Gunship: Trilogy Three

Book 7: Bone Harvest

Part 1

IT CAME WITH THE RAIN.

Officially, the Mortakin Virus was a weapon of war designed by the hunters and their mad scientist. It was otherwise known as the infection.

Millions of innocent people died across the Skyla System when the infection was launched. We quickly found out, as did those who created the virus, that it was uncontrollable. The hunters had hoped to contain the virus and use it when and where they deemed it was needed as their union with humanity began to crumble. They had no idea that once it was released, the virus would continue to chew its way across our star system in horrific fashion. The total count of the Skyla System's population that once stood at billions – less than 1% proved immune to the horrors of the virus.

Most of those who were infected dropped dead as a stone within a month of contracting the virus. Showing only a low-grade fever at first, their temperature quickly spiked well beyond its normal range. Their bodies became too hostile to operate under normal conditions, which led to organs shutting down.

Worse even, was the fact that a great many of the dead came back. Clinically, they passed away for a short time before coming back from the dead with a hunger something fierce. Typical zombies, I suppose. Not that there's anything typical about running folks down to gnaw on their flesh.

For whatever reason, a small percentage of the human population seemed to be immune to the Mortakin Virus. Their bodies just didn't take to it and we never quite figured out why. No fever; no possibility of being turned. It was likely a case of genetics, but with a star system full of dead scientists, no one could prove anything. In the end, the reasoning doesn't amount to a hill of beans. What matters is humanity was left with only a fraction of its population intact, forced to initiate a lottery and form an exodus fleet, but that's a story for another day.

If you think this is the typical tale of survival, think again.

The people of the drifts have had 25 years to survive and they've done a pretty good job of it, given the circumstances. The drifts weren't exactly a place of luxury to begin with – not like the central planets, with brimming skylines and overpopulated cities. This was a string of moons that preferred a simple life. Farming, sharecropping; they didn't need the spice of modern technology. It also happened to be the birthplace of the virus, so, as you might imagine, the lottery mysteriously drew no one from the drifts. The survivors here had learned to make due. They've adapted to life with the infected.

The zombies have also adapted.

Most of them are the garden variety. Lethargic, simple-minded and lead-footed. That said, most of them seem to rally themselves around an alpha of the pack. It's the alphas you've got to worry about. They're much faster and mean as hell. Tricky, too. The average zombie may be mindless, but the alphas can reason. They like to lay traps and watch their prey walk right into them, which can be a bitch at times.

As you might expect, the living are just as big of a problem. There are no real governments anymore, at least not in the drifts. Aside from the occasional crew of low-rent scrappers with a pair of testicles the side of two Glimmerian moons, the folks here have been left to it; completely cut off from the Skyla System.

Communities of survivors have formed and they all have their own rules. Just as has been the case since the dawn of mankind, you also have those who throw a middle-finger into the face of rules and go their own way. Outlaws, we like to call 'em. They'll kill a man for a pack of cigarettes from the old world, and if you happen to have anything better, things like guns, gasoline or antibiotics, they'll kill your pet dog, feed him to you and then kill you straight dead like a bottle of long gone whiskey.

As for the zombies, they keep inventing better ways to chase us and we invent quicker ways to stay a few steps ahead of them. Humanity here in the drifts has found that there is strength in numbers, which, sadly, works both ways. Find yourself swamped by a superior number of growling dead and you might as well bend over and kiss your own ass goodbye.

Most folks tend to stick to the high ground. For some, that means the towering skyscrapers of a world that once was. What small cities were in the drifts remain overrun, while the tallest buildings belong to our kind once more. They may just be mini-skyscrapers at best, but plenty of men and women have died to take 'em back and call 'em home.

For the less-fortunate, large networking caves or barges on the sea work just fine. Or, like the folks in Jacento and hundreds of locations just like it; it means a very small city built atop towers of stone. Bluntly put, we're a generation of farmers and cowboys who've survived living in ground zero of the Skyla System's worst plague ever.

Communities trade back and forth using airships, which seems only natural. Nearly everyone has the technology to use steam power, and that's pretty much all it takes for the rawest of ships. Along with a bit of fabric and some luck. If you live in a smaller community and you have the right people behind that all-terrain vehicle or convoy of vehicles, affectionately known as a stagecoach, you can get from place to place.

