems down, they can’t tell where it is, or when it could get her
>so I left, deciding to walk around the alley adjacent to another neighborhood
>as I throw my ruck over the fence, then crawl under a gap, I overhear 2 postal workers talking about how the tinfoil all over the indoor depot saved their asses
>and that once the crowd dies down at night time , they’ll take the 2 still-functioning cars they have left 
>then drive north to Camp Bullis, where one of them is sure that the Army will take care of some government employees, then sit back, have a pint, and wait for this to all blow over
>wait, I’ve heard that last part before, somewhere
>take a peek through an open window
>they have a classic Grumman LLV and a newer 4th gen Dodge Grand Caravan
>decide that the Caravan will get me to that nest faster
>besides, it doesn’t seem too unsafe around here, relatively speaking
>someone’s got to kill those dragons before they come back
>and these fags want to run off and wait for Uncle Sam to do it for them
>uh uh, not today, assholes
>I’m a man on a mission
>and ain’t nobody gonna break my stride
 
(Now Playing : Break My Stride by Matthew Wilder https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4c_SkROzzo )
 
 
 
CHAPTER 2 : NEITHER SNOW, NOR RAIN, NOR CENTAUR, NOR GLOOM OF NIGHT
 
(Now Playing : The Imp’s Song from DOOM 3DO https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05pbpQM9j9c )
 
>after waiting about 10 minutes or so, the two postmen left their posts (pun intended)
>as I snuck into the depot, I shouldered my rifle, to make sure that it wouldn’t bump into anything, revealing myself
>then locked the doors to keep the postmen out, or at least buy me some time if they try to bust in
>the spare keys for the Grumman were right out in the open, next to a medical cabinet
>slowly and quietly, I used my other hand to take the keys, unlock the van, and turned it on
>setting my rifle on the passenger seat, and my pack in the back, I took a few seconds to compose myself
>it occurred to me in that moment
>where the hell am I even specifically going?
>southwards ain’t much of an exact location
>then I thought, I should head to the top of the large hill at Pearsall Park
>I might be able to see the scaly fucks from there, leaving and entering wherever their nest is
>if I don’t see anything, proceed further south and set myself up on whatever tall building’s rooftop I can find, moving from rooftop to rooftop until I find them
>wish I had a zipline or a hangglider right now, they’d really come in handy
>sounds like a plan
>I then unleash my brilliant scheme to escape
>get out of the van, hit the big red button to open the garage door
>get back in, shift into reverse, then slam the gas
>I bust out of the depot, smashing through the back fence
>duck for cover, those two postmen pop some shots at me
>they’ve both strapped for pistols, not a big deal
>aw shit
>they’re most certainly going to follow me in the other car
>try to pick up speed by zipping onto Loop 410, crossing over the oncoming lanes and the grass to get to the other side
>and that’s when I noticed a pack of horse-people, holding chains of what I assume are captives, about 10 of them
>they’re dressed like normal people, this is some gay-ass slave operation going on
>So I swerved right, and ran the two 4-legged freaks in the front of their convoy, over
>no chance they survived, I was doing 45 MPH
>I then try to drift into a stance where I can blast them with my Springfield
>I screw up and spin out of control, nearly falling off the overpass over Medina Base Road
>the other 6 slavers aren’t fucking around, they pressed the advantage, pulled out their swords, and tried to swarm me
>after steadying myself, I pulled out my pistol and popped 2 shots at the closest one
>missed the first shot, second one made his head pop like a grape
>I then aim for center-mass, which is piss-easy when dealing with the likes of centaurs
>shoot the next 2 in their horse-half sides, first one goes down in one shot, second guy had sterner stuff, took 3 shots to down him
>with 3 more centaurs, and 8 bullets left, I thought I had this in the bag
>then the 2 furthest from me pulled out their bows, and the third did a hard bank to the left
>since I’m not a retard, I knew exactly what was about to happen, so I rolled the window up, then dived into the back of the van while grabbing my rifle
>their arrows fail to penetrate the window, snapping on impact
>hahaha, Grumman doesn’t screw around, that window must be rated for .40 S&W
>third centaur starts banging on the door
>as he opens it, I point my rifle right at him
>he gives me a death glare and raises his sword up in a chopping stance
>I yell “Welcome to Earth, bitch!”
>pull the trigger
>blow a hole right in the middle, where the human and horse parts join up
>he drops the sword and falls over, screaming in agony
>I get up, jump out of the van, making sure to land on this prick’s chest
>I feel the crunch under my boots
>then I aim my rifle at the two last ones
>they both let off their arrows
>but I dropped to the ground, went prone, and let ‘em have it
>5 shots, and they were both down
>the would-be slaves had already run off in the confusion
>as I walked back to the van, I could see from here, people leaving the post office like it was closing time
>but it’s only the afternoon
>oh no
 
(Now Playing : Speed Demon by Michael Jackson https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52KZWbJbvPo )
 
>the Dodge Caravan busts out from the back, like a bat outta hell
>yuuuuup, they can see me
>run back to the van
>try to pedal to the metal, but all the engine’s doing is revving up
>headed south again, the Dodge easily catches up, these vans aren’t exactly known for acceleration
>before I realize that I’m still in parking, they ram me
>I get knocked off the overpass onto the street below, they spin out of control and fall off as well
>I come to first, deciding to go through the neighborhood to lose them
>doesn’t work, they give pursuit
>bumping and smacking each other thorugh the neighborhood, it’s just as bad here as it it over where I live
>one lawn had a couple of dead centaurs, must have been the rest of their pack
>right by them, a guy with a Chiappa triple-barrel shotgun waved at us with glee
>the scene repeated itself throughout this part of town
>with some exceptions, like one guy that I noticed, trying to talk what I think was a cat-person, down from a tree
>we were stalemated
>I wanted to save my bullets for a pimp-to-pimp, playa-to-playa standoff
>and their bullets couldn’t penetrate this van
>eventually we got through the subdivision, heading into a Wal-Mart
>coming in, I noticed a pack of large birds, one of them carrying a human guy, landing on the roof
>thought they were probably here to loot too
>I then came up with a brilliant idea of luring the postmen out of their car
>made a sudden stop in front of one of the two entrance/exits
>as I predicted, they swerved around the parking lot
>they position themselves in a ramming attack
>as before, I hit the deck into the back
>they smash me, but instead of the car crumpling, we get pushed into the supermarket itself
>further and further inside, until we hit the back wall
>I jump out the back door and make a run into the frozen food aisles
>shots are again popped off, I heard the sound of wine glasses and booze cans explode from their impacts
>with them getting out of their car, I juked them, and ran back to take their Dodge
>pricks left the keys in the ignition
>as they’re still running through the food aisles, I quickly grabbed my bag
>then backed up and blasted down the back main aisle, intending to grab some .308 from the sporting goods section on the other side of this place
>then pedal to the metal to the other entrance/exit in a L-maneuver 
>in hindsight, most of my problems during these dark days could have been avoided had I just went to the exit instead
>because as I came towards the section, plowing through all those annoying DVD and diaper stands in the middle of these aisles, something happened
>and by something, I mean that guy of the roof and his bird-people friends popped out of that section, having just looted what I know now was all the shotguns, with the guy holding some hunting rifle
>and when they saw me driving right towards them, they unleashed a volley-fire
>shredding the front of the car, I assume they must have all been using heavy buckshot
>I ducked below the window to avoid their pellets
>since I couldn’t see where I was going any more, I smashed through a back-wall, then the auto-repair shop, lastly, flying off an steep incline at the southern end of the parking lot, straight into a house
>the car became stuck in the backyard porch, trapped in a mix of cement and ceramic
>I got out fast, knowing that there was no way those postmen AND Bird-Whisperer & The Gang didn’t hear me smashing my way back
>and as I grabbed my backpack, and started hopping fences to throw them off my scent, I realized I was now right back at square one
>except now, I have a plan
>and all I need to do is to run like hell, shake these assholes off, and get to the top of that hill
>how hard can that be?
 
(Now Playing : Run Like Hell by Pink Floyd https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2s8yGMEbSs )
 
CHAPTER 4 : NEIGHBORHOOD THREAT
 
 
>it'd been 10 minutes since the crash 
>zig-zagging across the Solana Ridge subdivision, knew I'd shaken those niggers off by now 
>I was so tired of hopping fences with all my luggage and gear
>thought I'd take a break by having a seat on one of those really long poolside chairs
>Hopped one more fence into a backyard, on the corner of Radiant Star and Eclipse Bend
>And suddenly there was a blonde mullet snake-man dancing to some music
>Quick learner, he was using a Sony Discman with those factory wire headphones
>and he was in his birthday suit
>he stared at me for about 5 seconds
>Then he jumped behind the porch-deck, put the Discman down, and said
"Oh sweet Kepril, don't blast me! This isn't my house, I'm just trying to relax here! No one was home, so I thought I'd help myself and lie around!"
>I asked him how'd he know I was holding a "Thunder-Stick"
>He said "I saw you people blast some centaurs that came with me, must've been some area teleport spell, I honestly have no clue how I got here!" 
>I ask him if I can have a seat, I just wanted to lie down and relax
>He asked that I must be going somewhere if I need a break
>I filled him in on my little revenge quest
>He looked puzzled for a while, then smacked his hands together and said 
>"Can I stick with you until I find a safer place? I don't like how open all these houses are, just begging for a warlock to burn it all down."
>I said he'd have to carry that weight, but if we can find another "boomstick" before getting out of this neighborhood, then I'd be happy to have him in my “party"
>he agreed
>I grabbed a metal chair and smashed the screen door to get inside
>whoever owned that place deserved it for being stupid enough to leave the back door so vulnerable
>We found a backpack in the living room, Mr. Slither put it on, then beelined for the fridge, correctly guessing it was full of snacks and drinks
>Wasn't fazed much, by modern conveniences, he thought this place was some fancy artificer town
>I then told him to get some clothes on, no one needed to see his double dutch bus, if you know what I mean 
>Since pants wouldn't exactly work with him, he wrapped a towel around instead
>Also put on a lower body-matching black-yellow bowling shirt
>still kinda jealous of his aesthetic, not gonna lie
>We went into the basement and hit the jackpot
>a Beretta 1301, with a ton of buckshot and slugs in boxes around
>Took me about 5 minutes to get him acclimated on how to use it, like I said, he was fast on the uptake
>His name was Dooser, as he explained, and he was a traveling adventurer
>after a few years of going from city to city, town to town, looking for a big break, he said it was exciting to finally get caught up in someone else's adventure
>he stuffed a bunch of assorted shell boxes into his backpack
>Told him not to bother with the birdshot, dead weight in a time like this
>He put on two bandoliers and filled them with shells too
>Now, we were packing real heat
>he went back for the Discman, and I asked him what he was listening too
>"Some fellow named Iggy Pop, odd name for a human, probably had some famous gnome ancestor or something"
>I told him to pull out the headphones, I wanted to listen too
>It was Neighborhood Threat (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IT-T7aH__i8), and as fitting as it was to our situation, we walked into the woods, towards Loop 410, knowing that more is always merrier
>and that it didn't hurt to have a buddy system when you ice-skate uphill
>But it's never as easy as it sounds
>Right after we stepped out the house, it's counterpart across the street exploded, knocking me back into the entrance, nearly getting Dooser smacked by the door
>A bunch of body parts and reddish-purple robes were strewn across the street, sidewalk, and lawns
>a flaming red hand burst from the fiery rubble, and we both knew exactly what had happened over there
>The demon had clearly not expected to have ignited a pilot light, plus gasoline
>it looked a bit battered already
>Roared with a screeching banshee-like shrill, then charged at us, barely had time to shoulder my Springfield before I attempted to evade
>roll-dodges aren’t like how the movies show it, I screwed up
>Demon’s left hand smacked me through a fence
>Felt like a gut punch, but I managed to land right on my left arm
>Popped off 5 shots, got 2 on a weak spot in the right shoulder
>As it got down on a knee and clutched the maw where a now blood-spurting hole laid instead of a artery, Dooser made his move
>Busting out of the house's attic window, he wrapped his lower half around the demon's neck
>Expending his full tube into the left arm, the last shot blew it clean off
>Winding down and quickly slithering off, I realized he wanted me to get the last shot
>I took out my mag, rocked in the just-in-case red-taped armor piercing mag
>Ran up to the monster, shoved the barrel into its mouth, and pulled the trigger
>one shot later, everything above the jaw was gone
>we were drenched in yellow devil blood
>and it was glorious
>too bad we'd have to wash off, that blood reeked of sulfur
 
>we went into the woods in a southwestern direction, heading towards that mini-quarry this Garza fellow sold custom chisels from
>knew there had to be a heavy-duty hose there somewhere
>the woods were oddly quiet
>and not in “a skinwalker ate all the critters and was about to get the drop on us” way
>I mean that the only animals making noises were plain old squirrels and cats
>Dooser’s Discman had eerily stopped, later turned out that the disc was done and he hadn’t pressed the loop button
>but it was quite ominous at the time
>approaching the quarry, we noticed some pasty asian kid in leather pants, stretching his arms out at the rocks, like something was going to happen
>Dooser asks him if he’s a geomancer
>kid says “No, mister, I’m trying to connect to the ley line!” Can’t you see? Like Stonehenge of yore, the stars and moon will align here! And bring forth the dawning of the Age of Capricorn!”
>OH GOD, A NEW AGE SCHIZO
>Dooser asks him, “H-h-how SIMPLE is your mind? That’s not how the arcane works! AT ALL! These rocks aren’t magic, this is most certainly some sculptor garden that sells fancy stones to rich idiots! There isn’t even any pumice or obsidian around. BC, what even is this dung?”
>I told him it was all limestone, nothing special at all around here
>most of the whole continent has got to have easily-mineable limestone, underground.
>the kid was about to burst in tears, ran off into the woods
>yelling something about how he was gonna find some wellspring of magic and show us all who’s the boss of this gym
>me and D put our heads back and laughed for quite a while
>after finally cleaning ourselves off, Dooser asked where to next
>I tell him about the truck company and trailer park a block’s worth of land south of us
>we’d probably find more folks willing to tag along
>I wanted these dragons dead, but there’s always strength in numbers
>in hindsight, I, definitely, had also thought of using the adrenaline addicts and tweakers as meat shields
>cynical, I know, but I was quite the closet asshole back then
 
>once we got to the truck company, we found out what had caused the emptiness of the woods
>maybe even the neighborhood, I never really found that out
>’twas an Orc warband, smashing and looting the trailer park, the corpses of transients, small animals, and park tenants blazed a trail to the center of their rampage
>but they didn’t have it too easy, oh no
>some of the tenants were shooting back
>ex-felons most likely, they took down a few greenfreaks with cheap 9mm pistols and the odd 12 gauge
>but these orcs weren’t so retarded, they figured out quick what a gun does
>a couple of well-placed bows, and the resisters were taken down, albeit at heavy casualties
>there were 7 of them left
>I know this because me and Dooser were hiding in an open, yet abandoned RV that had one-way window screens
>and we quickly formulated a plan
>we slowly exited the RV and circled the park, seeing which trailers had both their front and back entrances open
>Dooser would zip through these trailers, creating a diversion and maybe a few lucky hits at his pursuers
>meanwhile I would wait for the rest to assemble in a group to make their own plan
>then I would put a few holes in all their center-masses
>we didn’t have radios, this was gonna require cracker-jack timing and a bit of luck
>spoiler alert: ours had run out
 
>Dooser started off right, using his tail around the RV’s left corner to lure 3 of them into chasing him
>but the other 4 went into the park manager’s house
>I could only draw a bead on one of them through a window
>I took the shot, and painted the wall pink with brain matter
>the other 3 all ducked, probably crawled their way out the back door
>by the 3rd RV, Dooser had found that the door had been locked from the inside
>cornered by the 3 orcs, their axes raised
>he brought up his Beretta to dump his tube in a rightwards 90-degree angle
>I moved position to cover him in case of more party-crashers
>then suddenly the metal door behind him busted open, pushing him off the deck, knocking the wind out of him
>sparks and special-effects fog came from the door
>and from the fog, came a methhead
>covered in a pitch-black welding helmet and thick grey scrapmetal armor, a black work belt underneath
>a small buzzsaw attached to his left arm, and an Olympic Arms OA-93 with a Beta C-mag, held up with a nig-rigged body mount straight outta Aliens
>scanning his head to see the carnage of his homezone, he let out an ungodly growl from under that welder helmet
>with breakneck speed, he opened fire on the awestruck giga-goblins, making swiss cheese of them
>oh dear lord, he’s got it on total rock’n’roll mode
>I quickly careened through brush and clothes-liners to get D outta here
>the other 3 orcs made their stand, one lunging toward him to try and strike his head
>he failed, Metal Meth making a spray of bullets at him
>orc was dead before he got to him, but inertia is a thing, so the corpse tackled him to the ground
>as he tried to get the stiff off of him, the last 2 orcs raised their bows at him
>their aim was half-true
>one smashed against his chest armor
>The other got Iron Junkie in a armor chink, the tip broke through, embedding in his right thigh
>the Trailer Park Knight screeched, screamed, and probably creamed, letting loose another spray that killed the last two
>by then, I had dragged D out of the fight, but he turned the corner and saw us
>he pointed his buzzsaw wrist at us, flicked his rifles’s switch, then pointed a finger right at us
>yelled, “TRIPLE-BYPASS RETARD PINK ZEBRA NIGGERS MUST SUCK OR DIE”
>he then moved his finger down to his waist, reaching into a pocket of the work belt
>pulling out a Zune 30, he pressed on it, revealing the other pockets to have loudspeakers, all plugged into the Zune
>along with several 90-round AR-15 snail drum magazines
>loud music spring forth from it, me and D split up
>oh god
>oh fuck
>aw geez
>this is boss music
 
(Now Playing: Stargazer by Rainbow https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YmJIccPWnEk )
 
CHAPTER 5 : ...One Frying Pan After Another
 
>the Lethal Weapon 4 LARPer was staring me down
>his M16 held downwards on his right arm
>was he trying to high noon duel me?
>he did, and he drew faster
>three-round burst went into my kevlar vest
>stumbled, but stood my ground
>he was probably too high to notice that I had a ERDL-colored flak jacket on
>had it converted to take ceramic plates, about 6 years earlier
>but back to the fight, I took my chance and moved behind an RV
>he fired burst after burst through the camper to get to me, 2 more shots hit my back
>stumbled for real, he speedwalked up and pointed the gun right into my face
>but I could see that his bolt was back, he was dry
>as I drew my SAR, he fumbled his reload
>magdumped into him at point blank, 4 bullets managed to penetrate his armor
>but .308 or not, his drugs kept him ticking like Tony Montana
>side-swiped his left foot, he fell over to the ground, dropping his rifle
>tackled him as he tried to get up again
>pried his helmet off with my bare hands
>and I grabbed his 90-round mag to bash his face in
>no need to waste ammo
>whacked him 5 times with all my might
>but he was tough, all he got was a bloody nose and some lost teeth
>he turned his buzzsaw on, trying to slash my throat
>narrowly dodged it, but my armor got slashed, a plate spilled out of the fabric-hole
>crushed his shooting-arm right in the elbow
>now he REALLY felt that one
>screaming like a demon from the pain, he kicked me in the chest
>now the tables had turned, as he got up and I was on the ground
>making a forward slash right for my face, I grabbed his own M16 to block the saw
>too bad it was aluminum
>not tough enough for an industrial buzzsaw
>he was quickly cutting through the gun
>moved my head to the side, just in time for him to cut through, but hit dirt
>and then he kicked my balls, really hard
>I screamed like a little girl and began to cry
>this couldn’t be the end for me
>and then D finally made his move
>popped out from under the crack commando’s RV
>pulled the same move he did against the demon in the neighborhood
>but wrapped around his waist instead of the head
>bad idea
>Metalhead just fucking slices a good chunk off the tip of his tail
>he screamed like a plier-castration, tried to crawl away on his hands, blood spurting from his new tail-stump
>his would-be killer turns off the saw, picks up the now-chopped AR, sliced right at the delta-ring, the barrel was gone
>too high to notice his gas tube was also gone, he tried to line up a shot to Dooser’s head
>pulled the trigger
>and a geriatric bullet plinked off D’s forehead, nothing but a minor bruise
>still clutching my left hand to my horrifically inflamed groin, I rolled over and grabbed D’s Benelli with the other
>lying on the ground, I braced the shottie against my shoulder, aimed at the wacko’s head
>it was loaded with slugs
>and I missed
>his attention once again turned towards me, he started giggling maniacally
>and began to strangle me
>I tried to pry off his arms, but with my genitals smacked, I was beginning to black out from sheer pain
>I thought this was it for our little tag-team
>then Dooser had a second wind, field by pure rage
>grabbed my strangler’s head from behind, by the mouth
>shoved his thumbs into the eyes
>and repeatedly bit hard down into his neck, causing blood to squirt from his neck arteries, like a Wendy’s ketchup packet
>he bled out within 2 minutes
>even if he didn’t, the venom would have taken care of him
 
