Lorry was on the verge of worry when she finally noticed a small orange glow flickering in the window of a ruined Old World house ahead. The night is dark and full of terrible things, and Lorry was confident that she didn't want to meet them - even with Gachook's protection.

She approached the house cautiously, in case it might be some kind of bandit or otherwordly hell-beast trap. Gachook, Our Lord and Saviour was known for sending horrible beasts from His deadly chicken hell, Freckle, to test Gachookian followers, and see how far their resolve would go. So far, Lorry had survived every encounter, from an acid-spewing radioactive Waste Beast all the way through to a plague of drug-addicted biteflies (that is, biteflies that had bitten one too many drug addicts, and now rather fancied the taste). Lorry now knew three things: That Waste Beasts can indeed be scarier, and that is when they are radioactive and drooling acid; That biteflies high on narcotics can fly so fast they set on fire due to air friction; And finally, that her resolve is stronger than anything the Waste might throw at her.

Even in a night as arguably dark and most definitely terrible as this one...

Lorry could barely make out the house itself. The choking black of night smothered it in an impenetrable layer of nothingness, save for the one dancing light poking its head out of a solitary, desolate window. She crept towards the door to the building, which was less a door and more of a gap. OK, so she crept to the gap of the building, one of many such entrances, and slid her back up against it. She could hear nothing. Nothing except the Waste breeze flowing in its vast waves across the empty plain, and the quiet crackling of flames somewhere within the house.

She steeled herself with a slow, deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity before gently letting it out. She muttered a very quick, almost silent prayer to Gachook, Our Lord and Saviour, for his continued love and protection on a night as dark and indeed terrible as it was at this very moment in time. May he bring down the wrath of Carnage himself should there be an ambush lying in wait within this filthy structure.

Feeling somewhat more confident, but admittedly not entirely, she poked her head around the gap. And there, sitting behind a small fire made from what looked like old furniture, was a man. His face was almost so grim as to be an entirely new, as yet unnamed expression - a sort-of grim to the power of grim - and he hunched cross-legged on the floor with one handless arm tucked into his black leather coat. His other hand clutched a ridiculous pistol, with a large scope strapped to the top and an extended magazine clinging to the bottom, its ass hanging out the grip. Lorry could examine all these features in great detail, for the weapon was pointing straight at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Greetings," she said, carefully.

The man inspected her for a moment, his eyes as dark as his coat, then withdrew his absurd handgun and holstered it away on his belt.

Thank you, Gachook, Lorry thought. "May I join you by the fire?" she said aloud.

"..." the figure replied.

Lorry paused for a moment, then started walking towards him. "Fine, I will take your silence as acceptance."

She strode over to the opposite side of the small fire, swooshing her robes in a big circle before plopping down on the spot. She then patted a small ember out of the bottom of her clothing, for swooshing it in a circle next to a fire was, in hindsight, rather unnecessary.

It felt good to sit, even next to a broody, menacing figure like the strange, grim man. Her feet ached with the wear of many hours walking without rest. She brought them up onto her lap one at a time to gently massage them with her boots off, paying the stranger little attention. Which seemed OK, because he didn't seem bothered by her presence. Or if he was bothered, he chose not to show it. He chose not to show anything, really. Just that same, grim stare, now pointing into the fire.

Lorry decided to spark up a conversation to pass the time, and to determine whether this dark individual might be open to the light of one Gachook, Lord and indeed Saviour.

"Have you ever been to the bar further down this infernal Back Road?" she asked.

The figure looked up at her.

"It was shut, would you believe? I paid good money for a pair of heathens to take me there so that I may spread the word of Gachook, Our Lord and Saviour - have you heard of Gachook, Our Lord and Saviour? I really ought to tell you about Him if you haven't, he's quite the entity."

"What do you mean the bar was shut?" the figure asked, his hoarse voice slicing through the word of Gachook.

Lorry looked momentarily offended, then shook it from her face. It wasn't the first time someone had cut off the word of Gachook, Our Lord and Saviour, and it wouldn't be the last. But Gachook always got the last word in the end. In that she stoutly believed.

"Excuse me?" she replied.

The figure leaned forwards, a startling blend of light and shadow playing in the crevices of his dry, dusty face. "Smack-dab, the bar. You said it was shut."

"Indeed, the door was locked and it appeared nobody was there."

"And you're sure of this?"

"Quite sure, sir. And what is it to you, anyway? Planning to travel there tomorrow?"

The figure sat back again, eyes narrowed to slits, brow knotted in a tight frown. "What else did you see?" he asked, his voice suspiciously dark, as though he were fishing for something. And what dark thoughts he might be fishing for, Lorry could only guess. "Why was it shut?"

Lorry frowned. "I wouldn't know, stranger. I care little for the trivial business goings on of such a heathenous, tragic place. I can tell you only that the door was locked, the statue outside was broken, and that the letters on the roof are bound to fall off at some point soo-"

He held up a stump hand, abruptly silencing her. "The statue was broken?"

Lorry was growing slightly mad, now. This was too many questions, and not enough Gachook. "Is your hearing as poor as your posture, sir? Locked door, broken statue, dangerous lettering."

A smile spread somewhere in the darkness of the stranger's face. It spread up both sides of his cheeks, a smile that would give a person nightmares for the rest of their life, if only they would survive long enough to have any. Lorry watched with caution as the man quietly rose from his seat, picking up his backpack on the way. Now completely ignoring her, the stranger gathered up his water canteen and an unopened can of food, stashing them in his pack before exiting the room through the nearest door-gap.

And then he was gone, just like that.

Lorry heard his footsteps pick up into a fast-paced run before fading to black in the distance. The wind rolled in afterwards, whistling through cracks in the walls. She shivered, but not from cold. Something about the stranger sent a tingle down her spine, and it wasn't the happy tingle of Gachook, either. Boy, she thought, was her work cut out for her. An entire region of Gachookless heathens. Lorry promised herself that she'd find an army of Gachookian missionaries and descend upon Can't Be Buried in force, bringing light to this dark, horrid place, and cleansing it of the unworthy.

But for now, she was just glad the stranger left his fire going.

* * *

We've got a lot of moving parts in this story, now. Can Bert possibly succeed with so much moving around and against her? Hopefully, for her sake.

As always, if you're enjoying "Smack-dab" so far I'd appreciate a Vote and comment, so the algorithm knows you like the book!

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