Wednesday 08 June 2094
0530 Hours
Cool, clear.

Predawn.

Queen City TX, Outside Vivian LA.

With The Glow not providing a clear alternative it was decided the posse would take 3 days to get to Vivian. Hopefully their quarry, Kargo, would still be there. He was riding Rowan's stolen hover-bike and was faster in that sense but he had to stop for refuelling, which the Posse did not.

The next few days of travel passed quickly. The cracked and abandoned highways of the then-Confederacy were clear enough of wrecks to make good time. There were many bridges out, mainly due to air strikes and demolition during the war. But there were no road gangs that showed themselves willing to take on a heavily-armed if small convoy high-balling it east into the rising sun. A few travellers waved in a friendly manner but they couldn't stop to talk to them other than to pass along route information, which was mainly good and clear. The first two evenings on the road they found walled Waster communities willing to take them in.

They were camped in the small town of Queen City, Texas, about 25 miles out of Vivian. Vivian was in the NW part of Louisiana by the borders of Texas and Arkansas. Ruled by an aristocracy, Queen City had been a suburb of Atlanta, Texas (not Georgia) that had mainly survived Judgement Day intact under the leadership of the Neus family. The walled community was based around 2 large buildings (a Nuessman's Department Store and a big-box Hardware Depot store) in a shopping plaza opposite each other across a large parking lot. The large parking lot between them had been torn up and planted with crops.

There was a glow on the eastern horizon but the stars still shone overhead. A few watch-fires blazed on the 2 large buildings and connecting walls that surrounded the community. It was still a half-hour before false dawn and an hour before dawn.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 1):

The rig and Peter's technical were parked in the "visitor's lot", a section of remaining pavement inside and by the north gate to Queen City. The rest of the large parking lot was planted with neat rows of trestles and furrowed plots.

Sighing, Roadkill stretched and sipped his ersatz coffee, rubbing his stubble. "We got about an hour's drive to Vivian. Should be dawn by then. Anyone got a plan?"

Trask was out of his bed and looking for something to eat. He rubbed his hands as he looked for a likely place to find breakfast.

-

Smoker was still snoring.

Peter got out of the technical and stretched for several minutes working out the kinks in several parts of his body, but most especially his back and neck. He blew out a long breath as he looked around for a moment.

He turned to look at Roadkill after he spoke up. He gave the man a flat unamused look. "Roadkill. I'm disappointed in you. Do we ever have a plan?" Then he chuckled slightly and looked to the group. "I've never been there myself, so I'm not sure what to expect. I would say we try to find out where he's at and try to avoid a fight if we can. Do we have a way to show proof of ownership? Thoughts? Ideas?"

  A sleepy, but awake Chricton chuckles looks at the group and says "I know normally we are the good guys. Hell up until Jason got hurt you had a real live Templar with the party for a bit. But we know we are taking back stolen property. Do we really care what the Lawless Wasters there think? No we owe Rowan this one. While the Colonel gets better we have a solid lead on her bike we get it back. Bonus Smoker's Colt was stolen the last time you all saw this twisted stooge." he says with yawns and grumbles about coffee thrown in.

Jane climbed out and started to stretch.  "I must be getting soft.  On the way over I wondered if they I could snitch some pillows or something for when I sit down on long distances."

Jane rubbed her ass and shook her head.  Of course when she was firing the guns she wouldn't be sitting but the other times...it was something to think about.

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 6):

"Peter's got a point. This Vivian burg is under the control of a Law Dog, Thomas Itson, and his posse. We roll in there heavy, ventilate this fucker and liberate Rowan's bike, we're likely to be facing off against the entire town. Could be a little necktie party in our future.

"Rowan picked up the hoverbike from a Doombringer way down in Las Cruces after he and his buddies slaughtered the folks of Shalam Colony. She never got it to Junkyard, or else she'd have some paper. But there's nada.

"If this Kargo asshole has made trouble in Vivian, they might believe us if we say the hoverbike's stolen property. We can maybe prove that we followed him from Junkyard, and it wouldn't seem likely anyone would do that just to steal a hoverbike. That is, our story is a little creditable.

"What isn't making sense is what he wants in Vivian. He was friendly with the Combine, he coulda gone straight to Denver. Or anywhere else. There is a couple oil rigs around here. But this ain't the only place with a fuel supply. Must be another reason, especially if he's gotta tiptoe around a Law Dog."

Looking through the packet of paperwork and maps that Fred, the senior Librarian, gave them to assist in their quest.

First was a map of Vivian. Next a letter to all Librarians explaining what they were doing (looking for stolen property). Third, and quite useful for their purposes, was a "pink slip" listing Rowan Dawson of Junkyard as the rightful owner of the motorcycle. The last two items should serve to placate any Law Dog they were on a legitimate recovery mission, considering the trust Wasters put in the Librarians.

"Since we have the paperwork we might as well just go get it.  It's not going to get a any better is it if we wait any longer?"

Jane looked around at the gathered group and waited.

Peter frowned in thought for a long moment. Finally, he spoke again. "I think that we should proceed with caution, as we do not need to end up in a firefight or altercation for no reason."

When Fred the Librarian spoke up and showed them the pink slip, his eyes brightened. He nodded as if to himself. "In fact...since we have that, I think we should approach the Law Dogs directly as we are in the right but it is their jurisdiction, and seek their aid in getting this illegal issue taken care of. However, it might be a good idea to send at least a few to find Kargo to make certain he does not leave with the bike."

"Or my gun!" said Smoker, who was still a bit annoyed about that.

  "So yeah. Who would fit in best in that area of town? I can play at old leper just about anywhere. So I can go there. Smoker has been seen by Kargo from what I understand so he should go with whoever to see the Law Dogs. Past that I got nothin'."

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 13):

"Jane, Smoker, Peter and me all drove for the Convoy. Lots of trade with the Oil Towns. We can say we're dead-heading to Amarillo, or heading north into Kansas."

Roadkill lit a hand-rolled cigarette.

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 14):

It didn't seem like a definite plan was going to present itself at that time, although there were some ideas. The main problems were that if they went in after Kargo (the biker and possible Anti-Templar) with all guns blazing the local Law Dogs would have something to say about it. The second was that Kargo would probably recognise Smoker (again). Roadkill's rig was also at the last battle over Modeen and the Destroyers and could be recognised as well.

They drove south on LA Route 1 to just beyond the outskirts of Vivian, on LA State Route 1 west of Black Bayou Lake.

Dawn was breaking through the surrounding forest.

All around was heavily wooded, and although before the war much had been cleared for agriculture all the abandoned farms and roadside buildings of various kinds were swallowed up by newly grown trees hung with Spanish moss. What little remained was hidden under a thick layer of Kudzu, which also had begun to encroach the sides of the road, even growing across it in places.





Entire farmhouses and silos were completely overgrown:



The Posse stopped in what was once a large parking lot outside a gas station and Cracker Barrel convenience store. Now there was barely clear space to part the rig and the technical in the middle, even then they needed to roll over some of the livid green tendrils that stretched across the cracked pavement. Several vehicles including a couple buses abandoned along the parking lot perimeter were wholly or partially overgrown by Kudzu vines and sinking into the ground.





