Times of Tribulation
Black Cotton: Part Three

"I got you here in one piece," Asche snorted.

A lone woman approached the confusion of the burning caravan with an aura of calmness and silent observation. She took some time to note each moving body's position and the action of the moment. Her eyes shifted sharply towards the big man when he fired the gun, then she continued her trek into the city. Her steady pace and the even tapping of her walking stick isn't broken though she turns her head to the man and woman struggling with the stretcher.

"Question now is," Lex mused aloud, "how do we keep them off until we can move the wagons to the hospital? Reinforcements would be nice."

The big merchant reviewed the fires, now mostly put out, then smiled at Lex. "We will be fine," he pointed across the sand of the avenue.

Lex turned his gaze to where the big man pointed and saw a group of vorr'ykks approaching. "Fangg always comes through for me," the merchant beamed.

"Good," Lex agreed. "Such loyalty in a vorr'ykk is unusual."

"Almost magical, eh?" the merchant chuckled, moving away from Lex to begin preparing the wagons for movement once more.

"A little magical would be a welcome change around here," Lex murmured as Asher jumped off the wagon. Lex bent down and scooped up some broken pavement to hurl at a small clutch of scavengers. His attention was drawn to the woman on the sidewalk who now watched Asche and Quent at the ambulance.

The woman, noticing his scrutiny, inclined her head at him before sliding her attention back to the ambulance.

Another shot slammed out near the big merchant. "Let's hope we get back in one piece," Quent chuckled at Asche as he finished strapping the woman to the stretcher and the stretcher to the floor of the van.

"Yeah," Asche nodded. "Okay, find that guy, the head guy? Tell him we'll need a working wagon for the less injured to ride in." She made her way to the back of the ambulance and hopped down.

"Sure thing," Quent hopped out behind her and made his way towards the wagons. He wove past Lex, who was trying to avoid getting tangled up in the vorr'ykk harnessing operations, and found the big man towards the back of the caravan, a smoking pistol in one hand, standing over the body of a man.

"Hey!" Quent called out, hastening over.

"What is it?" the caravan leader looked up.

"Asche says we need a wagon for the less injured to ride in," Quent explained.

"We can re-arrange some of the fuel drums on the wagons," Lex offered, his big stick resting on his shoulder.

Noticing the woman watching her, Asche dusted her hands off and made her way towards the sidewalk. "You a part of this caravan?" she asked, hands on her hips.

"No," the woman replied simply. Dressed in sand-colored clothing she had not the look of a scavenger, but someone who was simply waiting.

"You a member of the folks who did this to the caravan?"

"No," the woman replied again.

"You a scav?"

"No," same as before.

"Then get off your butt and give us a hand," Ash said with more than her usual tact.

"You have but to make a request," the woman's mouth twitched faintly in a deferential smile.

Asche paused only a moment longer then spun back to the ambulance. "Quentari!"

"Yes?" Quentari said, returning to the ambulance.

"Take this sister," Asche motioned for the woman to join her. "Get the guy with the chest wound and that kid over there with the burns into the ambulance." Then, as an afterthought, she waved between Quentari and the woman with the walking stick. "Meet each other." Without waiting for comment, Ash moved to the front of the Ambulance to ready it for departure.

"My name is Quentari," Quent held out his hand without hesitation.

"Calista," the woman nodded once and took Quent's hand briefly. "Shall we begin?"

Calista laid her stick against the ambulance and followed Quent to the man with the chest wound.

"You take his legs and be gentle," Quent giggled. "On the count of forty-two."

Calista nodded at first, taking hold of the wounded man's legs, then looked up at Quent. "How about three?" she suggested helpfully.

"One," Quent began, "two, fourty-two!"

Calista chuckled, but helped Quent move the wounded man to the stretcher.




Zachariah Tiberriouss Dillenger held a scrawny man up by his neck. Pinned against a wall, the man kicked futilely and clawed at the corded arm that pinched off his breath. "Where," Bad Zac said quietly through gritted teeth.

The captive man struggled harder, managed to get enough air through his throat to spit out what he thought Zac should do with himself.

