Peter looked at the others in his 'group' with a raised eyebrow. "If there are no objections....then it sounds good to me. Thank you."

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 124):

In the antechamber of the Temple, Trejo doled out the required ammo to whoever requested it. Schaeffer pooled his ammo with Rowan so that they had a thousand rounds for her M246 LMG (SA SAW) which he intended to mount on the BMW's sidecar. He took the last 100 rounds allotted to him in 7.62x39mm for his suppressed M4.

Soon, it was time to go and they were outside. Parked outside the Temple, beside Peter's technical, was Roadkill's rig. "Hey, didn't think you were gonna leave without me, huh? Smoker! Get the hell up there, son!"

It was obvious he was still pretty ripped, Smoker had been with him for months but never seen him try to drive this loaded before. His position was at the front trailer fighting position, the NA SAW (M249) they salvaged from the bikers was mounted up there with five hundred rounds of ammo.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 125):

"Everyone, if I may have a moment of your time. The plan is that we start heading north. We'll rendez-vous with our escort from Junkyard about 50 miles north of here. So we have miles to go and should get started."

He coughed deeply a few times, then recovered. Biletnikoff the Librarian shot him a worried look, but the fit seemed to have stopped.

"You OK, 'Kill?" asked Smoker. "Better use Gilles..."

Peter listened to Simon and gave a silent nod. Then he turned to Roadkill with a small smile. "I am glad to see you and Smoker reunited with your truck. The three of you are a cute couple, incomplete without each other." He chuckled as he climbed into his own vehicle and got ready to roll out.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 128):

Jane stowed her resupply of ammo and made sure that all her guns were ready to fire again.  She tired to stifle the grin caused by Peter's words but was wondering if she was successful.

"Day-am straight, pardner! Let's get this show on the road!"



For an instant, grief showed through Roadkill's mask. He took a pull from a whiskey bottle and grimaced. "Aw, hell. Goose has a Junker pal, says he don't know if he can fix 'im. But hell! Can't go mopin' around this dump for ever! Time, to blow this Popsicle stand. Whatever the hell that is."

Smoker took a deep breath. Day-am, he never stood up to Roadkill. Not normally, but...

"Look, Kill' - lay off of the sauce or don't drive."

"Damn it," snarled Roadkill, "you don't tell me what to do! No one does." He climbed up into the cab of his rig, slamming the door shut. "Get up there on the trailer, brainer. If it bothers you so much, I'll stop it fr now."

He turned the engine over, and green Ghost-Rock exhaust belched out of the twin stacks. Underneath the roar of the converted Cummins diesel could be heard the faint thin screech that Spook-Juice burning engines seemed to give off. The airhorn blared for several seconds.

"Yee-Haw! Smoker, get that ramp. Wagons, ho!"

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 132):

Keeping his expression neutral, Trejo mounted up his bike.

In reply to Trejo (msg # 133):

Behind him Jason did the same, intending to follow the man who had, until recently, been his mentor.

In reply to Jason Sinclair (msg # 134):

Simon was helped into the back of the trailer by the two Templars that were going along as his personal bodyguard and escorts. Some supplies and baggage were loaded in, after. Then they retracted the rear ramp they closed the double doors.

With the rear doors closed, should Smoker want to get to the roof fighting position he would have to use the collapsible rope ladder that hung off the left front side of the trailer. After he climbed up standard procedure would be to pull the ladder up behind him, leaving the roof hatch to the trailer the only access.

Smoker scrambled up to his perch, pulling the ladder up behind him.

Jane climbed into her usual position and smiled at Peter through the mirror.  She didn't need to say anything.  This was something they had done before and would do again and again, fortune willing.

She finally tapped the top of the cab indicating that she was ready.

Rowan takes ALL her equipment and heads for the technical. She has the feeling of a parting of the ways.

And signals trickster to follow her, then climbs in the back and sits with her back against the cab.

She says nothing but her face looks like one abandoned and left by the way side.

In reply to Rowan Dawson (msg # 138):

Jane looked down at Rowan and nudged her with her foot.  "Hey, you ok?  Riding with me back here isn't that bad is it?"

