Through the Gate to the Dunes

[Stephan Donnel]

Stephan was thrown violently through the air flying a couple of meters and landing hard on his back. From the looks of it the broken body was far too damaged to anything but bleed out slowly. The assaulting car stopped, bent metal in its front screeching loudly and some spikes falling off. The rest of the cars swiftly caught up with the leader, honking and shooting crude guns up in the air as they went.

“Jo-has! Jo-has!”

They chanted. The driver of the front, who just must have been that very “Johas” ,climbed out of his vehicle and raised his hands triumphantly. The driver was dressed in only in baggy pants and some leathery belts that looked suspiciously like suspenders. His sinewy, but imposing and strong frame was covered tattoos and scars, most of which looked like bullet wounds, far too many actually. He was obviously delighted, but then he twitched.

MOMMA WANTS TO EAT!

Johas dashed back into his car with a scream. The rest of the raiders met that turn of events with more honking and expectant screams. The cars, circling the scene up to this moment, formed a rough shape, stopping around the prone figure. That was twitching and smoking faintly at this point. Huh, when did he manage to catch fire? Anyway, the rest of the assailants climbed out of their cars and onto them, waiting for the coming show impatiently. Most of them were dressed similar to Johas, but some wore makeshift armor, made from scraps and an occasional tire, the more decent looking ones had some sort of a projectile weapon, from pistols and hand crossbows to shotguns and wait a second did that one actually have a blaster on him? Huh, damn stormtrooper deserters… The half-naked bandits mostly swung about with the clubs, axes and buzzsaws, small circular axe-like automated saws, those were the most unstable of the group, while their faces hid behind white-metal masks the sounds they were making were disconcerting at best. By the moment Johas jumped out of his car the other fifteen or so bandits made themselves comfortable on top of their cars, banging their fists on the hulls in a steadily growing rhythm.

FEED THE MOMMA! MEAT TO MOMMA! MOMMA TEAR MOMMA FEED MOMMA LOVE US!

The bandit champion was waving something above his head, yelling madly as the fists hit the metal. At one point he stopped, just as suddenly as everything else he did. That was the moment the thing became visible. A small scale industrial chainsaw, dangling wires and ripped metal parts it was once obviously a part of a bigger, likely stationary, machine before. But that wasn’t what caught the eye. A dried up head of a woman replacing the chassis was. Its mouth was open, as if screeching, or waiting to be fed, and the rusty, worn chain was going out right through the nose. The rest of the gang was ecstatic. They kept on banging and screaming words, as if stuck in some kind of a bloody trance, waiting for the show the “Momma” was about to put on.

[spoiler][/spoiler]

A prone figure finally moved, turning itself over. The hat fell off into the dirt and most of the uniform was a torn mess, caught on the spikes and then thrown around. The tiny rivulets of smoke floating upwards began gaining some actual form, as if the man was just barely put out after being set on fire. But instead of decreasing in volume and opacity they only became more and more apparent, now obvious to anyone who cared to look. As Stephan raised himself from the ground onto his elbows, still twitching periodically, he was yanked violently upwards by a free hand of the screaming madman above him, who wanted his “sacrifice” standing. Barely keeping his footing captain stumbled a bit forward.

SMOKEY MAN TOUGH, MOMMA LOVE WHEN THEY TOUGH, TOUGH BLEED BETTER, TOUGH BLEED MORE!

Johas just kept screaming.

TALK TO MOMMA SMOKEY!

Stephan twitched again, then again, and then he started laughing heartily.

Thank you, madman from the wasteland! Thank you!

The insane man was obviously not amused, and those from the “audience” who had the mental capacity to get concerned still didn’t go out of their trance.

SMOKEY TALKS TO MOMMA, MOMMA HUGS SMOKEY!

He swung his “mother” upwards in a wide arc and threw it down on the victim. Only for the whirling, rusty chain to be caught by the metal hand with an impotent screech and churn as the blade bent and electric motor malfunctioned, not used to being thrown against steel.

I know just what to do now.