They had begun passing more and more dire warning signs:

WARNING: THE TOWN OF VIVIAN IS UNDER MARITAL LAW INCLUDING A STRICT WEAPONS BAN.

ALL FIREARMS, BLADES OVER 6 INCHES, BOWS AND CROSSBOWS, THROWN WEAPONS, EXPLOSIVE DEVICES AND ANYTHING DEEMED A DEADLY WEAPON BY TOWN CONSTABULARY ARE TO BE SURRENDERED AT THE OUTER PERIMETER BEFORE ENTRY IS ALLOWED. VOUCHERS WILL BE ISSUED FOR RETURN.

TRAVELLERS DESIRING TRADE AND ACCOMMODATION BUT NOT DESIRING ENTRY TO THE TOWN ARE DIRECTED TO THE ROAD HOUSE ON ROUTE 2 BY I-95.

BY ORDER OF VIVIAN TOWN MARSHALL THOMAS ITSON.

Vivian is part of the Oil Town Protection League, Rotary Club and home of the Red Bud Festival."

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 15):

Roadkill looked at the sign out on the road and nodded.

"Oh yeah, I remember this 'burg now.

"We are to the north of town. The main trade route is along I-49 to the east of the town, and that's where the roadhouse is. There's an oil well still working in town and they can refine it a little bit. They sell gasoline, diesel and Spook Juice out at the roadhouse. Good supply of water from the bayou lake, in between the town and the roadhouse.

"I never been to the town itself, we just stopped at the roadhouse. Heard there was a big gang raid about five years ago, going after the oil storage tanks in town. They all got creamed. Pretty tight defenses, at least back then."

It was that fading moment when the last of the cool night air became warm and humid as the sun rose.

The early dawn air is filled with bird calls and the buzzing of insects. After the dry sterile heat of the desert you just crossed, the forests of Louisiana are fragrant with the green smell of vegetation like flowers, trees, moss, vines. Almost too overpowering, cloying, even.

"Given that Kargo knows me, I'd best stay out of town," said Smoker.

"The rest of you can leave your weapons with me, the ones you aren't supposed to take into town."

  "Interesting. Guess we should assume that they shoot first and ask questions never. Wish I had time to fully upgrade my staff." he brushes off his rifle, starts pulling off gun belts, and assorted holsters. A small arsenal in pistols is unloaded by the Junker including a couple of Combine weapons. He sets the backpack with the arsenal amd starts loading the pistol belts into the pack putting the Combine guns at bottom of the pile. "Only get into this in a dire emergency. I would hate for you to lose a hand. You don't need a gun do you?"

Peter frowned at the warning sign. He definitely did NOT like being completely unarmed (and the smallest weapons he had were pistols and a machete). He could understand the sentiment, with only the law enforcement types being armed. It theoretically would cut down on fighting and killing in the town, and theoretically make people less likely to start something. But it made everyone wholly reliant on the law and if a large force rolled in and ignored the law, then it could be a quickly-deteriorating situation.

He sighed and handed his weapons over to Smoker slowly, hesitantly, PAINFULLY. He kept his armor on, though fat lot of good it would likely do him. He left the helmet behind, since wearing it and the armor made him look as though he were actually looking for trouble. he tossed a poncho over the armor as well, but kept the hood down.

"Well. I guess we should go talk to the Law Dogs and a couple should go see if they can discreetly locate Kargo so he cannot...what is the word?...'rabbit'?...on us. Maybe check the Roadhouse first and then go in further?

"Right, well as a walking weapon I suppose I could watch the vehicles ? Otherwise I can leave the suit here if that is easiest ?"

-

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 20):

"Sounds good, Peter. We gotta circle a little back to head east to the Interstate, south to the Roadhouse and then west into town. I think they're a little less picky about guns there as that's the kind of "portal" or trading post. If you go west into town from there you need to disarm first so we I can stay with the rig with Trask. That leaves us as kind of a reaction element. Once we split up call for help on the CB.

"OK everyone, let's mount up!"

Roadkill climbed back up and started his engine.

The Posse mounted up in the predawn darkness of the abandoned town. They first travelled east along a disused and overgrown state route, then came to I-49. Lining the road was thick, lush greenery. Trees hanging with moss and Kudzu, bushes, the odd pond covered over with a brilliant green algae and reeds.

Merging onto the massive Inter-Confederate roadway they made good time heading south to the second offramp. The exit sign was marked:



The arrow pointed towards the largely abandoned town of Hosston amid the forest, scattered buildings now just a few shapes lost under the Kudzu.

However, just above the treetops they could see the beams of 2 spotlights pointed up at the sky, and more lights, likely on a building or watch towers, located less than a mile west from the Inter-Confederate roadway.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 23):

Roadkill's rig had an AI installed by a Junker in Near Wichita some weeks back that could drive itself when Roadkill wasn't present. It had been "killed" in the fight with Modeen and the Destroyers motorcycle gang at Skeleton Butte. The master Junkers in Junkyard had reconstituted it and rebuilt the AI but it was still learning and becoming more functional. The first couple days of the trip it had been very quiet, getting used to its new "body" all over again. Now it seemed more comfortable and so seemed more chatty. Oddly, Gilles spoke in a French-Canadian accent.

"Roadkill, my friend, I shall be 'appy to remain out of sight of s'e Road 'ouse for now. I shall be 'appy to 'ave Trask as a companion. If s'is bastard Kargo is not s'ere s'en we shall move up. Or per'aps we wait until you call for backup? D'accord?"

As Gilles spoke his speech also came up as green monochrome text on the dashboard display.

In reply to Gilles the Driver Bot (msg # 24):

"Fine, buddy. Just don't want to lose ya again, you hear?

"Let's take 'er in, then. Everyone off at this offramp. Peter, ya'll stop just over there so me and Crichton can get aboard your technical and the Rig can stay outta sight of the Roadhouse.

"Sorry, Smokey. Kargo got a good look at you back at that bar in Junkyard. We don't want to get made as soon as we walk in! You and Trask keep Gilles company, hey?

"Now, Peter and Jane have got radios, and I imagine Crichton does as well. Gilles can listen to the truck CB and Trask's tin can's probably got a CB installed as well."

The Roadhouse was about a mile off the Interstate, so He pulled over about halfway so he and Crichton could mount up Peter's technical.

Twilight was slowly fading as dawn broke over the forest that got thicker the further they got from the Interstate. The air was filled with the scent of flowers and the forest, thick with the buzzing of insects. The overgrown road wove around ponds and lakes covered with mats of algae, overgrown with lilies and rushes.

Along the road they passed by the remains of quite a few mobile homes in lots along the road, slowly decaying, covered by Kudzu and moss. Here and there they could see the rusted skeletons of oil pumps and storage tanks deeper in the thick woods, attesting to the petrochemical deposits that were Hosston's main source of income before the war.