If you have fish hand over fist but desired something else, you trade with folks by way of airship or stagecoach. Every location has its resources and every location has a list of needs. You find other locations to trade with and you do your best to keep surviving. There are no more nations, just small groups of people trying to survive. Communities working together, that's the new face of our planet.

Like I said before, our worlds have changed. But, as some folks eventually figure out, some things will never change. Greed, lust, and deception are all part of our everyday lives. No matter what the circumstances are. Every son of a bitch with a beating heart in his chest and a desire to live has the same motto.

Know your enemy. Pack Heat. Have a plan.

IT'S HARD TO IMAGINE the chaos in a world that ushers in a brand new day by way of a gorgeous sunrise.

Hughes thought long and hard about that as he continued to puff on a small nub of a very tough cigar. His rough lips massaged the brittle leaf wrapping as mental gears did their work in his head.

Are you ready to head out?

No, Hughes replied, looking to his longtime friend, Eli Sykes. Hell no.

Hughes was taller than average with a plentiful build. Stocky, but not fat in the least, Hughes was a fighter. He always had been. The type of man that took no shit and was quick to give it when he needed to. A thick head of dark brown hair topped off his experienced face and wild beard of unkempt facial hairs. If our star system had never known the infection, Hughes would have likely been a construction worker. Perhaps a lumberjack. In a world filled with flesh-eating infected, though, he was a survivor.

His friend Eli Sykes was of a different sort. Average height and, at best, average build. He was cleanly shaven and a bit more proper. Especially when it came to his words, which matched the slickness of feathery brown hair which rested on his head in nicely-trimmed fashion. He looked like the typical boy next door.

Even so, we need to go sooner rather than later. We can't afford to be burning daylight. Eli replied.

Fuck. Hughes grumbled with aggravation as he slowly stood to his feet. Not happy about having to leave the comforts of home behind. Even if he was damn good at his job, it didn't make him enjoy it.

Glancing around, the small city of Jacento was already in full swing for the day. A hundred or more buildings, each of them varying in size, rested atop the large tower which had been constructed during the rebuilding years. Small homes and even a handful of larger, business-type dwellings, rested on top of the tower of stone. It had been a labor of both love and desperation as those around the area had plenty of rock and the equipment to shape it to their needs. The tower itself was a few stories high and finely-crafted. The structured homes were much cruder in appearance. They'd gradually been built with scrap wood and pretty much anything else that could be salvaged by the survivors.

The truth of the matter was, humanity had gotten its ass kicked following the outbreak of the Mortakin Virus. Even if our armies had the numbers, technology and certainly the arrogance to win – they didn't. We quickly found out how sheer numbers can overwhelm the might of military power as infection began to spread throughout the ranks of our warriors. At first, people didn't want to believe that the end was near. It's easy to see the news of an outbreak on the far side of the solar system and believe you're safe. They'd become accustomed to watching the war from a distance, relying on information from the front lines.

It wasn't until the Colonial Army was overrun and the standing commander fell that folks understood the war against the undead had been lost. By then, it was too late for most of them. Those who'd planned ahead and those who'd taken the reports seriously were survivors in every sense of the word. From preppers deep within underground bunkers to those who'd quickly started working on constructing stone towers – there would be a life of rebuilding once the infection ran its course.

Rather than launching a second war against the zombies that we'd most certainly lose, what remained of humanity launched a war of wits. At least for those left behind by the exodus fleet. We couldn't live with the undead and we certainly couldn't beat their overwhelming numbers, so our greatest minds began scrambling to find another way. Everything was suggested, from the drifts building their own fleet to beating the infection with some sort of cure, which, of course, never materialized. None of the suggestions were practical in a string of worlds that were now predominately dead in one fashion or another.

Folks just continued to live above the zombies. Anything that put enough distance between you and the fucker that wanted to eat you was a possibility. We also figured out that surviving in larger numbers was a hell of a lot easier than trying to make it on your own. Regular folks with no military background began learning about things like high ground and choke points. A few men couldn't take down a hundred zombies on their own. But, given a solid choke point and enough guns, that same handful of men could wipe out the zombies as they'd be forced to take a stab at them in single file fashion.

