Wake of the Dead | Three

Prologue

Thunderous rumbling was the only thing the man could hear as he continued down the otherwise empty road. The hot sun beat down on the back of his neck, leaving a painful streak of red, as if his skin had been scraped away with sandpaper. Sweat beaded against his forehead and onto his shirt, soaking it through. The flamethrower that rested between his shoulder blades was growing uncomfortably heavy, relentlessly tapping against his back with the vibration of the motor.

Off the side of the road a mile or so ahead, a modest building rested. There was a horse, two motorcycles and a rundown truck all halted in front of it. The man narrowed his eyes as he arrived to his destination, veering off the road. The ground beneath him was rough and bumpy, chattering his teeth against each other until he clenched his jaw firmly. Slowing the vehicle to a stop, the man set one leg on the ground and swung off of the bike, kicking the stand into place.

After taking count of his inventory, he made his way to the front door of the quaint building. Once, it had been a good resting stop for long car trips. But after Last Day when the biter's appeared, a good friend of his had turned it into a bar. It was still a resting place, but this time it was better—it had alcohol. For a hefty price, of course. Alcohol wasn't exactly easy to make or find—at least, he didn't think so.

Pushing his way through the heavy glass door after making sure all of his supplies were counted out, he took a few moments to admire the place. Yes, it might have had a few suspicious red stains on the floor and walls, but other than that it was quite welcoming. On the farthest end of the building was an old ripped up couch and two pool tables. The center of the bar was focused on dining, with booths and worn-down tables.

The scarlet-red, plastic-y surface of the barstool he sat in was peeling away. He could see the cream-colored foam peeking through. "Took you long enough," The woman behind the bar said. She had dark skin and black hair, shaped into dreadlocks that pulled back into a braid. "I sent that courier after you a few days ago."

"He didn't deliver the message, but the girl who killed him did." The man reassured the bartender with a quick nod. "Oooh, is that vodka I see?" His figertips itched with excitement, tapping against the counter. "Kaeya, you've got no idea how long I've gone without getting shitfaced."

The woman named Kaeya shook her head, an amused smile playing its way across her lips. She quickly jerked the bottle away from the man as he tried to grab at it. "Calm down, Rixon. You're not getting drunk," Her smile widened, "I've got something more exciting for you."

"Oh?"

"A new bounty."

Rixon's heart nearly skipped a beat, his excitement only growing. "Oh please, do tell." His grin faltered, fading into a frown when he saw the look on Kaeya's face. "What?"

"This one is dangerous, Rixon." Kaeya said sternly, all previous signs of amusement wasted away. "He killed nearly a whole camp of Silence."

Rixon's lips parted, not being able to fully process everything being said. He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with a laugh, "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. You're telling me that rumor is true?"

"Yea, I've got the pictures to prove it." Kaeya reached beneath the counter and slammed down several developed polaroid photos onto the bar, flipping them to face Rixon.

Most people would have felt sympathy for the poor sods, but Rixon felt nothing. If anything, he wanted to laugh. Laugh until he cried. The photos showed several men and woman, their corpses strewn across the ground in a camp of The Silence. In one shot, there were a few biters huddled around a body. A few of the corpses had violent stabs, throats slit or necks broken. There was the body of a man riddled with countless bullet holes. The last was possibly the most disturbing—a man tied to a wooden pole with his hands behind him. Bruises and cuts riddled his body, obviously tortured—his throat was slit and his head hung down lifelessly.

"Am I supposed to feel anything for the fuckers who killed my wife?" Rixon demanded, a snarl wrinkling at his nose and his fist clenched. "If anything, I'd let em' keep doing what he's doing."

"Well," Kaeya shrugged, "Whoever he is, he's after something. Only description I got was," She glanced up to check if Rixon was listening—he was. "About six feet tall, maybe a bit taller. Muscular build, ex military, weird haircut. Blue eyes, branded."

"Branded?"

Kaeya nodded. "Branded, somewhere on his neck."

"Like I said," Rixon snorted, "Why should I want to bring him in? Even if I could."

Kaeya tapped on the bar with her long nails for a few split seconds, then continued. "The reward is a stallion of your choice, from The Mistress' own pick. Full tack. Ammunition and a weapon of your choice, food rations and a signed declaration to any Silence camp that you're welcome for a night if you need a place to stay."

Rixon's brows raised. "All for one guy? Must be hard to catch..." His voice faded as he looked at the pictures again. Without another second to spare he said, "I'll do it. Where was he last seen?"

"Somebody in Biter's Coast said they spotted him there. Other than that, no more reports. Chances are he picked up some supplies and went on his way." Kaeya shrugged, "Only other thing I know is that he's got to be injured to some extent and," She grinned, "He stole The Mistress' best stallion."

Rixon barked out a laugh, "Well, I guess I better get going then."

"No alcohol?"

"Not this time." Rixon stood up, heading to the front door of the bar. Before he left he looked over his shoulder, "I've got a bounty to catch."