The Booms: Volume 2: SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY by J. B

Author:J. B [B, J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-03-16T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

The air rushed from Buzzard's mouth in a sudden heave as a heavy weight smashed into his chest.

A scream stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. His chest froze, his body sucked inward, deflated. Cramped between his thick blankets and the scratchy worn canvas of the tent he was supposed to have slept in, Buzzard jerked his head upward, frantic eyes wide and shocked.

Drooping eyeballs peered heavily into his own, centered within the sweating head of a big, balding man. “Ayo, hic, B-Buzz. You’re pretty soft, aren’t ya,” Dripp said, drool dribbling down the corners of his mouth. “Sooooft Buzzzzzz.”

Dreg burst out laughing.

Buzzard squirmed, desperately scratching at the sides of the tent, trying to pull himself free of Dripp’s weight, who lazily relaxed like a man in a hammock. But Buzzard’s fingers were stiff and unresponsive. His head spun, either from the man's weight, the lack of oxygen, or the dust-water from the previous night.

Dripp rolled over.

Buzzard gasped.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Stink cried, pounding her fists from the other side of the tent’s wall.

Buzzard coughed.

The bald man softly chanted, “Sooooft Buzzz,” as he rolled on down the lane, between tents, and out of sight around the corner.

Stink’s head poked out from the tent's flap, her vivid pale blue stare like crystal daggers. “New rule, do not wake me up,” she seethed.

“I didn’t—” Buzzard attempted to point at the rolling man, but he was gone.

“For any reason.” Stink suddenly pivoted, her head turned, facing the opposite direction. “Wait, what is all this chatter?”

Buzzard’s groggy gears turned, but he heard it now. There was shouting, voices previously unnoticed now pounding inside his head. Are they arguing?

Kross’s voice rang out, distinct. “WHO DID THIS!?”

Oh, I know…

“Stink—”

She snapped back around, cutting off the rest of Buzzard’s thoughts. “Others may call me Stink; I can not stop them. But I will not tolerate it from you. My name is Ivory Hampton.”

Unfortunately, you don’t get to choose your name here, Ivory, Buzzard thought.

“Maybe you can compromise,” Dreg offered, dangling from the side of the tent. “You know, like Stinkory. That way, everyone’s happy.”

Buzzard didn’t think Stinkory would improve the girl's mood, though.

Buzzard’s hand pressed down against the metallic flooring, warm from his body heat beneath the blankets which had been covering it. He pushed himself up determinedly, muscles flaring, his feet scrabbling clumsily against the loose blankets and pillows he had used during the night.

He tilted, body lurching sideways, disoriented, crashing heavily into the side of the tent. He felt the thick canvas stretch, compressing against his body weight. His feet slipped on the blankets—

His face scraped against the canvas as the floor rose up to greet him once more.

“Well, this feels familiar,” Dreg jeered from above.

The side of Buzzard's face burned from the friction. His vision swam as he lifted his head, chin resting on the hard ground. Stink studied him, expression revolted.

“I suppose I will discover the source of the disturbance on my own then.”

“Very, very familiar,” Dreg repeated in an undertone.

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