  "Do any of you have the feeling that something weird is going on with the plant life here? Maybe it is just me and paranoia talking, but this seems like a lot of vegetation."

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 27):

Climbing up into the back of the technical, Roadkill stopped and looked around. "I dunno. It's kinda like this all over Louisiana. In the year I was here last, yeah, does seem a little thicker than it used to. Be easier to tell once the sun gets higher."

Once he was settled in he lit a hand-rolled cigarette.

"All right Peter, let's get this show on the road!"

As if on cue, a thick morning fog started to roll through the forest all around them, creeping off Black Bayou to the west.

Trask was down off the truck still suited up. He thought that if they were going in and all hell broke loose, like it was going to they might need a little extra oomph.

He had his weapon ready and the heads up seemed to be behaving so he was ready to rumble.

-

Peter nodded agreement to the plan. He gave a nod to Smoker and Trask before they all parted ways. "Do not worry, Smoker. We will do our best to locate our quarry...and your gun." His lips twitched slightly as he turned away.

He waited until everyone was in the back of the technical, and then he pulled smoothly and slowly away heading towards the town proper once more. He called back, "Yes, I thought it might be a supernatural thing, the overgrowth, but I do not know. Though I am somewhat well-traveled, I am not from here. It might or might not hurt to ask once we are in town."

"Have fun," said Smoker.

He might not like being left behind much, but he had not enjoyed his last encounter with Kargo so was quite happy to not be going anywhere near him. He found a spot to curl up and doze.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 32):

Gilles' French-Canadian accented voice came from the cab speakers, as that is the most likely place for Smoker to take a nap. "Smoker, mon ami, 'ow about you keep watch with Brother Edgar on top? S'ere might be... unpleasant t'ings in s'e woods and I can only see to s'e front!"

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 32):

Brother Edgar had already climbed up top. He moved to the rear trailer fighting position and strained to see in the foggy twilight.

He had his glow rod out and ready to fire up if he saw anything.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 34):

"You know what? We're overloaded with this tin can, no offence," said Roadkill as he motioned in Trask's direction. "I'll stay with the rig as well." He hopped off and loped back towards the rig.

With Trask's suit loaded onboard the SUV's springs creaked but it held the weight. Barely! They slowly moved out into the darkness as they left the parked rig behind.

The gathering fog made the surrounding forest even more darker, alien, despite the sun almost being up. The east glowed while the stars above faded from view, but still all around was the forest and the fog creeping off Black Bayou Lake. Kudzu-wreathed trailers and slumping homes became more frequent as they entered what was the town, pre-war. But Hosston had been little more than a ville and had little or nothing in the way of civic buildings. It was mainly a collection of small houses, trailers, a former garage or two and oil pumps scattered throughout a large semi-cleared spot in the forest.

At the nominal centre of the dispersed rural community was the former HQ of a local oil company. The fog was lit by searchlights pointing into the sky, accompanied by light posts spaced regularly along a perimeter fence that ran around the building through the extensive prewar lawns. There were more lights on four corner watch towers.

It was the largest of the town's pre-war structures: a medium-sized 3-story concrete building with accompanying garage. The garage was very large and looked almost like an aircraft hangar, with a semi-domed roof and 2-story doors. This was the HQ of the local oil company. It had been shut down for decades before the war when the oil ran out, then reactivated as the need for scarce petroleum became so great even marginal operations were restarted. Now it was "Porky's Roadhouse" as a neon sign on the front gate proclaimed.

Nothing moved at the roadhouse, not surprising this close to dawn. The gate was open. A few pickup trucks caked with red mud were parked inside the fenceline.

Beyond the building they could see the taillights of a hoverbike, disappearing into the gloom that still shrouded the west.

"OK, Gilles," said Smoker. He uncurled and climbed up on top of the cab to look around.

Trask has changed to night vision and added a thermal layer over the top as he gave the compound a scan with his sensors. He followed the other in, stealth not really being a part of any plan including him in its execution.

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 38):

The hoverbike's birotary turbo engine and exhaust plume was the brightest and hottest thing around. The thermal signature of the fleeing hoverbike was partially swallowed by the forest but was easily tracked through the foliage as it screamed westwards towards town.

OOC: Make a Search check +4 to determine more details from the compound.

Peter looked around as they drove slowly in. It was a bit strange to see a town so quiet and so...overgrown. He was a little nervous. His eyes tracked around as he drove, looking for any sign of movement or strangeness, but he didn't see anything and he didn't have his nightvision running.

"Was that the hoverbike we are after? I could not tell."

He slowed and then parked by the Roadhouse. He glanced at his companions and gave a shrug as he turned the vehicle off. "I guess we should go see if they are open."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:36, Thu 19 Oct 2017.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 40):

They drove in through the open gate and parked in the dirt lot in front of the former office building and garage. Once, the oil company offices had extensive lawns and landscaping. Now it had been cleared to provide parking. There were sandbagged emplacements and a guard post at the gate. Everything appeared deserted, there were no guards in sight. Despite there being a couple rusty cars and a pickup truck parked in the lot, there were no staff or patrons in sight, either.

Still, the lights were still on in the compound including the office block, which seemed to be the hotel part of the operation. Loud music boomed from within the huge domed garage (big enough to store large oil company vehicles).

The posse piled out of the technical. The dirt lot was pocked with potholes and puddles, full of water from the recent rains. Trash also littered the ground. The fog around them was definitely getting brighter but actual sunup was still several minutes away.

Marshall's Note: Everyone can make Cognition checks, as well as an additional Search check (if you have the skill) to gain more information.

Peter looked around with a bit of suspicion. "So." He looked at the empty guard post. "Hmm. This does not feel suspicious at all." He looked around slowly. "Where is everyone at?"

He was right about then feeling very naked without his weaponry with him. If the town was empty then the weapon laws wouldn't apply and he might get killed for nothing. On the other hand, maybe it was just...a time of prayer or something? That was mandatory for everyone to attend? He shook his head.

He began walking towards the compound where the lights were on and the music was heard, keeping an eye and ear open.

Trask follows the team in, rifle at the ready. "Bit late maybe they are asleep." He wasn't that convinced of his own statement, but you never
know.

He used his suits sensors as well as his own eyes to look over the compound as they entered.


Increase Trask rolled 33 using 4d8, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of (8+8+8+8+1)33,1,2,(8+6)14.  Search check.

 Airen simply leans on his staff after climbing down out of the technical. "I told you something feels screwy here. No clue what. Maybe I'm just paranoid." He follows after Peter. Remembering to many horror trids from before the War he isn't to keen on entering a bar in a creepy place.

No one challenged them as they walked past the outer guard post to the compound.

It was clear from tracks in the mud there had been several vehicles parked there that were gone now. There were also foot and boot prints. It was clear there had been a brief rain shower not too long prior, and although they hadn't been rained on themselves during their trip over the forests of northern Louisiana was prone to micro-cloud-bursts.

Everyone [Marshall's Note: who made a TN5 roll] noted the lack of sentries or personnel in the watch towers. Very unusual! As well, the music seemed canned, although hard to tell if it was a prewar recording or not.

