Utterly Mad

Unshaken

The duo woke up bright and early, getting a lean breakfast of crispbread and some goat cheese. As they went back to the stable, Gil had a little surprise for her. “You can ride a horse, right?” He asked suddenly, Zulu gave him a look. “...Vaguely, why…?” Gil grinned from ear to ear, “Won a fella's horse off him in a card game. Took care of ‘im but always took Beetle out. He's a relaxed fella, now he’s yours.” He explained, as he strolled deep into the halls of the stable.

Inside one of the stalls was a tall, grey, and muscular Dutch Draft horse. It was already saddled and ready to go, and the two set off towards one of Gil's leads. An old bar in The Long Empty, southwest. A taphouse before the cataclysm, one of the few buildings still standing in that barren wasteland. Gil's lead said that Oscar had some goings on under the table over there.

As they rode towards the bar, Zulu let out a huff. “What’s wrong?” Gil asked, and shot a glare at him. “Why’re we going through this lead bullshit? I know where the fuckin’ factory is!” Gil rose a brow, “Can you point it out on a map?” He said, glaring back. Zulu looked away, “N-no…” She grumbled, scratching at her scales. “Thought so.” Gil retorted, picking up the pace. They thought they were alone, but little did they know.

They were being trailed.

An aging man knew the roads well, and where the partners were going. One of Oscar's lackeys heard Gil asking about him, and the Lackey gave the info to Oscar, then to him. His name was Cyrus O'Toule, he was from the states. Older than most in Australia, sharper too. He trailed ahead, he knew where they were going.

A few hours later, the two neared a ruined city block, much of it was rubble due to the attempts to slow the triffid infestation. A few high rise towers remain, albeit ruined; And Cyrus was in one of them, he worked the bolt of a scoped rifle. A Krag Jørgensen rechambered for .30-30 winchester, with a fine maple stock and a well carved scene of a buck on the butt. The aged man cradled the rifle as he sat criss-cross, loading an engraved round in he peered through the scope first at Gi, who was obscured by foliage. Then he aimed at a rusting Yield sign, and fired.

A loud crack filled the air before a loud twang replaced it as the bullet struck the sign and struck Gil in the hip. The shot knocked him flat off his Kelpie, just as Zulu dove off her steed. Gil groaned out, clutching his hip as he scrambled to cover. “He fuckin’ shot me!” He groaned, drawing his sidearm. Zulu scanned the buildings, before spouting “Sixth floor of the hotel, far left.” Another shot cracked through the air, blowing off a chunk of concrete of the wall Zulu was braced behind.

There was a distinct delay between shots, Zulu pulled the BAR from her shoulder. “How’s the wound?” She asked, Gil groaned as he clutched the bleeding hole. “Bleeding… could be worse.” Zulu trailed to the other side of the building. “Keep him pinned, I'll flank him.” She ordered, before Gil waved her off. “Aye, go kick his shit in…” He rasped, before he blindly fired back at the sniper.

Cyrus ducked in his perch, the Fish was keeping him pinned. Smart, He thought. 100 Dollars each, not much but it should be easy. There was a pause and Cyrus popped back out again, taking another shot. A narrow miss, “Bah… Ahm gettin’ old…” He drawled.

Zulu was already at the office building, scrambling up the fire escape and vaulting through a window. She stalked down the hallway, rifle gripped tightly in her hands.

    Cyrus was keeping Gil pinned. The well-oiled bolt worked smoothly, then his eyes widened. “Where in the gatdamn hell did the girl go?” Zulu burst in and cracked Cyrus with the butt of her rifle.

    When Cyrus came to he had his hands cuffed behind his back with two mutants glaring at him. Gil had his hip-wound patched up. The fish-man winced a bit a she gestured with his Jericho, “Why the fuck didja shoot me?” Cyrus shrugged his shoulders. “Munneh. Ya do th'same shit.”[/color] He drawled as he looked Gil in the eye. “From who?” He asked, “Whom.” Cyrus corrected, “Oscar O'Malley. 1000 for the both've ya’s” Gil frowned at that. “I’m only worth a thousand?”[/color] Cyrus shook his head, “Naw, pardner. 500 each. Roughly.” Gil frowned intensified. “Dammit… How does uhh… Twelve-fifty sound?” Zulu shot a glare at Gil, “The fuck- Why?” The two argued back and forth for a moment, Gil explaining another would be nice to have.

    Cyrus interrupted them, “Get to y'all's point!” he barked. The two glanced at each other, before Zulu rolled her eyes and muttered a “Fine…” Gil unlocked Cyrus’ cuffs and gave him the money. The two shook hands and nodded, the deal agreed upon and Cyrus’ rifle and pistol belt returned to him.

    The three picked up Cyrus’ mount, a tortoise-shell colored Llama with a simple black-leather saddle with a rifle holster and a pair of saddlebags. The marksman packed up before the three disembarked for the long empty.