GUN SALAD

“Go fish.”

Marka scratched his head. “Why do we call the cards ‘fish’, again?”

“That’s just the way it is,” Roulette said with a shrug. “It means you’ve got to pick up another one.”

“But I already have so many!”

“That’s your own fault!” She took no pleasure in scolding the man, but he was playing pretty badly… And she’d thought her instructions had been so clear. “You have to think about what I’m likely to have, see? So, for example, when I say ‘got any fours’...”

Marka’s nostrils flared. He looked about ready to throw his cards on the floor in frustration. “How??? How could you know that I have a four? Is this a trick deck?”

“Please. You think I’d try and swindle you when there isn’t a single slug on the line?” She plucked the proffered card from his waiting hand and gathered it up with the others, laying yet another completed stack down on her side of the play area. “I’ve just played this a ton. That, and you have about half the deck in your hand at this point…”

“Well, how am I to win then?” he sputtered. “I must have one of every card by now!”

The girl graced him with an angelic smile, fanning herself with the small assemblage of playing cards in her own hand. “Guess you’ll just have to try harder, hmm?”

He scowled at her, his bushy brows knitting in concentration. “I have survived many attempts on my life; defeated some of the most powerful gunfighters in northern Truvelo. I will not lose at this fish game.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Got any…” he began, scouring her face for some manner of tell.

He winced. “...Sixes?”

“Marka, I have all the sixes. They’re here in front of me already.”

He roared in anguish, throwing all his cards in the air. They rained down on them like confetti.

“HEY!” Roulette shrieked, jumping to her feet. “This is my only deck, you sore loser! If I find even a single card unaccounted for, you’ll be buyin’ me a new one in Sebastopol!”

Marka sniffed. “I will do no such thing.”

“You will if you know what’s good for you,” she said. “I splinted that leg for you–I can just as easily un-splint it… Or even splinter it, if I’m so inclined. Don’t cross me, Moukahla.”

By the time she finished her sentence, she could see that he’d already softened considerably; if anything he looked ashamed of his outburst. He set about gathering up the fallen cards nearest him, lacking the mobility necessary to pick up those that had fluttered further afield. Roulette dealt with those ones herself, flitting all around the cargo area in pursuit of her treasured playing cards.

As she stooped to recover one that had fallen near the hull, the girl’s ears pricked up. Something was going on outside–it sounded almost like rain, only harsher. More intense.

“Marka, you told me to tell Morgan we needed to fly southeast over the desert, right?”

He looked up from the pile of cards he’d recovered so far. “Yes. Why?”

“I’m hearin’ rain out there. Is that… Normal for the deserts around here?”

The man frowned, apparently concerned. “There is no rain in the Diflagrati desert. But there are–”

Their vessel jerked suddenly, thrusting Roulette up against the wall. She managed to brace herself against the worst of it, though, while Marka had clung to the thick netting cordoning off the piles of unknown cargo at his back.

“What the hell is that?” she fumed, stomping toward the cockpit without stopping to hear the rest of Marka’s explanation. She got jostled about a couple more times on the way, but the girl refused to give any ground. Before long she was clinging to the back of the copilot’s seat face-to-face-with a fully opaque windshield. Thick clouds of dust swirled before she and Morgan’s eyes, blocking out any hint of a view they might’ve had of the desert below.

“Everything’s fine! I’m workin’ on it!” he grunted, wrestling with the controls.

“It sure as hell doesn’t look fine! It’s like a carnival ride back there–what’s goin’ on?”

“Sandstorm,” he said. “Don’t distract me, now. I’m busy tryin’ to save our sorry hides!”

For once, Roulette saw the wisdom in not talking back. She settled tensely into the copilot’s seat and clasped the seatbelt she found there around herself. She gripped the arms of her chair tightly, feeling powerless and on-edge; just how many situations like this was she supposed to abide, anyhow? How many times was she going to live through catastrophes she couldn’t have any role in averting?

Now, now, she reassured herself. There’s no guarantee you’ll live through this one!

A shadowy form emerged from the roiling sand a split-second before the crash. The windshield shattered immediately, spraying them with broken glass. Roulette hardly noticed it. It was the howling storm of grit that captured her full attention, rushing through the cockpit and the rest of the RUMP’s interior like a swarm of angry bees. The sheer velocity of their spinning craft only made it worse; the girl felt her stomach drop several times in quick succession during those last, chaotic seconds preceding final impact. 

