The Queen was dead. The zombie grisly ate her brains out and left the rest for the seagulls. Killin company had managed to successfully tag another royal game. The coroner of the woods zipped Elizabethy the 13th into a body bag. The sheriff and a few men stared at the outlaws who had found her mauled apart. Killin Hood played with his mustache watching the scene unfold.

"I know those truckers we let through the wood tried to help her try to escape, and even worse as soon as the going got rough they used her as bait," said Killin Hood.

"We'll keep looking for them," said the sheriff.

"Of course, we can help hunt them to the very flat edges of this planet where hopefully the royal reward will be extremely large," said the big boss of Killin wood.

"You boys stay out of trouble or you will face the heat of the empire again. Area is closed to hunting and no rewards are being offered to bandits for anything as always. If I have my way there won't be any deals at all when you get raided this time," scolded the sheriff of the wild area. "Giddy Up" he yelled to his horse, departing after the hearse.

Killin Hood smiled, baring his yellowing teeth that resembled sharks.

"Yes sir, see you again real soon," he slyly called back.

The zombie bear continued rampaging throughout the swamp in a frenzy of agitation. Killin Hood's men had finally managed to stop it with a trap. It roared while swiping at a henchmen who dived narrowly avoiding being shaved. The hindquarters ensnared in sharp spikes kept it from taking another life.

"We will have a cage here soon, Goldenrod, now who's been a good girl," swooned the head zombie grizzly bear trainer, cracking his whip.

The zombie grizzly blasted them with saliva as it continued to rage. The whip tried to lash back, but was wound round a claw, and the man dragged towards death. He screamed being shredded while the other stayed back and awkwardly looked in the other direction waiting for the slow death to be delivered.

Kllin Hood bent to study tracks leaving the swamp, and walked to where the hot rod had melted. The woodsmen in hazmat suits studied the machine's guts burned by intense heat bubbling forth from beneath the planet. The ground was ripped apart everywhere in this area, filled with dirty water, plasma and other strange matter. One worker got stuck in the mud walking forward. He went tumbling overhead to struggle in a large puddle.

“Watch your steps men. COUGH. Anyway we saw the King come in here, and we have his bike. We’ve disposed of the Queen with the help of our beast, but he has disappeared from our trap without a trace,” said Killin Hood.

“Perhaps he is in the stomach of the bear or more likely melted in the wreck,” theorized the 2nd in charge, with a hiss.

A bandit lizard leaning against the abandoned bike flicking a long reptile tongue.

“No. The human king remains alive. He will be our biggest hunt yet, and the proudest trophy on my mantle, and I have a feeling I know where he is hiding out,” said Killin Hood, taking something out of his pocket.

“Aye,” said the henchmen standing around him.

Their boss clicked a button cashing in on one of his killstreaks.

“Care package inbound,” a static voice played from a speaker.

“Too bad I already used the chopper gunners fuel up earlier,” he paused, picking the device to his ear. “Where’s my k-9 unit I called in an hour ago,” he yelled.

***************

Meanwhile the flames of a campfire crackled revealing snowflakes falling down the side of the mountain. The big rig was parked for the night under cover of a large rock overhanging it. The winds were too fierce for the journey to continue until morning.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

A rusty knife delivered a puncture to a can of ham. Jed retrieved their supper by scooping the moist contents out. It plopped on an iron cooker heated by the fire. Mule lay on his back resting. The contents were cooking. Jed flipped over the thin layer of seared meat. Mule licked his lips in anticipation at the smells wafting to him.

Mule's wound had appeared to have stopped bleeding. Jed had recently applied a fresh bandage and his stead was awake standing on his injured leg. He limped over to Jed. The man fed the donkey what remained of raw food from the can, and soon the rest of it was cooked. They ate together warmed from the outside frost. The two moons lit the mountains, and the stars sparkled around them. Mule winced, his eyes hurt, his leg really hurt. That wasn't all his brain was very foggy ever since the Queen had dragged him to the core against his will.

“I’ll take a shift to watch over things, Jed you should get some sleep so you can drive good tomorrow,” said Mule.

