Revelations of a Grey Coat Hunter

1

     "Do something!"

     "I'm open to suggestions?"

     Another explosion. Bits of debris and drywall rubble created a choking cloud of dust, drifting around their poor shelter to further coat the two men who cowered behind it. One raised his head, the white Stetson that covered it shedding dust at the movement. He wiped a grimy sleeve over his goggles, removing a layer of dust and allowing him to glare at his partner. "This is all your fault, you know."

     The other man wore a Stetson hat that used to be black. Now, it was so covered in filth that the color was barely recognizable. "My fault?" he spat through his respirator as he glared back at his partner. "You're the one who threw the grenade at it!"

     "After it charged," the first man pointed out, his voice muffled by his own respirator, "which it didn't do until you decided to mouth off at it."

     "How was I supposed to know it would charge us?"

     "Why the hell wouldn't it?"

     A low, guttural roar made further talking impossible. The two clamped their hands over their ears and huddled down a bit more. Outside, the wall was struck again. The entire building shook. More pieces of the ceiling above them fell to join the mess on the floor. The lights flickered and went out. Now, a familiar, ominous smell began to fill the room. A moment later, indicator lights flashed on the monitors attached to their wrists.

     "Oh, perfect," Conrad groaned, looking at the monitor. He shook his head, causing even more debris to fall from his white Stetson. "Now the gas line is broken. That's just perfect, Arthur. Next time you want to shoot off your mouth, just shoot yourself instead, would you? Then I could at least throw your body at it."

     "You're the moron who tried that, you suicidal bastard, not me." Arthur actually looked indignant. "I know you have shit for brains, Conrad. I've smelled them!"

     "I'm a bit more concerned with the shit I'm smelling right now."

     "Why, did you mess yourself again?"

     Ignoring Arthur, Conrad focused on his breathing, forcing it to slow down enough to think. His adrenaline was causing his heart to race and his breath to come in pants. That would never do. Tapping into his training, he willed his body into a calmer state. Once that was accomplished, he dared to peek around the breakfast island of the broken house where they were currently hiding.

     The thing outside had stopped its attack on the crumbling walls long enough to tear up part of the driveway. Chunks of asphalt flew left and right, the marks of powerful claws gouged deep into their surface. Conrad crawled out on his stomach. His grey coat was closer to white now, well-dusted with bits of plaster from the broken ceiling. The floppy white hat protected his face somewhat, as did the goggles and respirator he wore. He was grateful for the filters now. Without them, he'd be choking on the dust filling the room. But it was the gas he was worried about. Any moment, the thing outside would do something to create a spark. Then things would really get interesting.

     Conrad crawled faster, making for the exit from the kitchen. He heard scuffling and knew Arthur was behind him. Right now, he couldn't be bothered enough to care. He quickly pulled himself through the exit and dared to get up into a low crouch, keeping well below the windows as he made his way into the next room. "Tell me you called them," he said softly.

     "Of course I called them," Arthur hissed back. "While you were sitting there navel-gazing, I was sending out an SOS. I'm not an idiot, Conrad."

     "That's debatable. I have no idea how we're going to explain this to the Board of Overseers."