There were 2 buildings. Their choice was to go into the hotel to the left, or the garage/dance hall to the right.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 45):

"Hold up there, I've got several thermals including a big rig and various bikes heading towards Vivian, that hover bike we saw must have been the last of them. Also there is one casualty on the dance floor through the door." Trask motions with his arm towards the building on the right.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:02, Mon 30 Oct 2017.

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 46):

Meanwhile back at the rig, there was an uneasy quiet. Giles, the driver-bot AI, had shut down the engine as even at idle the Peterbilt tractor would throb with sound.

Fog had crept up on them as well, of the surrounding forest. There were buzzing of insects and birdcalls surrounded them as the sky lightened towards dawn.

Smoker sat in his perch up top, quite enjoying the peace and quiet.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 48):

Roadkill was also back at the rig. He answered the CB.

"Well shit. It's too quiet there and you can see a stiff on the dance floor. Want us to move up?"

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 49):

"Yes lets move up and get this over with. I think we are a bit late to this rodeo, but lets see if there is anyone breathing who can tell us what is going on."

-

Peter heard the radio call from Roadkill and Trask's response. He didn't respond but neither did he disagree, vocally or otherwise, with what was said. Strength in numbers, and if no one was truly around, having Smoker and the others....and everyone's weapons...was not a bad idea.

"If they are going to come meet us, we should wait until they arrive before investigating further. I will feel better if we are armed. I normally would not want to break a town's law but...this seems too disturbing and unusual."

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 51):

"On the way.

"Fire 'er up, Gilles! Let's go meet the rest of the Posse.

"Smoker! Brother Edgar! We're moving out!"

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 52):

"Alors! Let's move out."

The truck AI started the engine and put her into gear. Gilles let Roadkill take over steering when they were actually on the road. But they knew who was really boss of the rig!

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 51):

Fog still crept in from the surrounding forest. It did, however, become brighter as the sun began to peek over the trees and horizon.

The rig showed up a few minutes later at the entrance to the roadhouse from the street. They navigated the long drive up to the parking lot.

Finally, they were parked in the dirt lot outside the 2 buildings. Brother Edgar and Roadkill dismounted. Everyone looked dubiously at the empty surrounding defensive perimeter, guard shack, and deserted-seeming buildings.

Using the space in the large dirt parking lot Gilles backed up the trailer in such a way that he could just pull directly out if need be. This operation took a few minutes of careful maneuvering back and forth, due to the trailer.

  In the absence of anything else Chricton simply waits for Roadkill and the others to move forward. When they get there he goes to Smoker and asks "Backpack please.".

 After taking his pack he doesn't put back on all the guns he grabs the Smith and Wesson slams home a clip and sticks it back in holster while strapping it on. He grabs his rail gun and says "Ready."

Smoker stayed alert on top of the rig as Gilles fired it up and began moving it in.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 54):

The Doomsayer climbed down, looking around.

"I shall stay with the vehicles, if no one minds."

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 54):

Roadkill slung his NA Colt Commando SMG on his back and slipped his sawed-off "Trucker's Friend" in his thigh holster. He chambered a round in his Mossberg 500.

"Ready to go. We gonna check the dance hall first or the hotel?"

He pointed at one, then the other.

Trask continues to move up to the dead body that he spotted while scanning the surrounding area for hostiles.

-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 59):

Trask peeked inside the dance hall. A loud pre-war techno beat thumped and coloured lights shifted. A mirror ball slowly twirled above the dance floor.

Once it had been a garage the size (and shape) of a small aircraft hangar, used to store and service oil company vehicles. Now there was a stage at the far end, a bar down the left side (the side closest the other building), tables in the middle and booths on the right wall (washrooms in the middle of the right wall).

The corpse is that of a male security person, dressed in webbing over jeans, boots and black t-shirt. Someone had taken his head off with a shotgun blast, scattering blood, brains and bone fragments across the dance floor. His holster looked empty.

Other than that it seemed deserted. There was a fair amount of destruction at the bar, with the plywood chewed up by bullet holes, and the mirror behind the bar was shattered.

Trask was tempted to bust out the moves and moon walk across the dance floor. He enters the building and does a thermal scan of the room as he moves towards the bar. As he steps in he looks for a bank of switches that might bring up the house lights.

"Trask here, moving into the dance hall."

-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 61):

"Well somebody certainly partied in here didn't they."

Jane moved to cautiously go behind the bar to see if they stripped the liquor also.

Peter gratefully, eagerly retrieved his weapons and gear once the truck arrived. It may have been only slightly noticeable, but he did relax visibly once he was armed again. Being in an eerie place where death was likely and no weapons had definitely put him on edge. The situation itself had put him on edge as well, but knowing things were bad and being somewhat defenseless made it worse.

He gave a shrug to Roadkill. "It seems as though Trask has chosen the dance hall. I suppose we should mostly stick together."

He quickly followed after Trask and Jane as they entered the dance hall. He entered, stepped to the right and paused as he looked around and took it all in slowly. He shook his head at the destruction. Then he hefted his rifle and began to sweep along the right wall and look for anything out of the ordinary, any more corpses, any clues as to who did this or why.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 63):

The house lights were behind the bar.

Thermal indicated that the room was very warm, and that was a little confusing. But it was obvious that while several people had recently inhabited this space there was no one in the room now.

Behind the bar on the left were smashed liquor bottles and spilled drink. Blood was both spattered about and pooling with the spilled liquor. The body of what could be a bartender was lying there crumpled and discarded.

Along the right, Peter completed his sweep, washrooms excepted. There was no one and nothing other than empty booths, bullet holes and empty shell casings.

" Where are all the bodies at ?" It was certainly strange, did they hit them so quickly there were not causalities on the attacking side, where are all the customers ?

-

"This is strange.  Only the bartender over here guys."

Jane did a quick search on the bartender, trying to be careful in case he was booby trapped or if it was a trap, to see if there were keys or anything on him.

 "Maybe no bodies? Possible they took prisoners or the patrons escaped." the junker says. "Or they have the bodies in a communal grave. Left these as a warning I don't know."

Along the right wall, Peter found a few blood drops here and there. But it was difficult to tell if there was a pattern, like someone had been shot and bled out, or suffered some kind of minor wound, etc. There were no bodies, no dropped weapons.

Behind the bar aside from the broken glass, corpse and spilled liquor Jane found a few empty shotgun shells scattered about. The body had a few spare shells and an empty thigh holster that might have held a sawed-off shotgun. But no keys or ID. The bartender was a poorly-shaved man with a blonde mullet. He'd died from a shot to the forehead. Likely a pistol. He also died with a look of shock and disbelief on his face.

The thermal on Trask's suit didn't show any more living or dead bodies in the room. The ambient heat also obscured footprints and/or other traces of movement.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 68):

Waste not want not was sometimes the rule of thumb in Deadlands.  Jane picked up the spare shells so they wouldn't be wasted, nor they couldn't be used on her group, and went back to join the others.  She kept her gun at the ready just in case.  Sometimes the dead didn't stay dead.

