The Mission: Part 1

  Pablo

  ?

  Footsteps. Snapping twigs. Assholes were yelling outside the tent as if they hadn't just partied hours ago.

  Bang. Thud. Couldn't tell if the others were hauling shit, hurling it, or banging their fat heads into equipment.

  Pablo rubbed his face into his pillow until his nose settled into the stuffing. It was soft. Feathery. It practically caressed his head. Scratchy as a fucking scouring pad.

  Thump. Thud.

  "Keep it down," he muttered into the pillow. That was all he could muster with his splitting headache from the liquid he hadn't slept off. There was a word for this. Mother-pucking, dock-sucking Regret.

  "Pablo! You awake?" Sansi shouted just outside his tent by the sound of it, so why she was asking was anyone's guess. No one could sleep through that.

  "No," Pablo called, making the pillow's cover vibrate and scrape his face. "Go-away-," His dying voice trailed off.

  He rolled onto his back and forced his eyelids open, groaning with intention so Sansi could hear his suffering. Couldn't make that shit up. The light burned his eyes as it bled through the canvas walls, making it look like day. It wasn't.

  It was too early for this.

  Sansi probably couldn't hear him because the next thing that happened was a whizzing swipe tearing down the tent wall. Her fingernails needed a warning sign. 'Nails make more nefarious noises than a cat'

  "Pablo!"

  "What?!" He rubbed his temples, trying to squeeze out the ache.

  "We're leaving soon. You don't have to worry about loading barrels because I did that for you. You can thank me later, but you need to get your butt out here because I don't know how long they're going to wait for you."

  Damn. No one missed a beat on mission day.

  "I'm coming," Pablo groaned as he stretched an arm, and then it plopped down on his pillow.

  Well, look at that. Arm didn't want to leave his uncozy hellhole either.

  Everything was still spinning, the spots on the tent's brown ceiling, swirling around in circles like water in a shit bowl. His body wasn't working either. Head groggy, couldn't feel himself breathing, but the worst was that he needed to piss and his legs refused to move. Whoever came up with the drinking tradition was a fucking sadist.

  This was the worst. Still have no idea why they had to leave for the mission at bullshit o'clock, or sleep during the day with the sun in their eyes. Others might've been used to it by now. Not Pablo. Fuck that. Pablo slept at night like a basic bastard. So did Miles. That's how he knew Miles hadn't slept either.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Hours earlier, Miles decided that his trivial problems were more important than Pablo's right to a quality sleep. So Pablo stayed awake. That little whiner had a good way of making his problems yours, too. Every time. Annoying as hell and pissed Pablo the fuck off with his depressing shit. So goddamn needy. But absolutely treasured.

  Pablo would always keep his door open for Miles, but in return, Miles left a tangled mess behind in every damn way.

  Yawning, Pablo sat up slowly. Pungent breath kicked his nostrils, head catching up to him like a slap to the skull. No way in hell was he going anywhere like this.

  The sheets were in a bundled mess on his lap and on the mat beside him. He pinched the fabric of one and rubbed it between his fingers.

  One thing was certain. Miles hadn't left in the best state so he would want Pablo there in case things went south. Pablo was better at listening to his incessant complaining than anyone else.

  Just had to get up.

  Pablo wobbled from his seat to a stand and dragged his lame body across the tent. Had to hurry. Garrett didn't like the truck to stall, and was always bitching about burning oil.

  A piece of broken glass hung from a twisted wire on the side of his tent which was the only thing that resembled a mirror. He pulled a lengthy curl of his wild and frizzy hair and it bounced back. Favored. Should just cut it off even though his knife had gotten dull. No time to fuck with it.

  "Pablo!" Sansi yelled. Faraway voices repeated after her, barely a mutter. They need to calm down. Might as well start a "Fuck Pablo" chant. Sounded like one already.

  "Goddamnit, I'm coming." Pablo shouted through his tent.

