In which we thank some tuna and plan to fly.

“Come on!” Hunter bellowed, and with that, she ran after him into the ruins of a city lost to the hands of evil.

***

Luitpold jolted awake, and not a second had passed before he felt the pain. Not pain like the sting of salt in a wound, but rough, rugged pain that spread and pulsed with the rhythm of his heart. He groaned. His surroundings were littered with bullet holes: on the walls, in the equipment, in his employees. Why, even his overcoat had a hole on the right lapel, and underneath it he felt the sting of burning metal.

Wait, metal? That can’t-

“Mein thunfisch*!” He yelped in a pained squeal, and as quick as a hot bullet he unbuttoned his overcoat, then his coat, then his waistcoat. Like a Frenchman eating a croissant he tore through the punctured layers one by one, until he found it. There, in his breast pocket speckled with oil, was a can of tuna. The metal (plus the fish and the many layers of clothing) had saved his life. He had loved tuna before, but now he was indebted to it.

“Danke* thunfisch,” he said with a professional tone that didn’t seem fitting in a conversation with a sea-fish. “danke.”

***

Marie, Hunter, and the doppelganger had been running for an exhausting half-hour before they stopped for a rest. Well, the doppelganger wasn’t running per se, but riding on the backs of her saviors. Marie had found an abandoned 7-11, and asked Hunter (who said he wasn’t tired but was obviously lying) if they could maybe stop for a sec. Hunter dissented, and they were presently laying on the soiled concrete beside a charred gas pump.

“Hey, Hunter?” Marie prompted after minutes of deafening silence. Hunter gave way to a half-attentive grunt. “I just, I dunno, I – thanks for saving me back there. I owe you, man.”

“Yer darn right you owe me.” joked Hunter. “I had plans today.”

“Other than saving women and shooting Germans?”

Hunter chuckled, but his smile reverted back to a solemn frown quickly. “Marie,” Hunter’s voice grew alarmingly strict. “Listen to me. Those guys, they’re different. They’re evil. They don’t have a race. If they did, they abandoned it when they chose to be what they are.” His face was strange, like he was mentally scribbling on a memory he couldn’t get rid of.

Marie scanned Hunter’s face for some indication of a deeper meaning. She was good at that. “Hunter,” she said quietly. “are you okay?” He nodded. “Yeah. Just get kinda…” Hunter waved his hands around exasperatedly, and stared off into the distance. Marie looked at him worriedly. Not exactly worriedly as, say, a best friend would be, but the kind where you’re looking at a good friend who is doing something out of the ordinary.

“Um, kid?” Marie snapped her fingers in his face. He shook his head like a wet dog and made a subtle coughing noise, the “Hchem hm,”sort of cough that means, “Nothing to see here.”

“Yep. Right. Sorry.” Hunter said with a hint of embarrassment. “Zoned out there. Anyway, we need to hit the road. Naptime’s over, lady!” With that he slapped his knees, rose, and helped Marie up.

“So, what now?” Marie queried.

“Well,” pondered Hunter, “Reckon we better make our way to The Pickup. We can signal a Coleocopter from there.”

Marie looked at him in confusion. “Ummm, okay, how about this: I listen like a good student and you tell me what the beep a… Colon-Copter is. Deal?”

“Colon-Copter?” Hunter snorted.

Marie laughed. “Hey, if you’re gonna make no sense, somebody oughta make fun of you, man.”

“Well for one,” said Hunter, still chuckling, “it’s COLEO-copter. Coleo as in Coleoptera Magnum.” Marie tried to interrupt, but Hunter held up a hand. “Hear me out. You’ll know everything you’ll need to know once we get there.”

“Yeah, but where is ‘where’?”

“Can we just get a move on and trust me?”

Marie whipped her head around annoyingly and nodded.

*German for, “My tuna!”

*German for, “Thank you.”