In reply to Jane Guin (msg # 69):

The music thumped on and on as the posse searched the dance hall, playing from speakers mounted on the floor by the stage and in banks on the roof. Automatic lights swept back and forth, lasers shot out at random times. There was a DJ booth to the left of the stage where the music and lights were controlled.

Trask moves towards the DJ booth and turns off the music and flashing lights. He brings up the house lights if possible.

He then turns and looks over the room before asking "Well looks like we may have seen all there is to see here ?" He was surprised at the general calm of the space...


-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 71):

"We'll find out soon.  If anybody is around they know we are here now that the music has stopped."

Jane looked around, her weapon at the ready.  She hated surprises.

In reply to Jane Guin (msg # 72):

There was a moment of relative quiet after the music shut off. Trask easily found the house lights as well, bringing them up.

Jane had found 8x 12 ga. buckshot shells on the corpse of the bartender, 3 in loops on his leather vest and 5 in a box under the bar. They were reloads, not prewar manufacture.

If anyone was coming they would be seen by those outside, unless they came through the rear (stage) direction or the right hand side, opposite the door they entered.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 73):

The radio crackled on the CB channel.

"Ahh, this here's the Roadkill. Callin' anybody, you got your ears on?

"Music just shut off. Everything copacetic in there? Come on back."

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 74):

Jane picked up the ammo since one never left ammo.  If you couldn't use it then you usually were able to trade it or, at the very least, use it to blow something up.  Quite versitile that way.

Jane smiled when she heard Roadkill's voice.

She decided she'd better answer him.  "Copacetic?  When did you learn such a fancy term.  Yeah we're fine.  Quiet in here now.  REAL quiet since the music critic turned off the music and lights."

Peter looked around slowly. It was a disturbing scene, really, taken all together. Blood, sure, but no bodies. No weapons lying around wasn't out of the ordinary. Generally, weapons and ammunition were high value commodities in the Wasted West, so 'looting' was prevalent.

His head snapped up when the music got off, but then he saw it was only Trask and he relaxed once more. He shook his head, "I am fairly certain whoever did this is gone. I believe they were the ones leaving before." He let out a sigh. "Who they were, why they did this...and where all the bodies are? That I cannot answer."

He let out a small amused snort at Jane and Roadkill's banter. He nodded, however. "I think Trask is right. It is time to go." He walked back to the vehicle.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 76):

With nothing jumping out at them in the dancehall and seemingly no evidence indicating where the inhabitants had gone, the Posse filed out into the parking lot.

Dawn had broken a short time earlier. The sun hadn't really cleared the trees of the surrounding forest and a thick white fog still blanketed the area.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 77):

Roadkill sniffed the fog suspiciously. "Hope this ain't some kind of radioactive or chemical miasma. "Nope. Smells like fog.

He eyed the ville of Hosston, now reduced to a few slumping kudzu-covered mounds quickly disappearing into the forest. The only remaining structures were the dancehall, the office block-cum-hostel, and a few rusty still-functional petroleum-extraction pumps. Clearly, the now-abandoned roadhouse was all Hosston had going for it.

"OK. That bike you saw, it was going west down the road past Black Bayou towards Vivian. That's the only other town around here I heard of.

"Peter, what say we mount up and give Vivian a little look-see? Something seems fishy around here. Maybe that Law Dog that's in charge there has got a better grip on things."

Jane had to agree with the guys.

"You are right.  We should leave before we go missing too."

Jane was skitish here.  She wasn't sure why but it had been awhile since she had felt "off".  The sooner they left this place the better.

Peter gave a nod. "I believe that is the best course, the only real course, of action before us. We still need to find the man we are after, and he does not appear to be here." He frowned. "NO one appears to be here." He shook his head.

Then he let out a sigh and climbed back in to the truck to head out.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 80):

The Doomsayer piped up, "I think you guys saw a hoverbike heading east out of here, going towards town, right?

"Our man is riding Rowan's hoverbike, which he stole. So maybe that was him and we should follow?"

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 81):

"Agreed, let mount up and get going.... this place is just too weird and whoever hit it did a truly outstanding job."

With that Trask mount back up onto the rig and behind the MG again. He gives the surrounding area one last sensor sweep before hooking his cable back in.

-

Barring objections or further discussion, Peter went ahead as he had planned. He started up the truck and took the lead. He headed in the direction they had seen the hoverbike leave in.

The narrow road was cracked and Kudzu encroached from both sides, but it remained paved. Even repaired on a regular basis. That made sense as it was the main route into town.

They were still surrounded by thick whitish-grey fog seeping in from the surrounding forest. Even though it was lighter now the sunlight was diffuse, the sun itself a gold ball in the haze. Visibility was about 10 yards, max so they drove slow.

Soon, they passed by what they guessed was Black Bayou through the trees to their right, or at least what little they could see of it through the fog. The waters were dark and still as their namesake.

Eventually they arrived at the outskirts of Vivian. There was double fenceline that stretched into the fog on either side, presumably encompassing the town. A checkpoint made of 2 bunkers flanking the road protected the closed gate. Signs warned the town was a weapons-free zone. More signs warned of minefields in the cleared area between the fence and the surrounding forest. Due to the fog is was difficult to tell if these warnings were true but the signs and cleared area sure looked ominous!

Smoker huddled down in his perch. He didn't like the mist, he didn't like the looks of this town. In short, he wasn't very happy.

He sneezed, loudly.

Peter kept the truck moving forward at a slow and steady pace. No sense in crashing in to something (or getting eaten by fast-growing kudzu as his mind kept entertaining that remote possibility). It was still difficult going and annoying, the fog and the plant growth making things feel just a touch claustrophobic.

Peter slowed to a halt a distance from the gate. He radioed back to Roadkill. "We are coming up on Vivian. I can see the warning signs against weapons and that a minefield lies outside of the roadway. Are we ready to proceed, though we will have to give up our weapons here instead of how we originally intended."

Assuming the answer was yes, then Peter would roll forward closer to the gate.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 86):

"Ah, I read you ten-four good buddy. I got the backdoor, let's knock on the front one. I'm back out."

With that he put the rig into gear.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 86):

The vehicles inched forward, feeling their way through the mist. If anything, the fog was growing thicker as the morning limped along.

There was movement in the left guardpost but the shadows within the sandbagged nuker prevented any details from being clear. Then a man's voice called out from the bunker,

"Uh... halt! Stop where you are! Ummm, no one is allowed entry to the town! Go back!" This wasn't spoken in a commanding voice but a high, nervous tone.

Peter slowed to a stop near the guardhouse. He glanced at Jane with one raised eyebrow. This didn't sound official. He looked out and rolled the window down enough to be heard when he replied to the 'guard' that had spoken. "And just why is that? I understand the town has laws that must be abided, but why would entry not be available to those willing to follow the laws?"

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 89):

The reply was, "just, ya'all just go away, man! It's not safe here! There's some kind of disease here. People is sick! If you come in, you could die! Lots of people could die! Understand?"

