Smack-dab, in the Middle of Nowhere (Waste Stories #1)

26. ...Run in Circles, Scream and Shout (Part 2)

Bert took a deep breath. "Hurl!"

Her voice tumbled through the chaos like a drunk homing missile, bouncing from building to building until it had silenced the entire courtyard and landed somewhere near its target. Bandits paused mid-fight to stop and ogle, hands frozen around necks, feet ceasing on rib cages, and the occasional mouth drooling on its opponent's ear. Only the bonfire at the battle's heart dared to defy the trend, concerned more by its fleshy feast than trivial human matters.

"Hurl you overgrown sack of shit, I challenge you."

Bert stood, feet apart, hand on her weapon, and metal finger pointed straight at the chief. Her brows had come so far down into a glare that they were almost a single strip of hair. Her blue eyes danced with a dark, orange glow in the fire's light. Her trigger finger begged to be released, to satiate its most primal of desires, but the man on the trailer needed to accept her challenge first. Otherwise it was just straight up murder. No, a pointless bit of banter needed to take place first before murder would become politics.

The meaty bandit known as Hurl rose to his full height on top of the metal trailer, one solitary eye wide open, pupil small. What was left of his face twitched uncontrollably, the emotion behind the expression unreadable. It was a face even a mother could hate.

Bert stood and watched as the man, cyclopean eye fixated on her in its best impression of an Overlord, took a lumbering step towards the edge of the metal trailer and stepped off with a loud thud. A weapon dangled at his waist, bumping loosely off his leg as the man moved. It had a short handle made from an old wrench, maybe a foot and a bit long, with what looked like three individual Old World axe blades welded together at one end. Rust had discoloured the blade's edge, or rather, blades' edges. Bert felt intimately familiar with the weapon. Her skin started to ache beneath its metal prosthetic, and it just made her madder.

Hurl searched Bert's face, either scowling, laughing or quaking with fear - it was really hard to tell what was going on. He took his time, taking one long footstep after another towards her, lip twitching with maybe anger, but possibly also lust. It may also have been trying to smile. Either way, the point here was that he was emoting in some fashion, and moving slowly towards Bert, who tensed, her body feeling impatient, wanting to be let loose.

But she needed the words.

The man's face twisted in on itself in what could be assumed was a frown, his lips mouthing the word "Who?" in silence. Wind wandered around in the background, hissing through the corpses of Dunce Town carrying an icy chill. Ancient wood moaned with displeasure as it fought back against the pressure, bringing the entire historic town to life with the long, slow conversation of dead houses. What they were saying to each other was anybody's guess.

Then Hurl got slapped by a wall.

More correctly, it appeared that he was slapped by a wall. His hunched, predator shape suddenly shot upright, shoulders back, feet sticking to the dirt. His one eyebrow fought its way up his head while, in a separate but equally difficult struggle, his lips clawed open into an O shape. Blood flushed into his face and threatened to pop out the seams. But it was laughter that instead broke the surface tension.

First there was a "bah", which slipped out without the body noticing. Then a "hah" followed suit, but it shattered the foundations beneath his expression and the whole face collapsed downwards. Another "hah" rolled out third, and then another, and another, and soon the bandit chief known as Hurl was locked in genuine hysterics, doubling over and slapping his knees. His face danced to the tune, but with quite an incredibly poor sense of rhythm, revealing a wide, toothless mouth.

Bert bared her teeth, while nobody else in the camp dared so much as whisper. Even Doris, her machete locked around a bandit's neck, had stopped smiling.