In reply to Jane Guin (msg # 139):

Rowan Smiles a little sadly, "Not at all Jane, but Kurt did not me along side him and that hurts"

In reply to Rowan Dawson (msg # 140):

Jane arched an eyebrow.  "You two have a fight or is he just into the battle plan right now?  I wouldn't worry too much about it.  Men do stupid things every once in awhile.  Besides, you traveled back here with me last time we went through that force.  I have to admit that I liked you being here."

In reply to Jane Guin (msg # 141):

Rowan looks toward the wall, "fight not that I know of Jane. He did not give a reason just left"

"Okay time to get my own transport again Jane."
"But for now you are correct it will be pleasant to travel together again"

In reply to Rowan Dawson (msg # 142):

"Perhaps we just need to keep an eye on him for a bit.  Never know if he picked up a bug or something.  Men can be very uncommunicative at times.  You and Trickster can always ride back here with me."

Jane had to grin at her own comment about men being uncommunicative.  Peter was probably the most uncommunicative person she knew and yet it didn't bother her.  Perhaps that was part of his charm.  She felt bad for Rowan though and tried not to show it.  Rowan didn't need to dwell too much on the subject right now.

The small convoy headed out on the cracked Interstate. Ominously, Roadkill's rig swerved a little, but he corrected. Jason and Trejo were out in front, rig behind with the technical following.

On a hilltop overlooking the Interstate, one of several bushes was paying a lot of attention to the vehicles as they passed below, using a spotting scope. In particular, scoping out the technical, and a certain red-haired lass sitting in the back.

Schaeffer watched them until the vehicles, and Rowan, was out of sight. Sighing, he crawled backwards until he was no longer on the hill, then walked back to his bike. Kicking it to life, he rode off on a partially washed-out side road, in the opposite direction.

Peter's eyes widened when the rig swerved in front of him and he bit back a curse. He frowned and eased off a bit, making sure he wasn't following too closely, just in case Roadkill had an issue. He hoped that Gilles would take care of it, but...one never knew.

"Steady on, Roadkill!" shouted Smoker, hanging on up top.

A Small Town, just North of the Boise Maelstrom...

Walker had been waiting.

For Days.

Patiently.

He was currently sat out on the Porch of the Town Bar, sipping from a tall glass of Iced Water that had cost him two of his 9mm rounds (for the Ice) as life passed him by. Of course someone had laughed at him for the Water, but he didn't care, and the one who was laughing was quickly quietened by his colleagues as they realized just how BIG Walker was. Happened a lot. Made him chuckle inside.

The Bushwhacker and the Fancy Chopper help too it must be said...

Walker chuckled to himself as the town went about its business quietly.

Nice Place. Wouldn't mind Dyin' here...

He watches and waits.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:51, Sat 13 July 2013.

In reply to Walker (msg # 147):

Ontario was a small farming community just across the former Oregon state line. It was at one end of the long valley that followed the Snake River along the southern flanks of the Rocky Mountains in central Idaho. It was a small farming community, able to survive scratching the reddish-brown dirt by minimal irrigation from the adjacent Snake River.

Their small convoy consisted of Trejo and Jason in front on bikes, then Roadkill's rig, and finally Peter's technical pulling drag. The vehicles travelled along I-84, the Old Oregon Trail Highway, then pulled up to the remains of the Devo Bridge over the Snake River. A Confederate air strike had dropped both mammoth concrete spans into the swift-flowing Snake far below.

That is, Trejo and Jason pulled up. Roadkill hadn't had any accidents and his driving seemed to improve over the morning, but as they reached the detour Smoker saw an empty whiskey bottle flung out the driver side armoured shutter to shatter against the hard concrete as they rolled by. (Anyone in the Technical can make a TN 9 to notice this as well.)

From behind, it looked to Peter like Roadkill intended to keep going straight, even though the route detoured around the missing bridges! What the hell was he thinking? Passing a stunned Trejo and Jason, the armoured rig smashed through the wood barrier and warning signs at the end of the bridge.

The hand-painted warnings were pretty clear: DANGER! BRIDGE OUT! TURN RIGHT AND USE RTE 30 BRIDGE 1 MI. NORTH. Next stop, the Snake River, some 120 feet below...