the vast majority of the population now used melee weapons, and that most combat took place in the up-close-and-personal range, it suited his purposes just fine. Besides, it was the pistol his father had on him when he died.
Primed for the impending harassment Daniel ducked under the chain, plunging himself into the middle of the disconcerting crowd that had started to collapse around him. Trying to preempt the worst of the pestering that had yet to happen, he yelled out, “I don’t want anything!”
Some, but not nearly all, of the smelly throng parted upon hearing these seriously spoken words. It was only those who remained interested that Daniel really dreaded trying to deal with anyhow. Three men became conspicuously separated from the group, which was currently dividing itself along both sides of the narrow path. These men spaced themselves across the pathway like an echelon, obviously an attempt to slow his built-up momentum. To Daniel all three men looked quite pleased to have a new quarry. It was the kind of look that only came along with prior success.
“Wha’cha got there?” the stocky man in the center asked cheerfully.
The man stood about five-foot-eight and played host to more hair on his body than anyone Daniel had ever encountered before. The armless, faded-blue flannel that he wore was unbuttoned revealing a thick, black mat of curly hair that stretched all the way from his belly to the top of his head. There was only a small oval around the man’s eyes where flesh could actually be seen, and even this was etched by a startling unibrow. It would have been comical to see this man from a distance, but Daniel felt none of that humor standing nearly face-to-face with him right now. His hands were empty, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes as to how dangerous this hairy man truly was, despite his friendly tone.
Both of his flunkies, still perched just behind on either side, chuckled a little too eagerly. The tallest of the trio, pacing around to the right of the hairy man, stood almost as tall as Daniel, who was six feet two inches. He was shirtless and fidgety, every tendon and rib protruded with late-stage malnourishment. There was a large spade or knife stuck down his patched pants, held in place by an electrical cord serving as a belt. A pair of red-tinted ski goggles over his eyes and a length of brown material tied around his head served as an impromptu dust mask, it also obscured most of the finer details of his face.
As intimidating as those two were, it was the shortest of the bunch that drew Daniel’s gaze. This man was covered in filth and blackened ash, making any attempt at discerning the original color of his clothing quite impossible. His face was scratched and scabbed, like he had fallen in a briar patch, repeatedly. This smudged mole-man was very deftly twirling a small camp axe. The motions of his hands were almost a blur as he expertly tossed and spun the honed blade from hand to hand. His skill with the weighty tool was very obvious.
Daniel was forced to stop walking, just to keep a short distance between him and the three men. He was ringed on either side by carts and fellow drifters, who were starting to take an unhealthy interest in the exchange. Daniel once again, contemplated turning around to make his way back up to the Warehouse. He might be able to get some of the guards to come back out, maybe even get an escort all the way down to his truck.
A flash of indecisiveness later, given the human proclivity for defending one’s bravado, he refused this option. It would only show the weakness that these lecherous bottom-feeders were looking for, what they thrived on. In fact there was no guarantee that Daniel would not be jumped from behind as soon as his back was turned. He suddenly felt that this was precisely what these men were trying to get him to do; bash him on the back of the head like cowards, no doubt.
Instead of retreating, Daniel answered the hairy man’s question about what was in his bags by making a quick flourish with his right arm, which ended when he placed his hand on the pistol, unsnapping the webbing that held it in place.
“Oh…Are you talking about this…? This here is a .45,” Daniel said happily in reply, like they had been friends forever and he