When that impact finally came, (following the series of sickening crunches that ensued as their ruined vessel skipped across the sand) Roulette almost considered it a blessing. Her whole body ached from the strain of the stress she’d just endured, but–aside from a few cuts and scrapes–the girl felt as though she’d gotten through the ordeal mostly unscathed. She coughed violently and unbuckled her seatbelt, cupping one hand over eyes in an effort to stave off the blinding effects of the still-raging sandstorm.

“Morgan!?” she called. Even though he’d been right next to her, getting her eyes to focus properly proved unexpectedly challenging at the moment.

To her relief, she heard him coughing too. “Yeah, yeah…! I’m good!”

“Good!” she rasped, trying not to let on just how worried she’d been over him. “I doubt the doors’ll work–find us a safe way out through the windshield! I’m going to go get Marka!”

“Will do,” he replied. “Lucky that whoever built this thing built it sturdy–we should be dead right now.”

Roulette rushed back to the cargo area. Morgan was right, and that was what worried her; if anyone had perished in the crash, it would be the one who hadn’t been properly secured:

Marka.

“Marka…!” she cried, stumbling through the sand-filled interior of the fallen flying machine. “Marka! Give a shout if you can hear me!”

She retraced her steps across the cargo area on instinct; visibility was too poor to do otherwise. As she did, she soon came across a still figure with its arms laced in the cargo netting. Its fingers were clenched around half a deck of cards.

“Oh, no… No, no, no!” she gasped, fearing the worst…

That’s when the ‘corpse’ lifted his head and smiled at her.

“I found them all!” he declared, slipping his arm out from among the mess of netting to extend the half-stack of cards in her direction.

She nearly smacked them out of his hand. “You idiot!!” she hollered, suddenly grateful for the presence of the sand billowing between them; after all, it did a bang-up job obscuring her tears. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? Now, get yourself out of that net–I’ll help you to the cockpit.”

She snatched the cards and shoved them in a pocket with the rest, offering Marka her shoulder for support. Once he’d finished extricating himself she helped the man to the front of the vessel where Morgan was waiting; he knelt just outside the broken windshield, ready to help Marka through a shardless opening he’d carved out in her absence.

After a bit of pushing and grunting, the three of them managed to make their way out onto the nose of the crashed RUMP. Much of it was buried in the sand, and two of its propeller blades had broken off; all things considered, it was a miracle that the trio had survived.

“We’ve got to get out of this mess!” Morgan shouted, doing his best to project over the rush of wind and sand that engulfed them still. “Find a place to lay low until the wind dies down!”

Marka pointed, squinting into the dusty hail to their right. “There! I see a green glow–a relic of the Old Magocracy, perhaps?”

Roulette paused, uncertain. What good could come from messing with the leftovers of a civilization of evil mages? 

Surprisingly, Morgan didn’t seem to share her misgivings. “Worth a try!” he replied, taking over the burden of Marka’s frame from Roulette. “Lead the way!”

She did so, leading the men away from the crash site and into the shadow of a large dune. The glow Marka had seen proved to be a sizable gem set into the front of a strange door; one that was set directly into the dune itself, its edges lined with a rim of solid arcan. It was a sight to see, but Roulette didn’t have the patience to admire it–not when her friends were still at the mercy of the sandstorm to end all sandstorms.

Her first act was to try and move the gem. When that didn’t work, she knocked on the door… Then she kicked it. Then she threw her full weight against it, all to no avail. 

“Open up, you stupid thing!” she hissed. In a fit of pure frustration, she took up Lady Luck.

Morgan started. “Roulette, what are you–”

She opened fire, taking aim directly at the gem. The bullets bounced off harmlessly, but something appeared to happen nonetheless: as her gun drew close to its glittering surface, the gem began to glow even brighter. That, in turn, triggered the door’s mechanism; its two halves slid apart without further delay, revealing a sandstone staircase leading down into darkness.

“After you,” Roulette said to her stunned companions, stepping aside to admit them with a smile on her face. They obliged, and the girl was quick to follow them, secure in the knowledge that she’d done it; she’d opened up a place for her posse to take shelter all on her own! Maybe she wasn’t so useless after all!

Roulette was so pleased with herself that she paid little mind to the darkening of her surroundings as the heavy stone doors slid shut behind them.