After a little friendly cajoling, the militiaman obeyed, escorting Andy out of the mansion and towards the town's cliffside. Outside, the sky had an evening shine, reflecting in the white chalky puddles along the path. His guide shivered, but Andy didn't feel the cold. They scaled the timber ramps and arrived at a shack three stories up. "Well done," Andy said, tipping his guide a .22 bullet from the bottom of his pocket. "Breakfast at five, is that correct?"
"Breakfast?" the young man blinked. No sense of humor.
Andy turned around and entered their shack. Inside were two beds stuffed with old linens. Clara was kneeling, her high-powered rifle lay neatly dismantled on the floor like a drawing of weapon schematics. The candlelight lit her face, transforming her features into shadowy auburn.
"What's up?" Andy said, slinging his assault rifle and packs on the bed.
"I'm just packing, preparing everything." She was cleaning a chamber with a wire brush and oil cloth, checking every cavity for dust and imperfection. "Have you eaten yet?"
"No, that's a good point, actually."
Clara nodded to a bowl of half-eaten food. "It's all yours."
"Nice one."
"What did you get from the armory?" Clara asked.
"Guns," Andy said over a mouthful of chunky stew.
"I can see that."
Andy patted his new sidearm and grenade bandolier, twisting his hips to show them off like a fashion show. "You like?"
"Very nice." She whistled. "I got enough ammunition for the two of us as well. Although, it'd be nice to know exactly what we're getting into before we pack. Blue Eyes was just getting into it before you interrupted our meeting. Luckily, there's a mission briefing tonight at headquarters."
Finishing the food, Andy jumped into his bed and unscrewed his hip flask. "We'll be fine. We'll improvise."
"I know we'll be fine," Clara said, "because I always prepare. Do you want me to service your revolver?"
Andy blanched. "I beg your pardon?"
"Strip it, service it."
"You'll do no such thing!"
Clara scowled. "Not this again."
"Who do you think she is?" Andy took a steadying breath. "Julie doesn't strip for just anyone. And service her. That's disgusting."
"You know what I meant."
"Hmm. I know what you were implying."
"Well, if you won't let me do it, then at least bloody clean the thing. Look at it."
Andy drew his revolver. Dry blood streaked over her burnished silver exterior. "I'll give her a wipe."
"Please do," Clara said.
Andy squeezed a wet cloth into a bucket and wiped his baby down. "Any news?"
"Yeah, the Visionaries updated our maps." Clara shook her wrist terminal at him. "A new zone has been discovered north of here."
"Cool. What is it?"
"Gelatinous blobs," Clara said. "The surveyors stumbled upon a water treatment plant that was infested with this carnivorous jelly-like substance. A whole bunch of them got eaten by it. They suspect the ooze would have spread further, it could have infested all of the waters on the continent, if not for a nearby mega-mole infestation disrupting the underground pipe systems."
"Disaster averted," Andy said. "How do you kill a blob?"
"Fire? Ice? Something elemental. I don't think bullets would cut it."
"Huh. You got anything like that?"
"No."
"Let's avoid the blobs then, eh?"
"Yeah, let's."
The cheap vodka which Andy had filled his hip flask with from the warehouse wasn't quite hitting the spot, so he got up and searched the cupboards for booze. "Megamoles…" He shook his head. "Some of these apocalypses are ridiculous. Who'd have thought megamoles could destroy the world?"
"Yeah, the Visionaries marked it as Class One… more of a minor catastrophe than an actual apocalypse."
"Megamoles," Andy rolled the word around in his mouth, imagining what they might look like, what powers they might possess. "I'm curious."
"Well, don't be. We're not going that way. That's small fry. I've got us a job east of here in a city infested with, drumroll please…"
Andy glanced at her when she didn't continue. "What?"
"Drumroll please, Andy."
Andy banged his hands on the cupboard.
"Zombies."
Andy pumped his fist. "Yes. My favorite." He closed the last barren cupboard and checked beneath the beds, accidentally knocking one of Clara's rifle components on the floor. "Oops. My bad. They didn't stock us with complimentary booze then?"
"No, just pillow mints."
"Really?"
Clara scowled at him. "No, of course not. Listen, I picked up a submachine gun for hordes," Clara said, patting a duffel bag on her bed. "Plus a few gizmos I want to try out."
"Good stuff." Andy made for the door. "I am going to nip into town to buy more supplies."
"Andy, you're a terrible liar."
"I'm off to get shitfaced," he clarified. "Don't wait up."
"We have a meeting tonight," Clara said. "With Blue Eyes, our employer. Have you heard of him?"
Andy shrugged. "Has he heard of me?"
"After your shootout earlier, yeah, he has." Clara put aside her maintenance. "Andy, he's a big deal. This quest isn't just some little assassination job or scouting mission. This is a step up for us, professionally speaking. We might finally earn enough to buy our own place in Quadra, or elsewhere. Our own headquarters and storehouse. Our own armory."
"Okay, I'm listening," Andy paused in the doorway, wrestling with a question on the tip of his tongue. He clenched his jaw and gripped the door frame.
"What is it?" Clara asked.
Andy had stalled long enough. "Do you need me to come with you?"
"To the meeting?" Clara scowled.
"Yeah."
"God no."
"Okay, phew." Andy relaxed.
"Listen to me," Clara said forcefully. "I want you to find the deepest, darkest hole in the Underbelly and stay there the night. No trouble, no more gunfights. Keep your head low."
"Darkest hole, got it." Donning his leather jacket, Andy left his assault rifle and bandolier on the bed, taking only Julie and her nine-millimeter playmate with him.
"You're off out like that?" Clara admonished.
"Like what?"
"Bro, you stink." She tossed him a deodorant can.