>we had won at a heavy cost
>I picked myself up, clutched onto my nuts
>then walked over to the main office to find first aid
>our lucky day, there were plenty of bandages, and some morphine syringes
>now this would be the part where I drop a ton of medical buzzwords
>“touch-and-go”,“patient stabilization”, “bench-to-bedside”
>but I’m gonna make that story short
>I got the bleeding to stop, and pumped him with morphine
>wrapping his wounds, set his human part onto a outdoor couch
>then I injected myself with the sweet stuff
>dozed off for about 20 minutes
>he woke up first
>telling me we made a ton of noise, and had ought to get going, quick
>I agreed
>I knew a bit about snake anatomy, so I asked him how he was still alive, a sliced chunk that big would kill a normal snake
>and he told me something most people don’t know about lamias
>most of the snake part is vestigial
>also that his lamia-kind wasn’t venomous as I had thought, but they still had fangs for intimidation
>now slightly narcoleptic, we slowly walked and slithered across Loop 410, towards the promised land
>but first, we had to go through the OTHER park
 
(Now Playing: Act On Instinct [Command and Conquer : Renegade X version] by Frank Klepacki https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3EhcYWMf6A0) 
 
>Miller’s Pond
>what a shithole
>it was, basically, an open gang-warfare zone, long before the /k/onvergence
>and long afterwards
>we decided not to go through yet another forest that could be full of freaks
>so we went about a block’s worth north
>then went through a back alley south of Rose Valley Drive
>some nice peace and quiet, we took sips of the vodka I had procured earlier
>it felt heavenly
>once exiting the alley, we were in an open field, the pond, and a community center now in open view
>as we walked towards, we went over a storm drain
>a group of human bums, stray dogs, and rabbit-folk were gathered around a bunch of trash cans, circling the drain
>must be waiting for night-time, to light the cans on fire
>we heard quite a series of commotions, coming from the community center
>tip-toed and slow-slithered behind the bleachers of the baseball field
>curve-balled behind a Ford Ranger in the parking lot
>slowly peeked our heads up to see the commotion, I pulled the FN FAL’s detached scope to get a close-up 
>sweet Moses, what a shitshow it was
>in the southwest corner basketball court, a group of about 25, maybe 30, Dwarves, armored up, and armed with some funky looking lever-rifles
>kinda looked like Henry repeaters
>in the northern corner, within a small pavilion, a gang of 20 bikers, all armed with mismatched shotguns, AR-15s, and AK-types
>the bikers were yelling something about “keeping Sleeping Beauty safe in the van”
>and lastly, at the entrance to the parking lot, a posse of 10 deputies and about 20 militia-looking folks
>most of the last group were behind cover, a hastily pushed together car-wall that blocked the road
>these guys were packing heavy revolvers, Mini-14’s and M1A’s, and the one barking orders and demands, was waving some weird 1911 around
>I told Dooser to quietly and slowly, load his scattergat
>and I rocked a new mag into my SAR
>told him that we weren’t in a good state to fight more, and to hold his fire until we’re fired upon
>as we listened, it became clear now
>the dwarves and bikers were fighting over the community center, and some elf that the bikers were protecting
>the deputy posse was only here to restore some semblance of order
>and kept demanding both sides to lower their weapons
>no one did, of course
>until one dwarf boldly proclaimed that the elf was going to be his cock-sleeve
>that set off one biker, who proceeded to open fire, a full-auto magdump at the dwarves
>and then everybody was kung fu shooting
>the dwarves quickly ripped apart the bikers, on account of them not wearing any armor
>but the bikers took some with them, some of those AR-15’s had to have been loaded with M855, some heavy AP handloads, or were using heavy .308 loads out of AR-10s
>the posse stood their ground and let them kill each other, until 2 of the bikers went full-auto into them, cutting down 4 “officers” in a blink
>a volley-fire of 5.56, .308, .357, and .44 Magnum went into the other two groups’ ranks
>the dwarves were able to tank the 5.56 and .357
>but the ones with .44’s and .308’s were smart enough to stay in the rear lines
>whittling them down inch by inch
>the “cops” had them dead to rights at first, the dwarves ran out of ammo
>and had to reload in the middle of a killbox
>but one of them dropped his rifle, and his hands starting glowing some white-black energy
>then put his hands on the ground as .357’s bounced off his armor, making small dents
>a electrical-looking wave burst out, right into the posse’s roadblock
>most of the cars went ACME, taking most of the law enforcers out in a near-instant
>the remaining, poor blue-blooded bastards were quickly shot as they tried to get up
>with them out of the way, only 3 bikers were left, having gone for cover, huddled around the van
>a few stray bullets went into the truck we were covered by, but nothing to really spook us
>8 dwarves were still alive
>but not for long
>their leader ran up to the van, and punched the backdoor off by the hinges
>as he peered into the van, a large horizontal pillar of light burst from the van, insta-immolating the dwarven leader and 3 of his comrades
>the other 4 tried to run, but were all cut down, shot in their backs by the remaining bikers
>and from the front door, she emerged
 
(Now Playing: Bakersfield by Harold Faltemeyer, from the film The Running Man  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_5piWFZXvY)
 
>she wasn’t an elf
>looked just like a normal human
>except for her outfit
>dark-gold biker skinny jeans
>her upper body was covered up in a matching-colored armor
>and over that, was a blue ‘90s Wonder Woman jacket with dark-gold trimmings
>she had no gun on her, but a motherfuckin red JVC RC-M70W, slung around her back
>boombox was smoking, like it was where the laser had come from
>I hadn’t seen one of those outside of pawnshops or ironic swap meets, not since fuckin’ 2002
>she scanned the carnage over the area, and put on a blue Iron Man motorcycle helmet
>it was hard to hear her through that, but I could make out something about how the cops should have just stayed out of the fight, something about her pitying them
>so she was their ringleader, I had supposed
>she walked over to the chief deputy’s bullet-riddled corpse
>grabbed his 1911 and stuffed it down her waistband
>then she and her survivors started grabbing all the guns and magazines that were still intact, loading them into a truck
>with the EMP and all, I was wondering how they were gonna get the truck to move
>as if to answer my question, she walked over to a motorcycle, and attached a hook from it to the front of the truck
>she turned the cycle on, and her hands began to glow yellow
>then her bike, the cable, and the van began to all glow yellow
>and they “drove” away, looked more like they were floating, yet still on the ground
 
>what the fuck
>at least this problem solved itself
>I was honestly a bit disappointed, that all we did, was witness the whole thing go down
>but at least we got to rest our legs for a bit
>I pulled out 2 of the Rip-Its from my pack
>we were gonna need them, we agreed that we had ought to reach the hill before sundown
>or else we’d have to wait till morning to get a good view
>and the dragon pack could be completely gone by then
>so we took a 10-minute nap
>our present situation was quite surreal
>on account of all the dead bodies, the fiery car wrecks, and their smoke, filling the air
>but we couldn’t afford to waste more time soaking in the sights 
>it was time to move on, we were so close
 
Chapter 5 : Brown Hill And Scrap Yard Zones
 
(Now Playing : Red Dawn from Vietcong 2 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROBSEvWtrf4 )
 
>We continued on our regularly-scheduled trek down Old Pearsall Road
>the pack had definitely passed through 
>several churches were on fire
>two gas stations were all smashed apart, their pumps had exploded from the fire-breath
>Buffalo Pawn was already ransacked, nothing of value left, save for three 16-gauge shotguns with no ammo
>We were getting hungry
>so we went into the only building around that wasn’t already burnt down, or in the process of that
>the Dollar General across from that Indian Creek school
>I already had freeze-dried Mountain House meals on me, taken back at HEB
>we just needed water out of a plastic bottle or fountain
>we found some
>and we had a good lunch
>I ate the beef chili mac, Dooser insisted on the chicken & dumplings bag
>shoulda seen that coming, a snake wanting cooked bird
>I teased him about that
>he retorted by saying that cows were disgusting to eat and hard to swallow
>ok, in his defense, I could see him having trouble with the last part
>I then showed him the wonders of chicken jerky, grabbing them off the aisles
>aaaaaah, Jack’s Links
>not as good as Slim Jim’s, but they beat Jim’s in variety
>he was so pleased with the meal, you’d have hardly noticed that he was missing a good chunk of his tail
>I then grabbed 2 pillows, to demonstrate to him the difference between buckshot and slugs
>as I hoped, he was much more interested in the buckshot
>he’d seen cannons that fired grapeshot-type stuff
>but having that power in the palms of his hands, really gave him a new perspective
>he asked me why we hadn’t seen anyone use swords
>I realized the masquerade was up, and I told him what I assumed was the truth
>that he and all the near-humans weren’t on their world anymore
>they were on a world where the only intelligent life is humans, and maybe demons
>bladed weapons had been rendered obsolete 4 centuries ago, on the standard battlefield 
>only fully phased out about one century past, as a singular weapon
>besides the Japs, of course
>now, only knives are kept, as ultimate-last-resort weapons, or for roguish activities
>always either on its own, or at the end of a long gun
>one could call it, the final evolution of the spear
>NOW, he was getting with the program
 
(Now Playing : Hazy Shade Of Winter by The Bangles https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cNeXWpTVlo )
 
>After resting for a while, we went back outside, to a world covered in a reddish-orange haze
>this wasn’t just haze though, it was smoke
>reminded me of Aunt Elena’s old home videos of 1991 Kuwait, when she was a nurse in UNICEF
>We could hardly see 7 feet ahead
>but I knew the territory
>so we went into the neighborhood across the street, moving slowly down Hilburn Drive
>we didn’t go hopping through backyards this time, there were too many people around
>a good amount of the homes had people pressed against their windows, trying to see us through the fire-fog
>I ordered Dooser to not stare at anyone
>wasn’t gonna let some religious yokel blow my head off with a 12 gauge, for associating with a snake-man
>I was just hoping the haze would die down before nightfall
>we were really blind in this situation that we’d gotten into
>and in my stupidity, we overshot the quick route to the park, and went all the way to the end of the street
>took a left turn at Dempsey Street, following that to the end of the road
>these trees weren’t on fire, so we walked on by, into the clearing
>another park
>another shitshow
>demons
>demons everywhere
>not the DOOM kind, the kind that look like red humans, with horns
>they spotted us immediately
>told D to hold his fire until the time-gap it takes for me to reload after a spent magazine
>most of them pulled knives, swords, and other bladed weapons
>and most of them were wearing rags or civilian clothing
>it was a turkey shoot, at first
>like popping Zulus at Rorke’s Drift
>one by one, my .308 and 7.62x51 took them down
>blasted limb after eviscerated gut after perforated chest
>some even went through several targets
>ran out of my first mag, these South African surplus 30-rounders lived up to the marketing hype
>pulled out my Para 1911
>15 rounds and about 17 dead devils later, I needed to reload
>Dooser paid attention, and he really was a quick learner
>careful shots, placed to hit the maximum amount of freaks per shell
>when they stopped coming, we stopped to count the casualties
>67
>we killed 67 inhuman beings in less than 5 minutes
>we waded through the killbox, muddying my boots and his lower half in blood, guts, and soccer field astroturf
>we were still on guard, who knew what else was a few feet away, covered by fog
>we found out soon enough
 
>A ritual was going down at the top of the hill
>it was exactly as how you’d expect
>scarlet-skin weirdos in black robes, chanting in a circle
>the ones we could see, had glowing yellow eyes
>we opened fire, quickly aerating them, since they just stood and let it happen
>we were too late
>as the last one fell to the ground, their corpses began to levitate
>their blood draining into the air from their wounds
>it was a trap, and we fell for it
>the blood conflated into the center of the circle, creating a dark-red cylinder
>Dooser brought out the slugs, but they passed right through
>he was sweating bullets, and yelled that we should run
>so we ran down the hill, towards the park’s parking lot
>I hid behind the closest car, D went to the furthest
>he yelled at me, saying that I was a fool for staying so close
>and that we’d best get all 7 hells away from here
>right as he finished the sentence, the cylinder dissolved back to a puddle
>and in its place was a 9 foot tall demoness
>arms and legs were as ripped like a creatine model in a Super Bowl ad
>large orbs on her chest, I mean some serious honkers
>a REAL set of badonkers
>she points at us and says we’d do just fine as test subjects for her newest skin-flaying spell
>Dooser screams like a little girl, unloads a full tube of slugs at her
>yelled something about how he narrowly escaped being a succubi “community sperm provider”
>and that he didn’t travel 1,400 miles, and a whole new dimension, just to wind up right back at the start
>the slugs weren’t completely useless
>left some serious bruises on her right arm, as she shielded her head with it
>after being awestruck by her presence, I got back in the groove and magdumped at her center mass
>she pulled up a sorta-deflector shield to slow the bullets down to airsoft-pellet speed
>I dropped the empty mag, rocked a new one in, walking backwards and firing at the same time
>then I tripped on a large gravel chip and twisted my ankle
>screaming in pain, she stopped in front of me and courteously left me finish dumpin my mag
>then she grabbed me by the flak vest collar, and started slapping me back-and-forth
>holy shit, her hands were fast and strong, they hurt like a bitch
>she pulls her other hand towards Dooser, freezing him in his track with some stopping-spell
>tells him to wait his turn, and that she was gonna play with us before getting to the testing
>I thought this was it
>this would be the beginning of a fate worse than death
>maybe we deserved it for gunning down so many demons who stood no chance at killing us
 
(Now Playing : The Fire Hose from Die Hard https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFJ93vaIHDw )
 
>right as she brings her frog-like tongue out to lick my head, a light shined through the thick fog, coming from the street
>a direct and tough voice comes from it
>a woman, telling the giant devil to let me go, or get sent back to Baal’s cock carousel
>her exact words, I shit you not
>right as I was about to break into a hysterical laugh, a fucking sword comes out from the light and slices the souped-up succubus’s left arm off
>the arm that was holding me
>I fell on my right leg, hurting it even further
>the smoke began to dissipate, at least on the northwest side
>and the light became clear
>it was the laser-light lady from Miller’s Pond
>she must have gone to that Auto Guy’s Garage place on the other side of the street, the gunshots alerting her to our presence
>all her biker pals, armed to the teeth, were right behind her
>the magic woman points a crowbar at the red she-bitch, looks to her side at one of her pals
>then tells everyone to give this nigger a volley
>I got up and limped to hide behind a city park services SUV
>the bikers were patient enough to let me move
>then they opened fire
>the demon could handle one guy with slugs or basic 165 grain .308
>she couldn’t handle 14 guys firing 75 grain AP 5.56, one snake-man firing 12 gauge buckshot, and one sorceress with a .357 1911
>her shield lasted about 4 seconds, then she got shredded to red chunks of gore
>the coast, was now clear, and the smoke had lifted up, slightly
>I got up again, using the car to make up for my busted leg
>the biker gang spread around the area, looking for possible stragglers
>one of them offered D a new shot of morphine
>and the head-wizard-in-charge approached me, taking off her sunglasses
>her glowing light had been her hair
>I tried to look away, but her piercing hazel eyes were too much
>she looked at my leg and asked me if I was going to be fine
>I told her that if she had a splint on her, I sure would be
 
>she offered to give me one, saying she and her club had a few at the auto shop they’ve been holed up in
>so they were a motorcycle club
>that would explain why they seemed to be so well-organized
>I accepted her offer, and she grabbed me by the collar, lifting me into a bridal carry
>this was so embarrassing
>I tried to pull out my own sunglasses to feel a bit more cool
>she says not to even bother, she knows she’s got nice boobs, let the whole world know, for all she cared
>wasn’t even my intention, but I decided to just roll with that
>we’re in the middle of a magical SHTF, I don’t have time for ogling witches, damsels, and knights
>yet
>doing that with the devil-bitch almost got me killed
>as she walked us towards a shed to the side of the shop, Dooser right behind us, she asks me what WERE we doing there
>I tell her about our quest to slay the dragons, and how I got from my house to here
>she was laughing for most of it
>then she wasn’t laughing when I got to the part about the armored methhead
>then she was genuinely concerned if we were okay
>it was really sweet, I was quite touched
>then I told her about how we watched her and her pals kill the dwarves and deputiess
>she said in their defense, they only fired at the cops after being shot at first
>and that the posse should have just made a barricade and minded their own business
>one of her guys speaks up, saying they knew we were hiding behind that truck
>Dooser’s tail was sticking out the whole time
>but since we stuck to the peanut gallery, they saw no reason to bother us
>another girl came by, wearing a white thick dress and black Skechers
>pulled out some “herbal salves,” dipped her hand, and painted my twisted ankle green
>she said it would take about 20 minutes to take effect
>we then made proper introductions
>the sorceress’s name was Sarah
>the biker with the eagle-eye, his name was Tom
>and the healer, who was definitely an E.T. like Dooser, said her name was Yaerin
>she got here the same way that D did, through a random bright light
>walking through a forest on her way to sell some ointments at a village, then poof, walked right into a port-a-potty across the street
>saw one of the bikers needing help, smacked by a Honda Civic’s hit-and-run
>after fixing him up, took up his offer to join them
>she perfectly understood the reasoning of having portable latrines
>but thought we really needed a more efficient way to cover up the piss and shit
 
(Now Playing : Betrayal (Sorcerer Theme) by Tangerine Dream https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phJKQcvZ3sE )
 
>after I got my splint on, the rest of the bikers poured into the shop
>I finally got to explaining that I was hoping the smoke would clear at the top of the hill
>so I could get a view of where the dragons might be
>but the smoke was too thick at this point
>Sarah laughed, saying that she could fly and take a look for herself
>it was why she was sleeping during that huge gunfight
>apparently she was flying around, when the EMP blast ripped through the sky
>disrupted her levitation magic, nearly knocking her out from the shockwave
>she got lucky, crash-landed right through the roof of this shop, onto a set of mattresses
>so she went outside and showed us what levitating looks like
>no broomstick, no magic carpet, no bicycle with a propeller, not even a light blue Ford Anglia
>she came back down, saying she saw a giant flying reptile to the south, in the direction of the junkyards
>a bit northeast of the Loop 410/ Interstate 35 intersection
>that’s about 15 apartment blocks away
>so I asked for a city map and a marker
>then showed Dooser our new plan
>all we have to do, is walk back down Old Pearsall Road, take a left onto Five Palms Drive
>then just keep walking until the end of the road
>at that point, we’d cross 2 railroad tracks and then we’re at the junkyards
>but it was getting dark already, and we needed some serious rest
>even though we were so close
>we’d be cooked simian and snake if we went in half-asleep, however
>but our luck and our lives were forever changed at that moment
>Sarah offered to join us, her and her whole club
>we didn’t hesitate to accept, but I did ask why
>she said that she honestly didn’t think we’d be able to kill them all by ourselves
>and that this was too big of a threat to not throw everything at
>they hadn’t seen a single helping hand from the Air Force base right north of us
>some of her pals said they’d seen them scramble on foot all day, but kept to staying inside the base
>well, I guess we’re gonna have to take control
>all on our own
>with that, we drew up a new plan
>we make a new convoy, headlights-off, moving slowly, from here to the end of Five Palms
>Sarah and I take point on her motorcycle, she said it had been spared from the EMP
>on account of it being under the I-35 bridge over L-410 when the blast wave hit
>we hook up 4 trucks, enough to carry everyone, and bring all the ammo we had
>set up shop at the train tracks, rest for a while
>the day-sleepers and Sarah would do a scouting party to make sure that we’d know if the dragons were leaving
>why WAS she was sleeping in the back of a van all day, I asked
>and if she slept all day, how’d she figure her new powers out, Dooser chimed in
>she sputtered, spit-taking her cup of whiskey, gave us a glare, and said that was none of our damn business
 
>Sarah was awfully generous, like she was making it up to us for something
>what exactly, I didn’t know
>maybe she felt bad for taking too long to kill the demon, costing me a lot of pain
>maybe she was just really excited that at least one person around here has a plan to clean up the town, yard by yard
>or maybe she’s just a genuinely nice person who wants to stop monsters from hurting more people
>women, who knows
>anyhoo, we piled up into a mini-convoy of 3 trucks, I overestimated how much we’d need by a bit
>Weight was distributed by having 7 people per truck, in the first two trucks
>we all pitched in to stuff sleeping bags, pillows, all the ammo we could carry, mostly 5.56 and 12 gauge
>me and Sarah up front on her chopper
>Dooser and Yaerin in the last truck, Yaerin had to sit in the truck bed, on account of Dooser taking up the whole cab
>Sarah could only hold up to a certain point, with her mild heavy-load-carrying magic
>she called it "tactile telekinesis"
>got the name from a '90s Superman comic, she said
>and so we went
 