Barges at sea made total sense, aside from the fact that supplies tended to run out very quickly. Tall buildings that were once stood as the pinnacle of the drifts had become safe havens for survivors. They were large enough to house entire communities and forced the undead to shuffle up stairwells single file. The living had a tough time making the same climb of stairs before the virus struck. Anything that was elevated off of the ground worked. Old forts that once stood as historic attractions for tourists, bridges and even small towns that had used available machines to dig deep trenches around themselves. Cutting their communities off in the process. We also found out quickly that supplies were now paramount to our survival.

Airships and hot air balloons became the primary source of delivering goods. Using no fossil fuels, they were practical in a world that was already in short supply of gasoline. They were silent, often coasting above the heads of zombies who remained clueless to their presence and the balloons allowed them to land at the places they needed to. Rooftops, large barges at sea and secured fields inside of a town of the living, just to name a few.

Also, for those who either had less sense or less money, zip lines were an option. For Hughes and his friend Eli, it was pretty much a requirement.

Their official titles were outreach team, but everyone knew what they did. In fact, every community had several of them and they were universally known as zombie cowboys. They were adventurers of a different sort. While the drifts had evolved into a lifestyle of avoiding the undead, there were still entire moons filled with the treasures of yesterday. The average man or woman had no desire to risk their own life in order to venture out into the world for relics of a time before zombies, but some were willing to pay dearly for anything brought back by someone who did have the guts, or a death wish, depending on who you asked.

Pulling the sweet cigar from his mouth, Hughes quickly flicked it over the tower's edge, watching it fall down onto the ravenous horde of flesh-eating zombies below. Acting as they always did, be it here in Jacento or any other decent-sized living tower; as a moat of lost souls. Growling with pains of hunger and anticipation as they looked up into the sky. Wishing they could have the salty flesh of a living carcass. Even Hughes', which was riddled with odd scars and stubbly hair.

Let's go be cowboys. Hughes said with regret.

He'd often wondered why he risked his own ass to benefit those with money. Hughes had seen bidding wars between wealthy survivors over items such as cigars, nude magazines, and fancy art, too. So he figured the risk was worth it. He put his ass on the line each time out and God willing, returned with enough loot to make himself a nice stack of credits.

In pretty much every community, credit was the new money. It allowed a person to visit their town's supply bank and buy whatever they wanted. Hughes enjoyed the taste of rum and even an occasional sweet roll, which was more lavish than the lifestyle of some cowering pussy who stayed at the fort and picked beans all day. It was a high-risk, high-reward job and the rush of zombies nipping at his heels made it that much better. The zombie cowboys were legends among their communities. Heroes that, much like the gunslingers of old, were exactly what every kid wanted to be when they were all grown up.

Know your enemy. Pack heat. Have a plan. That was universally known as the creed of a zombie cowboy. It didn't take long to find yourself surrounded by a flesh-eating horde, at which point you were shit out of luck. It also didn't take a rocket scientist to quickly figure out that the living were just as dangerous.

As Hughes bitched under his breath, Eli understood he'd need to lead out.

Grabbing a zip line device from his bag, Eli connected it to the line above and began bolting it down tight. Grabbing the device, which was a set of basic handlebars now hanging from sturdy steel cabling, Eli closed his eyes for a moment and lunged off of the tower's edge; quickly zipping past the horde through the sky above and heading directly for a dense forest that topped a nearby mountain.

There's got to be a better way. Hughes said, bolting his own device down and grabbing hold. Oh SHIT! he cried out loudly, as he usually did, while the zip line carried him through the sky above. Several stories above the hungry horde. His large frame looked like a toy as it dangled at such a rapid pace.

The zip line system had been created by some egg-headed fucker in the drifts along the way who'd likely never zipped in his life. It worked, but the ride wasn't smooth and it surely wasn't enjoyable in the least. Each community had a steel tower that could be cranked higher or lower. When zipping out, city officials would crank the tower higher, allowing its zombie cowboys to zip across to a second tower which normally stood hundreds of yards away, using gravity to help the adventurers get there quickly. When they were set to return, the town officials could then crank the tower back down, reversing the direction of gravity while allowing their zombie cowboys to return. It was simple enough and dependable, too. Ziplines had become the new interstate system in a world that now lived above ground. For the city of Jacento, that high spot was atop a mountain filled with thick foliage.

