'The Pumpkin Raiders and The Scarecrows' - My Entry for the 'Pumpkin Harvest' Farmpunk Fiction Contest

A punk and pumpkin story for the contest, initiated by @blockurator.
You can check out the original prompt post here: https://steemit.com/fiction/@blockurator/farmpunk-fiction-contest-4-pumpkin-harvest-b5b86591eb203est

'Coming Sto-o-o-r-rm!', cried Vanya, The Little in his sweet and high-pitched child's voice. At his three feet height and only six autumns, he was officially watchman of the Pumpkin Raiders squad. He was already jumping from the cliff overhang and starting through the brushes covering the entrance of the tunnel when he heard his commander's orders.

'Everybody! Get into the Crawler!', Aslu's shout immediately reached the rest of the 'Pumpkins', all of them attentive and ready to spring into action.

From the top of the giant ant-like machine a ladder was thrown down towards hand outstretched and eager to grab. Peshka was the last to go inside the thorax-resembling part of the hull. Aslu and her paramilitary unit of children had already taken their places and were fastening their seat belts across their chests. Only Vanya preferred to be left dangling from on safety handle to another along the walls and ceiling, as the Crawler marched on six legs through rocks and shallow gorges, through overgrowth and fallen trees. The others cheered for him and some envied him but none of them would dare try such a thing again. They were hardly keeping down their vomiting reflexes as they were.

Peshka moved to the pilot cabin, gave the crew a short 'Hold on!' warning, more for the feeling of it, and gave the controls a push. The AT-AT (All Terrain Ant Transport, as the kids loved to call it after a twentieth century fashion) rushed out of the tunnel and down the slopes towards their goal - the fields now owned in all but name by the Full Pumpkin Utilization and Nutrition Kraft global corporation, also known as the FPUNK corp.

The squad made it a principle of paramount importance to never approach by the same route twice. Whatever they did, they should not point to any of the underground hideouts they were supplying. And they only made their moves in bad weather conditions when satellites would not be able to spot them.

Scarecrows were something else, though. They would be somehow slowed down while storms caused major electromagnetic interference but they remained deadly, especially if underestimated. As the squad members had learned at a high cost.

EMI also caused bugs in their own bug so Peshka had to park it under the cover of a large oak a few hundred meters away from the fence. Eight tiny humanoids moved out from under its legs. The Pumpkin Raiders used handmade protective costumes consisting mostly of layers upon layers of thin leather, rubber boots and gloves, and gas masks of various sizes and manufactures. They looked quite the scarecrows themselves.

At one hundred meters to the closest line of barbed wire they spread out and seemingly halted their movement. One of them would make only a couple of steps at a time and then freeze. Then another. With pauses in between. The guards'sensors would detect motion but not if done at the pace of an insect.

The winds died out and leather was not flapping around anymore, which was a good thing. As the first heavy drops fell, sighs came out from under the masks. None of them would reach another recipient but each of them felt good, anyway. The rain was also hissing softly as mild acids melted burned some fresh grass. Spots like tiny shallow craters appeared on protective gear surfaces but none of those were threatening to go through.

'Ouch! Hurts!', came the shout of ten-year-old Garo.

'Tuck armor tighter!', commanded Aslu. 'No show skin!'

Rain was welcome, though, and they knew it. Mud would cover heat signatures as they had learned from 'Batiushka Arny', acting in an old movie.

Two of them remained outside the fence - Vanya, the watchman, who would also be the last in line to catch the pumpkins and secure them on the ground. Pumpkin acid should not be a problem. They were all packing syringes with D-r Jan's neutralizer.

'You heal the pumpkins with those', he had said. 'A little bit, not the whole of it, to each naughty head.'

The other one remaining on the outside was Joe, The Jew. He had lost both his parents to the robotic monsters that secured what lands had been previously stolen from his family by FPUNK lawyers and he welcomed payback whenever he could get some. He sported the only heavy firearm of the squad - the 7.62mm Dragunov sniper rifle. It looked so much bigger than the twelve-year-old boy who was short for even for his age. But he had learn how to... operate the thing. While he could shoot steadily with the rifle mounted on the thorax of the Crawler or from the ground, he had learned how to literally roll with the recoil after a single shot from a standing position. He was just using the scope for the moment so he was able to call it before Vanya:

'Sky clear, ten o'clo-o-ock! Time to mo-o-ove!'

'Not move before to take neutralizationed pumpkins!', called Garo.

'He is correct!', said Aslu, without shouting but loud enough to be heard by everybody. 'We never must not leave traces of Doc's compounds.'

