Chapter 4
Weapons of Choice
Stranger walked towards the gate at the far end of town. Almost each town that Stranger had been to had a gate of some kind. The reason behind this was simple: the Clakkerz that resided in the town were all cowards.
The gatekeeper was up in a security tower, watching closed-circuit television. Stranger could hear the laugh track on the show as he climbed up the ladder to the top of the security tower.
The Clakker, absorbed in the show he was watching, didn’t hear Stranger coming up behind him.
“Howdy,” Stranger said. The Clakker literally fell to the floor, screaming in terror.
“Brukaw! I’m sorry, sir! I’ll get back to work! Whoa, wait a gol-danged minute, you ain’t my boss!” the Clakker thrust his wing in the direction of the door. “Get outta here, ya mangey, flea-bitten—HOIK!”
Stranger grabbed the Clakker by the neck. “Open the gate so’s I can capture that Outlaw,” he growled. “You got’s three seconds.”
Stranger dropped the bird. The Clakker whimpered and scrambled to the control panel, pushing a few buttons and pulling a lever.
Stranger saw that the Clakker had a lunch platter on his desk. Stranger put some of the meat in his pack. He would need it later.
The huge gate slowly slid open down below the tower. “Good choice, feather-head.” Stranger climbed back down the tower.
A Clakker with a nametag called to the one in the tower. “Hey, Willy! Did ya find that Bounty Hunter yet? He needed that gate open.”
“Well, um… he found me.” The Clakker in the security tower said.
Stranger walked out of town. The trail was actually at the base of a tall canyon leading to a wide savanna. He picked up a rock. It was time to hunt.
This hunt, however, wasn’t focused on the Outlaw (at least, not yet), but for Stranger’s ammunition. His weapon of choice was a wrist-mounted, double-barreled, semi-automatic, retractable crossbow. He hated guns, the smell of gunpowder made his stomach turn.
But Stranger didn’t use arrows or bullets (though the thought that those might be more useful choices had crossed his mind). In place of them, he used (of all things) small animals with different volatile abilities. He humorously referred to these as “Live Ammo.”
Stranger had a mental checklist of each animal. Chippunks, Bolamites, and Fuzzles in case the bounty got out of hand. That was all he needed for now.
Stranger found a nest of Chippunks, each of the rodents chattering away at each other. Chippunks were one of the few animals that were blessed with the gift of gab. Unfortunately, they used this gift to yell profanities and insults at passer-bys.
“Yo, man. I’d watch out if I were you,” a Chippunk said to another. “There’s some douchebag with a rock and it looks like he’s going to—YOWCH! Son of a b—ugh...”
Stranger hated people who spoiled the stealth approach. He knocked out the one who was warning the other, who passed out.
The Chippunk was stunned, but unharmed. Stranger scooped up the tiny, fat, legless rodent into his hand and dropped it into his ammo bag.
Bolamites wove huge, messy webs all over the place. Stranger didn’t have to go far to find a lamp post covered with the sticky, cottony thread. And lo and behold, there were Bolamites skittering all around the webs.
Stranger picked up another rock, placed it on the crossbow’s launcher and fired. The blue, four-legged arachnid squeaked and passed out.
Stranger used the Bolas because they wrap whatever frightens them into a tightly wound web. This defensive mechanism was exactly what Stranger needed to tie up unruly Outlaws.
The last of the critters was called a Fuzzle, a particularly dangerous animal to catch. These ornery critters were small, limbless creatures with a fuzzy coat and big, orange eyes. Cute, until you notice the bloodthirsty grin housing huge, flesh-ripping fangs. Fuzzles were notorious for being ravenous carnivores.
Stranger wasn’t going to raid a Fuzzle nest. If the Fuzzles didn’t do him in, the rotting stench of their nests (made from the spare meat of past kills) would. Stranger, who was at least fifteen to twenty feet from the nest, took a great handful of rocks and took out his binoculars.
With his crossbow leveled in the view of his binoculars, he placed a rock on the launcher and fired, hitting a Fuzzle. It grunted and lopped to one side, stunned. Using the same tactic, he took out five more.
Now came the tricky part. He took the meat he stole from the Clakker’s lunch and tossed it past the nest. The Fuzzles watched the meat and quickly followed it to where it landed.
Stranger got up, scooped up the six unconscious Fuzzles and dropped them in his satchel with the other ammo. He then bolted out of the vicinity as fast as he could.
With the actual ammo captured, it was time for a little target practice.
He raised his crossbow, leveled it towards a twig stuck in the canyon wall. He picked up two rocks, placed them on the launcher, and shot the left rock directly at the twig. The rock’s impact jarred the twig loose and it fell. Stranger bolted towards the twig and caught it in midair. He tossed it to the right, making the twig spin away. He then aimed the rock (while still in the air!) and shot. The twig broke in half, its spinning ceased and it fell.
Stranger fell to the ground, holding out the arm with his crossbow and balancing on his other three limbs. The twigs hit the ground and bounced, then rested.
Stranger grinned. It was a shame there wasn’t a crowd around to see that. If you’re that good, it’s okay to show off.
Stranger rose from his tripod landing and looked down the trail. There was a savanna just past where the canyon widened out. Stranger squinted and thought he could make out a fairly large figure in the distance.
He picked up his binoculars and took a closer look. The figure was an Outlaw, the kind that looked like Blisterz Booty and his brother Boilz. The figure was a dark blue color and wore a bowler hat. Stranger looked at the Wanted poster. The Outlaw in the photo matched the Outlaw trudging down into the savanna.
He looked very tired and worn out by the heat and elements. But the Outlaw was still very large and could deal a lot of damage if taken head-on at this point. As much as Stranger loved confrontations, the best thing to do would be to follow, and wait for the heat to tenderize the Outlaw a little bit more.