They could just see the man talking, as he leaned a little out the door. He did seem to be wearing a police-style uniform, tan with a black POLICE vest and armed with a 10mm and 12 ga. shotgun. But even so he looked a little ragged, unshaved, fearful eyes to match the scared voice.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 90):

"Peter, this is Roadkill. You got your ears on, good buddy?

"We gonna talk or fight our way in? If not we should skeedaddle and cone up with a plan."

The nervous-looking deputy went back into the bunker. After a moment, the barrel of what looked like a rifle barrel poked out and aimed at Peter's technical.

"GET AWAY FROM HERE! JUST GO! GET LOST! EVERYONE HERE'S SICK, YOU UNDERSTAND?" came the shout from inside.

Smoker listened from his perch. If everyone was sick it was possibly best to leave them alone.

Yet... "Is there anything we can do for you? Have you ample supplies of food and water?" he called down.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 93):

There was a pause, then a reply.

"Naw, naw, it's too dangerous. Uh, we got all we need anyway. We got a doctor here, he says we just need to let it run it's course, and not spread it to other towns!

"I swear, ya'll better leave now while you can! I'm warning you!"

Smoker nodded.

"May be so. We're looking for a fellow called Kargo who was last seen riding in this direction on a hoverbike. Did you send him packing too?"

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 95):

"A hoverbike? Naw, ain't seen nothing like that a-tall!"

Now, that seemed unlikely. The fading thermal trail picked up by Trask definitely led in this direction. The side roads were choked with vegetation, mainly kudzu. A hoverbike wouldn't leave tracks like a wheeled vehicle but it would have had more difficulty forcing its way through the forest.

"Maybe someone else saw him? I mean, you cannot be standing guard 24/7. Any chance you could ask around a bit, please?" Smoker persisted.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 97):

The man appeared to be getting agitated. "There was no fuckin' guy... on a fuckin' hoverbike... that fuckin' came through here... you savvy?! Now get moving!"

TRask was tempted to put a hole through his shack, but in the end went another route. "My suit is a closed system. Let me in and I will see if I can help ?"

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 99):

The Doomsayer moved up to Trask. He was carrying an ACR, a combination 20mm semi-auto cannon and underslung 5.56mm assault rifle. It was unclear where he got this from, although with his gear he did bring a hockey bag large enough to conceal the bulky weapon.

"Trask... this weapon belonged to Dakota. I got it from the hospital when they released his personal possessions because he listed me as next of kin. I was keeping this for backup but I think maybe he would like you to have it."

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 99):

Despite the chance that Trask might be a doctor, or at least be able to assist in some meaningful way, the reply was, "n-n-n-no! Just get the Hell outta here! They say it's too dangerous! Ya'll gotta leave and leave now!"

Trask was correct. While his 7.62mm might be able to penetrate the bunker, the deputy's shotgun wouldn't penetrate his armour unless it was loaded with slugs, which would be rare for a police pump-action. If the 20mm ACR had armour-piercing ammunition it would likely go through the bunker without problem!

"Thanks... so what is the consensus here, we rush him or go on our way ?"

-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 102):

"If we're going to take him out I should do the ramming of the gate using my rig."

"Can we scout round, see if there are any other entrances or exits?" asked Smoker from his perch.

"If Kargo has left there's no point in wasting time on this lot."

Before dawn, the Posse had approached the town's fenced perimeter from the north. That route was sealed off, watched by guard towers. The east seemed to be guarded. That left the south and west.

One thing they noted was that there were signs warning of minefields surrounding the town's double perimeter fenceline.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 104):

The Doomsayer answered Smoker, "it's hard to see where Kargo would have went. There are no clear side roads that we could see coming in, they were all blocked off. The rest was forest and lake. We could force our way in. Or wait until darkness and try to sneak in?"

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 106):

"I don't want to waste the guy because he won't let us in, I get the feeling he is scared. Lets wait and find another way in."
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 10:31, Fri 09 Mar 2018.

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 107):

The odd white mist continued to seep out of the surrounding forest. Those in the technical could see the rig behind them and the guard post in front. The people in and on the rig started to have difficultly seeing the guard post in the fog.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 108):

Roadkills' voice came over the CB.

"Hey Peter, you got your ears on?

"We gonna plow in there now or come back later? Something's definitely not right here, anyone can see that, nodamene? I'm back out."

Smoker huddled down, feeling more and more miserable.

Peter heard Roadkill call for him twice. Once was during the...tense and unusual conversation with the person 'guarding' the main gate and refusing to let them in. So he hadn't answered that time. The second time that Roadkill's voice asked if he had his ears on, however, Peter responded. "Yes, Roadkill, I am here. Just trying to figure out this strange situation. I am not certain I believe this talk of sickness. It could be real, but it would be a smart way to keep people from nosing where you did not want them as well."

He thought for a moment and then shook his head. "I do not like the idea of forcing our way in, if the threat is real. But attempting to sneak in could very poorly, especially if the sign warning of mines is accurate. I suppose we should force our way in to see if Kargo is here and if not keep going. I do not like it, but we have wasted time already."

He called over, "Trask?" It seemed to see if the man wanted to make a move with his armor, have Roadkill's rig bust through the gate instead.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 111):

The Mexican standoff in the thick morning fog continued. So far no one from in town seemed to be making a move. could the situation last?

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 111):

"Fogs making a meal of my sensors especially the thermal. So whats the score are we going or leaving ?"

-
This message was lightly edited by the player at 07:13, Sun 01 Apr 2018.

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 113):

The terrified-looking deputy manning the bunker to the right of the gate had dropped down out of view, presumably hitting the deck.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:56, Tue 17 Apr 2018.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 114):

"I've got one, no multiple diesel engines starting up on the other side of the gate. Looks like they are going to be coming to us." Trask prepared to engage anything that made a hostile move through the gate.

-

 Chricton shakes his head as he had been slightly out of it due to the mess at the first camp and the sense of something being very wrong with the plants around here. As Trask says the comment about multiple diesels he looks at Smoker and says "So I got a couple options I plan on using the rifle, but If they get in close I need to switch to another gun. Plasma pistol or should I go old school and use the Dragoon first?"

 Over the radio "I got your back Peter, but are we waiting for them to fire or warning shots?"

Peter shook his head. Now what? This was getting weirder by the minute. "I suppose we should let them get closer, but hail them first. If they do not respond, fire a warning shot. I would rather not get in to a fight if we do not have to...but this place is bugging me, and I would like to know what the hells is going on."

He then got on the radio and had Roadkill try to hail them on the CB radio.

OOC: not sure if Peter has a CB (can't remember) but I don't think his suit works that way?

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 117):

Roadkill broadcast another request to speak to the mayor or sheriff using the CB but there was no response.

Due to the still-thickening fog, there was not much to see. Even the guard post, only 10 yards away, was now lost in the swirling mist. Visibility was down to 10 feet and this was some of the thickest fog anyone had seen. A chill settled in the air and the sun became a dim yellow disk lost somewhere above the clouds.

