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section7mfu(This was supposed to be much, much longer, except that between life getting extremely busy and technical issues, I couldn't complete it in time, so I'll just post the pertinent part now as Part I of a WIP and post the rest once I finish...)
Two sets of footprints were visible in the sands of the Sonoran Desert, departing from what remained of a shot-up jeep that had been driving across the desert sands. Dusk was descending upon the desert, and the harsh heat was giving way to the cool blanket of the night. But, at the other end of the footprints, two men were running as fast as they could while weighed down with the gear they had managed to salvage from the jeep before they had been forced to flee on foot.
The slightly shorter one, a blond Russian, stopped to catch his breath.
“Napoleon…” he gasped to his brunet American partner. “I think we can stop and rest for a while. We have not heard any shots in hours.”
Napoleon exhaled, scanning the darkening desert all around them.
“Stop and take a drink from one of the canteens, Illya,” he instructed. “I’m going to check the area out.”
Illya gratefully sunk to his knees and pulled a canteen from the pile of gear he’d been carrying and gulped it down. Napoleon took a second canteen and drank from it as he walked around in circles around the area, making sure that no THRUSH agents had followed them out this far.
“Well, I don’t know for how long, but we have seem to have given them the slip,” he declared. “I suppose we can rest if we switch off watch duty—”
He was cut off by a sigh of relief from Illya, followed by a flumph as the Russian flopped over in the sand.
“…Tired?” Napoleon asked, smiling in amusement.
The reply he received was unintelligible—somewhere between Russian and English, with the syllables all mixed up
Ordinarily, he’d have been more worried for his partner, but, this time, they had both paced themselves well after losing the jeep to THRUSH; they’d carried the gear to ensure that they had plenty of food and water, had kept themselves nourished and hydrated as they had fled, and had stopped to rest repeatedly when they’d snatched enough of a lead to afford it. With the temperature rapidly cooling down, Napoleon knew that heat exhaustion wouldn’t be an issue again until the next day; if THRUSH had given up on chasing them for the night, then sleep was something that would be essential for them to make it through the next day.
Napoleon glanced back at his partner, who had already fallen asleep, looking serene as he reclined upon the sand. The American shook his head, wondering how Illya could sleep so deeply in literally any environment imaginable.
“Rest up, Tovarisch. You earned it.”
Illya had been partly responsible for getting THRUSH off of their tail; he had fired back at their assailants, causing enough damage to get THRUSH to follow at a greater distance before, evidently, retreating altogether.
Napoleon sat down beside his slumbering partner, watching as the numerous stars began to make themselves visible now that the sun was gone, though they were somewhat dimmed by the light of the full moon. The moonlight allowed the shapes of rocks and cacti to be discernable all around them.
It was then that he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire thundering from not too far away.
“Illya!” he exclaimed, shaking his partner awake.
“Chto eto? Chto eto!?” he yelped in his native tongue.
“Up. Now,” Napoleon said, pulling Illya to a sitting position. “I heard a shot.”
“Are you quite certain you were not imagining—?”
Another gunshot interrupted Illya.
“You were saying?” Napoleon asked, drawing his Special—loaded this time with sleeping darts.
Illya did the same, and the two of them aimed their weapons in the direction they had come from. A third shot then rang out—from the opposite direction. Baffled, the two partners looked at each other briefly before turning around.
“How did they get ahead of us?” Illya asked.
“Maybe they decided they’d try cutting us off instead of just following us,” Napoleon said. “Make sure you stay low to the ground; it sounds like they’re just beyond that dune. We need to know how many of them there are; cover me in case they try to come at us from behind, too.”
“Be careful, Napoleon,” Illya said, watching his partner’s back.
Napoleon crawled on his stomach to the top of the dune, his Special still in his hand. He waited to make sure a fourth shot wasn’t coming, and he then peeked over the top of the dune—and froze.
“What…!?” he asked, sounding baffled.
“How many of them are there?” Illya asked.
“None that I can see,” Napoleon said. “Illya, it’s a town—a small town, preserved like an Old West town!” He laughed. “It must be one of those reenactment towns!”
Illya now scrambled to his side, blinking as he saw the sight. The fourth gunshot now rang out from somewhere in the town.
“Should we not go down there and see to that gunfire?” Illya asked.
“It’s probably just actors, but we’ll check it out anyway just to make sure,” Napoleon said. “Grab the gear; we might even find lodgings for the night. It’ll be a tourist trap, but it’ll be better than sleeping out here on the sand.”
“I was doing fine until you woke me up,” Illya said, but he went to get his gear.