It was very crude and basic at first glance, but the fact that an entire network of zip lines had been strategically placed throughout the new world gave light to the fact that inventors were still ahead of the zombies. Flesh-eating rots had no zip line devices and certainly had no smarts to use the cabling system. It allowed humanity to travel quickly while skirting around most known locations that were thick with biters.

That never gets old. Eli said as he clipped his zip line attachment back onto his backpack with ease.

The fuck you talking about? Hughes grumbled, attaching his own to the backpack resting snugly to his back. That trick was old the first time I did it. I'd like to grab one of these borderline skeletons by its neck and shove my attachment halfway up its ass. he growled with anger.

Hughes had long battled the fear of heights. In fact, he was likely the only zombie cowboy to face such a fear. Sad, or laughable, depending on a person's perspective. For Eli, it was quite laughable. It was often his prodding stick when poking fun.

You don't say? Eli asked with a grin.

The zip line attachment! Hughes defended. You know what I'm talking about. Always twisting my words and shit.

Cheer up, Eli said, smacking his good friend across the shoulder. We're still alive and the horde down there is still starving. None the wiser.

I'll cheer up when this sack is full of goodies and I'm back in Jacento with my feet kicked up. Preferably in a hot bath and surrounded by women.

Blonde or brunette?

Don't really matter, Hughes replied. They can be chrome-domed for all I care. Just as long as they can massage tension from my back and flirt heavy enough.

Now that I can't argue with. Eli replied with a grin.

So where are we headed this time out?

Hughes normally did the fighting and asking, while Eli did the thinking. He always seemed to have a plan. Sometimes it fetched them a peck of trouble, mind you, but, more times than not, Eli Sykes was very smooth when it came to planning.

Well, Eli replied, grabbing a map and studying it hard. I thought we'd make our way south and check out the ruins. I know it's a little more dangerous but there's a chance we can fill our packs quicker.

Cityside, as it had been formerly known. Now that the drifts had started to rebuild, Cityside was one of the very few cities that lay in ruins. Filled with items of interest, as well as a lot of biters.

Both men stopped for a second, growing very silent as Hughes eased the peacemaker from his back.

Both men had guns too, but they also had smarts. A single gunshot would have the ability to draw in far too many zombies. So each man also carried a melee weapon. Any smart zombie cowboy did – often using them against each other in fighting for the same loot, while not drawing the wrong kind of attention.

Eli's weapon of choice was a properly-edged machete. It had seen its fair share of kills, but as he stood there, map in hand, he'd place his life in the hands of Hughes. Also in Hughes' hands – the finest peacemaker in Jacento.

A thick hickory stick which filled out to be about nearly the width of a baseball bat, only flat around the edges. It was trimmed in copper, which bolted down tight and had seen its fair share of killing. The handle was padded with thick black tape for a comfortable grip, and Hughes had even paid to have a wood-burner in Jacento engrave the peacemaker with a large heart. Because, in the end, he was a lover.

It looked too smooth to wield, quite honestly, but packed the bite of a sledgehammer when it came down to it. As Hughes waited, peacemaker at the ready, the men were finally welcomed by a large squirrel. In search of nuts and finding two panicked men instead. Beggars can't always be choosers.

Fuck, Hughes said with a breath of relief. Scram, you little beady-eyed bastard. Before I fill your cheeks with my stick of wood.

Glancing to his friend, Eli's mind went to a different place.

The Peacemaker, you damned pervert!

I see, Eli replied. So you agree with the plan? Eli asked.

Yea sounds well enough.

He continued to watch the squirrel as it fled back into the thick brush around them. His lips growled a bit.

We'll have to stay near the river until we get closer. Then we'll break away and go into the ruins at nightfall.

Yea, Hughes replied. That works.

Anything we're looking for in particular? Eli asked.

Seems to be a premium right now on flashy jewelry, and, of course, Daniel is hounding me for as much gadgetry as I can round up. We should have plenty of room to grab the best of both worlds. Hughes replied.

Daniel was one of Jacento's two blacksmiths, though he considered himself an inventor first. He loved creating things. Everything from weaponry to lighting devices, Daniel did what he could to make life just a little more bearable. Such ingenuity took resources; things like wiring, copper and other decent metals, along with working gears. Eli and Hughes would bring him back a pirate's ransom of supplies, and, in return, he'd repair what they needed to be repaired. Also letting them try the newest weapons first.

Yea, well, Eli said. Take one last look. We may be gone for a while.