>sundown was upon us, we were going only 5 mph, as slow as possible
>turned the corner onto Five Palms with as much width as we could, to avoid the gas station fire
>slowly going southbound, some people were watching us
>the ones outside all had gas masks, asbestos equipment, cough masks
>it gave me the creeps
>as I gripped onto Sarah a bit harder, she comforted me
>saying that it was okay to be scared, but I was braver than all the gawkers
>because at least I was trying to do something
>Instead of bunkering down and hoping for the best
>I tried to get my mind off of it by having some small talk
>asked her how she managed to wind up in charge of a MC
>she said it was for two reasons
>firstly, her uncle was highly regarded by the club
>he raised her, after her parents died in a truck accident in 1995
>got sent to Club Fed in 2011, for running guns to a middleman in Jamaica
>said middleman was busted by Interpol 
>for the crime of trafficking USMC surplus shotguns to Danish gangsters
>his stateside comrades, nabbed by the FBI
>said uncle met his death at the hands of a shower shiv, courtesy of the Mafiya
>only 2 months into his sentence
>using his ill-gotten gains to fund her motel rooms, gas, and chopper upkeep, she wandered the state
>until 8 months ago, when the money eventually ran dry,
>so she went back to her uncle’s club, the Rough Riders MC, looking for gainful, but easy employment
>she found it, doing deliveries for auto shops, was a cheerful, good friend to everyone in the club
>pissed her off though, to sometimes have to drive a van
>or in her words, "a cager with all the downsides and none of the fun"
>secondly, the last guy in charge had abruptly quit, 3 months earlier, due to terminal pancreas cancer
>so, when the old hoss left, she won the vote by a 62-38 percentage
>she had charisma, the guts, to muscle in on other delivery businesses
>and the competence to delegate the number stuff to a good accountant
>who was unfortunately killed at Miller's Pond today
 
>my story was nothing in comparison
>parents live in Chattanooga, only child
>born and raised there
>came to Texas as fast as I could
>psych, it was for a ironworking apprenticeship, straight after high school
>had it really been 13 years ago?
>I liked the city, stuck around
>burnt one too many bridges with the tradesman club I was once in, about 2 years ago
>got kicked out for trying to pull a coup
>I wanted to have more parties and camping trips
>as opposed to community service bullshit
>tried to do a secret vote of no confidence
>but I got snitched on
>blacklisted from other tradesman groups, and even the Freemasons
>but at least business was still great
>they condescendingly told me that I was free to be a worthless hedonist on my own time and dime
>so I turned to the internet for new friends
>left a call-out on /k/, inviting other SA /k/ommandos to hang out while at the monthly Saxet gun show
>only one guy showed up, a real eager beaver named Walker
>guy was only 18 then, total cowboy LARPer, showed up in full kit cowpoke garb
>but he was a fun guy to hang around with, we only-childs got to stick together
>we think on similar wavelengths, we’ve even finished each other’s one-liners a few times
>we even have the exact same middle name
>we've been best buds since that show, a year and 7 months past
>I hope he's ok, must be shitting himself, stranded at that range
>nah, he’s got tons of guns there to stay strapped and safe, he’ll be fine
 
>Sarah looked real sad after hearing my story
>said that I shouldn't have wound up so isolated, just for wanting to have fun
>told her that’s just life, when you put yourself at the mercy of people who have different intentions for you, than your own
>bleeding-heart champagne-unionized cunts and faggots
>one can only hope they’re already dead
>but I’m getting off-topic, back to the action
>not everyone in this neighborhood was actually a coward
>we picked up 4 more people, who were just waiting for any armed group to come by
>strength in numbers is never a bad idea
>not too much firepower on them, 2 had AR’s, one had a 5.56 AK, the last, just a pistol
>one of the AR plebs had a Glock 19 race gun
>pistolbro was a man of impeccable taste, a S&W 4506, springs upgraded for .45 Super
>the AK chad had a 9 mil Tokarev, from like, Serbia, I think
>put them in the “caboose” with Yaerin, to whom I handed my piecemeal FAL
>she was able to get the basic gist of a gun, from watching us
>just a placeholder though, once we’d find a spare rifle, I’d take it back
>why the hell did everyone bring just one rifle and/or a pistol?
>that deputy sheriff and his posse had a bunch, but they’re all dead, so what does that prove?
>am I the retard for bringing two rifles?
 
(Now Playing : Gotterdammerung (Siegfried’s Funeral March) by Richard Wagner https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ImM-cde6GQ )
 
>We arrived at the end of the street, the smoke having given way to an unusual nighttime fog
>all us Earth folk were on edge, the pistolbro had to explain to our two alien guests, that thick fog at night is an EXTREMELY ill omen
>but to our surprise, nothing happened
>for now
>we quietly set up camp where we intended to
>as per the plan, I went along with the scouting party
>slowly moving through the tall grass and shrubbery, the AK guy pulled NVGs from his backpack, making hand signals at us, for all-clears and stops
>it really wasn’t necessary, the moon was really bright and close tonight, uh, what do they call it, perigee?
>the white reflection of it, pierced through some of the haze
>and almost all of us had flashlights of one kind or another
>it was easy, all we needed to do was to change out the batteries, to get around the EMP
>but where did the AK guy get those NVGs?
>we never found out
>but better safe than sorry, who knew if a invisible hunter was gonna pop out and turn our skulls into trophies
>moving up against the wall of a truck and trailer repair yard, we tiptoed parallel to Cassin Lane
>I came up with the idea of Sarah flying up, carrying two of us, to land on a roof
>normally, we’d be spotted in seconds, with all the streetlights and security cameras
>guess the EMP had some silver linings to it
>the race gun Glock guy volunteered for number 2, I was obviously number one
>she may be the muscle, but it looked like I was to be the brains, until we found someone better
>we succeeded in the landing, I told Sarah to gently place us onto the roof, not to drop us
>classic Hollywood blunder, we weren’t gonna fall for that
>me and 3-gunner took turns looking through his AR scope, a Helion XP50
>fuckin’ thermal imaging, I whispered to ask how the hell did it survive the EMP
>he said it was in pieces, he only put it back together AFTER the blackout
>he had extras, of the part that got shorted out
>we could hear the sound of heavy breathing, coming from something big
>a light, from the north, with smoke coming out
>a bonfire was starting
>we moved to the tip of the roof, crawling to avoid noise
>I whispered “shit, we should have put Dooser on this job”
>Glockfag agreed
>Sarah had left us, without warning
>555-come-on-now.jpeg
>Glockfag spotted Sarah trying to slip through junk piles to get a better look at the bonfire
>I asked him what the hell was she doing, and my tongue slipped
>I called him Glockfag, IRL
>he corrected me, said his name was Andy
>he was started a shittalk about .308, but we were interrupted by Sarah, screaming like she was getting stabbed in the leg
>DAMMIT
>the dragons all woke up
>the jig was up, but they didn’t see us, just Sarah
>as Andy looked in that direction with his scope, he gave us away with a declaration of “WHAT THE FUCK”
>I lost my marbles, and yelled to him what was so wrong
>he said the dragons were cooking dead bodies in a pile
>my heart would have sank if I wasn’t so upset already
>the five dragons made a circle around Sarah, or so she later told me
>a new sixth one, purple as a Greek woman’s toga, burst from the building we were on top of
>flipping us off the roof, onto a junk car pile
>my pack absorbed most of the blow, but Andy landed on his Glock, smashing his ass
>as I rolled off the pile, Andy still laid there
>but he went out like a champ
>the dragon chomped down on him, stabbing into his legs
>then smashed its top teeth onto the car hood under Andy, the bottom onto the car’s underside
>they were both in massive pain, the dragon recoiled with blood-spurting gums and caved-in teeth
>Andy had enough pain-rage to pull up his AR and do a full-auto magdump into the monster’s head
>while yelling something about boogers and lightning links
>tracers spewed from the rifle, shredding the reptile’s eyes, penetrating the brain
>it fell over, dead before the head hit the ground
>we both starting laughing hysterically, not paying attention to the fight, over in the next junkyard
>Sarah came smashing through the wall, knocking over the pile that Andy was on top of
>the now-four dragons poured from the hole in the other yard to ours
>Andy had no chance
>3 of them, turned their heads to him
>they all flamed on, in unison, deep-frying Andy before he could get another mag in
>and we were next
>I yelled to “light up the night”
>and it was now weapons-free, I assume AK chad gave a hand signal
>as per my advice I gave when we were crossing the tracks, they focused all their fire on the closest one
>bullet after bullet bounced off the gray-green scales, ricocheting all over the place, even at us
>some bounced off of Sarah, I tried to roll, but my pack was too heavy
>so I half-way got up, and scrambled behind another junkpile, sticking to the corner to pop shots off at the closest one to me
>a pure-grey with mottled wingtips and straight horns, as opposed to the others, whom had their horns inwardly curved
>he roared, the force nearly knocked the junkpile onto me, the falling cars missed my body by inches and feet
>the dragon made a twisted grin, and began to shine like a rainbow, its size shifting into a humanoid shape 
>doing a Y-pose
>aw shit, he’s operating on Hanna-Barbera physics
>he shone back to normal, the appearance was like Kris Kristofferson, but with horns, elf ears, and a fiery mouth
>he held my left leg down with his right foot, talking smugly in his spooky monkey talk, straight outta my nightmares
>oh my god
>he was about to do a Hollywood one-liner before killing me
>I stalled, asking him “what the hell are you?”
>he responded in English, telling me “The same as you. A hunter.”
>he lifted his other leg to cave my skull in
>but Sarah came back to her senses, and did a flying tackle straight out of Mortal Kombat
>she immediately went for the throat, to stop him from breathing fire
>but he punched her face with a air-shattering smack
>then grabbed a junk motorcycle, threw it at her
>she caught it, did a Wonder Woman spin, and flung it right back
>knocked him through two Mack trucks
>I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine
>ordered Sarah to keep him pinned for a minute
>I reached for my Everclear bottles
>one was broken, must’ve happened in all the dives, falls, and pushes that I’ve had today
>just a cracked but sharp handle
>the other was fine
>twisted the cap off, stuffed a rag from the auto shop, and flicked on a zippo lighter found in the glove compartment of the convoy’s caboose
>I yelled to Sarah to get the fuck out of the way, and flung the Molotov
>I missed
>hit and ignited the trash can that was 4 feet behind the elf-dragon-thing
>it turned around to see the fire, and started to laugh uncontrollably 
>I took advantage of his loss-of-attention
>pulled the other bottle’s handle out
>Sarah knew what to do
>she tackled him again, holding him down by kneeling on his neck, maintaining a grip on his right horn
>and I slit the lizard’s throat with the broken bottle
>green blood spewed out, then leaked down the neck, he ceased to live after about a full minute
>I still wonder today, if any ancient, majestic, and proud dragon, ever wakes up in the morning
>and thinks to themselves, “boy, I sure hope I don’t get teleported to a strange and unfamiliar planet, to die of a neck-gashing by a regular-ass human and a STR 10 sorceress”
 
>our pals managed to take down the gray-green one, a lucky blast of a biker's buckshot went into the mouth, tore it up, death-by-blood-loss
>the other two read the tide of battle and flew off in a eastern direction
>this wasn’t over
>it was a three-for-four casualty rate
>we lost the AK chad, two of the Rough Riders, and Andy
>all immolated alive
>shitty way to die
>we tossed their bodies into the back of one of the Mack trucks
>placed their driver’s licenses in a metal box from the glove compartment, along with a note from the S&W guy
>stated that he was a Army reservist, and that they died bravely, defending our country against all threats
>at the time, we weren’t even sure if there would be a country left, by the time anyone of authority showed up
>assuming anyone else shows up
>Yaerin pointed out, that since she came by instant teleportation, it was entirely possible that an opposite reaction happened, teleporting people from here, over to the other world
>maybe that was why the military hasn’t done anything yet
>not to mention the severe lack of normal non-sheriff's department cops
>after leaving the metal box in the passenger seat, the more iron-stomach of us went to the larger corpse-pile
>bite marks all over them
>they were prey
>pulled from their cars, their homes, to be chomped, killed, then put here to feast on later
>must have been about 40-45 people
>most were human, I could also identify two centaurs, what appeared to be a black guy with rabbit-ears, and some demonfolks in the mix
>we decided to cremate them, along with our comrades
>drained some of the trucks and cars around for fuel, and used that to extend the bonfire to the pile
>took our dead allies’ guns and stuffed them into a reappropriated gym locker
>gym locker was placed in the back of the middle truck
>Yaerin gave me back my FAL, after taking the 5.56 AK for herself
>Andy’s rifle had been crushed by the purple dragon
>but his thermal scope was still intact, Tom found it and called dibs
 
>no glamour in this, but this is war, casualties happen, combatant and noncombatant alike
>a war for survival
>I, and most others with me, weren’t fighting for national pride or resources
>we were in a war for the right to be un-enslaved, and for the right to live
>yeah, just like that Independence Day movie
>there is no natural right to live, as stillbirths, miscarriages, abortions, and victims of SIDS can attest to, if you can get to heaven and ask them
>the right to live is something you either impose upon nature by force, or be rewarded by being subservient to nature, which is far, far more of a dice roll than simply imposing it
>on the other hand, Esteban the Army reservist, was still fighting for our country
>good on him, people should have the right to fight for whatever the hell they want to fight for
>despite the bonfire granting us heat from the sudden cold front, we decided to go back to our camp at the tracks
>I for one, had just about enough of combat for the day
>my wounds were going to hurt SO bad in the morning
>We were all tired out, except for the 3 surviving new guys, so we put them on guard duty
>we were out of gas, and our tricks weren’t going to work again, on the last two dragons
>should we continue following them without rest, we’d probably get fucked
>I shared a 2-man tent with Tom, by a miracle, he did not snore, which meant I had a good night’s sleep
>or I would have, if I wasn’t so stressed about all the possibilities
>of all the things and creatures that could be out there, waiting for us to stumble upon
>or stumbling around, to inevitably run into US
>I kept shuffling and shaking around, ‘till Tom offered me a sleeping pill
>I chugged it with some water from my bottle
>waiting for it to kick in, I went to take a leak
>after finishing, I went for a short walk, running into Dooser and Yaerin, who were arguing over what trains should look like
>their guesses were purely based on looking at the tracks, and from mentions from the rest of us
>so, I went over and told them I’d answer all their questions about planet Earth, as long as they tucked me in my sleeping bag once I fell asleep
>I remember sleeping sweet dreams that night, thinking the worst was mostly over
>I was dead wrong
 
[END OF DAY 1]
 
 
 
 
 
CHAPTER SIX : THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE
 
Now Playing : Main Title from Ghostbusters by Elmer Bernstein https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVYnUE04ZsA )
 
>I awoke in agony
>all the cuts, bruises, and a left eye turned black that I had accumulated over the previous day?
>it all kicked in when I tried to move out of the sleeping bag
>Tom was gone
>I opened a tiny hole through the tent, and slide out
>it wasn’t very bright outside, the sky was still covered in dark grey clouds, but no rain
>the first thing I see besides the sky, is two of Sarah’s boys
>sitting back in folding chairs, enjoying themselves to something that smelled awfully like chili
>they were laughing hard at me because of the way I slide out of the small tenthole, looked like a newborn sliding out of a poontang
>with the sun blocked, I had no idea what time it was
>after what felt like a few minutes, I got up and limped around, looking for wherever or whomever made that food
>I found that it was Tom doing the cooking, from a charcoal grill setup behind our convoy
>some of the guys had woken up earlier this morning, went back into the neighborhood
>to grab whatever we needed from the homes of the guys who’d last joined us, still alive or not
>mostly just food and ammo, plus two loaded plate carriers
>anything that helps, I suppose
>Yaerin practically snuck up on me, helped me seat myself into another folding chair
>handed me a plate of room temperature mexican rice with well-cooked mini sausages
>food was alright
>awkward silence from everyone, except for Esteban, who filled me in on what was going on
>everyone was waiting on Sarah to come back
>she had flown to get through the clouds and see what time it was, from looking at the sun
>this isn’t exactly the kind of place where you’d find a sundial
>once she got back, we’d decide on how we should proceed next
>while waiting for her,I had some ideas to discuss
>first, the deal with dead weight
>I motioned to ditch the tents, as by next night, we’d just find a house that could fit us all, lock the doors, and sleep wherever we could
>we didn’t need to wait for Sarah on that, it was near unanimous
>next, I thought we should at least have a nominal leader, to be our negotiator and mouthpiece
>just in case we run into other people doing the same thing as us
>or the conventional authorities, in case reinforcements, from anywhere outside this city, show up
>worst case, we run into some organized group that got here from the other world, a group that CAN be bargained or reasoned with
>I wasn’t really into being Mr. Big, so I nominated Sarah
>most of the Rough Riders disagreed, said she’s a good delegator, and now she’s the perfect brawn
>but we needed an idea man to run the show
>someone who’s got a mind for the tactical factors of life
>Esteban nominated Tom
>I seconded that
>Tom declined, told us he’s just a number cruncher with a cooking hobby
>he’s more wired for big-picture strategy
>Dooser nominates me
>tells everyone about how I was quick-thinking with the plans that have so far, kept us alive
>since he’s an qualified adventurer with several years under his belt, his words pull some real weight
>the ayes and nays are done
>I win with a 70% lead
>fuck
>this is what I get for deciding in safety-by-numbers
>I just wanted to provide a public service, then go home and wait this all out
>well, there was no use in fussing
>it was time to shit or get off the pot
>so I told them that I’d accept, albeit emphasizing that I was reluctant
>speaking of getting off the pot, my first command was that we ought to get going
>took us about 20 minutes to pack up or leave unneeded crap behind
>at nearly the last minute, Sarah descends from the sky, telling us how she’d been practicing
>”with what?”, I asked
>her flying skills, she says
>she needed to practice with heavy objects so she can do a Superman if one of us falls off a cliff or something
>also it was about 8:30 AM, judging from the sunrise she saw
>it’s now been over a full day since all this magic bullshit started
>I thought it had started around 10 AM
>but Tom said a relative had called him a little after 8 AM, to tell him that the EAS was blaring all over the place
>Guess I shouldn’t have put that movie on, or shut off my phone
>I told everyone to mentally note that we outta find the prick who launched that missile at us
>then beat the shit out of him and tie him to a lamp-post so that everyone else can take a crack
>with everyone here, and our shit assembled, it was time to get going
>my plan was to head northeast on Interstate 35
>accounting for any interruptions or surprise combat, I expected us to hit downtown by noon, at the latest
>seemed like the most logical place for a dragon to hide
>or maybe I’d seen too many Godzilla movies
>fuck you, it was my best lead at the time
 
>driving out of the junkyard on Cassin Lane, we got on the highway with no problems
>Leon Creek’s waterline was pretty high up, like it had been raining
>or something caused a ton of water to trickle down
>further up, there was a massive open field in between New Laredo Highway and I-35
>well, massive by city standards
>a camp full of weird pig-human-things
>I borrowed a 3-12x32 scope that Esteban found in Andy’s house
>zoomed in
>oh shit
>Walker told me about these things
>javelinas
>wild fuckin’ hogs
>they should be docile
>he said they only attack humans if they’re accustomed to getting food from them
>he was wrong or lying
>I could see them eating
>eating everything you could think of
>cats, dogs, opossums, horses
>animal-human hybrid people
>and even humans
>sweet Jesus, it hasn’t even been 12 hours and we’ve already ran into even more vicious intelligent carnivores
>I tell the convoy to stop, then line up in a volley, using the interstate’s concrete barricades as cover
>order everyone to crouch and hide, until I see see the whites of the hog eyes
>I fire the first shots, a 3-round pop pop pop
>hit the guy in the fanciest outfit twice, and some guy right next to him, once
>they both go down
>a few of the freaks saw my muzzle flash, and they all heard the gunshot cracks
>they all start scrambling, grabbing their weapons, yelling war chants in some language that God only knows
>even the kids join in
>my blood ran cold for a few seconds, but I knew the score
>it was eventually going to be either them or us
>there’s no room for borderline cannibals in THIS society
>there was no organization on their end
>my hunch was correct, the fancy pants guy was the “man” in charge
>and the only one with brains
>they didn’t even consider flanking me, they all just started running towards me in a scattered mess
>they began to close in
>100 feet
>75 feet
>50 feet
>25 feet
>20 feet
>”LIGHT EM UP!”
 
