Page TwoMature

Less profile if someone is waiting on a wall to get you.

            He inched away from the wall and stepped more forward till he was standing in front of the abandoned business.  No movement, good.  With a few steps and a quick jump, Sixxer was over the counter and ducking behind it. 


            He had thirty seconds to clear the kitchen and office area behind the one door.  Too small of a space for the rifle, so he swung his rifle to his side and drew his pistol.  with a few doorstops placed, the area was cleared and secure.  He swung the cargo bag from around his back and began putting anything he could into it.   He saw no medical supplies, probably some other SCAV had taken it already. Good thing about kitchens is there was always metal and knives.  He poured out the contents of the bag only to the floor.  Pillow-cases, sheets, towels, and old clothes.  Everything got wrapped in cloth, the goal was to be quiet.  Just because he didn't see anyone doesn't mean they weren't around some other corner.  He grabbed as many pans as he could.  Make the cooks happy and you always have a good meal, or at least a large one.  Everything was valuable, but he still had other spots to clear.  He grabbed all of the knives he could find and shoved them into the bag before throwing it over his shoulder again.  He took his pistol out of the holster again and took one last scan of the kitchen, was there anything specific they needed?  He took his scarf and wiped his face, beads of dusty clumps had formed beads of dusty sweat on his face and stuck in his beard.  Time to move.



            Sixxer inched out the door, crouched to stay behind the counter.  Slowly standing up, he swept the clearing again.  No movement.  A hop onto the counter and back to the wall.  Onto the next one.


            Sixxer's breath stopped as quickly as his feet, which was instant.  His scout's command perked up the hairs on the back of Sixxer's neck.  His eyes now darted to every point in the room without turning his head.

            "Movement, southeast.  Long hall."

            Behind me. 

            "Two large-slow.  One fast.  Have to be Outcasts."

            Sixxer was in a terrible spot.  No cover, against a flat wall in between two counters, prime cover. His breath came back in one deep and slow gasp.

            "They're almost to the food court."

            No time to clear another section.  He'd run to the other one if he needed it, but sometimes they are just passing through these old buildings.  Nothing that an Outcast would need here.  He pivoted on the balls of his boots and went down to one knee.  Past the ocean of tables and chairs, two large men emerged from the hallway of shops.  Twice the size of a normal man, these two were donned with metal plating.  Maybe for armor, maybe for aesthetics.  Sixxer never understood their rationale.  He trained his rifle onto the closer one.  One was carrying what used to be a sign post, now a club.  They walked and talked and paid no attention to the little man that was across the clearing, ready to shoot them both if needed.  The other one seemed to be without a weapon, though wearing more metal.  Thick chains held it all onto his body, and multiple pieces hammered together made some type of helmet.

            "Is that a wheel on his head?"

The End

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