Her hands dug into the soil, scraping at whatever she could as she hastily threw load after load of dirt onto the burning wreckage. The piercing wails of her old raider allies and sounds of the Honno coughing up their bone fragments became dulled and muddied in Serratia’s ears as she did her best to honor the Erie and Cara. She didn’t know anything about them, but that was far from the point of her grief. Her plan had been full of cracks from the start, and two innocent women had paid the price.

“Fuck!” Serratia swore, slamming her fist into the dirt as she covered the last of the stray flames. The scent of burnt skin still lingered in the air, a grim aroma that she wouldn’t soon forget. What was the point of putting up with the scummiest people in the Barrens if she couldn’t even save a few lives along the way?

The screams seemed to grow more infrequent, gunfire was less rapid. It seemed the population of the camp was dwindling down to a few lone survivors fighting for their lives. Serratia didn’t care though. She knew every single person remaining was an awful human being. The lowest of trash. Con artists. Thieves. Murderers. That included herself.

The sound of metal being crushed underfoot by a pair of bird-like talons brought the woman back to dusky reality. She turned to look behind her as one of the Honno perched onto a toppled buggy and brought its massive wings back into its body, pulling them inside small slits on its torso. Were it not for the raging fires that scattered the landscape, the navy-blue feathers would have rendered it almost invisible.

The Honno stared at her for a moment, its head tilted to the side so that one of its eyes could clearly see her. A dull purple iris blinked at Serratia, the rectangular pupil reflecting the crestfallen woman as it sized her up. Humans were easy targets who rarely posed a threat. Shutok could be a mixed bag.

Serratia slowly stood to her feet, clenching her fist as the buzzsaws on her knuckles whined to life. She relaxed her hand before they revved up too much, her shoulders dropping. Maybe she should stop fighting against this ordeal and do what God was asking of her.

Die.

In retrospect, Serratia knew she deserved it. Everyone had their place in life. Being a broken, murderous cheat was hers. She had upset the balance by trying to play hero, and the world was punishing her for stepping out of life.

The Honno hopped off of the buggy, feet dragging in the sand as it waddled towards her. It had to have been at least twice as tall as her, the avian’s wide breast puffing out as it fanned its boney tail in a show of dominance. Normally Serratia would have risen to the challenge, but as Wall had said;

She was just a dog tugging too hard on the leash.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The Honno was now only a few feet away from her, craning its head in a way to see if the Shutok was even going to put up a fight. The beast let out a low gurgle from its throat, beak opening wide with a snap as it began to force its throat to extend. It hacked and coughed, driving up the anxiety as the appendage slowly revealed itself. The Honno lowered its gaze as much as it could, pointing it’s esophagus at Serratia’s face like the barrel of a loaded gun.

Serratia stared it down, unwavering. At this point, the most good she could do for the world was get rid of herself. One less bandit to worry about meant maybe the Barrens might eventually be worth a damn.

The esophagus began to tremble and flex, the Honno letting out an almost pained retch as saliva ran down the gap of its beak like a waterfall. Whatever it was preparing for her, Serratia hoped it would at least kill her in one shot.

White light filled the air, enough to illuminate the twitching sphincter inside the Honno’s throat as it began to fire. Serratia barely had time to spot the source of the floodlights as the rumbling of an engine grew closer and closer. A dark silhouette clung to the side ladder of the vehicle wielding some sort of weapon high above their head.

As the vehicle passed by, Serratia’s eyes quickly adjusted to recognize it. The large wheels kicked up a dust storm as it drove past, the passenger rearing his arm back as far as he could.

The Gemmer.

Serratia watched as Rontu gripped the safety railing with one hand while he precariously balanced on the ladder. He brought his arm down, slamming the rock pick sideways into the Honno’s head. The spike of the pick hit the bullseye; or Honnoseye in this case. It punctured into the hazy eyeball, catching on the inside of the creature’s skull before Rontu abruptly wrenched his arm back.

The Honno’s head came with the motion, jerking upwards as it launched the bone spike it had been preparing for Serratia. The projectile shot like an arrow and barely missed Serratia’s shoulder, hitting a nearby shipping container with enough force to crumple it with a forceful implosion.

The monster let out a disgustingly mournful wail, the esophagus flailing and vibrating as it spewed cerulean blood across Serratia’s torso. Rontu didn’t relent, hopping off of the Gemmer and using his downward momentum to tug the creature’s head back even further. The eye socket didn’t hold, the skull fracturing and sending brain matter flying into the sand as Rontu ripped the rock pick from the Honno’s head.

The avian flailed for a moment, trying to find its bearings before Rontu’s boot placed itself against the fractured head. It didn’t take much strength to bring the Honno to a swift end, blood and brains squelching out from underneath the Shutok’s foot.

Serratia stood stunned, the blood of the Honno slowly dripping off of her chest and splattering tiny droplets into the dirt around her feet.

Rontu flicked the rock pick several times, trying to rid his tool of the viscous fluids he had made a mess with.

Her throat seemed to be just as shocked as the Honno’s as she fought for a few select words. Serratia choked for a moment, unable to believe it.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her tone almost insulted and demanding.

Rontu flung the pick into the ground, the spike burying itself easily and holding it in place. The surrounding fires glinted like small cinders on his reflective helmet as he looked at her.

“What I want.”

Serratia could almost see the jackass grinning behind the helmet.