Bert gasped with fright and threw herself into a crouch as a rifle shot lanced through the tumbling ambience of Can't Be Buried's coastline. The bullet screamed "Weee!" past where her face would have been had she kept walking, and then lodged itself with a mighty clang in an old burnt-out vehicle by the side of the road. Bert swore loudly as she dropped, whipping up her pistol and sprinting, low, for the car.

A second shot burst into the scene just as she was sliding behind the vehicle's skeletal bonnet, digging up a spray of dust in the ground not far behind her. It would be a while before Bert calmed down enough to realise there was a brand new hole in her coat.

When the second shot missed, a voice muttered a swear from behind a nearby tin shed. A small, muffled discussion erupted thereafter, but Bert couldn't make out what they were saying. Extinct birds chirped frantically at each other

Behind the car, Bert shuffled, heart pounding, practically rolling in the dirt, further into cover so that it offered at least the illusion of protection. Its four rusted doors were hanging loose, but they were present nonetheless. As was the driver, or rather, what was left of the driver's ancient skeleton. The thudding in Bert's chest felt like a mutant insect battering at her insides to get out.

That was way too close, she thought, suplexing her lungs to bring them into submission. If she hadn't heard the cocking of the rifle, she'd be done for, no questions asked. Just another corpse for some creature to eat. Bert growled at herself. She thought she'd been cautious, alert, prepared for anything, but then, how prepared can you possibly be along somewhere so inherently chaotic as the Highway?

She hoped the spirit of The Woman wasn't shaking her head with disappointment.

Then a third shot rang out, slicing the salty air, and with similar ease, a large chunk of the metal that was supposed to be Bert's cover. Shards of door curled back like a dead spider at the impact, leaving a shredded little hole near Bert's chest cavity - which, coincidentally, was precisely somewhere she didn't want a shredded little hole.

In response, she ground her teeth together, gripped her weapon tight and flung herself up, pistol finding its way through the empty car windows for a clear, but semi-protected, shot. She spotted a couple of bedraggled figures creeping out from behind a tree in the background, but the moment they saw she was up, they made a frightened "Oh shit" face and threw themselves back in a hurry.

Bert had the perfect shot, but hesitated. Her finger dwindled on the trigger, applying the lightest touch. She couldn't squeeze, could she? It might have been a little while since Bert was amongst scumbags like Highway bandits, but unless politics had drastically changed over the years, they certainly wouldn't take kindly to having their various limbs blown off (even if they were trying to do the same to her...). And limbless bandits would not only make for particularly ineffective bargaining partners, they probably wouldn't be much use in a fight against Farmer Brown. Except to nip at his ankles with their teeth.

So, Bert needed to get these assholes talking, not shooting. Especially not shooting. She puffed out her cheeks and hid again behind the car, needing some protection to think for a minute. Instantly a panicked bird chirped again, and she heard footsteps shuffling cautiously somewhere over the road. She'd need to surrender somehow, but popping up with her hands up might still catch her a bullet to the face, and she sure liked having one of those. No, she couldn't risk startling whoever had the rifle, so she'd need to warn them first. Offer the white flag before the face, as it were.

"Hey, assholes!" she shouted.

The footsteps stopped.

Waves crashed into the beach, then hissed as they retreated.

"What?" shouted a voice back.

"I surrender!"

Crash. Hiss.

"...what?"

"I'm coming out, don't shoot!"

Bert cautiously popped the top of her head up first, in case she needed to duck very suddenly. She flinched back down the moment she spotted a large number of bandits hesitating on the road, but nobody pulled a trigger. Slowly, with her ears straining to catch just a whiff of imminent doom, Bert inched herself up with her weapon stowed and her hands where folks could see them.

This was it, she thought. This is where I find out whether I'm gonna live...

...or die trying.

* * *

"Stupid Bert," Phoenix wheezed, his breaths now coming out more like sparks than air. "Stupid Bert and her stupid, stupid-ass plan."

Phoenix was what he felt must surely be most of the way up the mountain by now. He'd been walking for two, maybe three hours straight up, winding all the way: trudging up a steep slope, around a corner, down into a saddle, up the other side. Repeat. Repeat. Change the order. Repeat. His legs burned so hard he reckoned they must surely be about to fall off, and it felt like he'd worn his feet down to little bloody stubs about two florpadorps ago. He had Terrance Leeland's arm for feet, now. What a disaster.

It was in this moment of painful lucidity, far up into the sky and hours from Smack-dab, that he wondered whether the little cushion forming on his belly was in fact not a biological evolution that he was developing and thus making him superior and more comfortable than other humans, but in fact stomach fat from not exercising enough. It certainly had the various properties of fat, but he wasn't willing to submit to it just yet. He needed to run some more tests before coming to a well-reasoned, logical scientific conclusion.

But where would he even get a bone saw? Ah well, that was a future problem.

His now problem was, as it usually was, Bert. He didn't even remotely agree with this mission, but what could he say in the face of such raw power? Such determination. And even worse, the somewhat regrettable cocktail of hormones that was permanently jammed in his brain. It wouldn't be so bad if he had been given a better task, maybe if him and Bert had swapped. Pretty much anything but storming up a steep mountain to talk with some nut job cultists who hated Smack-dab and literally, literally, days before came in to shoot the place up. Worse still, somewhere right at this moment Bert was off gallivanting and having a blast with bandits, probably swashbuckling - whatever that was - and fighting single-combat style.

Damn he was jealous. The only buckle Phoenix was swashing was that of his belt, which he had to loosen because it had somehow magically shrunk these past few years.

"Stupid Bert," he mumbled again, just to make sure the world had gotten the message.

In a swooping flurry of grumps, he spun on the spot, swirled his coat, produced a water bottle, and flumped unhappily down on the nearest boulder. Bugger it, if he was going to talk to a bunch of Wacko McSchmackos, he would at least be rested.

With begloved fingers he unscrewed the cap of his canteen and took a deep swig, relishing in the cool liquid putting out the raging forest fire that was his respiratory system.

Then the ground moved. Or rather, his seat moved.

Phoenix jumped up with a high-pitched yelp as a massive set of jaws opened up in his trusty boulder and snapped at his backside. He hopped and stumbled away back onto the road, fumbling with his canteen and dropping it straight into the surprise maw.

Two rows of sharp, long fangs snapped shut in a flash to the sound of crunching metal. The boulder writhed and bulged as it chewed on the bottle, then belched loudly, catapulting a particularly tough bit of canteen back out the jaws and straight into Phoenix's eye.

"Ouch," he complained, clutching his face and stepping back again.

He glowered openly at the rock and kicked a little pebble at it in his distaste. "Well excuse you," he said, pouting.

"Excuse you, sir," the rock replied, with a voice as deep as the sea.

Phoenix froze and his face went pale. He started backing away very slowly, hand hovering on the sling of his rifle.

"Ribbit," the rock croaked.

* * *

Meatsack stared at the bar.

It hadn't moved.

Good job, Meatsack.

* * *

Great work, Meatsack. Keep doing what you're doing. Everybody, let's all support Meatsack by Voting on this chapter, and leaving comments with our thoughts! I'm sure the message will reach him...

You can find me on Twitter (@dpppacey) or sign up to hear from me monthly!
www.duncanppacey.com/join