(Now Playing : Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeglgSWKSIY )
 
>right on cue, everyone popped up and unloaded into them
>it hardly lasted 20 seconds
>every last one of the pig-people was popped
>we killed them all, every single one of them
>especially the kids
>they were animals, and we slaughtered them like animals
>when the dust cleared, we left their camp alone
>none of us were willing to see what other disgusting things they were up to
>Yaerin got queasy
>4 of the Rough Riders were straight-up vomiting
>we all lost our appetites, except Dooser
>he said he’d seen this situation before
>several times, in fact
>what kind of a shithole excuse of a world are they all coming from?
>this shit will NOT fly here
>not if I can do anything about it
>I had officially blown my gasket
>and I now had a REAL urge to purge
>not out of simple revenge
>but out of a sense of righteous fury
>a desire for justice
>I told myself that I was going to kill every last fantasyland asshole that gets unlucky enough to cross my path
>purify this whole land
>but not the cooperative and civil folks like Dooser and Yaerin
>no, they can stay
>nobody faulted me for our little massacre
>not after I pointed out that the humans they were eating, could have easily been their own families and friends
>could have easily been US
>fuck, these victims were our neighbors, on the county scale
>we stood around for a few minutes to let everyone get this out of their systems
>to be fair, everyone here signed up to kill dragons
>I’m sure that if I told them back at the auto shop, that within 24 hours we’d be slaughtering kids, some of them might have opted out
>with a somber fog of guilt around us, we then continued
>continuing on the interstate, we saw more devastated houses, condos, and apartment complexes
>must have been where the hogs got their food supply from
>a load of dead ones scattered through the streets, must have meant that a few people tried to fight back
>it was attrition, the ones we killed had to have been the pyrrhic winners of an invading horde
>or maybe it was just one detachment of many
>I’m the leader now, I have to go Sherlock Holmes mode
>I’ve got to consider every possibility, except the impossible
>but in strange times like these, there might be someone or thing that can make the impossible, possible
>the Wal-Mart a few block down was safe
>another militia had taken over, they were even making barricades out of metal and barbed wire
>we tried approaching them, but they sent out one guy to us
>fatass boomer, waddled up to us like he was missing his mobility scooter
>he told us to fuck off and keep moving
>I loudly told him to suck my dick, but we did as he asked
>they weren’t worth it, and as long as they kept to themselves in there, they wouldn’t be a problem
>if they did become one, guess we’ll have to come back and get rid of them
>good idea with the barbed wire though
>we might use that if we end up hunkering down at some open location
>I got off Sarah’s chopper, decided to jog and keep pace with the convoy, get a good look at everyone
>Yaerin was in the furthest back, all alone in the truck bed, trying to keep herself from crying
>I jumped in, wanted to at least try to console her
>I cared about how she felt, but I also need our best medic’s head in the game
>she muttered about how she tried her best to live in the woods by a stable and safe city
>specifically so she could avoid seeing the assembly line of horrors that we were all going through
>she’s trained to help people with cuts, bruises, the odd food poisoning here and there
>not for fixing gashes, blood loss, actual military medic duties
>she really needed a hug and reassurance that we’d go the extra mile to keep her safe
>so that’s what I did
>the Rough Riders roped her into this, and I said that if she didn’t want the gun, I could take it
>she refused, saying that she needed it
>if common citizens like us could so casually possess such awe-striking lead-spitters, centuries ahead of even the most advanced dwarven thunderstick that she knew of
>then she wanted to level the playing field in her favor
>looked like Samuel Colt had himself a new follower
>she didn’t want to be coddled by us
>she wanted me to show her more, on how to use her gun
>I spent the next few minutes giving her a crash course on how to use AK-type rifles
>no, I’m not going to call a rifle a “platform”
>that’s cringe, and more faggoty than Elton John, Alan Turing, and Ernst Rohm having a threesome
>a rifle’s a rifle, a spade’s a spade, and capital A is capital A
>but back to the “quest,” we passed by a school complex that was also being “upgraded” into a defensible compound
>looked like the same militia, guess they had this part of town on lockdown
>a ton of them were yelling expletives and flipping birds at us
>no thanks to us getting rid of their northwestern problem for them
>assholes, they probably saw us coming, knowing we’d fight the hogs for them
>on the other hand, they probably thought we were competent, sane marauders
>here to loot whomever wouldn’t or couldn’t put up a fight, and we certainly looked the part
>across the highway, there were empty lots of concrete that used to be some kind of seminary school, before they relocated further south in Poteet
>a small encampment of about 20-25 people was there now, tents and all
>some humans who looked like they were from this planet, some animal-people
>and 5 guys who looked like a broke crew of medieval mercenaries
>mismatched steel knight and Swiss-looking pikemen gear all over, only one of them had a helmet
>I yelled at Sarah to pull up to them
>the campers were clearly scared, some of them grabbed their guns or swords
>some ducked into the tents
>I was getting tired of raising my voice
>I really hoped there was at least one non-electric megaphone lying around, at the mall up the road
>I told our group to put the guns down, we meant no harm
>I asked for whomever was in charge
>the helmeted knight said that no one was in charge, everyone here just found each other
>they found some tents at a store nearby, had to be the Dick’s sporting goods at the mall I just mentioned
>I then asked why weren’t they holed up with the rude folks across the road
>a bum spoke up, said they WERE relaxing in the school, until the other militia kicked them out last evening
>wew lad, we’re dealing with triple-niggers
>as I was considering to invite them to join us, a cat-man popped out of a tent with a cooked fish in his mouth
>wearing a please-kiss-the-cook apron
>his pointy cat-ears, mutton chops, and his small tail was all I needed to know, to figure out that he was a bobcat-person
>introducing himself as Robert (go figure), he asked if we had seen a small feline girl around
>his daughter, who was separated from them a few hours before they were teleported to this planet
>his wife was also missing, she had ran off to find their kid right after sunrise today
>that would have been a little after 7:00 AM
>he described what his wife and daughter looked like, Sarah identified his wife as a cougar (insert rimshot here) cat-lady
>therefore the kid must look like a hybrid
>shit, I’ve never seen a bobcat-puma hybrid before
>I made up my mind, these guys can come along
>but I made no promises to Robert, we were on a dragonslayer mission
>his family would have to be a later side-objective
>but sticking with us, would make his search a lot more survivable
>after offering us a bunch of well-cooked meat, some of us ate some
>had to ask if this was human meat, can’t be too careful in this apocalypse
>Robert cooked it all, said it was mostly fish, but there may have been a few rats and birds in there
>not bad, but I thought I would stick to fish for now
>12 of the campers thought we were on our way into big trouble, they went their separate way
 
(Now Playing : Fogger from C&C Red Alert 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWihXx9RiVE )
 
>after a headcount, we had 13 more people
>at this rate, we might have to relegate the trucks to cargo-only, before this day is over
>but at least we’ve got more fighters and food
>but we ran out of guns to hand out, 3 dudes were unarmed
>Robert was now our designated cook, the other two were just going to have to use the now-discarded swords and knives that the “knights” were using
>we need every gunfighter we could get, and Tom seemed to make a good third-in-command
>told Esteban to get them up to speed on how to use guns
>they were all given extra AR-15’s, that the early birds pinched here and there while I was still asleep
>my extra FAL was in Sarah’s hands for now
>I decided to head on to the Academy sports & outdoors store nearby
>instead of taking a winding series of back roads, we just went the wrong way on the I-35 access road
>oh please, as if there was anyone that could crash into us, or arrest us
>until we had hit that one unmarked road that goes from the highway, in-between Academy and Lowe’s, straight to SW Military
>once we parked in front of the entrance, I told us to go safeties-off,
>told the Rough Riders to take the back entrance
>told Sarah to fly up and smash her way in, through the roof 
>and the rest of us would bumrush the front entrance on the count of seven, I would lead from the front
>gun-experienced Earthfolks first, show the “new guys” how it’s done
>I was counting on this to be a nice practice run
>I counted wrong
>when I got to six, we were immediately fired at, by a group of nine
>in those few seconds, we lost three of the bums, one of the AR guys from Five Palms, and one of the knights
>me and Esteban took hits in the plates, knockin us on our asses
>Tom got grazed on the right arm twice with ricochets
>and the knight with the helmet, got it smacked off, instant concussion
>Sarah guessed something was wrong when I didn’t say seven, so she busted in, right above our ambushers
>covering them in ceiling tile, drywall, and roof stone
>we pressed our advantage, Esteban chucked a fucking grenade at them
>boom went the dynamite, the remaining two still standing, were shot from above by Sarah, using my FAL
>two more lay wounded from shrapnel, both chubby northern Mexican-looking dudes
>I lifted my hand and told everyone to back off
>got up with help from Robert, who was now wielding the 9mm Tokarev
>with him and Esteban covering me, I ran over to our neutralized opponents
>the one that looked weaker, I pointed my Springfield right in his face
>maintaining that aim, I told two of the knights to lift him up, then set him down on a Nike tracksuit display table
>a single swipe to the face, courtesy of the buttstock, and he was begging us not to kill him
>I sarcastically told him to relax, we only wanted answers
>he gave me a bloody smile, and told me to shove it up my ass
>so I pulled out my 1911, yelled for Robert to come on inside
>now Robert didn’t have paws for hands, but he did have claw-nails and backhand fur
>politely asked him, to grab our prisoner by the head and keep his eyelids open with finger-claws
>his ears perked up, but his face drooped a bit
>this was definitely disturbing to him
>I’d apologize to him later
>with our prisoner’s eyes peeled open, I then told those two knights to hold the other survivor up by the arms
>point my drawn Para 1911, right at the other guy’s face
>tell prisoner 1, that if he doesn’t answer a few simple questions, I’d paint a wall with prisoner 2’s brains
>he agreed to comply
>I asked him what crew was he running with (in case we were dealing with gangstas)
>he said it wasn’t no crew, just a bunch of his neighborhood guys
>came together when the power went out, came over here and claimed the place for themselves
>I then asked him why they opened fire on us, instead of just asking us to stay out
>it hadn’t occurred to them, in the heat of the moment
>great, more inconsiderate assholes
>they had a full day to put out some “KEEP OUT!!” sign or graffiti, and they didn’t do it
>my conscience was now clean, they had brought this on themselves
>I then asked him where they had any extra guns, ammo, and food
>he said it was all in the employee break room, in the east end of the building
>I sarcastically thanked him for his time
>then I informed him that he’d have to pay for killing my friends
>five of us dead
>so I grabbed a CZ-75 that he’d dropped, rotated my arm back
>and gave him the hardest pistol whip I could do, right on the nose
>definitely heard a crack
>then I popped a .45 into both of his kneecaps
>then did the same to his buddy
>I let them live, at the time I had hoped that they’d be able to warn others not to fuck with us
>unless the blood loss killed them
 
>we linked up with the second entry group, they took out another 6 bogeys
>they had no casualties, just a single head graze for Tom, who was already getting bandaged up
>I told the Rough Riders to grab all the guns around
>those still on display, then those dropped by our enemies and ourselves
>after that, to loot our almost-ambushers for armor and shit
>everyone else, was to pick up our dead, get their stuff, and give them a decent burial outside
>I decided that we should take a box, and put the driver licenses, any other ID on them
>and put them in it, for posterity’s sake, to take with us
>I was getting really sentimental, but they sacrificed their lives to help us
>to help ME
>it’s the least we could do
>I went into the back room to find a shovel, found three of them, handed them out
>while they were doing that, I took a seat in the break room, and it then occurred to me
>none of this would have happened, if I had made a better plan
>5 good men would still be alive
>and yet, it seemed that I was still the best man for the job
>the pressure of leadership, of the maybes and could-haves
>it all fully clicked in my head
>my wall of stoicism and sarcasm broke
>and I cried, no, more than crying
>I was sobbing like a 7-year old at his first family funeral
>I was reminded of this one time, about a year earlier
>there was a neighbor of Walker’s, that I had met at his HOA meeting
>Walker was bored and invited me over to shoot the shit while his dad was getting involved in the meetings
>that neighbor had a long conversation with me, about how he was in charge of some counter-spy/terrorist Army unit, back in the early 1980s
>told me about how he thanked God to this very day, that Europe never went hot
>that he’d never have to know what it’s like, to have the knowledge that a bad decision got a squadmate killed
>he knew guys that were still broken up to that very day, about losing good troopers in Grenada and Somalia
>all on account of fuckups that was easily figured out with 20/20 hindsight
>how many more would we lose
>how many fights would we walk into, or start, before we completed our mission in wiping out the dragons
>what about afterwards?
>would we still stick together, or not?
>would that get us all killed, or not?
>Was I a William T. Sherman, or Georgy Zhukov, leading a grand army to free a promised land from its devastators?
>or was I going to be a Captain Ahab, a Khan N. Singh, leading a doomed crew into the jaws of death?
>I wasn’t completely in the zone, thought
>heard footsteps of someone walking in, I looked up
>it was Sarah, she herself was tearing up a bit, guess they just finished with the burials
>tried to get out of the chair to talk face-to-face
>tripped over and hit the floor, still sobbing
>she kneeled down and gave me a big hug
>held her face to mine, softly apologizing for getting me put on the spot for being in charge
>it was originally her suggestion that I should be the leader, having said that before I woke up this morning
>she overestimated how much of a hardass I am
>and that she was sorry for being a coward, for not having the guts to take charge
>and that it hadn’t occurred to her until now, that I was putting on a brave face as a coping mechanism
>I told her something then
>something that no one else would ever hear until it was all over
>the disgusting truth, was that I was becoming terrified of myself
>terrified at how easy it was, to boss people around for better or worse
>terrified that I was getting a kick out of it, and also a kick out of hurting people
>not like a psychopath though, only those who hurt us first, or hurt innocent people
>she said that I shouldn’t feel bad for those
>that it was the sign of a good man, to have these fears
>she reminded me about guys like George Washington or the Roman dictator Sulla, who were also reluctant leaders
>taking charge, only because they didn’t trust anyone else to be able to do a better job
>she asked me if I could try my best to stay brave
>it’s a whole new world now, and America, or whatever comes next, was definitely going to need a few more good men
>I gave her a weak smile, and told her that all I can really do is my best
>and she said that it would have to do, but that if I ever needed to take another seat and let my emotional dam have a burst, she’d be there
>told her that I was game for that, and then we helped each other up
>grabbed a few tissues to wipe our eyes, I grabbed a few boxes to hand out to everyone
>but first, we walked into the main office
>I’ve done enough iron-related jobs to know that almost every office has a safe of some kind
>noticed a few busted crowbars, and bullet dents
>seemed that our ambushers tried and failed to bust in
>good thing we have a Sarah to pry it open
>it was tough, even for her, but she popped it off
>there was about 75 grand, all in Grover Clevelands, in a small briefcase
>3 bottles of aspirin, one canteen full of water, and a Dom Perignon ‘83
>lastly, in the bottom rack, a loaded Walther P5 with three extra magazines
>wow, I could spy with my little eye, a Roger Moore fan
>we walked out with all that stuff, I announced that I’d probably use the money to wipe my ass or start a fire
>there’s no way US legal tender is making a comeback from this disaster
>then again, I was no financial expert by any means
>Tom literally begged me to give him the briefcase
>with a loud groan, I did
>congrats, he now had about 10 pounds of worthless paper
 
(Now Playing : Incense & Peppermints by Strawberry Alarm Clock https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idJzMSKaHaw)
 
>after taking inventory, we now had a few more AR-15s (all M4 copies), AR-10s, and two Springfield M1A’s
>pistols had been completely cleared out, save for a .40 HK USP, 3 Smith & Wesson M&P’s (in .40 S&W), and one Model 686 revolver that was hidden or dropped over at the fishing section
>of course, Robert found that one
>nice revolver, a nice clean 6-inch barrel, and comfy black rubber grips
>the formerly-helmeted knight, fellow named Rog, called dibs on it
>correctly guessed that the big wide barrel meant that a big bullet came out of it
>asked him if it was a nickname for Roger
>nope, his name was just Rog
>due to the EMP, Esteban had told everyone to ignore the battery-powered scopes, for fiber-optic or ACOG scopes instead
>some were easily slapped on, and some of the ARs had built-in carry handles
>which meant that the shelves would need to be raided for gooseneck mounts, of which a few were found
>along with regular rail mounts for our shotguns
>Dooser objected to putting one on his, at first, but after looking through an ACOG, he was convinced
>everything else had already been cleared out before we got there
>the shelves were empty of everything but birdshot and .350 Legend, but the ambushers had a large stash of ammo, hidden in the baseball section
>mostly a mix of 9mm and .45 ACP, with some .40 S&W, 12 gauge (slugs and buckshot), and .357 in the pile
>one box of .44 magnum, and one box of .45 Super that went to Esteban
>two of the campers took aluminum bats with them
>I didn’t object, as a weapon is a weapon, blunt or sharp
>before leaving though, I made sure we were as ready as could be
>ordered everyone to fill up their water bottles, canteens, camelbaks, whatever, by using the water fountains in the back
>and as I expected, the holster & belt section had been mostly untouched
>so I told everyone to suit up with those, along with whatever rifle or shotgun scabbards they could find
>all the AR mags left in the shelves were from ProMag, utter crap that I ordered everyone to avoid
>after another 20 minutes or so, everything was settled, and we were ready to head on over to the mall
>after tossing the Walther in the “caboose” spare gun pile, Sarah let me do the driving this time, her hands over mine, as her power flowed into the convoy
>I could feel it flow through my hands too
>it felt, well, it felt like having something heavy get taken off you, like the expression of being lighter than a feather
>kind of like getting massaged at a parlor, but without the happy ending
>speaking of that though, I turned my head to the left as we drove over the train tracks and South Zarzamora into the mall’s parking lot
>Sarah was giving me a funny look, a big smile, and a fuzzy feeling went through me
>I’m not a retard or a sperg, I knew when a woman was getting feelings when I saw it
>I hated to be the bad guy, to spurn her, but this just isn’t the time for romance
>she was beautiful, for sure, and she seemed to be a bit clingy, but it was the kind of clingy that made me feel comfortable and safe
>not to mention that she basically has superpowers
>I told myself that when this was all over, I’d ask her out to a fancy restaurant or something, a real date
>I’m an old-fashioned guy
>I like to wine and dine a lady, go out for at least a few weeks, pop the question, have a nice wedding with a big cake
>then go at it like rabbits, and have 4 kids, a dog, and a nice two-story house + picket fence, in that exact order
>speaking of romance, I could hear Robert and Yaerin in the truck behind us
>Yaerin was trying to flirt with him, but he was refusing her on account of being a married man
>good on him
>mental note though, Yaerin likes catdudes
>we came around the mall from the south side, it seemed to be some time a little before noon
>that Academy escapade really sidetracked us
>instead of the normal entrance, I decided that we should go behind the Dick’s
>bust in from the supply truck entrance between Sears and that western emporium that was under construction
>we didn’t even need Sarah, only took 4 of us to lift the entrance up
>once it was locked in place, we all took this more slowly than the last entry
>this time, I told Esteban, two of the knights, Robert, and one of the other Rough Riders, to stay at the convoy and stand guard
>instead of running right into the open, into obvious killboxes, I decided that we’d take the employee-only backrooms route to Dick’s
>with me and Dooser running point, we slowly opened room after room
>we did the high-five & down-low signal system to indicate which places were clear or not
>the first room on the right was cleared out, unused, save for a few paint cans and a ladder
>I wondered for a bit, if it would ever be used again
>to the left, the backdoor into a Foot Locker store
>after clearing the room, we went in, now was a good time as any for us to get new shoes
>especially the E.T’s
>one of the campers, sporting a Coca-Cola t-shirt, grabbed football padding and a helmet from a display mannequin
>Edward Sallow would be proud
>from here, we could see that all the metal screens that cover the glass windows of all the stores, were in place
>good, meant that as long as we stuck to the backrooms, there wouldn’t be anyone coming after us from the front doors
>exiting the way we came, we passed a Victoria’s Secret on the left
>our ladies didn’t need anything, so we pressed on
>on the right, we skipped the back entrance to the western cowboy store
>another left, some baby clothing store, skipped
>yet another left, a Hot Topic
>Tom thought of going in there to grab some candy
>I told him to cool it, Dick’s would have tons of energy drinks and snacks
>the next left, would have been the backdoor to a hat store
>as I opened it, I was knocked speechless
>it was a portal, but not like a Stargate
>oh no, I could see exactly where this one was going to
>it was a happy sunny forest clearing, with some weird looking sheep or goats, couldn’t tell for sure
>a demon walked by, but she was colored pure white, and had shining yellow eyes
>also dressed like a shepherd, wielded just a walking stick and a big smile
>I couldn’t feel anything really scary from this person
>but we were on a mission
>a whole new planet or not, now was not the time to LARP as Richard Dean Anderson
>so I smiled and waved back, then quickly shut the door
>of all the places for a space-time rip to be
>told everyone that this door was a very, very bad idea
>they all bought it
>we proceeded to the next door on the right, another empty room with random construction gear lying around
>I asked Rog if he had any experience with bashing doors in, using a warhammer
>he said he did
>so I told him to take this one industrial sledgehammer lying about
>next right door lead to yet another empty room, this one was just drywall and newspapers all over the ground
>God, we were getting the itchiest trigger fingers, I was beginning to expect someone to ND before making it to Dick’s
>the second-to-last door was now upon us
>a jewelry store
>told everyone to steer clear, even with an EMP, the odds of tripping some kind of alarm was too high
>Yaerin ignored me, then swiped a sapphire necklace off a mannequin head
>dammit, woman
>but finally, we got to the last door
>the janitor’s entrance to a woman’s restroom
>with this opportunity, I took a leak that I’d been holding in since getting off the bike
>crap, this was because Sarah’s semi-handholding gave me a maximum stiffy
>told everyone else to shit or piss if they needed too
>some did, some didn’t, there was enough stalls and ground urinals for everyone
>couldn’t believe the faucets still worked, but the paper towels had been picked dry
>we were now finally in the mall for real
>slowly opened the door, I whispered to pass down the message to the last person in our conga line, to close the door softly and slowly
>with us now all in the main hallway, I had to strictly warn everyone NOT to mess with the remaining gumball machines
>NO loud noises, not until it’s time to boogie
>the only other doors here, lead to the men’s restroom and the main offices/employee lounge
>sent a team of Sarah, three of her guys, and Tom to go grab whatever was in the inevitable manager’s safe
>we took this opportunity to have a quick rest
>as I leaned up against the wall, I decided to formulate a plan
>another three-prong assault
>I knew the walls between the employee lounge and Dick’s wasn’t so thick
>so team 3 follows Sarah, who will punch her way into the sporting goods store
>by god, she can take the term “forced entry” to a whole new dimension
>oh shit, that sounded really gay, oh fuck, retract that please
>team 2, slips through the hallway, goes outside
>with Rog as the pointman, and Tom in charge they’ll use that new sledgehammer to smash the glass door, bringing in the true entry team
>while team 1, lead by yours truly, will be the first entry team, a diversion for the others
>with a lack of radios on us, I decided that after team 1 loudly smashes in, teams 2 and 3 will wait exactly 10 seconds before they bust in
>about 5 minutes later, Sarah came back, basically empty-handed, save for what they assumed was some pre-paid debit cards
>an astronaut freeze-dried ice cream sandwich
>and a list of codes for all the store doors in case of an accidental automatic shutdown
>one of the campers took the treat
>codes were useless to us
>and Tom pocketed the cards, as now expected
>now that I put some serious thought about it, at least he had some semblance of a plan for after we help restore some semblance of order
>only one last thing to do
>I asked Esteban if he had any flashbangs, but he said no
>oh well
>we began to assemble, team 1 was hidden by Dick’s usage of blacked-out-windows
>gave everyone two minutes to get into position
>after that, showtime
 