What they could see of the metropolis of Vivian before visibility was lost was a double-chainlink fence perimeter (not a wall) surrounding what was probably several blocks of the town's core before the war. The pre-war buildings outside the perimeter had been demolished and cleared to provide a 30 yard "kill zone". This once-cleared area was now overgrown with kudzu-festooned trees encroaching almost up to the fenceline. What little cleared space that remained outside the fence had signs saying "WARNING - MINEFIELD".

The access road where they sat and roadblock/gate ahead on the eastern side of town was the only way into town. But on the other hand no vehicles could move through the thick vegetation on either side of the road and flank them.

Marshall's Note: the technical both has a CB and Peter's battlesuit radio was set to receive and transmit on the CB frequencies.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:52, Tue 01 May 2018.

  Chricton checks the rifles charge noting it full and ready. He keeps an eye out for the other vehicles.

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 119):

The fog was now so thick the occupants of the rig and the technical could only see each other. The vehicles in the town which that were heard starting up remained completely unseen, although if they were as hampered by the fog as the posse they wouldn't be moving anywhere faster than a walking pace.

There was indistinct movement in the fog ahead but it was obscured by the mist. Suddenly, there was a scream of pain and horror! It seemed to be coming from somewhere close in front, about the location of the gate bunker. There was just a scream, no gunshots.

Marshall's Note: Anyone trying to determine details can make a Search or Cognition check, whichever is higher.

Even though his sensors seemed to be acting up due to the fog or perhaps something else Trask gave them another whirl as the fog really closed in.

Increase Trask rolled 15 using 4d8, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of (8+7)15,5,1,4.  Cognition.

-

Peter began to like the situation less and less. It was almost as if the fog was thickening in response to things, which was a more disturbing thought then when he'd wondered if the kudzu was sentient and trying to kill things off. He tried to shake things off and focus.

The scream made him flinch and he immediately pulled out his rifle. Over the radio to his allies he said, "I think things might be going southward. Get ready. Moving forward." Since Trask hadn't moved forward and Roadkill hadn't either, Peter decided he would.

Peter urged the truck forward towards the gate, moving slowly so as to avoid going off course in to the minefield.

At the scream, just barely audible over the idling truck, Brother Edgar sat up straighter in the cab.  His hands tightened on the control rod as he stared into the mist, willing the fog to part, just for a moment.  Under his breath, he murmured a quiet entreaty to the Glow and Saint Darwin....

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 122):

The horrified screaming somewhere up ahead (likely the bunker) began to take on a gargling quality, then stopped.

Not waiting for more, Peter put his technical into gear and the armoured gun truck began to ease forward towards the flimsy barricade hidden in the fog. Behind him Giles (the AI driver-bot) did the same and the rig also lurched forward, stacks shooting out greenish-black smoke as it geared up.

The mist parted a little, affording Edgar and Trask a brief glimpse from their vantage points of the bunker. A shadowy figure darted out of the position. It carried a battleaxe in its right hand and a bowling-ball-sized object swung from the other. The object was quickly flung towards the posse's convoy and the thrower seemed to disappear from view in the billowing mist. Surprising no one, the approaching object was not a bomb or weapon but the severed head of the poor nervous deputy formerly manning the checkpoint ahead. It tumbled through the air, blood spattering from the stump of his neck, just missing the hood of Peter's truck to the rigtt and bounding off the racked pavement with a hollow "THOCK!".

"LAST WARNING, ASSHOLES!" came the taunting call from somewhere up ahead.

Marshall's Note: If Broother Edgar and Trask make a Quickness check TN7 then can get off a snapshot at the figure. The TN to hit will be high because of this and the poor visibility, but at least it's a chance!

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 124):

Leaving the driving to Giles, the truck's AI, Roadkill pulled out his double-barrelled sawed-off and stuck the barrels out the driver's window slits, looking for a target.

"What the fuck? I can't see anything! Come on out, you dickweeds!"

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 124):

Obviously seeing something in the fog, Jane fired a burst from the Ma-Deuce. The entire truck rattled with the shock of the heavy machinegun as shell casings fell into the bed. and the mist lit up with the muzzle flash. The gunfire echoed around them in a strange way. Jane seemed to be aiming for the figure with the axe who threw the head.

"Shit! Target front, danger close!"


18:21, Today: The Marshall, on behalf of Jane Guin, rolled 8 using 4d10, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 6,8,7,2.  Quickness check.

18:22, Today: The Marshall, on behalf of Jane Guin, rolled 10 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max ((3,2,8,8,10)).

"Incoming." was all that Trask was able to utter before the head came towards the convoy, it would seem they have found their quarry. His rifle was already at his shoulder and had been the entire time they had been waiting, now it was up and firing at the figure.

Alis it would seem today was not his day to die and Trask probably misses the shot.

Increase Trask rolled 7 using 4d8, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 4,1,2,7.  Quickness.

Increase Trask rolled 6 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 1,2,4,6,5.  Shootin.


-

Brother Edgar's eyes widen at the sight of the shadow axeman, but moreso at the head thrown at them.  His glow flickered wildly at his rising anger at the wanton cruelty, but he took a deeper breath.  Refusing to be goaded into random action.  He said quietly, "Be still and aware.  Our enemy wants us to act rashly.  Don't."  The Doomsayer continued to stare into the mists as the small convoy rolled forward, trying to see the real threat before it came...

The small convoy rolled forwards into the fog as the severed head of the hapless deputy formerly manning the gate post up ahead. It was possible to make out an expression of terror on his face as blood sprayed from the severed stump as it thumped erratically along and disappeared under the front of the technical. Seeing the killer for an instant up ahead Trask cranked off a wild shot at the figure as it disappeared into the mist. Jane loosed off a burst to no observed effect.

Within a few seconds the technical bumped up against the arm of the traffic barrier blocking the road into the town. It was fairly sturdy being wood reinforced with metal, but there was a heavier reinforced gate that remained open behind it. For now.

Trask kept his rifle pointing forward after missing the shot. He covered the gate and would take down anyone stupid enough to try and close it as the trucks moved forward. He was still getting a feed for his sensors flashing across his HUD so hopefully any movement to the sides would flash him a warning.

-

Peter flinched when things got...messy. The severed head was uncalled for and pissed him off. He wasn't sure if the axe-carrying murderer had anything to do with the fog or not, and whether it was Kargo or not, but he no longer cared. The asshole needed to be put down regardless.

He backed the truck up as far as he could without actually hitting the semi. Then he revved the engine as much as he dared before popping it back in to gear and trying to ram through the reinforced arm over the gate.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 131):

Seeing what was about to happen Jane first braced herself a the technical reversed until it was almost touching the rig. Looking down and behind she called out, "stop stop stop!" to let Peter know he'd gone as far back as he could.

Just before they started rolling again she swung the Ma-Deuce back around to the front and let loose a short burst near where the swing arm was mounted on the pedestal. All three full-metal-jacket .50-cal bullets struck the reinforced swing arm, shattering it. "Woo-hoo! Keep going, lover!" she called out to Peter as he drover over the fallen swing arm with a thump of wheels.

