Madness in the Air

 

“Quackadoodle do!”

Ted watched the smoke rising up from blasted open roof of the cyborg gang leader’s long black car. From his vantage point above the lightning scarred battlefield he could see the big three armed cyborg thrashing in his crash seat as he burned to death.

“It smells like someone burnt supper”, he yelled into his com. Apparently no one in his gang thought that as funny as he did. They didn’t respond to it. There was some screaming on the line though but what did that matter? It wasn’t him. He was safe, flying high and dominating the sky.

He saw the long haired cyborg woman slid her bike around the front of the stalled black car.

“You’re next, chickadee!”

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Rage of the Machines

 

Trillian used the recoil from her forearm gun to assist her in easing her bike out of its tilt. She took her handlebars in both hands again and sped back to her position next to Havok’s long black car. She took a look across the lightning scarred battlefield and saw Hellskull raging in his car. The masked outlaw leader slammed a gloved hand into his steering wheel while the woman in the car next to him grabbed his shoulder and tried to talk him out of his anger.

Despite the effect of the Mood Stabilizer chip installed in her cranial interface she smiled.

First blood, she thought, grinning with pride. Her report to her leader was properly restrained though.

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A Bat on the Way to Hell!

 

As the newest member to Hellskull’s outlaw gang Bat was eager to prove his worth and this wasteland fight over the downed helicopter was his chance.

They already know that I’ve got the stones for this job, he thought.

He had proved his daring on the day he first approached the gang. He had heard that Hellskull’s mechanic Torx had just finished building a motorcycle and the gang was looking for a rider. That was all the invitation that Bat needed. He left Zeke’s that minute and went straight up to the decrepit mansion that Hellskull’s gang used as a hideout. He had braved three warning barrages of machine gun fire and stood in the open with his arms out. After a pause two shots rang out and dirt flew onto his boots.

He kept his position and a third bullet passed so close to his head that he heard the whine of it’s passing.

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Drawing of The Three

 

Dust from the knobby tires of Zeke’s buggy drifted out and over the cliff’s edge as he skidded to a halt on top of the jutting prominence. The government helicopter was strewn out across the lightning scarred ground at the base of the cliff. It had hit the ground skidding, the big bird’s belly ripping open and spilling out crates and rag dolls that used to be men in black suits of body armor.

Zeke climbed out of his buggy and looked over the cliff.

The helicopter looked relatively intact but for the shorn away lower half.

“I don’t know why them fellows was flying through that rad storm but they brought along a lot of stuff”, said the gray haired trader. “I sure as Texas wonder what’s in them.”

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Storm Clouds Forming

 

The thick clouds to the east of Zeke’s Hilltop Saloon and General Store were swollen with the angry red lightning of a rad storm about to burst free and lash the hard packed dirt and sun blasted asphalt of the wasteland the old codger called home. Zeke stood under his porch roof and watched the storm clouds roll north. They began to lightened up with red, green and yellow flashes.

The storm was about to break free soon but thankfully it was going to pass him by.

“I got lucky there”, he said.

He turned his attention to the west as the whine of motorcycle power plants came out of the desert. Two bikes were coming in fast from two different directions. Zeke recognized the rickety motorcycles and the grubby looking riders. He shook his head and put his hand on the big pistol on his hip.

“What do these two idiots want? I swear one of these days I’ll have to shoot them just to get a little peace and quiet.”

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Three Cars Enter! One Car Leaves!

 

Holler was watching Zeke’s eyes droop. The old codger was nearly asleep on his stool behind the long counter that also served as the store’s bar. Behind him on the wall were dozens of mismatched bottles all full of his patented wasteland whiskey. That wasn’t what Holler has his sights set on today though. He glanced over to where his brother and partner in crime was lurking in a corner of the store.

Hoot stood ready at the pile of unsorted goods Zeke had traded off a new group of settlers who came in last week. The group had arrived in an 18 wheeler pursued by not one but two motorcycle gangs. According to Zeke’s account the fight had been surprisingly short. The trailer of the battered 18 wheeler had a pop up turret equipped with a grenade launcher and many windows slits from those inside fired AV rifles.

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Just Another Day In The Apocalyptic Wasteland

Old Zeke left the relatively cool interior of The Hilltop Saloon and General Store and settled his weary body into a chair in the shade of the porch. He wouldn’t normally be outside this time of day, but he had heard survivors arriving in the dusty depression below. He didn’t dare step off the porch though. With the ozone layer mostly gone the Arizona sun blazed down far too hot for an old man.

The rad dust winds ain’t too bad today though, he noted, scratching his sun spotted mostly bare scalp. What little there was of his hair was dry and brittle and gray. A wisp of it came out and floated away on the wind.

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