Napoleon gathered his half of the gear, as well, and the two headed towards the town, still holding onto their Specials. A large sign greeted them as they crossed the town line—
WELCOME TO MOONLIT GULCH
Two sets of footprints were visible in the sands of the Sonoran Desert, departing from what remained of a shot-up jeep that had been driving across the desert sands. Dusk was descending upon the desert, and the harsh heat was giving way to the cool blanket of the night. But, at the other end of the footprints, two men were running as fast as they could while weighed down with the gear they had managed to salvage from the jeep before they had been forced to flee on foot.
The slightly shorter one, a blond Russian, stopped to catch his breath.
“Napoleon…” he gasped to his brunet American partner. “I think we can stop and rest for a while. We have not heard any shots in hours.”
Napoleon exhaled, scanning the darkening desert all around them.
“Stop and take a drink from one of the canteens, Illya,” he instructed. “I’m going to check the area out.”
Illya gratefully sunk to his knees and pulled a canteen from the pile of gear he’d been carrying and gulped it down. Napoleon took a second canteen and drank from it as he walked around in circles around the area, making sure that no THRUSH agents had followed them out this far.
“Well, I don’t know for how long, but we have seem to have given them the slip,” he declared. “I suppose we can rest if we switch off watch duty—”
He was cut off by a sigh of relief from Illya, followed by a flumph as the Russian flopped over in the sand.
“…Tired?” Napoleon asked, smiling in amusement.
The reply he received was unintelligible—somewhere between Russian and English, with the syllables all mixed up
Ordinarily, he’d have been more worried for his partner, but, this time, they had both paced themselves well after losing the jeep to THRUSH; they’d carried the gear to ensure that they had plenty of food and water, had kept themselves nourished and hydrated as they had fled, and had stopped to rest repeatedly when they’d snatched enough of a lead to afford it. With the temperature rapidly cooling down, Napoleon knew that heat exhaustion wouldn’t be an issue again until the next day; if THRUSH had given up on chasing them for the night, then sleep was something that would be essential for them to make it through the next day.
Napoleon glanced back at his partner, who had already fallen asleep, looking serene as he reclined upon the sand. The American shook his head, wondering how Illya could sleep so deeply in literally any environment imaginable.
“Rest up, Tovarisch. You earned it.”
Illya had been partly responsible for getting THRUSH off of their tail; he had fired back at their assailants, causing enough damage to get THRUSH to follow at a greater distance before, evidently, retreating altogether.
Napoleon sat down beside his slumbering partner, watching as the numerous stars began to make themselves visible now that the sun was gone, though they were somewhat dimmed by the light of the full moon. The moonlight allowed the shapes of rocks and cacti to be discernable all around them.
It was then that he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire thundering from not too far away.
“Illya!” he exclaimed, shaking his partner awake.
“Chto eto? Chto eto!?” he yelped in his native tongue.
“Up. Now,” Napoleon said, pulling Illya to a sitting position. “I heard a shot.”
“Are you quite certain you were not imagining—?”
Another gunshot interrupted Illya.
“You were saying?” Napoleon asked, drawing his Special—loaded this time with sleeping darts.
Illya did the same, and the two of them aimed their weapons in the direction they had come from. A third shot then rang out—from the opposite direction. Baffled, the two partners looked at each other briefly before turning around.
“How did they get ahead of us?” Illya asked.
“Maybe they decided they’d try cutting us off instead of just following us,” Napoleon said. “Make sure you stay low to the ground; it sounds like they’re just beyond that dune. We need to know how many of them there are; cover me in case they try to come at us from behind, too.”
“Be careful, Napoleon,” Illya said, watching his partner’s back.
Napoleon crawled on his stomach to the top of the dune, his Special still in his hand. He waited to make sure a fourth shot wasn’t coming, and he then peeked over the top of the dune—and froze.
“What…!?” he asked, sounding baffled.
“How many of them are there?” Illya asked.
“None that I can see,” Napoleon said. “Illya, it’s a town—a small town, preserved like an Old West town!” He laughed. “It must be one of those reenactment towns!”
Illya now scrambled to his side, blinking as he saw the sight. The fourth gunshot now rang out from somewhere in the town.
“Should we not go down there and see to that gunfire?” Illya asked.
“It’s probably just actors, but we’ll check it out anyway just to make sure,” Napoleon said. “Grab the gear; we might even find lodgings for the night. It’ll be a tourist trap, but it’ll be better than sleeping out here on the sand.”
“I was doing fine until you woke me up,” Illya said, but he went to get his gear.
Napoleon gathered his half of the gear, as well, and the two headed towards the town, still holding onto their Specials. A large sign greeted them as they crossed the town line—
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no subject
Date: 2016-04-06 03:50 am (UTC)Most admirable scene setting, from the very start. The dialogue's good, too; including between Russian and English, with the syllables all mixed up. I also must quote “You were saying?”
no subject
Date: 2016-04-06 10:36 pm (UTC)I had fun with the dialogues here. Banter is always fun to write!