 
(Now Playing : Desert Dream [Palm Tree Version] by Tangerine Dream https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gVpEZY8iXg )
 
>the two minutes passed
>instead of shooting the locks, risking a ricochet like a Hollywood dipshit, we shot the windows and the glass doors
>this dynamic entry was much easier
>there were about 15 bogeys inside, an assorted bunch of reptilians, a few more hairy pig-orcs like the kind we encountered earlier
>and one raggedy-ass dwarf wielding what looked like a rip-off Remington Rolling Block
>more marauders, but these guys had some unified pattern to their clothes
>probably a mercenary band, so I surmised the dwarf was the ringleader
>we volley-fired into the reptilians, shredding them all within 10 seconds
>as the walking oinkers all took cover behind various stalls and aisles, teams 2 and 3 executed their parts of the plan perfectly
>team 2 had all the pigs in their line of sight, another pushover of a fight
>as the dwarf ran for the boating section, to a fire exit, Sarah flew over and grabbed him
>he lined up a shot for her chest, fired, the measly pinfire bullet bounced off her chest armor
>his only shot gone, she decked him into the next aisle, right at my feet
>dazed and beaten, he gave me one of the creepiest grimaces I’d ever see
>called me a topside elf-bummer, then he started to foam at the mouth, his eyes rolling back, and his body went limp
>checked his mouth, his left molar was cracked, with a dark yellow glow
>cyanide pill, basically
>what the fuck are we dealing with here
>if he killed himself to avoid an interrogation, then that means he’s a lackey
>there’s someone higher up, somewhere out there
>another tangent to fuck with later
>this band’s outfits were like those fancy-ass landsknechts in the 30 Year’s War
>was that late Medieval, or early Renaissance, I could not recall at the time
>we caught one more orc, this one was a regular giant green one, like from Warcraft or something
>stumbled out of the back office, about to pull his undergarments and pants up
>we quite literally, caught him with his pants down
>immediately tried to charge Tom, pulling a ice pick from a back-scabbard
>must have picked it up here
>he tripped over his own pants, braining himself with his own pick
>after about 5 seconds of silence, Rog began to crack up with laughter
>he started to go on a rant about what a wonderful world he’d found himself in, where repeating thunder-sticks are the ultimate weapon
>and the dwarves could now be beaten at their own game
>I was about to ask what he was talking about, but one of the Riders said he heard something from the office
>sounded like crying
>we barged in
>another horror show, but not like back at the junkyard
>it was a skinny catguy, wearing a maid outfit
>an adult, but young
>kinda looked like Walker, but his hairstyle was scruffy, and his fluff was yellow like mustard
>the poor SOB was lying on the ground, his left eye black, his mouth and nose bleeding, and his shirt torn
>he wasn’t wearing anything past his stomach though
>a bent chair was about three feet behind him
>and there were two puddles around him
>a small puddle of white by the chair
>and a much larger mixed puddle of red and white, that lead a trail from the chair, to behind him
>too much red, I’d say
>I think you get the picture of what happened
>he was sobbing, coughing up bits of blood, and mewling like a kitten that fell too high from of a tree
>I’d had enough experience with alley cats to keep a distance
>but he didn’t scratch, hiss, or bite
>he opened his eyes, and kept repeating about how it hurt so much
>Yaerin dropped her gun, screamed, and ran to him
>yelled at everyone to find some medicine or bandages
>to their great fortune, that was one reason why I wanted us to come here in the first place
>everyone scrambled to find a first aid kit
>I yelled to look for anything with a square white cross with a red background
>a Rough Rider named Ray, found them by the kayaks
>a few had been looted, but there were enough to tide a few of us over
>we took one back, and patched him up
>we bandaged up his face, applied bruise ointment to his eye
>but his nose was busted, and his solid waste orifice was well past a few salves and gauze strips
>thoughtfully, Tom went and brought him some football compression leggings
>and black & white-striped Adidas track pants
>lucky guess, they were in the right size
>but before that, Yaerin helped him limp to the employee restroom
>to clear out the rest of what his violators had left behind
>informed her that every latrine stall had rolls of paper specifically for cleaning rectums
>then I walked over to the janitor’s closet, the next door down from the office
>took a mop and a rolling bucket full of water
>as terrible as this ordeal could be for that poor felinid, there was a safe in the room, and I wanted it opened
>cleaned up the mess, found the safe under the manager’s desk
>that dwarven faggot beat us to the punch, he someone found a way in
>it was empty, save for a scrunched-up Larabar wrapper
>slammed the safe in a rage
>no wonder the dwarf killed himself
>I would have shot him in the balls and made him choke on the sliced-off schlongs of his goons
>Sarah put her hand on my shoulder
>reminded me that we were headed for a Mad Max world
>and I’d better get used to seeing fucked up horrors of sexual nature, among other shitty things that can happen to people who get caught lacking
>that catdude looked like he was one or two more sodomies away from going catatonic
>no, I didn’t intend that pun
>and he was our best lead as to what kind of organization did we just declare war on
>while waiting on Yaerin and the victim to come out, I told our campers to grab some backpacks
>then pack up the rest of the first aid, then whatever sporty energy food & drinks, were still around here
>place had been mostly looted, but we found a few drinks in the employee fridge
>we found a LOT of Larabars left lying around
>along with two small misplaced jars of creatine powder in the baseball helmet aisle
>with them bagged, some of the other folks around took this opportunity to change their clothes too
>not me, I could stay wearing this for about two more days or so
>okay, maybe I changed my underwear and socks
>you would too, in my place
>don’t even think about lying
>we left a few minutes after that, getting some rest in, before continuing on
>told Sarah to head over and put the victim in the back of the middle truck, which was mostly empty
>he wouldn’t cooperate, he just clung tighter to Yaerin, to her slight joy
>I was going to have words with her in a bit
>so Sarah went out to bring the convoy around to the front door
>I grabbed a dark green stadium blanket, a grey sleeping bag, and a green puffy travel pillow
>his limping was so bad, I went over and held him up by the other arm
>he clung a bit harder to Yaerin, but not too much
>guess being his rescuer gave him some leeway for me
>when we got to the truck, we set up a pseudo-bed, and I lifted him up into there
>Robert asked us what happened, guess he noticed that this victim was “kin” to him
>Rog gave him the lowdown
>Robert went wide-eyed, then sad, droopy ears and all, then shifted to pure rage
>Yaerin got in, to stay with him for a bit
>on the bright side, Esteban went into the Sears back office
>no safe in there, but he found a working watch
>it was now 10:58 AM
>I told Sarah to go drive without me
>I needed to ask the catman some questions
>she asked me where our next destination was
>I said to keep heading up I-35, towards downtown
>but she could take a break for a bit
>until we could see either of the remaining dragons flying around, we had time to kill
 
(Now Playing : Solid Rock by Goanna https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ri14ldqYNso )
 
>I had to use Yaerin and Robert, to butter up the cat into talking coherently
>had to pull her back for a minute
>told her not to take advantage of this poor fellow, to manipulate him into falling for her
>she promised that she would never make him do something he didn’t want to do
>that would have to do
>she propped his head and pillow onto her lap, giving him scritches and headpats
>I gave him a bag of fruit punch Gatorade energy chews, then gave him two pills of aspirin, and some water to get it down
>I then put his other hand in my right hand
>I asked him what his name was
>Barrie, he weakly said
>softly but firmly, I told him that we had to stop what happened to him, from happening to other people
>asked him to tell me everything that went down
>it all started when he was in the other world, yesterday
>some kind of revolt was going down, along with an invasion at the same time
>his master was killed by a arrow to the neck
>and he ran to hid in a closet, until it was all over
>but when he went up the stairs of an abandoned inn, everything became a bright light
>and he found himself in the apartment complex south of the mall, he could tell it was midday by the sun
>right before the blast wave’s aftereffects made everything all cloudy
>after freaking out and panicking for a few hours in the local poolhouse, he went to find food
>some guy who sounded like a roid-rager, found him in the dumpster behind the nearby Goodwill
>offered food and safety to him, all Barrie had to do, was put on a maid outfit
>a stranger in a strange land, Barrie really didn’t have much of a choice
>they made their way to Dicks’s, then into the backrooms
>once in the office, the bara faggot locked the door, clocked Barrie a few times in the face
>then roofied him
>poor Barrie didn’t wake up until this morning, his “partner” already had some fun
>then the mercs busted in
>to save his own skin, the steroided literal abuser offered Barrie to them
>they actually left him go
>you can all guess the rest of what happened, until I showed up
>Robert promised that if we found this guy, we’d torture him
>I agreed
>I told Barrie to close his eyes and take a nap
>I then grilled Robert and Yaerin in their world
>what conflict was Barrie talking about
>they gave me the skinny
 
>in what was the other world’s geographic counterpart to this city, there stood the capital of a elf-dominated kingdom
>a city called Nilmer Serin, named after a elven wizard who devastated an legion of “necrotic wyverns” several millennia before, in that area
>a big shot zombie dragon slayer, basically
>population, about a little over 800,000
>long story short, about 400 years ago, they began to get all militant
>started conquering all their neighbors, established a hierarchy of high elves on top, other elves as a middle-class equivalent, half-elf mutts as a lower-middle class
>then everyone else as either slaves, or barely-free bottom-rung class
>about 60 years ago, they began to expand into a great valley full of cat-folk to the southwest
>if their units of measurement were similar to ours, then this valley corresponded to the area around Dilley and Pearsall
>about 72 miles from here, to be nearly exact
>there were a ton of iron age-tier tribes of felines, many in Aztec-like wars with each other
>a lot more slavery than sacrifice, though
>the way he described the tribes, I could pinpoint more than just pumas and bobcats
>he was talking about all sorts of domestic and wildcat breeds
>they ALL wound up banding together when the Serenite elves came knocking
>and all the tribes lost, a war that lasted barely one year
>all enslaved by a stronger foe
>there’s something to be said here about complacency and outside-context problems
>Robert’s parents were killed for trying to escape, when he was 3 years old
>or so his next owner told him, sold to a librarian several days later
>he’d get literally whipped for fucking up, like spilling a stack of books
>but he was paid in actual money, and he had time to educate himself
>eventually paid for his own freedom, stuck around for the sake of his wife
>they were planning to leave, right before the invasion and revolution happened
>before asking about the invasion, I then interrupted, to ask Barrie what kind of slave was he
>he kept his eyes closed, mumbled about how his “job”, at a horse accessory shop
>he was basically a janitor, “paid” in 3 hots and a cot, or rather, a straw bed
>I then asked what they meant by an concurrent invasion
>Robert heard it all by eavesdropping on his former owner
>about 300 years ago, the current Serenite king’s father massacred a bunch of questing dwarves
>just for shits and giggles, and to live-fire test some new spells as a bonus
>unknown until the present, there were witnesses who squealed to the dwarven authorities
>residing in a small but tall mountain range that seemed to be near the equivalent of Llano
>yes, Llano, not Plano, often mistaken for a typo, I know
>pinned the incident down in a book of grudges, yes, quite stereotypical
>someone high-up lost a relative
>and so for almost three whole centuries, they drew plans within plans, wheels within wheels
>until they marched all over the Serenite northern territories
>then the dwarves just stopped, no cease-fire, no treaty
>it seemed that they got the land slice they wanted, but 2 years afterwards, the dwarves threw everything they had at the capital
>as of yesterday, they were encircling the city
>it had occurred to us all, that they probably instigated the internal revolution as a divide-and-conquer tactic
>situation was fucked six ways past Sunday, dwarves were equally into a species hierarchy built on enslavement
>with the exception that no elf would be spared
>to add a dingleberry cherry to this shit sundae, the dwarves were at a technological level of 1870 AD-ish
>that would explain the primitive lever-actions at Miller’s Pond, and the not-Rolling Block that merc leader had
>we’d need to dial down our cockiness, we’ve got a incoming army of armored assholes who can shoot back
>and at least one of them could do destructive magic, who knew how many more?
>and Yaerin, who was just passing through to sell stuff, got caught up in all this by accident
>the truth, wasn’t that she was just minding her business in a nearby forest
>she was actually hauling ass out of the city, after poisoning the ringleader of a gang of rioters, who jacked all her coins the day before
>all these poor “intruders”
>caught between a rock and a hard place, most of them probably thought it was a miracle that they had escaped to Earth
>they had no idea that they’d gone from the frying pan to just another frying pan
>Sarah spoke up, saying that once we clean up our city, maybe we should launch an expedition to save those slaves
>I said I’d highly consider it
>if so, then maybe the portal in that hat store would still be active
>and even then, we’d have to try some tests, to make sure it’s a two-way path
>after our break was over, we continued on down the highway
>right as we drove past the Pan-American library, we spotted one of the dragons
>it wasn’t headed downtown
>it was circling something to the east
>we pulled off the highway, got onto the first road headed that direction
>some neighborhood street called West Harlan Avenue
>I would have given everyone some rousing speech about hunting the flying Zillas
>but that would've been a Captain Ahab-level jinx there
>either way, the game was once again afoot
 
(Now Playing : The Hunter by Dokken https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9DKCLD-uMM )



CHAPTER SEVEN :  ALL MY MEANS ARE MAD, MY MOTIVE AND OBJECTIVE, SANE

>getting onto the road, we lost the dragon once we were back in suburbia
>now firmly in the south side of the city, we were right in The Barrio
>now I’d blend in all on my own, my well-tanned Cuban genes had that angle down
>but for most of my compatriots, not a chance
>we were in the zone of backyard junkyards, guard dogs of every shape and size, assholes who can barely speak any English, crack houses and meth dens, taco-store trailers, more jewelry stores than you could shake a stick at
>and plenty of angry people with legal and illegal guns of every shape and size
>in hindsight, it was a good idea to have me in charge
>no way would a heavily armed pack of white bikers survive for long in this place, at this time
>not without getting bullet-shredded within an hour
>instead of antagonizing anyone, I did the smart thing
>announced out loud, about how we were just passing through, to kill some dragons that has caused all the fires to the northwest yesterday
>anyone was free to join us, any resources would be appreciated
>then Esteban repeated that in Spanish
>by the time we made it to the end of the street, we had 12 more recruits
>two of which, brought plenty of food
>most had just the one AR-15, some had assorted 9mm polymer pistols
>reminded everyone to ditch the lasers, flashlights, any sight that was out of action from the EMP
>dead weight
>and another one handed me a cheerleader megaphone
>yet another, this nice ex-Marine armorer named Sam, brought quite an arsenal
>3 mystery meat AR-15’s, of which two were 14.5-inch carbines, the other was some 18-inch he called a “Dissy”
>pretty sure that Dissipators are 16-inch, but this wasn’t the time to argue
>he also brought an FN FS2000, a AR-180B, a Daewoo MAX-1, a numerical set of Glock 17’s, a 6-pack box of mint Llama Comanche III’s that he’d been trying to flip on the Internet
>and lastly, two Steyr AUGs, one was a 16-inch carbine, the other was a 24-inch HBAR
>he’d spent all morning converting the HBAR to full-auto
>which was great, as we needed a LMG
>he had even more guns, but for the sake of ammo commonality, I asked him not to bring those
>ironically, he didn’t have much ammo to bring, but two other “recruits” did
>two nogunz also tagged along, but we handed the AUG carbine to one, and a M1A to the other
>trucks 1 and 2 were chock full of ammo now, on the insides
>we might have to start using the actual truckbeds for carrying our stuff 
>truck 3’s bed was reserved for our wounded, though
>one of our new recruits, a meathead named Alberto, recognized the description of Barrie’s rapist
>a regular at the Gold’s Gym on the corner of SW Military and South Zarzamora
>now, we had a shitton of ammo, a good arsenal of guns
>and as long as we stayed in the city, there’d be no shortage of food or warm beds, blankets, cots, and sleeping bags
>our only uncovered bases were manpower, and body armor for everyone
>sure, we had enough to take on the surviving dragons
>but after what happened at Academy and the mall?
>we’ve got some work cut out for us
>for lunch, Sam recommended that we head two blocks north, to the state’s Health and Human Services building
>tons of Meals on Wheels packaged foods
>they’d be room temperature by now, but that was nothing a daylight campfire can’t solve
>take a rest from all our walking there, too

>on our way, I realized that me doing all the tactical planning might be a bad idea
>so I decided to make a small council of me, Esteban, and Tom, for tactical plans
>while keeping Dooser, Sarah, and Robert in the loop for strategic plans
>to deal with the HHS complex, we unanimously voted to do what we did at Academy
>one entry team in the back door, Sarah and two others on the roof, and a larger entry team from the front
>this time though, we’d have a real plan
>phase one, if the front has transparent doors, we snipe everyone we see
>phase two, our armored guys, including myself, slowly enter, while roof entry and backdoor entry also go in
>phase three, if we need backup, everyone else will approach the door, then wait for instructions
>that plan wound up getting adjusted, once we got there
>arrived up through Pleasanton Road
>then we left the trucks in a small open field on the corner of that road and W. Sayers Avenue
>Sarah flew around the building, told us that there were two huge cargo doors on the west side
>so we told the backdoor team, which was the rest of the RR’s, to head over there, as I handed Barrie that USP we got from Academy
>gave him a quick rundown on how not to shoot himself on accident
>Sarah grabbed two of her Rough Riders, then went to the roof
>and for us front door attackers?
>we were fired at, right as we entered the parking lot

(Now Playing : Battery Park (Combat) from Deus Ex https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZpV3fsiECng )

>didn’t even have time before we even got into position
>the shiny yellow-grey armor on our enemy, was the evidence that Robert needed to yell out that these were more dwarves
>thankfully, the parking lot was chock-packed with parked cars, giving us all plenty of cover
>Esteban chucked another grenade, guy had to have been a football or baseball player, the way he threw it
>smashed through the glass of one door, exploded to take two dwarves out
>phase one then went into action
>Rog and your’s truly, went in first
>4 dwarves in the hallway, using overturned wooden cafeteria tables as cover
>wood is good
>but not good enough against .308
>they shot at us back, one bullet flew by my right ear with a loud ZIP
>Rog tanked 3 shots, ran up and tackled one dwarf
>then he grabbed our opponent’s head
>and pressed his thumbs into his eyes, while yelling something about dead comrades
>with the other 3 distracted by this rip-and-tear breakdown, I popped out behind a outer layer of table-cover to shoot at them
>hit two, one in the face, the other took 5 shots to take down
>these guys had guns, but their powder certainly wasn’t smokeless
>that’ll do a number on accuracy, after the first shot
>the rest of our armored guys then poured in
>Rog’s crew, along with Esteban and 7 others
>they had brought their own plate carriers, Interceptor body armor, those upgraded IOT vests, and even some older flak vests
>Alberto had the right idea
>he had ceramic plates in a low-vis plate carrier
>and doubled-up with a tricolor-desert flak vest over it
>meanwhile, I was the only one with a Vietnam-type flak vest (turned makeshift plate carrier)
>made me feel special, but also like an asshole
>meanwhile, as our guys came in, the last dwarf pulled out a Mare’s Leg
>fired fast (but blind) in our general direction
>one bullet managed to pierce Rog’s armor, right into his left arm
>he was down for the count, ran back to the trucks to get medic help from Yaerin
>the dwarf that shot him, had backed up through a door, closing it with a leg
>I told 4 of our Earth guys to keep the door covered until someone came back
>gave them a code phrase, in case someone tried to trick them into opening the door
>while the rest of us ran outside to assist the backdoor entry team

