Adrian Cates
New Member
The two hunters, painted up like savages with war paint and terrible piercings, advanced towards the campfire. Like moths to a flame they came, moving with all the stealth of clumsy children towards their quarry, whom they had followed for more than a day. They could vaguely see her now—a lone feral scavenger, they hoped—the back of his head, with its shaggy black, resting against the log she used as a pillow. Unable to control themselves any longer, the men made their move, leaping over the rocks to ambush him, their faces grinning with malevolent intent. Suddenly, however, they stopped, realizing with alarm that they were not leaping upon a witless victim but a dummy laid to lure them, and instead of a solitary foe, they faced a gathering of mutant ghouls who had also been curiously drawn to the bonfire...Almost a quarter of a mile away, the young man watched with satisfaction as his delicate hand moved to pet the calm white rat resting on shoulder. Their ruse had worked, and now those vile predators would get what they deserved at the hands of creatures far less forgiving than he. “Well, CiCi,” he said quietly into his pet’s ear, “you were right. I’ll never doubt your nose again.” The man had lived nineteen long years alone among the desert sands, and thanks to his little friend’s sense of smell, and gods willing, he would live to see nineteenteen more.