“I suppose that is a good idea. Yawn.. As long as you're up for it friend,” said Jed, cleaning the pan with snow.

He returned to the camp, and stretched his arms back on a crate. Mule had him take out his harmonica and set it up on a stand. Jed made sure to save the hard-case of tools from his hot rod, and the hard-case containing his banjo. The donkey began to play a lonesome lullaby with no hands. Jed joined in a traditional tune about fires, mountains, flying swords, and moons. They played a few more folk songs written by slaves protesting the government.

Jed retired realizing the same problems written a hundred years ago still applied today. He placed his instrument in the heated cab where he ended up sleeping.

In the morning birds tweeted while Mule held an industrial hose in his mouth. He was pumping liquid brew from one tank into another. The jungle juice would act as liquid coolant, and lubricant for the big rig's crystal core engine. Meanwhile Jed double checked the chains around the two front tires.

“Alright, so here's where my trucking skills will really be tested while you still are injured,” said Jed, sliding back the seat, and lifting the wheel.

“I hope you’ve got what it takes,” said Mule, slamming the passenger door.

They lurched forward onto the dicey mountain pass. The smokestacks leaked into the clouds, as the tires climbed the ice road. The rays of the three suns were the closest either had ever been to reaching them forcing Mule to backseat. Jed's eyes were protected by his Epic branded trucking hat, and cool crystal glasses. The path eroded leaving only a narrow band to safety.

“Take it easy now, because this is a one strike and you're out of this type of deal,” said Mule.

“I can see that let me focus,” said Jed.

He gripped tight hold of the wheel, while taking as big a breath as possible to relax himself.The truck slowly inched along driving snow and gravel falling off road hundreds of feet below. Mule glanced out at the drop to certain death, and gulped. The road angled sideways tilting them to an angle, and teeth were gritted.

“Almost there, We got it,” said Jed, hands locked on the wheel, and eyes dead focused.

The cab almost cleared the danger. All that was left was the large vat of jungle juice hanging out in the elements. The wind whipped the trailer threatening to blow them off with it. Jed felt the power leaving the vehicle as they were sucked back. He shifted into first gear, and smashed on the pedal. The metal smoke stacks had turned bright red with the roaring fires. The truck slowly pulled itself up climbing the steep rock.

Jed sighed, as they cleared the hump to a flat roadway. They had made the trek to the top. The trees were absent now, except for little bushes. The snow was very thin up here, and so was the air.

“I wonder if we have air crystals aboard here in case the atmosphere gets too thin?” asked Jed.

“Actually I do have some gas masks back there in our inventory. Good idea, I'll go fetch them,” said Mule.

He adjusted the seat to climb further back of the cab. The truck lurched and the donkey smacked his head on a medical chest.

“Oh man I hope it’s smooth sailing soon, I'm not sure how much more bad fortune I can take,” said Mule.

He found the gas masks containing crystalized air and brought them back to the front. They both slapped them on for full breathing support. The truck had already reached what looked like the highest elevation of the road through the mountain, and the incline had started to go down.

Above the road on a peak three scouts crouched in hiding in winter camouflage. One of them looked on with a long crystal scope, but they all spied for the same boss.

“We’ve found the target, let's get back to where we have service,” said a man compacting his spying device.

They climbed aboard fast snow machines on treads zipping off towards the direction of the swamp and Killin Wood.

Here in a dark thicket things were going exactly to plan. The coroner of the woods escorted his latest autopsy project. His party included the sheriff for protection. They carried torches, some rode horses, and a few gripped blunderbusses. They were heading to the morgue before the family would be notified to come get their corpse. This was going to be the best paying job he ever did, as well as the first royal he cut up.

Suddenly a particularly toady looking Bootlicker of the party croaked out. A garrote wound out behind the neck dragging people into the shadows. A horse ran off dragging the flailing body of the sheriff impaled by a throwing knife while arrows cut down a few trying to run for cover. The coroner threw his arms up in surrender. He was executed along with everyone else.