Chapter Sixty-Six - Impaled... Again

    Chapter Sixty-Six - Impaled... Again

    There has never been a problem that cant be solved with enough high explosive ordnance.

    --BoomBox, to the Gun Nut Association of America, June 2041

    ***

    Id been hurt before. Plenty of times, even.

    Losing an arm had been pretty rough, so was the whole ordeal with my eye melting in my face and my entire right side getting toasted. But that had been years ago, the day I became an orphan even.

    That particular pain was a forgotten one, or at least a pain so far back that the memories had dulled a bit. I knew, intellectually, that Id been hurt, but that was it. Just like I could recall a first day at a new school, or the day I met Lucy, or a bunch of other memories. Even the most vivid of them still faded.

    Having my face meet the ground while something hot shoved its way through my left thigh was a brand new sort of pain. Much fresher, much more... in the moment.

    It kind of reminded me of having a pole shoved into my gut, actually.

    I gave it point five gut-poles out of 5.

    I gasped, the stinging in my nose that was making my eyes water quickly fading from my attention as I rolled over and stared down at my leg.

    There was a nice bit of quill sticking into and out of it, a sharpened black spine with two points and probably all sorts of other interesting features that I couldnt make out because it was currently impaling me.

    Fuck, I managed to whimper.

    Stray Cat?! Gommorah screamed. She moved over to my side in a flurry of black robes, stared at the wound in my leg, then unfroze. The next thing I knew she was spraying a forest fires worth of napalm all across the street, creating a wall between us and the nasties. Are you okay? she asked.

    Fuck no, I said.

    Dumbass the First skittered by my side, wiggled to and fro a bit, then settled down.

    The quill missed the bone. Not only that, its payload failed to inject itself. Youre rather lucky.

    What? I asked. I touched the quill, some vague memory about putting pressure on wounds coming up to the surface.

    That memory could get fucked, touching the hole hurt like an entire bag full of bitches.

    Youre going to need to push the quill out from the entry wound. I would advise against pulling it out the other end until at least half of it is out and you can avoid touching the point.

    Are you fucking serious? I asked. What about the blood loss?

    I winced as the tumble sent a shock up my leg, but I had bigger things to worry about.

    Goodness, the nun swore as she stumbled back to her feet. There was a trio of Quills embedded into the back of her robes. They fell off as she turned around and faced the bastard that had attacked her.

    I glanced over too.

    A Model Five, the same one that had burst through our barricade, was stomping through the fire as if it didnt give a shit about the flames licking at its stumpy legs. Its body, covered in bristling quills, shifted as it turned towards Gomorrah.

    Then a pair of little tentacles wiggled out from its belly, tore out some of the spines along its side, and flung them forwards with a pair of whip cracks.

    Gomorrah shielded her face and hopped to the side in time to avoid one of them. The other glanced off her ribs with a dull thump.

    God damn you, heathen monster! she shouted before turning to incinerate the beast.

    Thats when an entire pack of Model Threes charged around the Model Five and lunged towards her.

    The nun started walking backwards, her arms dipping to lay down some fire onto the dog-like aliens aiming to take her out.

    The Model Five, not to be outdone, started to lumber forwards as well.

    I wasnt about to let it kill my nun buddy, Im sure she had many years of complaining about my heathen ways left in her.

    Whisper was off to the side, my shoulder-mounted guns had emptied their loads into the Model Threes already and were dipping back to reload. I wasnt at the right angle to pull out my Trench Maker or the handgun Id gotten from Cleanze.

    Dumbass the First was already firing into the blaze around us, presumably thinning out the herd.

    So I raised my new arm, pointed it to the biggest asshole in the bunch, and screamed. Rocket!

    My jackets arm flared out as a tiny black speck darted out of my arm and slammed into the Model Fives flank. The big beastie seemed to pause for just a second, a second long enough for me to close my eyes.

    The world flashed white, I felt a wave of pressure shoving me down, and then a nice smattering of pulped aliens started to rain down around me.

    When I blinked again, it was to find the Model Fives front legs standing up, with nobody to support them.

    Gomorrah had stumbled back a bit, and the Model Threes nearest the back had all been flung away.

    What, the nun asked.

    It might be tougher than average, I said. But were still two Samurai.

    ***