Without comment, Zac squeezed harder, cutting off air again. This time, seeing death in his captors one good eye, the captive nodded his head. "Ok," he squeaked as the pressure let off his neck enough, then coughed again, fingers still prying at Zac's hand. "I said O-"

Zac suddenly and brutally backhanded him. The captive slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Rifling through the thin man's overcoat, Zac liberated a pack of cigarettes, deftly maneuvering one to the corner of his mouth. As the man stirred at his feet, Zac kicked him a warning to the ribs and was rewarded with a dry cough.

Zac took his time lighting his cigarette and crouched down casually. "Where," he said quietly, coolly, accenting each word with pressure from his boot. "Is Torensonn?"

Another string of cussing spit out in defiance earned a boot to the side of the head. Zac took three calm drags off his cigarette while he smothered the curses by holding the man's face in the dust. He lifted his boot and blew smoke downwards.

"Memory a little better?"

A groan and a nod drifted upward.

Zac crouched down next to the beaten man and dug his browned fingers into the man's hair. He pulled the head back, little resistance this time, and waited while his captive spat out the dust that caked his mouth.

"Now," Zac said quietly and slowly. "Where is Torensonn?"

A hoarse whisper or resignation, "Missionn City."

"How long?" Zac arched a brow.

"Three days," the captive coughed weakly. "He's stayin' with some nuke rad whore."

Zac released the man, who rolled to his back. "He know you're gone, Tickk?" Zac asked, standing.

Tickk nodded once, then hesitated and shook his head. "Nah, he thinks I'm..." Tickk trailed off, lips quivering as he caught himself in a dilemma.

Bad Zac nodded, drew a breath through the cigarette, and blew smoke down over Tickk. With slow deliberation he drew a gun out of his coat and cocked the hammer.

"Now boy," he explained, placing the end of the barrel against Tickk's kneecap. "You do know I can't risk having Torensonn know I'm comin'."

Zac looked left, then right, then back down at the scrawny captive. The gun sounded loudly, punctuated by a short screech. Zac's left cheek twitched as Tickk fell unconscious.

Zac stood, holstering his gun away. "Consider that," he said to the unconscious man, smoke curling upwards. "My head start."

Zac turned and strode down the dusty alley, sniffing the air as he emerged. Motion upwind caught his eye, determining his direction.

Studying the caravan arrayed about the blackened rubble, Zac searched for anyone he recognized. He came to stop some distance away, hand slithering into his jacket. An engine came to life, drawing Zac's gaze. "Asche's ambulance," he mused, flicking the butt of his cigarette away.

As Asche's spiky hair appeared around the vehicle, Zac blew out the last of the smoke from his liberated cigarette.




"They're all in Asche!" Quentari exclaimed, sliding into the passenger seat and shutting his door.

Calista shut the ambulance's back doors and thumped the side of the vehicle. "Go," she called forward.

"You coming?" Asche asked, leaning out the window and looking back.

"I'll be along," Calista said, collecting her walking stick and starting out down the sidewalk.

Asche simply drew her head back in and gunned the engine.

"Whee!" Quentari hopped up and down in the passenger seat. Cracked and peeling asphalt spit up from beneath the tires. The ambulance pulled away from the caravan, scattering a few of the bolder scavengers.

Bad Zac counted to himself as the ambulance neared, narrowing his eyes at the shadows emerging from the alleys. With a smooth vault, he made an intercept course for the ambulance.

"Hey look!" Quentari yelled, pointing out the window at Zac.

The one-eyed man covered the last few strides with ease and with a fluid jump took a hold of the door frame. Asche frowned, gaze following Quent's arm, and shreaked as Zac's face appeared in her window, his coat dancing on the wind.

"How are you today?" Quent yelled across the ambulance cab, holding on as Asche's erratic driving worsened with her startle.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Asche asked, trying to recover, tires squealing as the ambulance wove left and right.

Zac reached in and steadied the wheel. "Taking lessons from me?" he asked over the wind, shifting his grip for a better hold.

"I don't leap onto moving vehicles," Asche grumbled.




"This gonna be dangerous?" Asher asked, eyeing the scavengers nervously.

"Could be," Lex nodded coolly. "Depends on the courage of the scavs. And ours. This fuel is worth its weight in gold."

"Move it! Move it!" Lex called back, urging the drivers along.

Riding Fangg with the lead wagon, the big gas merchant smiled down at Lex and Asher. "I thank you both for your aid."

"Any time," Asher nodded back. "People should suffer as little as possible."

The big merchant nodded, red eyes searching the streets around them from under his cowboy hat.