But Hughes was already looking. Every single time they headed out to scavenge the lands, Hughes found himself admiring the beauty of a city resting atop a stone tower. Even if there were plenty of starving zombies at its bottom awaiting a feast that would never come. It was still his home.

I've never understood why we just don't hang off the side of Jacento and dust every one of those sons of bitches, Hughes admitted. Clean the place up a bit, you know? Hell, plant some flowers out there or something.

It'd be a waste of ammunition, Eli replied. Besides, the gunshots would likely draw twice as many as before.

I suppose you're right.

The horde had literally been at Jacento's doorstep for years. Otherwise standing in a very wide open plain of tall grass with outlying mountains surrounding it, Jacento had become known for its horde. They'd given up trying to scratch and claw their way through the very thick stone which supported the tall tower and city above, having resorted to grimacing looks and ferocious howling. They'd ultimately found the looks and howling returned by Hughes on any one of his drinking nights.

But, unless you were drunk and walking along the city's edge by yourself, there was absolutely nothing to fear from the pitiful looking horde below. A few of the bravest citizens in Jacento had even paid to have their homes built on the edge just a bit. The beach front property of a post-apocalyptic world, when no beaches were to be had.

TRAVELING DURING THE daylight hours in a world now shared with the walking dead was bad enough. But having to settle down for the night by way of a camp fire was far worse. The winds were too cold and crisp to make it without a heat source. Especially during the coldest months of the year. However, the flicker of light and scent of burning wood would easily draw in biters, which left every sane man thinking long and hard about it. Just one of the many downfalls to being a zombie cowboy. When children of Jacento heard stories of their heroes journeying outside of the city's wall to face the legions of dead, they likely weren't told of harsh conditions. Wearing the same underwear for nearly a week can break a man's spirits.

Through their years of experience, Eli and Hughes had developed their own early warning system. Fifty yards in each direction, they'd laid out trip wires attached to tin cans that were filled with rocks. Not exactly much to look at, granted, but they let the two men know of any trouble headed in.

The loud rattling of rocks inside of the cans gave them enough time to prepare to fight, or run, depending on what stumbled into camp. They warmed as they ate dinner and doused the fire out soon after. Taking turns with watch throughout the night. It cut down on their sleep but ensured the men they wouldn't wake up beside a thin woman who wanted more than just crotch meat.

They'd been robbed, left for dead, lost and half-starved, even running across times they wished for death. Most zombie cowboys had, at one point or another. There was no real training when becoming a man of risk and adventure. You expressed interest to someone already wrapped up in the business and if they thought you'd make a good one eventually, you'd become an apprentice. In other words, you hauled their shit around and they made extra room for you around the campfire at night. Sometimes cutting you in on the financial aspect of it, if you were lucky enough.

Zombie cowboys were the new age of adventurers in the primitive string of moons known as the drifts. Gone were the days of rushing to mine gold in the craziest of fashions. The new gold mines were small cities and complete towns left behind from a time that was, prior to the infection; each filled with a lot of things to be desired, a shitload of zombies and, sometimes, other folks out for the same damn things. Zombie cowboys were tough, rugged, sometimes lucky and looked up to by many within our current societies. It's what made them unique, and each man or woman had their own reasons for doing it. Many did it for the money or even the local notoriety.

In Eli's case, he felt intrigued by the virus itself. Why did some of our population remain immune? It was a question that most folks had quit asking a long time ago. Not Eli. He often searched for anything he could find on the Mortakin Virus, left by scientists of a time that had long passed. He still wondered what made his bloodline unique enough to be completely immune. When he saw the biters, he did what he could to imagine them before the apocalypse. They were someone's daughter, or son, or spouse. Eli always tried to respect that fact and run first, when it was possible. Killing them only as a last resort.

Eli may have felt remorse for killing them, but Hughes didn't share his sense of humanity. He truly didn't give a damn as to why his bloodline had survived the virus, instead of finding joy in a short list of things that life had to offer. Booze, cigars, booty, good boots and cracking skulls. If something came at him with the intent to feast on his flesh, then Hughes had no problem smashing its skull like a ragged grapefruit.

He made no bones about that.

Through all of their harsh experiences together, even their differences, Eli and Hughes had one very important thing to show for it. Trust. Either one of them could lay down at night and sleep like a baby, knowing the other one had his back. They'd each proven themselves to the other, time and again.