'Rrrrrgh!', agreed The Mute, a kid of probably male gender and anywhere between seven and eleven years of age. He (probably) was generally loved for his (it would naturally follow) comments which were never completely understood but always seemed on point.

'Doc's what?', asked Vanya. 'And who is Doc?'

'The cures of D-r Jan', explained Joe, who was standing beside him.

'A-a-ah... Mean, affirmative, Sir!', replied Vanya, saluting with straight palm and fingers touching his forehead.

'Boyana, Kuber, no more injections!', cried Aslu, louder this time, to those furthest away in the field - brother and sister from the shores of Taman, west of Caucasus. 'Grab last pumpkins and retreat!'

Kuber, The Phanagorian had to gently tug his sister by the sleeve in order to get her attention and make her quit what she was doing. They each took good-sized pumpkins in their laps and started towards the fence.

Then came a thunderous shot from the Dragunov and Joe's victorious cry after the echo of it. After he stood back on his feet, actually:

'Got one!'

That was some good news but more bad news, they all knew. That meant They were already here. The shot had also made little Boyana drop her pumpkin on the ground and it had split on impact. She was lucky there was no acid in it, not anymore.

'I am so stupid!', she blamed herself, thinking not only of the loss of precious food, but also of Aslu's warning about Doc's cure.

'You are smart!', said Kuber, turning back to her and putting his load on the ground so that he could help. He threw his raincoat down and long black hair fell around his gas mask and down his shoulders. The rain had almost stopped so there would be no serious damage to him. It didn't matter, anyway. 'Come on, help me to put the pieces on this, quick!'

'Attention, squad!', cried Aslu, this time at the full strength of her lungs. 'You will retreat with all he load back to the Crawler! The storm is over so it will outrun all scarecrows.Never go straight for the tunnel, always lose them in the mountain first. You are under Peshka's command!'

"But, Aslu! Sir...', whined Vanya in protest.

'But what about you?', asked Peshka at the same time.

'Rrrrrgh?', asked The Mute.

'No buts! No rrrrgh!', she shouted back at them with anger based on something else. 'There is no time. I will distract them. Don't come back for me today! Free people rely on you. We don't steal, we harvest what was ours! What is ours!'

'Get do-o-own!', screamed Joe from a mound nearby as he fired another shot, this time lying on his belly, feet flung back and elbows hard pressed against the rubble. He did not totally miss but the scarecrow had enough forward momentum and its remains bore into the ground, causing waves of pumpkin acid to spray high into the air. None of it reached the squad members.

The Raiders had acquired some good reflexes and they did all duck just in time. Another scarecrow had approached and it had thrown its magnetic disks at their position. That could have cut somebody in half.

A few of them responded by throwing EMP grenades at it. The pulse of each of them would have been enough to disable it.

'That was overkill!', Kuber, The Phanagorian stated with annoyance in his voice.

'Wo-o-o-oh! No kill like overki-i-i-ill!', screamed Vanya, The Little in triumph.

'Rrrrrrrgh!', The Mute added and shook his (probably) hand still clutching a grenade in it.

'Give me that', said Aslu, this time in a calm but deadly serious tone. 'Everybody, give me all of your charges except one that you will lay as a trap right across that trench over there!'

She was pointing along their retreat path. The improvised land mine should serve as a warning, they knew from previous experience, that pursuers were already getting close to their escape vehicle.

'More Scarecrows!', Joe's warning came to them just before they heard his rifle's semi-automatic well-controlled bursts.

They could see at least a dozen of guards moving through the field below. They would be overwhelmed and with the storm over, they wouldn't be able to outrun them.

'Do as I told you!', Aslu ordered with strict and level voice, her eyes cast down while she unfastened her pants' belt and let them fall to the mud. One boot stepping over them, she freed the other. Then again but in reverse order. She threw down her jacket and gas mask. 'Take them!'

The others have already laid their spare EMP charges on in front of their feet. Most of them were crying.

'I am coming with you!', said Kuber, The Phanagorian, taking out of its leather case his most precious possession - a short hunters' bow meant to be used even while on horseback.

'Stop!', she said, before he even started stringing it. She came close to him, only her cheek slightly touching his while she whispered in his ear: 'You have to stay with the children. Help Peshka lead them. And take care of your sister. You know I must go. Now do your duty!'

The last to sentences she said aloud for all of them to hear. She grabbed as many of the grenades as she could in one motion and ran for the field but on their nine o'clock.

Her heat signature should do the trick.

'Trick or treat, matha fackas!'

.....

Well, this is it and that's that. For now.

Trick or treat, folks!

A pumpkin of yours,

Manol