by Samuel Anthony Reilly Stark
We had been sitting in those damnable bushes for hours with our vision specs, and itched. My faced itched from the branches and my arm itched because we were about to do something monumentally dangerous.
“Alright Boss, those scouts we hired don’t seem to have gone gringo on us. Those bandits are definitely prepping to go out on a large scale raid in a few hours. They shouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Once they are gone we can get in there and free those people they took captive. Easy peasy.” I didn’t believe my own pep talk, and Max sure as Susan didn’t either. Believe me, Susan was the cockiest most opinionated bastard I knew. He never backed down without a fight, and this was his plan.
The plan was simple really. Wait for an hour or two after they leave. Sneak or talk our way in. Start a fire wherever they go to take a crap. That will be the signal to take out the bandit guards up on the walls with arrows so fewer of the bandits are alerted. From there we would just need to find the captives and book it out of there. What could go wrong?
Sand blowing around like a tornado that had no business being where it was is what went wrong. And I hate sand. It gets into everything. Your noms, your eyes, your mouth, your gear, and especially the delicate inner workings of machines. The sand storm must have been a spirit who summoned the wind, because it was a clear orange sky not an hour earlier. Then again what do I know about spirits? The closest I’ve ever gotten to a spirit was that shaman I spent the night with. That was one heck of a camp fire.
I turned to my friend already knowing the answer, “What do you want to do Boss? This makes an already difficult task even more dangerous. That place is locked down harder than a C.U.C.K. base on the Fifth of Whiskey.”
Max just gave me the usual incredulous look when he knew my question was rhetorical before saying, “Of course we still save them. Those are Wulfen that were captured. You know just as well as I do that those assholes are going to treat them like shit just because they have fur.”
“Okay then,” I said, “almost new plan. We sneak in a previously discussed, but now we just shoot the fuckers. Does anyone have a few lanterns and a holocaust cloak? I have an idea for a distraction.”
… two hours, a lot of ammo, and one stinky bonfire later…
“They are not going to be happy when they get home. By the way Susan, what the heck is a Chalupacabra?”