IT'S WAKE UP TIME, Hughes said, shaking his friend for a moment as daylight had once again flooded the landscape. We're already dragging late because of the rocky terrain.

Moments later, Hughes swung his peacemaker like a man on a mission, crushing an approaching biter directly in the face and caving its bony features into its skull. Transforming the undead bastard into an oozing ball of nastiness.

Quickly, Hughes placed his foot onto its shattered skull and jerked his peacemaker back to the ready with brute strength. Likewise, blood flowed down to his fingertips.

What the? Eli asked, using his arms to quickly help him to his feet as the zombie had fallen only a couple of feet away.

You want some coffee? Hughes asked.

Sure enough, a pot stood resting atop a blazing fire that Hughes had started just prior to sunrise. Zombies or no zombies, he was having his damn coffee.

Coffee? Eli asked with a puzzled voice.

Well yea, you know? It's black. It's hot. Do you drink it? But hell, it's up to you. I'm not going to force you to drink it. Just leaves more for my sweet lips to cherish.

But there are biters just a few feet away. Eli replied with confusion.

Had they honestly become so accustomed to having the living dead in their midst?

Fuck 'em, Hughes said. Unless it's a pack, I'm not worried about it. Hell, they are probably coming for the coffee too.

You're unbelievable. Eli said though he made his way to the fire.

Warming his hands for a moment and then pouring a cup of the piping black goodness. Acting as he normally did with no biters approaching; having realized his friend had things under control.

Yea, Hughes replied with a grin. But so is the coffee.

It's good, I'll give you that. Eli confirmed.

Lighting a cigar and rolling it slowly, Hughes took several deep draws as he pulled the bloodied peacemaker to the ready with aggravation.

Son of a bitch, he barked, swinging it onto an oncoming biter and folding the bony monster to the ground like an accordion, while the cigar rested limply in the corner of his mouth. A man would end up swinging his damn arm out by lunchtime.

We need to get a move on anyway. Eli replied, dousing the rest of his coffee onto the fire with a sizzle.

It drew a stern look from his larger friend.

What? Eli asked.

That's wasteful. Hughes replied.

It's coffee. Eli shrugged.

That's right. It is coffee. Hughes repeated sternly.

He was a man with strong convictions about the better things in life. He'd spilled more whiskey than most men had drank. Hughes could tell you the origin of a cigar by the smell of it, he loved the thick bottom of a good looking woman and coffee was to be respected. Those were all house rules – in his house.

We need to pack up the trip wires and we'll be all-

Already did it. Hughes replied.

You did? Eli asked with surprise.

Damn straight.

Oh, Eli said. The coffee.

It's a beautiful thing, brother.

Eli smiled wide, having no idea what to say in response.

Both men pulled their packs back to the tops of their backs and prepared to continue a hike that would lead them south, to the ruins of Cityside. Eli made sure that the fire was completely out, going so far as to kick the logs over, just in case. He double-checked the straps on his pack and then pulled his long blade to allow Hughes time to do the same.

His large friend collected the empty coffee pot, shot a hard glance to Eli and then clipped it to his own pack. Sliding his peacemaker back into place.

OUR STAR SYSTEM WAS now filled with planets that were both majestic and eerie, depending on a person's view of things.

The ability to walk through open fields and see nothing and hear even less was a bit odd. Animals were still around, though not nearly as plentiful as they had been before the Mortakin struck. They had not taken to the infection itself, but many had fallen victim to the hunger of roaming dead, while some had fallen into the hands of living folks in the drifts that were equally as starving. What animals did remain had a tendency to stay out of sight. It was their only defensive advantage. They too had evolved.

It was just beautiful – large blades of grass swayed beneath the winds of an otherwise silent day.

Hold up. Eli said.

What? Hughes replied.

Pointing out a strange coloring against the tree line ahead, Eli motioned his friend forward slowly. Peacemaker at the ready.

It's a fucking airship. Hughes commented.

I see that. Eli replied, restating the obvious.

As they neared, a blind man could have seen it. A wooden galleon lay smashed to bits with bright red balloon material caught in the tops of several trees.

I'm seeing three. Eli said.

I'm seeing a lot of loot aboard the airship, so fuck it, Hughes replied. Let's get to skull-cracking.