Snippet #2426275

Frost had achieved precious little sleep in the few hours he had spent at the Dino Dee-Lite, coming to the conclusion that beds were a prime example of the word uncomfortable, and left shortly after partaking of Bill's delicious fresh coffee. People were awfully forthcoming when it had gotten through they're thick skulls that you weren't there to kill them he had reflected, wondering how he might make it easier to pound that bit of information into them in the future. No matter the particulars of social interactions though, Frost had been tired, and it was Hot, even though it was late in the afternoon when he had left. This led to only one logical conclusion of course, find a hole and go to sleep. Such a task however, could prove to be very dangerous.

Rifle slung over his shoulder, Frost slunk through the tall swaying grass below a cliff face and made good time in the evening gloom. His intended course for Nipton had been simple and characteristic of him, following the basic principal of make it to high ground and travel where you could see your enemies before they would see you. This had led him in a relatively simple path after he climbed up one of the many long ridges that crisscrossed the Mojave, according to his map it was as simple as going straight all the way there. He was searching the cliff line for some sort of more material cover than the flora he was currently using, a tumble of fallen rocks perhaps, a nook that he could squeeze into and sleep away the last vestiges of daytime heat. Suddenly Frost stopped, head cocked, listening. He thought... Yes, there it was again. An almost imperceptible Sssssssss. Wearily, he gripped his machete with his right hand, ready to draw it at an instants notice, and took a breath to calm his racing heart, scanning the grass that a moment ago had been so friendly but now he was sure hid dangers immeasurable.
From behind him came a fast, painfully high pitched buzzing sound, less than a heartbeat later it was echoed all around him, he counted at least four different rattles but the noise ran together, making it impossible to tell how many there really were. His mouth went dry, and he licked his lips as he drew the machete and simultaneously unholstered his flare gun. Frost was a hunter, it was his life's work and he was very good at it, thusly, it was a terrifying feeling to so suddenly be demoted down to the status of prey. For prey he now was, and those who hunted him were fearsome beasts indeed.
The buzzing stopped, and the only constant was the faint hissing that now lingered on the edge of hearing, punctuated by short sharp bursts of those high powered rattles. The hunters were circling, closing in on him in a confusing pattern that only they knew. He had seen it before, from high on a cliff he had watched through a pair of binoculars as the Nightstalkers encircled and slew a group of well armed raiders. Samuel had bayed him watch and learn, so that he might have a better chance if such a situation ever fell upon him, the old ghoul could be a bastard like that sometimes.

Frost learned his lesson well.

He pulled back the hammer of the flare gun with his thumb, Click, the hissing stopped, all sound stopped. The silence was absolute and the tension was sharp as a knifes edge. Then something close behind him growled and he swung around, machete raised. There it was, it's serpentine head waving back and forth and it's long forked tongue flickering in and out between vicious hinged fangs. Time slowed and Frosts senses seemed full to bursting as the sinuous furred body tensed and then suddenly everything was a frantic lashing of fangs and claws as the furious creature launched itself at him. He backhanded it with the machete, the blade biting deep into it's shoulder and knocking it to the side with a yelp, but as the first creature fell to the ground another lunged from behind and to the left of Frost and sank it's teeth into his right forearm. The thick leather of his coat stopped much of the bite, but the venomous fangs slipped through and pierced his arm. Simultaneously another Nightstalker ran forwards from his left and jumped at his face, forcing Frost to stagger back. He shot it with the flare pistol and a bright ball of fire exploded into existence upon the creatures chest, bits of flame splattered across the area. Frost's eyes watered from the flash and wave of heat and he fell backwards onto the other Nightstalker but the creature he had shot was worse off, the fire had caught on it's ragged dirty fur and it was now a flaming, yelping panic that scrambled away from the Ranger with a high pitched shriek and tore off through the grass. A trail of flame spreading throughout the brush marked the little fireball's passage, soon the entire hill would be on fire.
He did not have time to ruminate on this problem however, the second creature was savaging his arm still, squirming under his weight but still fighting. Too busy to cry out in pain, Frost swung the now empty flare gun into the creature's snout with all his might, causing it to let go with a whimper. The Nightstalker thrashed and Frost rolled off of it and scrambled away, grabbing his machete from where he had dropped it. His arm felt like fire but as the creature righted itself he still buried the machete in it's neck with a satisfying thwack of steel chopping through flesh. Panting heavily Frost looked around him, the hill was in flames but the dry flora of the mojave created very little smoke when it burned, and the fire had only a short range to burn as the ridge was broken up by shelves of bare stone. A few yards away the first NightStalker was limping away from the encroaching flames, dragging one of it's paws and trailing blood. Hopefully the rest of the pack had run off.
Frost wasted no time in this uncertain situation and turned away, holstering his flare pistol and with his good arm unclipping and slipping on his helmet. Better, the heat was not so insistent, not yet anyhow. Switching the machete to his good hand he shouldered his way through the burning grass and scrambled down the slope, slipping and sliding on loose rock. Near the bottom balance finally eluded his tired body and he slipped, falling hard on his ass and sliding the last few feet down.

After that he had kept walking away from the fire, which soon burned up the last of it's fuel and extinguished itself. When he had made it a ways away he had stopped and examined his wound. Nightstalkers were highly venomous, and while much of the bite had been blocked by the thick leather of his great coat and left only a very nasty bruise, the two venom fangs had easily bypassed his protection and released the toxins inside of him. A problem, as he did not have antivenom on him. Not to self, buy or make antivenom as soon as possible, and keep at all times. If I live through this... Well, there was no use dwelling on that, he would do what he could and hope that he might find serious aid in Nipton. Venom first aid was simple, try your best to keep it from reaching your heart and spreading throughout your bloodstream, and hope that your body could fight it off until you found help. He had torn a strip of cloth from his shirt, and bound it tightly a few inches up from the wound on his arm, not cutting off circulation completely, but still slowing it down. Oddly enough, the wound had hurt only the way a flesh wound should, and did not feel the same as if he had been bitten by something venemous. A delayed reaction, there is hope yet for me! He had thought, but for good measure he injected a stimpack into the offending limb, wincing as the long needle pierced his flesh. The drug would hopefully increase his body's fighting potential and slow the spread of the toxins.
Now it was night time and he was standing on the ridge still, within near sight of the desolate form of Nipton and his arm felt like a nest of angry, frustrated flies. He pulled out another stimpack and injected it, he was certain they were helping, but that was the third one he had used and he only had one left. He sighed, the situation seemed bleak but all he could do was push forwards and hope for the best.
Having long since thumbed on the night vision sensors in his helmet, he now used this to his full advantage as he snuck down towards the town, moving slowly and deliberately with his flare pistol drawn. A blinding weapon was the best defense in a night time situation if he was caught off guard. Far away in the distance a howl broke the still night air coming from the direction of the Colorado, it was answered by another, some ways to the north of the first, and then another. The Legion uses hunting dogs to track down they're enemies.... Could they be after me? I thought that my presence was unknown. Perhaps the brush fire... No, I cant imagine why... He holstered his flare gun and slipped his rifle off of his shoulder, snapping the bipod into place he groaned softly as his injured arm took the weight of the heavy rifle. "This hurts like a sonofabitch." he muttered, taking position on a rocky outcropping that overlooked both Nipton and the road approaching it that the legionaries would have to take. He knew the legion was coming, that was his one advantage and he would make full use of it. Perhaps they would even have some antivenom he could take from they're corpses. He certainly hoped so.