Even though most were hungover, the citizens of Gardewall found the energy to grace the squad with an extravagant goodbye. While everyone else had been drinking the night away, a few of the older ladies had been working with wool and needles. August had noticed it at some point in the night, but it never crossed his mind that they might’ve been crafting each squad member their own personal poncho which is precisely what they did.
The squad was lined up at the front gate, all packed up and ready to go. Beth stopped them with a grin and announced that they had one last thing to show them before they departed. That was when the old ladies emerged from the crowd with bundles of folded wool in their arms.
“We have all prayed to Vanno that your journey goes well and that no harm comes to you,” Beth said loud enough for the gathered crowd to hear. They clapped in agreement. “But before you leave, there is one piece of our hospitality you’ve yet to enjoy. So… enjoy.”
The crowd applauded and split directly down the middle leaving room for twenty young men and twenty young women to hop and skip in pairs in the newly vacated space. They were garbed in what the vintage folk might consider traditional clothing—long, thick dresses for the women and brown, three-piece suits for the men. Music burst from somewhere behind the crowd, and the pairs began to dance. It was an upbeat song, and the movements of the performers matched it. They pranced about switching from partner to partner, always male with female, and they did it with a beaming smile on each of their faces.
The onlooking crowd bobbed to the beat. While the music and dancing were happening, the old ladies delivered their gifts to their intended squad member. General Wolf’s was a drape of pure black. Belmont’s was brown with green leaves knitted in here and there. August’s was red. If the color had any specific meaning, it was lost on August, but he accepted the gift with gratitude nonetheless.
Dalton West’s was black like Wolf’s but had the words ‘Killz on Wheelz’ knitted across it. That was the movie's name in which West played a grumpy outlaw who became enemies with a notorious biker gang known as the Chrome Chargers. He laughed and donned the gift immediately.
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Rosek exited her mech suit to accept the gift. Her poncho had seven stripes—one for every color of the rainbow. “Like your hair,” the old lady said while the gift changed hands. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’ll make sure to bring an extra bottle of dye next time I visit,” Hilde joked.
The old lady laughed. “Can you imagine me with hair like that? I look forward to it, dear.”
Sterling’s was black like Wolf’s and West’s, but his had a white skull on a bottom corner. August wondered why he was the only man to receive a non-black poncho, but he quickly got bored of the thought. The exterminator took the gift but frowned. “I won’t be able to wear it.”
The music and dancing stopped. The song had come to a natural conclusion, but it was timed perfectly with Sterling’s declaration. Everyone was looking at him. “I’m sorry. It’s a beautiful gift. It’s just…” he pointed a thumb to the tank of swirling gas on his back.
One of the dancing women skipped toward him and took the poncho. She wrapped it around his hips and tied it like a sash. A loose flap fell over his right thigh and displayed the white skull perfectly. She kissed the exterminator’s cheek and skipped back to her dance partners. Sterling chuckled and scratched the spot where he’d been kissed. “That settles that, I suppose.”
Another song and dance started as the gates opened. Beth spoke a few words to the squad, a few more to West, and a lot more to Farscout, who’d volunteered to be their guide. The young red-skinned man handed his shotgun to Beth, and she gave him a rifle. The weapon was polished and looked like new. It’s bolt action caught the sun as he slung the gun over his shoulder. The two shared a deep embrace, and Farscout looked at Wolf afterward.
General Wolf nodded, and Farscout led the way. Rosek was back in her mech suit, and the squad was off. They passed beneath the gate, trading waves with the citizens and shouting thanks. A loud chorus rose behind them as they began the final stretch toward the nest. The people of Gardewall sang:
Beware the horned devil.
It stalks from underground
Titanic, quick and nimble
It never makes a sound
The ground will shake and rumble
by then, it is too late
Remain both brave and humble,
to avoid a ghastly fate...