>turning the last corner, we found them making slow progress
>they caught a group of 11 dwarves, 4 cottonmouth lamias, 2 red Cardinal birdfolks, and one human
>right in the middle of loading a Chevy El Camino and an 8th gen Lincoln Continental, with food
>said human was cowering behind a crate-stack of egg cartons
>the dwarves were shooting at us with their usual Civil War guns, the snakes had crossbows
>and the birds were chucking small bombs like they were Hammer Bros.
>before opening fire, Dooser saw us, yelled to watch out for the crossbow bolts
>those lamias had coated them with their own natural poison
>now here in Texas, we’ve got more than enough medicine for snake bites, but he didn’t know that yet
>I gave an order to concentrate fire on the birds
>I personally shot one in the neck, the other got popped by Tom
>right in the middle of trying to toss another bomb at us
>Tom shot him right in the left shoulder artery
>the bomb slipped out of his hand, blowing the birdbrain up, and shredding a dwarf with shrapnel
>talk about friendly fire
>now Tom was on a roll
>the Helion thermal scope he took off of Andy, was a game-changer
>he could see right through all the smoke, marking targets and making precise face-shots
>none of these dwarves had face protection
>but neither did we, to be fair
>made up my mind right there, he was now our dedicated spotter, until someone better comes along
>6 dwarves were dead in a minute, pop pop pop went their heads 
>the rest had retreated to better cover, behind industrial containers
>while the lamias slithered deeper into the building
>I yelled to everyone to slowly move up, but to stick to the “metal carriages” as cover
>now was the time for some mini-room clearing
>called up Dooser
>asked him if his shotgun was fully packed
>he says yes with a shit-eating grin
>my man
>we ran over to Robert
>new plan
>Robert rides on Dooser’s back onto the roof of the containers
>Robert then presses his cat-ears to the container, to pinpoint exactly where the dwarves are
>he then points to Dooser where they are, then they waste the motherfuckers
>they agreed, solid idea
>and it worked, for once
>one by one, they went from container to container, listening in, then terminating 
>one shot each
>and then Dooser decided to goof off for the last one
>taking Robert’s new S&W 686, he opened the container door
>dual-wielding his Beretta and the revolver, he magdumped after popping his upper self in
>he nailed it, the lucky SOB
>with a lull in the fighting, we took the time to check for casualties
>one of the Rough Riders, one of Rog’s knights, and one new guy with a Springfield M1A, all died
>the camper in the football padding, fellow named Aaron, took a bullet through the thigh
>another former camper carried him in a one-person walk, to take to Yaerin
>said he’d be back to join the fight, ASAP

(Now Playing : Video Stalker by Mega Drive https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UBhrV8DjNM )

>I led everyone with slow steps, deeper into the building
>two of the Riders were covering my sides, as we went down a lightless long hallway that lead to seven rooms
>felt like Darth Vader and his escorts, rolling down the Death Star’s trench
>kicking in door after door, rooms 1 through 5 were empty of any people
>room 4 did have a few tables lined with packaged breads of all sorts, though
>room 6, we found two people
>a lamia lady, wearing white semi-revealing robes, and bloody bandages were fully covering her lower face
>in her arms was a little girl
>her identical snake-body, and eye color made it clear they were related
>both had skin-color bands of alternating light and dark brown
>and both were scared shitless, the kid was quietly bawling her eyes out
>we lowered our weapons, raised my hand to show her that we weren’t her enemy
>told my guys to back up, back to the door
>as everybody else caught up, I told Dooser to keep them out of the fight
>he then warned us that some lamias know a spell that can tune their eyes to heat-based vision
>like a "ungifted" snake his exact words
>his world’s term for non-humanoid animals, I thought at first
>which would be normal animals here
>so depending on how much mana and skill the user has
>it could make smoke useless as cover
>on the other hand, that would make flashbangs even more effective
>too bad we didn’t have any
>the door to the main storage area, offices, and cafeteria had been locked by the last snake through
>an obvious setup to a killbox-ambush, I told everyone to stop, but keep their guns pointed at the door
>I ran off to find Sarah
>where the hell was she?
>she should have been busting heads and smashing through the roof by now
>so I went outside, climbed a fire escape ladder to said roof
>found two dead harpy guards, both shot
>and a person-sized hole next to an HVAC unit
>looked in, it lead to a second-floor office
>jumped in, landing on a bean-bag chair, the kind that Google techies with future spine problems use
>room was empty, but every desk and cabinet had been ransacked
>slowly turned a corner, into the next room
>a broom closet, with a busted window
>looked out the window
>there she was
>she was fighting some wizard, they were both flying around
>crashing and smashing through the whole neighborhood
>wizard-prick kept trying to blast her with zappy-lightning, fireballs, ice blasts
>Sarah was chucking the whole kitchen sink at her
>we’re talking sedans, small trucks, actual kitchen sinks, bicycles, bricks, loose concrete and asphalt
>even threw some literal fastballs
>she had to have been a softball or baseball pitcher
>sure didn’t seem to be the football quarterback type
>remembering that Sarah needed time to fire her boombox-laser, I took a few potshots at her opponent
>it worked
>hiding under the window, I heard the wizard land on the roof
>yelling about how she was going to shove some large unit of electrical measurement up someone’s shithole
>she went in the hole, right into the office
>I couldn’t shut the door fast enough
>or quiet enough
>I tried to pull my 1911 out, but she outdrew me
>and by that, I mean she shot a ice blast right through the door
>it hit me, my whole body except my head was encased
>everything went cold
>god, it was so freezing
>the witch-bitch raised her blue-glowing hand
>tells me that she can unfreeze me, or make it even colder, at will
>she wanted to know who I was, what was I doing here, if I was the leader of the marauders attacking this building
>when she put it that way, I supposed we WERE marauders, from a certain point of view
>I wanted to tell her off, but I needed to buy time for Sarah
>so I gave her the whole story
>and I meant the WHOLE story, of everything that’s happened to me since those dragons screwed up my house
>by the time I got to the part about getting car-rammed into Wal-Mart, Sarah yelled for her to come out and fight, or be crowned a coward
>witch took the bait, went outside
>several seconds later, I heard a weird PEW sound
>sounded like the Death Star’s superlaser
>right after that, I overheard the front entrance team tell Sarah that me and a few others went to the back
>I yelled out for her, she flew in from the closet window
>chittering my teeth, while begging her to get me out of this mess
>once she saw me, she panicked and told me to stay still
>then she punched the ice before I could tell her to calm down
>shattered all around me, but I was still pretty cold
>holy shit, I thought I was going to shatter into a million pieces and fucking instantly die
>I chittered in-between my frozen teeth to tell her not to do that again
>she gave me a big hug and said she was sorry
>she lifted me up and took me to the roof HVAC in hopes that the vented heat could warm me up
>then we both remembered about the EMP
>spurdofugg.exe
>and on the roof were two smoking leg-stumps that ended right above the knees
>so that’s what happens when Sarah gets to 100% power
>I’d have to ask her later how long she can hold a full-charge in that sound machine
>also noticed that her laser beam hit a house a block down
>she was worried that she hit someone, so she flew off to go check
>dammit woman, her concern for others was making me love her more and more
>but she really needs to stick to my plans
>still chilly, but now manageable in the outside heat
>I went back down through the hole to see if I could still bust in and do a three-pronged intrusion
>Or at least provide cover fire for one of the door-entry teams
>I opened the other door that lead out of the offices
>lead into a storage backroom, it was full of parts for refrigerators and ice machines
>nobody home, but one sleeping human, had a sword and that one funny medieval cotton-looking armor
>I was later informed that it’s called a gambeson, which sounds pretty faggy, not gonna lie
>tip-toed over, he had earplugs on
>poor bastard
>I locked the other door, that I assumed lead to the main concourse
>then I tackled him, aimed my hand at his mouth to keep him from screaming
>bingo, it worked
>had my 1911 pointed at his stomach, told him that if he alerted the others, I’d blow a hole through his gut
>he nodded in understanding, so I took my hand off
>he mumbled something about being quite upset
>the dwarves that hired him didn’t have enough thundersticks to go around
>and he couldn’t believe that some arcane force of nature sent him to a place where everyone has better thundersticks
>he was a merc, and mercenaries do business
>so I asked him what they were paying him
>his contract’s terms were for a letter-pass through dwarven territory without being enslaved
>like a privateer’s letter of marque
>along with 400 gold coins and a pre-trained horse
>I made him a better offer
>he helps my group, I’d give him 470 gold coins, a free house, a horseless carriage machine
>and legal immunity from any crimes committed against the United States of America
>all he had to do was to help me clean up the city, and he’d never need to go through dwarven territory ever again
>a tall order, you’d think
>but he didn’t know that I was basically bluffing
>and to be entirely honest, I didn’t think he’d survive long enough to cash in
>with him no longer a threat, I unlocked and creaked the door open
>the surviving lamia were in there, along with 3 dwarves, and an ripped opossum-person with a broadsword
>there were a bunch of humans laid on on the ground, hands over their heads
>hostages, needed to watch my fire
>had to think of some way to alert everyone to NOT shoot at the ground
>after putting some thought into it, I decided on Occam’s Razor
>I just kicked down the door and opened fire on Big Poss
>while yelling out the front door entry team’s code phrase
>”Gunter gleiben glauchen globen!”

(Now Playing : Prey by Niky Nine https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQuu19zLqbQ )

>they busted in, thank God they noticed the hostages
>opening fire on the dwarves, that were distracted by yours truly
>the dwarves were cut down fast, but the lamias were already behind cover, firing off some unaimed potshots
>none of our guys were hit, but this one stupid fat mexican lost his nerve and got up
>took two shots through the gut, from behind
>he was dead before any of us could get to him
>the lamias were smart, they knew some tactics
>one was firing while the others were reloading
>I was able to see that through some bulletproof glass
>with them behind the glass and other cover, we were now at another standstill
>after a lull in their fire, I realized that they were probably out of bullets
>I told my guys to hold their fire
>then I gave the snakes an ultimatum
>there was no need to waste bullets on them if they’d surrender
>so I made them an offer
>”Attention, please, may I have your attention. Put down the thundersticks, answer our questions, and let us let these people go! Your midget bosses are all dead, and you KNOW you’re on a whole ‘nother world! There’s no one left to pay you! There’s no need for any of us to fight anymore! Just cooperate, and we’ll let you all slither away when we’re done asking questions! Do we have a deal?”
>It took them about 2 minutes to decide
>3 of the cottonmouths gave up, threw their guns down, and moved into the open, with their hands up
>but the last one, had abs like a carving board, zipped into another room
>I followed her, Springfield slung, but 1911 drawn
>got through the first door
>led into a smaller cafeteria, might have been an employee lounge 
>took two shots, both missed
>she threw a kitchen knife at me, bounced off my left chest plate
>then she used her tail and flung a large wooden cutting board right at my chest
>broke against me, bruising my right arm pretty bad, and conked my balance till I hit a cabinet
>dropped my pistol, once I got my bearings and picked it up, she was gone
>into the next room, a small hallway that lead to two doors
>one was the meat locker, the other lead to the local director’s office
>tried the meat locker first
>the door was open, poked me head in
>another shitshow
>a bunch of assorted animal-people were shivering in there
>some kids were huddled around the sheep, cat, & dogfolks
>they looked at me with thousand-yard stares
>lowered my 1911, slowly told them that they were free to leave now
>one of the sheep-ladys walked up to me, kids practically glued to her wooly legs
>asked me how I did it
>I quickly put my hand on her shoulder, big smile, and abruptly told her that I killed her slave-masters
>I was in a rush to find that cottonmouth-chick, so I had to make this quick
>she started giggling like a weirdo, talking to herself about waking up from a nightmare
>then a dog-dude grabs my shoulders and tells me that a lamia was just there, took his kid
>they had to be in another room, and she had a new hostage
>had to be careful
>did a theatre bow to them, then lifted my arm up to show that the way out was cleared
>walked slowly over to the other door, peeled to the wall
>once I was out of the way to the entrance/exit, those ex-slaves stampeded out of there
>it was a miracle that no one got trampled, seeing how some of them had actual hooves
>while that conga line was still ongoing, I peeked into the director office
>there was the snek-bitch
>and she had a whimpering puppy-boy wrapped up in her tail
>told me that if I made one wrong move, she’d snap the kid’s neck faster than I could aim at her head
>I would have aimed for her chest, but she didn’t need to know that
>so I kept my gun lowered, lifted my hand
>told her that we could negotiate, we could talk this out like civilized people
>the kid was making literal sad puppy sounds, really tugged my heartstrings
>she had successfully bet on me having a heart, damn her
>asked her to get on with it, name her terms
>she demanded 800 gold coins, a bag to carry it in, a thunderstick, bullets, and safe passage out
>I didn’t know where we’d find 800 coins, but the rest was agreeable
>I’d have to go back and loot all the assholes we killed
>maybe they’d have enough for the 800
>dammit, maybe that wizard had a ton, now we’d never know
>I told her we’d need time to get the coins
>I was bullshitting her, really
>just needed to get an opening to pop her without losing her hostage
>but this is real life
>odds were, we’d lose the kid
>no chance of this reptilian bitch’s survival though
>it was a dice roll at this point
>I told her to stay put until we coughed up the currency
>she agreed, then tightened her tail around the kid a little harder to get her threat across
>after getting out of the room, I closed the door
>then hatched a plan
>I’d sweeten the pot by giving her my SAR-3, with a (empty) mag already inside
>the trick would be to leave only one round in the chamber
>she’d get cocky, and that would be the opening to putting a few .45’s through her center mass
>upper body mass?
>being a snake-person, her center mass goes, like, 3 feet down her lizard-half to her diaphragm 
>after leaving the room, I went back into the main lobby/cafeteria
>what was up with the layout of this place
>it was NOT what I’d picture for a government food stockpile building
>most of the hostages had gone out the front door and went back to their homes
>some stuck around, either to get food, or to join us
>the animal-people were all sitting at the cafeteria tables, like they were waiting on someone to order them around
>still looking all scared, huddled up and shit
>we were going to have a long talk after I deal with the “terrorist”
>quickly asked a local guy about the wack-ass layout of the place
>turned out that this building used to be a Wells Fargo bank, his dad had worked here
>then the state of Texas bought the place back in 1996, turned the vault into a meat locker, among other minor things
>then I asked how the fuck did the dwarves take so many prisoners
>this is America, whatever happened to the “a rifle behind every blade of grass” thing?
>from what he gathered from talking to other hostages, a lot of folks got caught lacking
>and by that, I mean a lot of these invaders had teleported right into their homes
>that would explain why some people here were in their underwear
>literally caught with their pants down
>Zacarias had been dive-grabbed when he went outside to toss some trash bags out, yesterday evening
>he was avenged, Tom had shot the harpy who kidnapped him

(Now Playing : Future Flashback from The Terminator https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyF1Te_raE4 )

>the snake-lady with the bandaged face, had slithered up to crush me in a hug
>she didn’t say anything, but her kid was thanking me for saving their lives
>her dad had disappeared, back in the other world, a week earlier
>probably died before they all came here
>Dooser came over, with a box of Kleenex
>handed it to the mom, who took her bloody rags off
>he told me that she had been violently defanged with some weird metal pulling-contraption
>he then showed me the contraption
>an adjustable steel wrench
>god, that was disgusting, even to just hear
>time was short, so i yelled out that we needed 800 gold coins, and fast
>or something equally valuable
>then I explained WHY we needed that ransom cash
>the dog-kid’s parents were now freaking out hard, understandably
>begging us all to do something, anything, to save their boy
>one of the local Tejanos tried to crack a joke
>sarcastically pointed out that a candy store two buildings south had plenty of chocolate coins with fake-gold wrappers
>place was called Dulce's, quite generic
>in the absence of a better idea, and the absence of real coins, it would have to do
>so I bolted out the front door, hoping that there would be no bullshit outta-left-field stuff at the candy shop
>there was not
>nothing weird, other than a broken glass door
>the front of the shop had been picked nearly clean
>all that was left was some bootleg Reese's Pieces, actual Hershey's dark chocolate bars, and a few Gansito chocolate wafers
>so I went into the back, and struck jackpot
>three whole cardboard boxes full of cheap-ass Amazon.com Fort Know-brand chocolate coins
>took one box, and took my time walking back, to make a new plan
>I would put my 1911 in the box
>bring the box to her, reach into it, to "demonstrate that it's quite real"
>then shoot her in the face

>as I walked back into the former bank, the defanged lamia spoke up, albeit muffled and soft through some Kleenex
>said that mercenary or not, she thought that maybe a fellow lamia could get through to her, to at least let the kid go
>sounded like a good backup plan, in case the merc already expected me to do a "gun under the pizza box"-type trick
>this plan also hinged on the merc not knowing how a external magazine-fed rifle works
>the dog-kid’s parents and the lamia. followed me back to the main office
>the snake-mom’s daughter stayed with Dooser
>but then my plan went to shit, the mom pushed me out of the way to get to the office
>I couldn't speak up, that would blow our cover
>she went in
>kept the door open for the rest of us to listen in
>I heard the merc angrily ask the mom what she was doing there, where was the gold, and what she wanted
>the mom stayed calm, and politely but firmly asked the merc to please let the boy go
>merc asks that since this clearly isn't her problem, why does she even care
>mom says that there had been enough bloodshed
>her husband, brother, and both nephews were all dead
>and she almost lost her daughter three times in all this madness
>she knew what it was like to lose family
>and begged her to let it go, let the kid go back to his parents
>begged her to just walk away, to not let her final act of life be the murder of an innocent who’d done nothing to deserve it
>this set off the merc, who raised her voice, telling the mom about how she was a stupid weakling
>how her family sounded like it was full of weaklings, and that the weak were meant to be tread upon
>then it devolved into ad hominem name-calling on both sides
>using what I guessed were expletives and insult-idioms that only made sense to their culture
>it got TOO heated, enough for the mercenary to lose focus and drop the pup
>heard him groan and yelp as he hit the floor
>then there was loud hissing from both lamias
>then a single gunshot crack, from the chambered round in my SAR-3
>the sound of a few punches, the smashing of desks, cabinets, picture frames, the walls
>then the sound of choking, lasting what felt like a few minutes
>us three noise-spectators were sweating like pigs at a sauna
>then it ended, with the sound of silence (besides the crying puppy)
>I dropped the "gold" box, drew my pistol again
>then me and the dog-dad poked ourselves into the room, he was a full head taller than me
>there was our lamia, still standing
>and she had strangled the hostage-taker
>not with her snake-half, but with her bare hands
>the boy crawled to his dad, burying his crying face into his old man’s right leg
>while his mom ran in, screamed, grabbed her boy and pulled the three of them into a hug
>our snek was still clutching onto the dead one’s neck, still wringing at it
>I softly put my hand on her shoulder, and softly said into her pointed ear to let go, it was over
>the kid was safe
>so she let go, but her hands were shaking like she had severe Parkinson’s
>and she was giving the corpse a thousand-yard stare
>I knew what was up
>this was her first kill
>torn from some kind of idyllic peaceful housewife life, this was her quantum leap into barbarism and brutality
>or a eye-opener into reality, if you want to be a cynical asswipe about it
(Now Playing : Enclosure from Metal Gear Solid https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7m8M6Y7jZE )

>we left the room, returning to the cafeteria
>I was glad that the kid was safe, but honestly?
>I was a little annoyed that my chocolate coin trick didn't work out, all that work for nothing
>that snake-mom needed space and time, to mentally process what she did
>I knew enough PTSD vets from Vietnam and Iraq to call it when I saw it
>and Esteban agreed, when I told him what happened
>we started to pack up food we needed, the kind that takes weeks or months to go bad
>the rest, would be our lunch
>and the leftovers, to whomever in the neighborhood was willing to take some 
>told people that were leaving, to spread the word in case anyone ran low on food
>Sarah came back, she was relieved that as far as she could tell, none of the shit she threw at the witch hit anyone else
>just empty streets and houses
>she had moved our convoy through the parking lot, onto Brighton Avenue
>our casualties were going to be respectfully buried at the dirt patch where we had parked before
>while their casualties were in the process of being looted, stripped for armor and clothes
>then tossed into the garbage bins by the back entrance
>two of the cow-folks offered to help me take the stiff out of the office
>but then our lamia came out
>slithered up to the canine family, she started petting the boy
>then she coiled herself like a basket, told us that she had to do something
>she knew exactly how it felt to lose your baby from something completely out of your control
>she told us about how she lost her only son from a miscarriage
>then her next child died about two weeks after her birth, from a disease
>her description of it, sounded like some kind of chickenpox
>the biggest kicker though?
>she was now a two-months-pregnant widow
>she couldn’t just stand around and let others suffer the way she had
>not without an effort to stop it
>the canine-family came over to her and gave her a big hug
>thanking her again for risking her life like that, and giving her their sympathies for her losses
>after that, what felt like a few minutes of silence went by
>shit was going on all around me, but I was zoned out from the experience
>something clicked in my mind, and I then knew what had to be done
>sat down at a table bench, and called her over
>took off my sunglasses, looked at her straight eye-to-eye
>asked her for her name, and told her that we were planning to take the fight to her old overlords
>along with the Serinite elves, if they decided to fight us too
>we’d take any help we could get, and so I told her that we’d appreciate her if she wanted to tag along
>no need for her to be a combatant, there were plenty of room for supply-and-support
>she agreed as long as we kept her daughter out of the fighting
>her name was Rokuh, her daughter’s name was Izah
>speaking of her lizard-like tyke, we went back into the room where we found them
>Izah was wrapped around Tom’s upper body, her human half looking over his head
>he was trying to calm her down by showing her a Rubik’s Cube
>and it was working, she was fascinated with Tom’s attempts to get all the colors to match up

