After searching the twelfth house, Salt had been strightening the newly acquired shirt and pants as best as he could with his one working arm. All things considered, he was in a better position than when he first arrived; despite his injured shoulder, he had looted a real trove in comparison to the usual schmucks who couldn't keep their mitts off of crap that wasn't theirs. Quid pro fucking quo. He reflected before taking another swig of the canteen. Wilkes then focused his attention to the future.
Stretching out his resources, he had enough food and water for a week. Yet his shoulder will probably require up to a month on its own devices; that and returning to what counted as civilization would probably take up to weeks more if he didn't know where the hell he was. All things considered he was caught between two unfavorable options... But after a while, he could no longer have that freedom; something else caught his attention.
Over the distance, he heard a faint whirring sound that came from every direction. A powerful wind blew into the village; he had to keep a hand on his hat to prevent it from blowing off. Considering how dry and inert the air was, it was an obvious change; something is either here or coming. But what?
Lowering the sunglasses' frames, Salt scanned the surroundings for any change. Dirt and sand were strewn in the gales, loose doors were being pushed open by the sheer force, and the shriveled husks of cacti were nearly shoved off their roots. Nothing in the horizon showed anything; nothing that could generate that movement... Then Wilkes looked up, and he immediately found the source: a large helicopter that was landing soon.
He stowed in one of the houses and observed from a window as the craft touched down. Looking at the occupants, his heart skipped; more behemoths. Fuck! It was a cadre of five Blue-eyes each one armed to the teeth like the man-beast he'd finally recognized as one of them. They were here for something and by the looks of things they were ready to kill anything that moves. Including a certain Red.
Frantically Mr. Salt was tearing through every possible tactic in his own head; anything that can give a sliver of hope.
Can't go head-on; that's goddamn suicide... What about hiding in the walls?... No. They're a squad; they're going to comb every nook and cranny and I'd be delaying the inevitable... Mines... No. Only two left; not enough to kill them all... C'mon!... What else!?... Flee??... Can't fucking flee either!... I will, not die here
"Move out!" c-cl-click
The safeties were removed, and he felt his heart seize. They were on the move, and Wilkes had no time to waste. He left the house through the back window on the opposite end of where the Blues were. He fled from their direction, hobbling as fast as he can with his head beating with a dull pain, his muscles twitchy with fear, and lungs breathing rapidly. They were going to hear the footsteps and coordinate their movements to prevent any escape; if they see him, he's dead.
But as he fled, a thought ran through his head; it was absolutely crazy, but it was better than running for his life. He pulled out his gun and fired randomly in the distance.
-BANG BANG BANG-
Nine shots... It would've been a waste of ammo, but for now he had to make the sacrifice. He could hear the increased rate of footsteps; they had found him, or at least found the gunfire.
This time, he wasn't running a long stretch; he was running back to the house where the dead Blue was. Vaulting the window, he felt the familar piece of glass rip away at his pants again. He was pissed at the unfortunate luck but there was no time to blame fate. With as much dexterity he could muster, he stripped all of his clothes, then removed the uniform off the corpse. Then with the same speed he dressed the body with his tattered suit and tie while he assembled the Blue's armor; it was far from a complete fit - what with the vest feeling like a cloak, the pants on the verge of falling, and the helm having enough headroom to bounce his head like a super-ball - but it would have to do. As the finishing touch, he drew the accquired rifle and removed the safety.
-BANG BANG BANG BANG BA- CRACK-
Bullets riddled the corpse drawing new blood, but the gun had splintered in Wilkes' hand. His body had felt a more painful force digging into him, enough to slam him against the floor. There was no blood, but the shrapnel had dug into his armor and helm like what had happened to the Blue-eye behemoth.
Seconds after, the whole squad of Blues bursted in from every direction, guns pointed at everything looking human. With his body well and truly spent, Salt could only watch as they scanned the area.
Think I'm a friendly... Think I'm a friendly...
***
"Sir! We've got a body. And a soldier down."
In the helicopter, a hulking armoured humanoid frowned at the report; he had hoped that they would arrive and recover their units before the soldiers got killed. But attempt after goddamn attempt, it just seemed that fate wanted to see him suffer. "Check his status!" He barked at the vox. Seconds pass, and he hoped that he was still alive...
"Got a live one. Must have been pinned down before we got here."
Finally, a fucking survivor. "Medic, patch him up. Corporal, when he's done, bring him to the raptor. All others resume search priorities." The commander sighed with relief as he relaxed back into the pilot's seat. With the one guy left, maybe he can give us the scope of the mongrels preying here.
