Snippet #1577031

The raging sun baked the salty sand of the barrens across the plains, the heat rising off of the ground in waves it seemed. Every second the sun shone, it seemed to get hotter and hotter out. Which of course, was not exactly the most pleasing experience in the world. The wasteland seemed devoid of nearly any life... not even the salt-pines grew out here, which was nearly impossible to find somewhere they don't. The only thing left down the arid landscape, seeming to go on for miles, was what was left of the highway, which didn't even form a single piece of road anymore - cracks and shatters of the pavement had fractured it into rubble, rather. It was harsh goings for anyone....

Especially the two faded, bloody green uniforms that hunkered down the road, slumped over like zombies.

"I's bloo'y hoooooot...." The brittish man whined, his bloody sleeve coming up to run across his soaked forehead, drying it somewhat as he drudged forward, his body drooped over. His body was covered in still bleeding wounds, and wounds that were slowed in healing. He was almost literally soaked in blood. He jerked his hat from his sweat drenched head, tucking it into one of his jacket pockets. "I feel loik we've been wand'ren in dis desert fer DAYS. Ya fink dis sun could git any brigh'r?"

" Don't jinx us now, Jack." Said his partner, whom was only slightly LESS beaten and bloody. They had encountered a band of raiders a while back... the results were not favorable, and both he and his comrade were worse for wear. Jack especially had a fatal looking wound on his gut, where a hunting-rifle made it's mark through his gut. [color=#BF0000]"If you think about cool things, your body will cool off. Keep your mind off the heat. Think about the satisfaction we get from smashing the crap out of those thugs, earlier."

"Bloo'y righ', we showed 'oes tossers whoew's boss! 'At damn bunch'a loonies come o'er ta us demanding our cracker jacks! Dey even SAW our guns righ' bloo'y dere!" He said, straighting with sudden pride. "An' 'ose boys sure coul' run once we blew deir balls clean off!"

"That marksman hit you good, though. The one that was taking pot-shots at us the entire time? How are you holding up back there anyway?" The taller man said, tossing his gaze over his shoulder at the younger man. " You took a pretty nasty hit, you know. If it was anyone but you, I'd be a little more concerned." He added with a slight grin.

"Meh. Tha dizzies come an' go,bu' i's not too bad. Et could be a whole 'ell lots worse, lets me tell'ya. Tha' was a perfectly good kidney I lost!" The younger brit retaliated. He crossed his arms over his chest, covering a few more of his wounds. "Whot 'bout yerself, 'eh? I bet'cha you've 'ad yer share o' mad, murd'rus highwaymen."

"Why the hell did we go out there in the first place? For some kind of... something, right? They had something of value? I hope it's small... because you don't seem to be carrying anything. Especially no gasoline." The taller asked, taking his own cap off, and running a finger through his persperation soaked hair, before replacing his cap.

" I 'eard a rumor 'at dey had an acordion." Jack said, smirking. "An' I traded ya tha' stupid multi-tool ta go 'elp me check it out. Bugger if it wasn't hot air. Wasn't noffin' dere even remotely loik an acordion."

" Oh, that's right. I'm sorry, I have trouble remembering the results of idiocy." Leroy retaliated, begining to pull his arms across his chest as well.

The two continued their slow, wounded pace untill they saw their blessing on the horizon. What was actually a bunch of sparse huts and barely standing structure looked like paradise to the ex-rebels. They shared a look of excitement with each other, a few playful shoves, and picked up their pace (although about halfway there, Jack had to hold onto Leroy for support, his injuries were becoming more serious). The pair shuffled hastily into the town... if it was suitable to call the place such. Even though it was just a few rancid little huts in the middle of the oven of the desert, shade was shade, damnit! Leroy hoisted his wounded partner, whom weakly held onto him as they made there way into what looked like the center of the town... the bar... or inn... or whatever the hell it was was. The pair smiled... but their smiled dimmed as they saw the grim scene layed out before them. What looked like an auto-war had happened here in the town...

"Perhaps, Jackie... this is not the town she should stop to take a break in." Leroy said, looking at the man and woman standing beside the station wagon. Leroy sighed, and kept his head held high... hoping that his and Jack's Rebel uniforms wouldn't get him in trouble in this town as he helped the stumbling brit into the bar...making dangerous eye contact with the man and his female friend as he walked in. Once in, the rest of the bar goers didn't really seem to pay any mind to the wounded pair. Selfish pricks... only helped when there was something in it for them. Then again, it was selfish for Leroy to expect them to help for nothing. After situating Jackie in a chair, Leroy dropped the satchel from his back, and began to dig around, finally withdrawing a small medical kit from his knapsack. "Hold on, Union Jack... Don't bleed to death just yet." He murmured, begining to replace bandages, not really sure what else to do about a ballistic weapon wound. With a fresh splash of clear alcohol, and a hiss from his patient the larger male took a seat next to his friend. "Just relax, Union Jack. We'll get a bed here to night, eh?"

"Dey bet'er be some damn tea 'round 'ere..." The wounded rebel mumbled, which earned a light chuckle from the other man near him, whom began to patch himself up too.