>with that under control, I went back to the main office to get my Springfield back
>me and the minotaurs took some effort to pull the merc stiff by her tail, to the dumpster
>after a headcount of new recruits, we “acquired” 17 fellow Texans, 26 freed animal-people slaves, our 4 turncoats
>and one asshole from the Cypress ‘hood of Los Angeles, who got stranded in San Antonio
>laying low from hate crimes against trannys, he was trying to get to Baton Rouge
>but with the whole world gone sideways and topsy-turvy, he told us that he was thinking of just taking the next portal to the Other Side
>with that in mind, I asked all our “newcomers” what the other world’s name was, exactly
>it appeared to be spelled Fankasia, but some of them were arguing on how it was pronounced
>Fan-kuh-shia, Fan-kay-see-ya, Fank-a-zee-yuh, the list went on
>after a Earth-human vote, we decided on saying it like Fantasia
>the final decision was mine, and I passed it
>as the elected leader, I decided that we were running a republic, not a democracy, so I had the final yes/no choice
>at that point, most everyone was standing around the convoy, as I stood on the roof of the second truck
>our current “militia” members were handing out guns to the new recruits
>and giving crash courses in how to operate them, while Yaerin was bandaging up our wounded
>I was the only person with a Heckler-Koch roller-delay rifle
>but I did give a demonstration on the difference between double-action/single-action, double-action-only, and single-action-only pistols
>it wasn’t much, but at least it was enough for not shooting themselves on accident
>we didn’t even bother with using the ammo-incompatible dwarven guns
>but some of our more entrepreneurial guys took some, for bartering or for trophies 
>there was some impressive craftsmanship put into them, sure
>but they were in calibers I never heard of
>and a series of quick chambering tests from Sam, proved that whatever they were using, was out of this world
>literally and figuratively
>some freaky mixture of salt powder, a rectangular casing, and some kind of glowing blue lines that lead from the chamber to the trigger
>it was some hoodoo-voodoo RuneScape bullshit physics-defying way of circumventing primers
>you pull the trigger, and the runes “energize” the casing into popping the bullet out
>the cranking of the lever-action ones didn’t spit out the casing
>no, no, no, the casing DISINTEGRATES after firing, the runes absorb the leftover “ashes”
>a clean-barrel circular feedback loop
>a rifle that gets powered up BY firing rounds
>fingerprint-less bullets that come out of self-destructing casings
>there’s a metric fuckload of hitmen and assassins that would literally kill for these self-cleaning, traceless guns
>according to Sam, these magic rifles were handcrafted, but standardized
>he said the Rolling-Block type rifles fired something similar to 7.92 Kurz, the STG-44’s caliber
>and the lever-action used something shaped like .44 Magnum
>but in the power-yield of .44 Special 
>now if we had time, I’d see if we could experiment on getting it to .44 Magnum power
>but I’ve had enough experience with electricians to know not to fuck with this stuff
>not without an expert around
>dammit, Sam, I’m a glorified smelter and welder, not an engineer

>with the local problem solved, we made plans to leave
>but first, it was time for lunch
>the building had tons of Meals-On-Wheels packages, just waiting to be heated and eaten
>had myself two packages, one was a Kentucky-fried steak with green beans and cubed French fries
>the other was spinach, mashed potato, and bowtie pasta mixed in alfredo sauce
>with the power of tree branches, lighter fluid, gasoline, and matches, we managed to start a couple of fires
>no need to huddle around for warmth, a thermometer in the main office said it was 71 degrees Fahrenheit
>and it was only 11:37 AM, according to the Sears watch
>I wanted to say with a straight face that we needed to kill the last two dragons, ASAP
>after heating it up, I got on top of a police Ford Taurus in the parking lot
>looted bone-dry, long before we arrived
>once I sunk my teeth into the steak, I began to start getting doubts
>not about the steak, but I had to say, Texans have the best barbeque and brisket known to man
>but your steaks ain’t shit, compared to a real Kentucky-fried masterpiece
>back on topic, a little voice in the back of my head started whispering
>saying that with only two targets left, we could afford to take our time
>I suspected that this was more magic psychic bullshittery, so I told the voice to blow it out it’s ass
>they can’t talk me out of this
>they lost their chance to get mercy, when they started roasting and munching on my fellow Americans
>could have just eaten some cows or pigs, but nOoOoOoOoOo


(Now Playing : You Forget A Thousand Things by Tangerine Dream https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z72BZeaEXCI )

>finished my first meal package, but I hated green beans
>didn’t want to throw away food, but I was saved by the dog-dad, who came by and asked if he could have it
>I gave it to him, then started on my second meal
>instead of leaving to eat elsewhere, he decided to sit with me on top of the car
>he gobbled the green beans, understandable for a guy who’s spent almost a full day stuck in a meatless meat locker
>he stayed quiet until I was done eating the pasta
>then he spoke up, saying that we hadn’t been properly introduced
>told him my full name
>he answered with his own, Collin Clavicle
>jokingly tell him that a shoulder bone is an odd choice for a last name
>he sarcastically retorted that Anonymous is an odd choice for a middle name
>oh we’d get along, swimmingly 
>after a few laughs, he cut to the chase
>asked me why I went through the trouble of freeing him and the others
>I couldn’t lie, not like this
>told him the truth, that we didn’t even know they had captives inside the building
>we were just passing by, they shot at us first
>he laughed even harder, but it was a crying-laughter
>he could hardly chortle out how he couldn’t believe it
>his family became free, not from a divine act, or a stroke-of-luck escape opening
>no, his captors died from picking a fight with the wrong people
>I added that it was also most certainly the wrong place to pick a fight
>he pulled me in for a tight hug, thanking me for not doing anything stupid that would have gotten his son Kris killed
>after letting go, he then began to grill me on myself, my group, and what exactly were we trying to do
>I told him what the dragons did to my city, to my fellow countrymen, my house
>but that was just the start, the tip of the iceberg
>he didn’t know what an iceberg was, so I retold it as the tip of a nose compared to a whole body
>he understood that, then asked, just to see it from the other side, what made us any better than our enemies
>to go through a lot of trouble just to invade their homes and wreck up the place
>my answer was that they needed to be taught a lesson
>that they shouldn’t go around provoking and attacking people who have no quarrel with them
>they needed to be taught that bad actions will bring worse consequences
>he thought that answer was sensible
>then he wanted to know about me, personally
>what could drive a simple ironworker into becoming a glorified warlord
>thought about making a joke about answering the Riddle of Steel
>but he wouldn’t get it, wouldn’t be funny, so I told him the truth
>it was desperation
>fear, to be exact
>the fear of losing, had overpowered my fear of going too far with whatever power I was given
>the fear of losing my life, my freedom
>fear of losing my new friends, of losing good people who didn’t deserve to get deep into this crappy situation
>the fear of losing Sarah, and of what Sarah would do if she lost me
>and seeing my fellow Americans getting rounded up like cattle, made me realize something
>that the neoconservatives that took us to a Great War On Terror, were right about one thing
>if we didn’t take the fight to their homes, then the fight will inevitably come to ours
>and the events of today and yesterday were all the evidence needed

>so circling back to Collin’s devil advocate question
>my answer was that we weren’t enslaving or coercing anyone to work or fight for us, unlike the Serinites or the dwarves
>the guy I threatened, right before getting to the cafeteria?
>he was more than free to leave, but if he wanted to do that, he was on his own
>with Collin satisfied and out of questions, I thought it was only fair that I heard his story
>he was a river pirate, who lost his nerve and mutinied
>after his gang stopped bluffing and actually razed a village to the ground
>he sabotaged the cannons, and swam to shore as the ship sank
>he wasn’t the only survivor, and managed a degree of infamy for single-handedly pulling an inside job on the ship
>he just wanted easy money, but once he actually had to hurt defenseless people, he knew where he stood
>wound up tagging along with the survivors of the very same village that was razed
>saved them all from another slaver ship a few weeks later, by scoring a one-in-a-million knife throw at the captain
>the chief gave his daughter’s hand in marriage to Collin, as a reward
>everything was fine, until 5 years later, when Collin and his family got double-crossed by some sisterhood-cult of coyote-ladies
>on the run from a Serinite nobleman who netted and captured families for sport, they were hiding under a log when they got poofed to Earth
>opened their eyes, to find themselves in a drainage pipe
>captured by dwarves the minute they poked their heads out, then taken to the meat locker, which brings us to now
>hah, they weren’t lying when they said that everybody’s got a story, if you’re willing to listen

>Collin left a minute later to go check on his family, and see how Rokuh was handling things
>left to my own thoughts, I closed my eyes and began to think
>so we kill the dragons, then what?
>just go home, grab a pint, and wait for this all to blow over, for the military to solve everything for us?
>no way, we’ve crossed the threshold, the slippery slope
>we’re too wired for killing, too pumped for combat, too urged to purge
>I was having a Bleeding Kansas moment, in my head
>a quick vision, but this was organic, there was no bad feeling that my mind was getting screwed with
>it was the most ambitious idea I probably ever had
>in hindsight, I knew what was going on in my head
>I was getting power-hungry, getting too comfy with being in charge
>a plan to keep me perpetually in charge, had hatched
>once the dragons were dead, we would find a portal to Fankasia
>we would go through it
>and I would become the biggest spanner-in-the-works since the storm that smashed the Spanish Armada
>we were going to bust into the ongoing siege of Nilmer Serin, take on both sides
>like a band of big damn heroes, straight out of a pro-Union Civil War propaganda flick
>we weren’t JUST going to pacify Nilmer Serin
>oh no, no, no, that was just going to be the beginning, the beachhead, the springboard
>we’d swoop in, free the slaves, arm them
>then cut a swath all the way to the dwarven capital, William Tecumseh Sherman-style
>only then would we go home, mission accomplished
>no longer would we be a militia puffing itself up as an legion of freedom, or something like that
>at that point, I would command a real army
>I realized at that point, that I wanted power
>I really did
>ever since I got fucked out of being in charge of that tradesman’s club, I wanted to have that kind of power in my hands
>the power of deciding who gets to live and die, who gets to be free or not
>and I say that everybody gets to be free, but I’ll be the most free of them all
>the self-doubting when Sarah nominated me to be in charge?
>that was the last gasp of my lazy, pussy self
>and if my “soldiers” wanted to stay behind, or walk away after the fighting’s done?
>go ahead, I’ll be the most lenient and fair overlord ever
>there’ll be plenty of grateful medieval yokels, Stockholm syndrome’d ex-slaves, adventurers
>and just plain adrenaline addicts, that can do the heavy lifting in battle 

>was I getting ahead of myself?
>absolutely
>was I making the exact same mistake as the people we just killed?
>yes, but this would be different, I swore
>as long as me, Robert, and Tom were around to pool our big-brain energies
>and Sarah was around as the trump-card muscle, we’d be fine
>I was salivating at the idea of getting a statue, oh yeah, it’d be marble like a Roman or Greek statue
>I’d be buck-naked, full-mast, and flexing both my arms
>oh man, was I getting too deep into my own mind
>needed to dial back before I said something crazy out loud
>this WAS a stupid idea, but in the absence of a better idea, it would have to do
>the muffled sound of Robert woke me out of my daydream
>opened my eyes to a darker shade of gray in the perpetually cloudy sky
>he said that I’d been out for a few minutes
>and there was a group of people by the Dollar General, two stores north
>they saw our now-huge group, so they sent a guy who had asked to “take him to our leader”
>if this was a little green man from Mars or Venus, I was going to have an aneurysm
>he wasn’t, thank Grudd
>just some raggedy white-Mexican patrol cop, with a ton of bruises on his face
>went right in to shake my hand, introduced himself as Corporal Xavier O’Connell, SAPD
>he was from the south precinct, just a few blocks north of the Academy we had been too
>our groups had missed each other by hardly a mile
>his precinct had gone under lockdown, obviously, but they wound up besieged around the time when we were at the mall
>a large band of elves, probably Serinites, attacked their building
>the police and some National Guard/reservist stragglers had managed a pyrrhic victory, but with massive casualties
>I interrupted to ask how many soldiers and officers had survived
>he had two officers from the Navy, one Army satellite programmer, two Coast Guard gunnery mates
>and a reservist Air Force intel officer who thought hunkering down at Lackland-Kelly was a bitchmade idea
>but all the regular Air Force and Army personnel had gone north to their respective local bases and forts
>out of his fellow patrol officers, only 3 made it out, counting him
>two detectives were MIA, had gone to scope out a house, owned by a suspected sicario
>the precinct was FUBAR by now, but while hunkering down, they had managed to form their own group
>just like us they had an assembly of mostly armed citizens, a few animal-people, even their own assorted local bikers
>along with a repair team from the Department of Energy, a huge grey orc they called Big Joay
>a few criminals who had been in holding, for breaking laws no longer worth upholding
>and a fairy stuck in a giant-sizing spell (which only made her about as tall as a 14-year old)
>after their HQ literally fell apart, they decided to wander around
> until they could find more people willing to clean up the city, which they just did
>we weren’t alone after all
>this DID seem TOO convenient though
>I asked him why would he just spill all his beans like this
>why was he so willing to trust me
>O’Connell answered that he knew I was a patriot willing to get my hands dirty
>he recognized me from a repair job I did on their precinct’s parking lot entry/exit gates a few weeks earlier
>specifically, he remembered my post-hangover-rant on how Harry Truman was a pussy for not nuking China in 1953
>and that Jane Fonda should have been executed by the CIA for cozying up with the Vietcong
>but back on focus, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt
>told him to bring his leader to Brooster’s Backyard Icehouse, right between the Dollar General and the HHS building
>I was still suspicious, since I didn’t remember him from that gig, but to be fair, the hangover blurred my memory a bit

(Now Playing : Salsation by David Shire https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uN_KKvpQmys )

>as officer O’Connell went to give his boss the word, I walked over to Sarah, asking her to get behind a car
>to charge up her boombox, in case this was a trap
>then I told everyone to stay on the toes
>quickly, I told Robert to get our wounded into the building
>while the rest of us would use the parked cars and the roof, to set up a killzone
>the (Tom-led) roof team’s job was to maintain a higher ground advantage
>we got into position, with time to spare
>about 3 or 4 minutes later, I walked into the Icehouse
>never been inside this joint, but I knew people who said that the beer here was overpriced piss
>the waitresses were flat-chested heroin junkies
>but the boneless wings were to die for
>looking around for a drink, I was disgusted to find that the place had been picked dry
>except for a warm six-pack of Modelo Negro, and one bottle was already taken
>I hate Modelo, it sucks, simple as that
>at least the water was still on tap
>I was going to have some REAL liquor before the end of this day, or somebody’s head would roll
>O’Connell came in, right as I returned to the countertop
>asked where his CO was
>he WAS the CO, admitting that walking straight up to us was a Hail Mary pass
>would have shat himself from fear
>if he hadn’t already used the toilet at Dollar General
>what the fuck
>how naive was this guy
>he met me once, and that was enough for him to trust that I wouldn’t turn into a Mad Max warlord?
>I asked how he wound up in charge
>says he was competent at giving orders and making plans, and no one else wanted to step up to the plate
>touche
>we traded information on how each of our groups worked
>I didn't give any names, but O'connell was
>upon thinking it over, his group would easily fold into ours
>none of his military guys were combat veterans
>all desk jockeys who hasn't fired a shot in anger, until yesterday
>except the gunnery mates
>they knew their shit when it came to machine guns
>but they'd only used them as threats, during narco and illegalle interdictions
>but what grabbed my attention the most, was that they had tons of police body armor, oodles of ammunition
>and a working vehicle “fleet”, of four 12th-generation Ford F-150’s, one personal vehicle 3rd gen F-250
>three Tauruses (all “brand new” 2017 models) and an "old" 2010 Crown Victoria
>that EMP had to be an untested experimental model
>because it hadn’t seemed to do jack shit against anything underground
>my mind was made up, right then and there
>I would go over to see their shit with my own eyes
>if this wasn't a trap, then they were in
>this was TOO much of a force multiplier to turn down
>and we were too much of a force multiplier for them to NOT join forces with
>I told officer O'connell to sit tight
>returned to the HHS building
>informed everyone that I was going over to parley with that cop's group
>asked Sarah to come with me, in case negotiations went south
>or if it was a trap
>Tom would be in charge until we got back

>as we walked over to the Icehouse, I told Sarah that if I didn't come back, to leave Tom in charge
>she gripped my arm, looked me in the eye
>said that I WAS going to make it back, forcing a nervous-smile
>and that was an order
>we walked into the bar, where O'connell was sitting tight
>was also talking to himself
>something about reciprocating the fairy's advances
>the Modelo box was down to one bottle
>good God, he was already hammered
>fucking Mexi-micks
>took the last Modelo, split it between me and Sarah
>told O'connell that it was time
>he peeled himself off the table, wobble-walked to the exit, telling us that his group was just three blocks north
>scattered across the intersection of Pleasanton Road and Division Avenue
>I saw a few of them from the roof of the HHS, earlier
>misinterpreted them to be unorganized looters though
>we left the building
>and O'connell could barely get to the sidewalk without flopping over
>Sarah groaned in annoyance, then lifted him over her shoulder
>complained out loud that this drunk tank work had better be worth it
>she laughed when I pointed out loud that he was clearly a Irish/beaner mutt, and that he really should be more resistant to blacking out
>then she retorted that I was one to talk
>As a tall, olive, and handsome Cuban-American, that made me a Spanish/island Injun mutt
>she had me there
>except the "tall" was relative, she had a few good inches over me
>then she pulled her hand towards mine
>and I locked my hand with hers
>pulled my arm in closer, with her other hand
>said that it was okay, because I was HER Spanish/island Injun mutt

>we arrived at that intersection
>it was exactly as unorganized as we thought
>the corner store Circle K was getting ransacked like nobody's business
>some tax consulting office was literally burning down
>one of those Navy guys was in full dress uniform, giving away liquor to teenagers
>probably pinched them from the nearby sports bar, Gone Fishing was the name
>a cafe was open, cooking, and serving food like nothing was wrong
>and across from the Circle K, in front of a bakery, was O'connell's fellow cops
>their Fords were in a circle
>surrounding a smaller circle of tire-fires
>trying to reheat what was now day-old donuts, and other pastries
>we walked over to them, calling out that their boss was NOT dead
>Sarah plopped O'connell onto the hood of the Crown Vic, informing the others that he was wasted on Modelos
>they weren't taking the situation so seriously, returning to their conversation
>something about a gray-wool goat woman who just left, went northeast to Camp Bullis
>other cop corrected him, that she was a sheep
>and that you’d have to be a retard would mix up goats and sheep
>I interrupted to ask who was O'connell's number two guy
>third cop got annoyed, told us to go talk to corporal Williams
>Sarah then got lippy, asked where we could find him
>cop #2 says that he and the other military guys all went to negotiate an ammo trade
>deal was going down at Frank Tejeda Park, another three blocks, this time west
>and so we went
>walking down the streets, it was a familiar sight
>people looking at us through the windows, some armed, some not
>I was getting nervous again, locking my fingers a bit harder with Sarah's


(Now Playing : Still Awake/Can’t Sleep from Top Gun https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6pt3Y1fLXs4 )
>now that we had some real alone time to ourselves, I realized that it was time
>time to get real with Sarah
>we sat on a porch bench, at a house on the right corner of Horton Place and Division Ave.
>tried to butter her up, at first
>telling her about how grateful I was for all the help
>how grateful I was, that she’d take a chance on a stupid adrenaline addict who might be coming down with a case of megalomania
>I had trust issues, I had a tendency to squeeze miles out of inches, or cry victim when my fun is spoiled
>what did she see in me, exactly?
>I was 31 years old
>yet I was still acting like I was still 13 years old, still raging against The Machine
>and here I am, crying into the lap of a 32-year old whom I just met yesterday
>I felt anger, anger that no one else wanted to be in my shoes, unless I kicked the bucket
>the saying really was true, that everybody wants to be the President, until they actually have to preside over things
>then crushing guilt overflew my mind
>the guilt of those dark thoughts I had while eating lunch
>I couldn’t do that, couldn’t turn my friends, my allies
>the people who were depending on me for leadership, for hope, for sanity and some semblance of order
>I couldn’t turn them into numbers on a spreadsheet, to calculate their deaths
>did I really have the guts to decide who on my team gets to live or die?
>both these questions, I asked her out loud
>and you know what Sarah did?
>she lifted me off her lap, then nudged me into her neck
>told me that I wasn’t stupid for taking charge
>I could have walked away from all this, at any time
>but I didn’t, and why?
>because I was much, much, braver that I tell myself I am
>she reassured me that it was clear that I had my moral failings in the past
>but my courage to keep stepping up to the plate, and making hard choices?
>it was all she needed to know, that I was worth her feelings, and worth a chance
>that I deserved good things, and reminded me that I shouldn’t beat myself up for someone else’s mistake
>she then made a argument I couldn’t refute
>that in times like these, we can’t afford to take months to do the usual dating whirlwind
>honestly, I believed her when she said that some of our folks will be banging within a week
>it’s always the times of great disaster that lead to post-disaster baby booms, she said with a really awkward tone, and a stutter
>besides, she was 32, and she hated herself for wasting her ‘20s being a reckless stunt rider and bike-drifter
>just going from paid gig to paid gig, never bothered with dating, never even punched her V-card
>she hadn’t kissed a guy on the lips since high school
>and after a while, you wake up one day, realize you’re two years past 30
>and time is running out fast, to find a good man to settle down, have two or three kids, maybe a dog or two
>I sarcastically asked why she hadn’t hit up any of her Rough Rider pals
>she grabbed and shook me in a funny way, telling me there was no chance in hell she’d do that
>they’re too much like brothers to her, it would be icky and gross and weird
>although she did consider pining for Tom, since he showed up around the same time as her election to MC President
>but she said that good things really did come to those who waited
>as her patience was rewarded in the form of me
>after about 20 seconds of awkward silence, I eased off her neck
>and with her left hand in both my hands, I told her that I wanted the same thing too
>didn’t tell her I wanted four kids though
>got up from the bench, and gave her a sloppy kiss, right on the lips
>a little back-and-forth of the tongue, and we were at first base in no time
>we definitely lost track of time