  "Well, hurry. I don't want to go without you." Sansi whined.

  A smirk spread before he could catch it and with no one to witness, "I'll be there." He replied.

  He stared at his reflection. Bushy brows, red eyes, dark circles, dumb face. Is that a zit? Radiant. No reason to look charming when he's going to get grimy and sweaty anyway. Still. He evened his eyebrows with a finger and sifted through his hair, pulling a tight sun hood cap over it. He pushed stray strands out of sight. Good enough.

  Pablo grabbed a gray, hooded coat that was hanging from a line and threw it on. His moronic super-squad of angsty rebel-wannabes uniform. It was lighter than everyone else's. Looked better too. Pablo knew what he was doing when he trimmed more in the back and cut the sleeves. With the fabric loose, he just needed a single button to keep it in place. It made it so much easier to breathe.

  A mechanical sputtering got louder outside. Pablo's cue to run. He swiped his mask off a small table and sped out the door, cradling his gut that had just decided it was gassy or hungry, or steel knows.

  The truck was parked in a forested area near the guard post and dining tent. Black smoke rose behind trees. If it hadn't been for that, the sound of the truck's deafening engine would have given away its location.

  Their sleeping tents were spread out on the flattest ground on the top of the hill. Lights with long, tangled cords illuminated the path. Miles's tent wasn't too far from Pablo's so he passed it on the way, the flap still open. That idiot.

  Curious anyway. Pablo pulled the door back to look inside. It definitely wasn't the way he had last seen it, carved wood decorating the walls, stones and sticks all over the floor, and tools all over the place. Cleanest it's ever been.

  Damn Cass really had him under her thumb. Turned him into a fucking princess. The lack of his hoarded collections of tools and toys wasn't the most worrying thing in the room. There was no sheet or pillow on his mat. Must have been at Cass's.

  He must have spent a lot of time with her to have moved that much of his stuff. Too much. At least Miles was getting a break from her while she stayed here and he played dutiful avenger scouting out their next mission site.

  Trotting down the hill, he stepped on logs of different sizes. They had been pressed deep into the dirt like someone had tried to make stairs, but created a path of crooked death-traps instead.

  When he made it to the bottom, he jogged to the truck that was backed into a clearing. It was large, back was a box-shaped container with doors. It was old and ugly as sin. What might have been grey or white was a rusted orange, paint scratched and peeled off.

  Sansi waved at him from the doors, not wearing her mask and letting it hang at the bottom of her chin so her white teeth contrasted her dark features, "He's here!" Sansi yelled.

  Pablo ran to the truck doors that had been propped open, and started lifting himself up the metal to the truck floor. The vehicle creaked and bent toward him as he climbed. Fucking truck. Pablo didn't weigh that much. Drama queen.

  All six barrels were loaded and sat in the center leaving Pablo very little room to squeeze by and find a seat.

  "Took you long enough," Sansi said.

  There was barely any light, but Sansi had been sitting opposite, leaving no room for Pablo next to her, holding her hands clasped together as if she were in prayer. Or holding a knife. Could've been either one.

  Then there it was.

  Beside Sansi, there was a woman with long black hair and a pink frilly shirt, sitting up straight with her hands in her lap.

  Staring at him.

  Like she had been waiting.

  Cass.

  The truck doors closed behind Pablo, leaving them all in darkness.

  Shit.

  *** Character-specific extras included in post author's note*

  Thank you for reading!

  'Dead Weight' continues in the next part.

  [Extra]: Pablo's Survival Tips:

  Rule #1: Smiling is bad news. Don't trust anyone who smiles too much. Or anyone really.

  Rule #87: Don't trust water. Buckets lying around? Don't touch them. Emi leaves water everywhere. Drink from one and you'll be shitting piss soup all week.

  Rule #158: Toss the drama to the curb. When something is on a truck that isn't supposed to be, throw the damn thing off.