>at some point later, a gunshot rang off, not too far away
>we both panicked for a minute, then ran off to see the problem
>well, Sarah ran until she got to the other side of Horton, then remembered that she could fly
>as we walked past the last fence to Frank Tejeda Park, I could perfectly see what was going down
>O’connell’s guys were at the southeast end of the tennis courts
>and the other group?
>they were very same harpies, and their rooftop sniper, that shredded my stolen postal vehicle, back at Wal-Mart
>this was only yesterday, there was no chance they wouldn’t recognize me
>but I needed those servicemembers alive
>Sarah floated to my side, reminding me that these pricks sounded like the gang that opened fire on me at Wal-Mart
>told her she was right, but since we needed those military guys, it was time to flex our diplomatic chops
>pull out my Springfield
>walk onto the court (or in Sarah’s case, still levitate)
>fire 3 shots into the air, getting everyone’s attention
>the military folks finally pull their guns, but at me
>the harpies re-aim, again, at me
>ask everyone what the hubbub was all about
>ghillie suit sniper says that the military folks were trying to rip him and his ladies off
>”his ladies!?”, we all yelled, but not at the same time
>oh, hell
>they’re his harem?
>I knew this societal collapse would turn the clocks back on cultural advancement, but I was expecting the mid-1800s
>not the 700s
>oh fuck, I said all that out loud
>I could FEEL his glare of doom through his tan-yellow ESS goggles
>then one of the humanoid birds starts yelling about how no faggot was going to take their man away
>told her to please believe me, I wasn’t looking to waste bullets on fights we didn’t need
>so I stated that I would calm down, take a deep breath, and put my gun down, so everyone else would too
>my attempt to defuse the situation was not successful, completely
>everyone but the sniper, lowered their weapons
>here was my chance to take control of the situation
>I tried to kiss ass to the sniper, loudly congratulating him for making the right choice to keep us all in line
>then I told him to think about his new “family”
>sure, they shoot us
>then what
>they can’t run forever
>we all have tons of friends who’d be pretty upset if his group killed us
>and if peace is restored to the land, how long of a prison sentence is he looking at
>for murdering military personnel that were performing disaster relief
>he calls my bluff on order being restored
>pointing out that it’s the end of the world as we know it
>and he feels fine
>”haha, nice pun, but that wasn’t a real answer, asshole”
>so he retorts that survival of the fittest is now in play
>so I went straight to the point
>he’s got some kind of bolt-action, that much I could see
>how many of us can he shoot before we pick our guns back up and shoot him
>sure, his bitches would gun us all down, probably
>but he’d be dead, and that’s no fun at all
>he thought about it
>even shifted his gun a little to the side
>I did not have time for this horseshit
>we’re on multiple objectives now
>so I told O’connell’s guys that this deal is clearly a bust
>so let’s just pick up our stuff and walk away
>we were NOT going to get heated, and turn this into a nigga moment
>we needed to back up and cool off
>to just…….. walk away
>loudly proclaimed that this wasn’t a movie, where a fight HAS to go down to keep the audience entertained 
>so they don’t leave halfway through to get a ticket refund
>do theaters even do refunds once the screening starts?
>fuck it, that’s not the point
>the point is that this is real life
>and everybody here has only got one life
>so let’s not throw them away in a petty ammo deal gone bad, in a tennis court of a barrio park
>with that said, I bent over to sling my Springfield over my back
>the others with long guns followed my example
>Sarah put her Coonan in its holster
>and a guy in a dark blue jumpsuit on our side, holstered his pistol
>then went into a police-marked Ford Crown Victoria, starting it up
>had to be the “old” car that O’connell mentioned
>one of the Coast Guard gunner mates
>his fellow Guardsman nervously walked over to pop the trunk
>said their stuff was clear
>as everyone had their guns back, but not drawn, they all started walking back to the bakery
>by then, it was just me, Sarah, and the Coast Guard dudes, trying to find something in the cop interceptor
>the bird-broads were loudly talking amongst themselves
>stuff about how great it was to not have to run away from all their fights
>how great it is to finally be feared and how they were safe as long as they stuck with the sniper
>overheard them say his real name, Jim-Dean
>ha, like Billy-Bob
>just great, he was the sixth country boy I’d met that had a pun for a name
>and that’s counting Walker, even though he’s a suburban LARPer
>now it was time for personal business
>ask Jim-Dean why he and his pals were shooting at me yesterday
>guessed right, he recognized me
>he retorted by asking why did I try to run them over
>tell him that I’ll give him an answer if he lowers his weapon
>he slowly did

>gave him the rundown on the post office assholes who were chasing me
>one of his ladies spoke up on that, telling us that those mailmen ran north
>after Jim-Dean caught them while they were trying to follow me
>they had their own stand-off for a bit, until the mailmen told them that they were chasing a car thief
>I admitted that I stole the vehicle
>but in my defense, they were just going to skip town and law low like a pack of pussies
>their stand-off was what bought me time to get out of the Dodge and into the suburb labyrinth
>they searched my crash site
>but on account of all the concrete and asphalt around, they lost my trail once I got to the sidewalk
>they gave up, the mailmen decided to just grab some bicycles and sit tight with the Air Force at Lackland-Kelly
>after telling me that,the biggest one of the harpies, still a few inches shorter than Jim-Dean spoke up
>grilled me on why I stole the mail “carriage”
>so I leaned up to the nearest tennis net post, sat down
>like with Xavier, I summarized my quest to clean up the city and kill some dragons
>that I needed the car to chase down the dragons
>and because of these birdbrains and their pimp, I went through quite a lot of bullshit 
>once they understood that my driving the Dodge at them was a misunderstanding and a case of “right place, wrong time”
>well, they got pushy with their man to apologize
>he got down from the roof, walked up to me to shake my hand, reintroduce ourselves on a new page
>his name was Jim-Dean Pannekoek, short-order cook of Fred’s Fish Fry, and an amateur big game hunter
>yes, Pannekoek, as in the Dutch word for pancake
>trying to restrain a giggle, I shook Mr. Pancake’s hand, then asked how he found the birds
>to make it short, right after all the Fankasian portals started popping up, he grabbed one of his two guns, a Ruger 77/44
>waiting it out in his kitchen for something to pop off, he overheard a bunch of people in his backyard
>went out, saw the harpies try to break into his shed, to get to his bags of birdseed
>he tried to call 911, but right before he got to his home phone, the tallest harpy, blue jay-looking bird named Jillian, knocked on his screendoor
>she did a sad-puppy-eyes routine, begged him to let them have some food
>he let them in, listened to their stories about how they were scavengers, just trying to make some quick cash off of looting post-battle corpses
>taking pity on them, he offered to show them how to use guns
>gave his other gun, a Winchester SX4, to Jillian, then told them to pack into his van, to go to Walmart for some fudd guns
>problem was that they only made it 3 blocks from his house when the EMP hit
>so then, they had to figure out how to fly Jim-Dean around without stabbing his shoulders with their talons
>after nearly getting ran over by yours truly, they all decided to keep sticking together, and had been “roof-hopping” until now
>after Sarah nudged me to apologize on my end for the Dodge Caravan thing, I cordially invited them to join us
>it was then that I revealed our larger goal, to find a portal to Fankasia, to take the fight back to the elves and dwarves
>the harpies all started freaking out, refusing to go back, begging Jim-Dean to stay with them, in this (relatively) safer and more plentiful world
>I couldn’t blame them, after all I’d heard about The Other Side
>told him there was no shame in trying to survive, and there’d be no hard feelings if he declined
>but I reminded him about “safety in numbers”
>he still declined, but gave me his phone number, in case we were able to unfuck our EMP’d phones
>wished me luck, then said his group was heading off to hole up at Rudy’s Feed Store on Nogalitos Street, right off the exit from Highway 90
>before he left, I asked what deal was about to go down here to begin with
>O’connell’s guys had a bunch of 12 gauge birdshot in the Crown Vic’s trunk
>and they were planning to trade that for some 5.56
>only Jim-Dean had it wrong until the last minute, it was all .300 Blackout, misplaced in 5.56 boxes
>they didn’t believe him, and were probably about to open fire and just take the “5.56”
>which led to the standoff
>we didn’t need .300 Blackout
>but the 12 gauge birdshot was dead weight
>so I told him that we’d just give it away, as a sign of goodwill
>that sounds really pretentious when you actually say it out loud, but I’m a leader, and that’s leader talk
>I’m going to sue Dale Carnegie if I’m wrong
>Jim-Dean was quite perplexed, but wasn’t dumb enough to say no
>he accepted, and also asked us to call him JD
>I went over to the car, knocked on the shotgun-rider window
>he unrolled it, I told him we were giving away the birdshot, pointing out that it’s dead weight
>they got my point, and got out to help me take the birdshot out, without mixing up other stuff
>we left it in a neat pile on the furthest west tennis court 
>waved goodbye at JD and his “harem”
>why do I keep using that word, this is the USA, not the UAE
>made a mental note to find a less cringy word to describe a lot of women in a relationship with one guy
>so then, Sarah and I asked the Coasties for a ride back to that intersection
>we hopped into the back seats, after pushing a few ammo boxes to the right side
>as we went back down the streets, I started clutching Sarah’s hand tighter than before
>as she swished her hand through my hair, wrapping her arm around me
>then congratulated me for pulling off the whole “drop the guns and talk it out” move
>it was stupid, but ballsy
>but the risk was rewarded, we made new friends and allies on both sides of that aisle

>once we made it back to that intersection, I asked if they had any working megaphones
>the driver said no, but the police F-150’s had PA systems built into their CB radio sets
>good enough
>as I walked to the closest truck, the folks we met at the park had all congregated around the bakery’s parking lot tire-fire
>Xavier was awake, chugging a blue Powerade to get rid of his hangover, laying against a busted grey Toyota Sienna
>while his human-sized fairy girlfriend kept him cool with a chinese hand fan
>settling into the truck, I popped open the glove compartment, found a large picture of a police officer, full dress uniform
>with him was his wife and three kids
>written in the bottom left corner was a promotion congratulations from his dad
>flipping the picture over, was a message written in black highlighter, some scribble-like swishes in the lettering
>G O N E, was all it said
>I turned on the truck, unrolling the window
>asked O’connell’s fellow cops who this guy was
>one with a nametag of Tenorio answers first
>I was sitting in their precinct captain’s truck
>former precinct captain
>he got killed yesterday, around 11 AM
>ran off by himself to find someone, struck by a clean bullet through the right shoulder artery
>died of blood loss before a paramedic found his corpse, with his gun and magazines looted
>his family had been waiting for him at the precinct
>upon finding out he was dead, they left, just minutes before the EMP struck
>paramedic found him leaning against a dumpster behind Arredondo Seafood Cafe, about 7 blocks north from the precinct
>been there, food was garbage, drinks were overpriced
>”what secrets do the dead leave behind?”, Tenorio melodramatically proclaimed
>who had the captain been looking for?
>couldn’t be his father who signed the picture, he lives over in Balcones Heights
>a mistress, maybe?
>magic mind control, which would explain why he didn’t radio for help?
>maybe lured into an ambush, but by whom?
>random anarchists, serial killer sniper, dwarves, dirty cops, the list goes on
>had an existential crisis, right then and there
>thought about what I would leave behind, if I were to suddenly die
>how my parents would feel, or Walker and his folks (if they were even still alive)
>not to mention Sarah and the rest of all my new friends and allies
>but I’d wasted enough time today with the navel-gazing
>time for that later
>time for action, now
>I grabbed the CB radio mic, had quite a long stretch
>got onto the roof of the truck
>asked Sarah to put on some big shot epic speech music
>to get me in “the zone”
>then I shot 3 rounds of .45 into the sky
>Sarah’s boombox began to play that one song from the beginning of Michael Bay’s first Transformers movie
>I started up the radio, setting the speakers to max volume
>hoping to God that the truck’s sound system would overpower Sarah’s boombox
>it did
>but man, it would have been be pretty embarrassing if it couldn’t

(Now Playing : Autobots by Steve Jablonsky https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w581xiVe0Q8 )

	>”Testing, testing, attention, attention please!”
	>”Good afternoon! My name is Bryan A. Corrales! I’m the duly elected leader of a decently-trained, but heavily armed group of individuals, holding it down at the Health and Human Services building a few blocks south! And you’re probably wondering why I’m on this metaphorical soapbox, talking to you all like this! Well, we’re on a mission to clean up this city, and to strike back at whomever is behind all this crazy stuff that’s wrecked our homes and livelihoods! Some of you, are probably unaware that Helotes and a good chunk of the northwestern part of town got roasted yesterday by a pack of dragons. Taking advantage of all the electrical systems going offline! They almost did it to my house too, so I’ve been chasing them across town, all the way from the 410/90 West intersection, to here!”

	>“Now you’re probably thinking that it’s too risky to track and exterminate these flying dinosaurs, but I will bet on my life RIGHT NOW, that it can be done! Just last night, my group and I killed most of them at the junkyards over by the southwest tip of town! There’s only two left, but with all this dry weather, no rain, and no chance for the fire department to fix anything, who KNOWS how much more of the city they can cook before somebody stops them!”

	>”And believe me, there really is safety-in-numbers! I think there’s enough of us without homes, enough of us who’ve already lost friends and family, to know that this isn’t just a fight! No, it’s a full-on WAR! Take a good look around you! The very fabric of space and time got smashed, and the amount of bullshit spilling out from there to here is uncountable! This is happening and repeating itself ALL OVER THE WORLD. I’m sure you’ve all met at least one person already, that isn’t originally from this planet.”

	>”But that’s NOT an issue! These people are the key eyewitnesses to what the barbarians at our gates can do, and have already done to other people’s gates! We’re caught right in the middle of a complete and utter shitshow! Look, we’ve got one army of jerkoff elves coming in from the west, God knows how many, and we've got another army of equally evil dwarves all over the place. We don't know when the real military is coming, as far as I know, we're all this city has. It’s too late to close the lid on this, it’s already started here, and I fully intend on watering the tree of liberty, WITHOUT using the blood of patriots, if you get what I’m saying!”
	
	>”And this war WILL come to you, if you don’t come for it first! Join me, and we can restore order and peace to this city, or at the very least, hold the line long enough for the military to reinforce us in cleaning up the streets! There will NOT be any punishments from me or my compatriots, for refusing to fight! You are completely free to join us, or not!” 

	>”My only demand is that if you won’t help us, then get out of our way!  If you want to join up, then come on down south, you can’t miss us! We’ve got plenty of guns, food, and ammunition, but please bring whatever you can, any bit helps! With an exception for rifle ammunition, please, just bring 5.56 and .308! It’ll make it a helluva lot easier for our armorers to keep track of everything!”

>after that, I gave everyone about a minute to let that all sink in, then I finished my speech

>”Well, that’s it! I’ve said what I have to say, and if you decide to join us or not, then either way, I wish you all a good day, and good luck! Oh, and one last thing, don’t bother bringing tents, there’s plenty of empty houses these days for sleeping in!”

>Having said my piece, I turned off the radio
>almost everyone around the tire-fire started clapping, and cheering me on 
>there were already people waving at me, heading south
>O’connell’s bikers, his military pals, and his fellow cops
> and what I assumed were the animal-folk that had tagged along with him
>mostly rabbits, but a few raggedy-dressed armadillo and bat-folk
>they all started to surround me
>still standing on the truck, I was getting a zombie-flick vibe, of an ever-growing sea of people circling me
>this must be what it’s like to be an opossum in hawk country, or something like that
>a few folks around the circle yelled out, that they were going to get stuff from their homes
>then meet up with us soon
>I got down from the truck by hopping off the cargo bed
>the crowd parted for me in a real awe-inspiring way
>would have looked so cool if someone had managed to record that from a rooftop or a drone
>it was quite a ego-booster, but I was forcing myself to suppress that thinking
>ego leads to getting overconfident
>and overconfidence cause problems, such as moisture farmers firing one-in-a-million torpedo shots down your exhaust port 
>remembered about all the Fankasian folk that came with O’connell
>asked out loud where that orc Joay went
>they said he ran off a few minutes before I arrived here the first time
>who knows where he went
>shit, could have used some extra muscle
>as happy as Sarah and those cowfolks are with doing the literal heavy lifting, we shouldn’t put all our eggs in a few baskets
>walking back towards the middle of the intersection, I called out for that DoE team, hadn’t seen them at all
>they came out from the liquor room of the Valero 7-11, practically falling over each other to introduce themselves
>I recognized two of the five-man team
>never met them in person, but they were speakers at a job fair event that the Departments of Energy and the Interior were sharing, last year August
>they didn’t remember me at all, though
>with everyone that O’connell told me about accounted for, I gave out an order to take all the working cars with us
>they complied, some folks hopped into the passenger seats and truck beds, despite it only being a 4-block walk
>the whole crowd began to follow me
>with the exception of Sarah and the fairy, who was showing her the ropes of levitation
>since I hadn’t heard a peep of argument out of the orders I gave, it was safe to assume that they were going to leave me in charge
>or maybe they just didn’t want to be ordered around by Xavier
>some people can stay cool under stress, or when authority and power are forced on them
>and some can’t, no shame in admitting that
>it’s just not for everyone
>right before we arrived at the HHS building, I yelled to Sarah, asking if she could do a birds-eye view headcount of how many new recruits we had
>she counted 52, lumping in O’connell’s group with all the other locals who joined in after my speech
>about 20 more trickled in, over the course of the next hour-and-a-half
>during that time, I gave everyone a chance to introduce each other and mingle
>O’connell and his boys in blue were giving out kevlar flak vests and loaded plate carriers, first come, first served
>along with whatever extra rifles, shotguns, and pistols they had
>mostly mystery meat semi-auto AR-15s and ‘10’s, Mossberg 500’s, some older Ithaca 37’s
>as for pistols, they were all .40 S&W’s, surprised that we hadn’t left this behind in the early 2000s
>mostly Smith & Wesson M&P’s, but also Glocks, some Beretta Px4 and 96A1’s
>they even had some old .357 magnum revolvers, S&W Model 65’s to be exact
>with the excess room in my pack from not lugging my FN FAL anymore, I took one of the 4-inch revolvers
>along with a speedloader, and a 20-round box of .357 ammo
>revolver was fully loaded already, but switched on safety, ammo was the good shit
>158 grain Buffalo Bore full metal jacket, I’ve seen it absolutely destroy bears and deer, back in Tennessee

>as much as we could be professional, we were almost all civilians here
>no need for any conduct or dress regulations, at all
>with exceptions for the obvious stuff
>please don’t rape anyone, loot people that are still alive, don’t kill people for no good reason, et cetera
>while everyone was chilling, there was one thing left to do, before heading back to the chase
>we now had four working trucks, which we could use to take a load off of Sarah’s whole magic convoy thing
>so I took four of the Rough Riders, along with the DoE team for a buddy-system thing
>then told everyone to spread out and find cargo trailers to attach, like U-Haul’s or whatever
>Tom went off with a technician named Hartmann
>this one programmer volunteered to ride with me
>she introduced herself first, name was Alice Rogers
>and boy, did she have quite the grip on her handshake
>we all decided on what directions to head towards, and to maintain comms through our police truck radios
>tried to put some music on through the CD player, but the only CD in the truck was a Willie Nelson “Best Of” album
>hit the shuffle button

(Now Playing : On The Road Again by Willie Nelson https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBN86y30Ufc )

>I picked south, as I had just remembered a place
>with the massive influx of new “troops”, I realized that we might run out of weapons to give out
>I had severely underestimated how many people were willing to join our fight
>I did think back over my speech though
>did I say anything cringe?
>I couldn’t tell, I’ve never done much public speaking before
>oh hell, now I was going to spend all day second-guessing every word I said there
>we needed to find a place that would have all the guns we’d ever need, so long as it wasn’t ransacked yet
>maybe even ammunition too
>and the closest place for that, was the Sons of Liberty Gun Works storefront and manufacturing plant
>right on the corner of where Pleasanton Road splits and makes Moursund Boulevard
>yes, that’s right
>an AR-15 factory
>deep within the barrio
>just me, little miss Geek Squad, and a trailer hitch-equipped Ford F-250
>what could possibly go wrong?