  Chricton just keeps scanning for targets at this point. He waits for his chance knowing he likely will only get one maybe two shots before whatever it is gets to them all.

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 133):

The two vehicles drove slowly forward past the wrecked barrier into the mist, occupants desperately trying to see into the gloom.

Once inside the fenced-in centre of town they couldn't even make out the low 1-and 2-story brick and wooden buildings about a block down. Peter recalled there was a wholesaler on the left and a hardware store on the right, both large but single-story.

There was some shouting up ahead and then a screaming sound coming from dozens of throats. The sound was feral, hungry! They could see a ragged line of figures, rushing towards them within the fog, screaming and howling!

Marshall's Note: Players can take all their actions at once. Peter - 4, Trask - 2, Bro. Edgar - 2, Smoker - 2, Crichton - 2, Jane (NPC) - 5.

For everyone wishing to shoot, the range is 15 yards and there is a -4 for the mist. Crichton didn't make his Search check and is therefore caught a little flat-footed and is at a further -2 for Hip-Shootin'. As well there is no way to Draw a Bead (aim). Rodakill busted on his check so he is Surprised, but the rig's AI is still capable of driving.

Peter's Technical

Peter (Driving)
Jane (NPC) (Gunner, Ma Deuce)
Crichton (in truck bed, various Junker and mundane weapons)

Roadkill's Rig

Roadkill (NPC) (Cab, driving)
Brother Edgar (Cab, shotgun seat with Glow Stick)
Trask (top forward trailer gun position, NA SAW and/or ACR)
Smoker (top rear trailer gun position/M2HB)

Note, as the wave is coming from the front this means they are not in Smoker's line of fire with the trailer's rear-facing mounted weapon.

Smoker, realising that the enemy is coming from the other side, resists the urge to start shooting into the mist and merely keeps overwatch against anyone trying to sneak around the back of their mini-convoy.

Trask pulled his rifle into his shoulder as he pulled the trigger forward of the magazine and fires two 20mm HE grenades towards the line of crazies descending on the rig. He sets 20 mils to burst at head height above the line of targets.

Increase Trask rolled 13 using 5d12-4, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 4,9,7,5,(12+5)17.  Shootin.

Increase Trask rolled 6 using 5d12-4, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 10,10,7,4,10.  Shootin 2.

Increase Trask rolled 9 using 4d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 4,6,5,9. = 24 Damage.

Increase Trask rolled 8 using 4d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 6,5,5,8.  = 24 Damage.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:59, Mon 04 June 2018.

Brother Edgar saw the line of attackers.  Felt the urge to think of them as howling, feral creature-people.  But, he couldn't see.  Couldn't /know/.  And he could not bring himself to unleash the Glow without that sure knowledge.  The rattle of gunfire told him his companions didn't share his reticence.  He offered a prayer and centered his mind on channeling the Atom through him, "I act only to succor the Doomed.  And they shall know me by me deeds...."  His glowing aura flared briefly in the truck's cab as he prepared for what comes.

Casting Tolerance in preparation for casting Glow Stick later.

I'd like to Hold my other action.

09:44, Today: Brother Edgar rolled 10 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 2,8,8,10,7.  Atomic Faith! - Tolerance TN: 5.

Peter stopped the truck quickly. The sounds were a bit unnerving and sure didn't sound like normal folk to him. He was loathe to shoot first and possibly ask questions later, but they were in a potentially very dangerous situation. He pulled the advanced combat rifle up and leaned out the window. He started off by firing a grenade off from the launcher on the rifle, aiming for a spot in the line straight ahead of him. Then he fired a burst at the lead still standing creature or person.

4 Actions (1 Held Card).
Driving truck forward.

Action 1: Readying Advanced Combat Rifle.
Action 2: Firing one 1 grenade from launcher straight at line set to airburst (hit a 10 total).
Action 3: Driving forward.
Action 4: Holding 1 card.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:39, Thu 07 June 2018.

The technical screeched to a halt, but greenish smoke belched from the rig's stacks as Gilles, the onboard AI, assume Peter would also be speeding up. In reaction to Peter's brake-stand Gilles swerved to the left, taking out part of the gate with a shudder. Unfortunately, it seemed some of the chain-link was caught in the truck's suspension and this could cause a lot of problems if it got tangled up in the axle!

A howling filled the air as the brilliant red laser rangefinder beams from Peter and Trask's ACRs stabbed out into the fog. To increase the lethality of the 20mm grenades, these rounds could be set by the ACR to not just explode on impact but airburst over and behind cover. Or for targets in the open, explode with a proximity fuse at, say, head height.

When the acreaming horde swept towards them in the mist, proximity-fused airbursts at head height was what their ACRs' ballistic computers automatically selected. The three rounds went off at head height in the crowd of around what they could see, perhaps too late, was actually about twenty maniacs (men, women and children) heedlessly charging towards them. Peter's high explosive fragmentation round pretty much vapourised one and decapitated another, and Trask's second HE round also pulped the craniums of two more. A dozen others went down of various grievous wounds to their upper and lower torsos, arms and legs.

Firing the cal-fifty almost at point blank range, Jane mowed down the last four mindlessly charging attackers. Their bodies hit the cracked pavement just in front of the technical. As shell casings tumbled into the brass-catcher mounted on the side of the Ma-Deuce's receiver, Jane yelled, "PETER, WHY IN THE HELL ARE WE STOPPING? THEY ARE ON FOOT, WE CAN OUTRUN THEM!"

Behind them, Smoker thought he could see someone moving towards them in the mist...


Marshall's Note:
I am waiting for Crichton's actions before advancing the turn. Smoker can make a Search check.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:09, Tue 12 June 2018.

  Due to the smoke getting a clear shot at anything was next to impossible for the junker so he waits for something a little more concrete to present itself.

Action 1 --> Sleeving a card.
        Action 2 --> Wasted on observation.

Smoker peered through the murk. He could have sworn he could see something moving, but what?

In the fog behind them Smoker could see several shapes closing in, maybe four or five. Angling in from his right, about 20 yards away. The rig had stopped to avoid ramming the technical so they would easily catch up in the next 5-10 seconds.

The rig was stopped to the technical's left, having bulldozed part of the gate and fenceline. It looked like all the attackers had gone down, wounded by the proximity-fused 20mm grenades and .50 cal bullets if not exactly dead.

Marshall's Note: Everyone make a Cognition check, as well as a Quickness Check.

Peter let out a long sigh, looking back over his shoulder at Jane with the slightest hint of a reproachful glare. "Well I aim a bit better when not driving at the same time, and seeing as how you don't have a lot of protection back there if they grabbed on and climbed in, I wanted to avoid that. My apologies.

He started the truck moving again, even as he apologized sincerely over the radio to Roadkill, however, for stopping and causing them to have to maneuver and crash in to the gate like that.

OOC: Or not if we are not on the next turn yet, just consider this fluff if we are still in combat.

Shots echoed off the buildings for several seconds, bounced around by the weird acoustics of the fog. A few forms still writhed in pain on the ground. While many of the attackers were probably dead, all seemed down and on their way to bleeding out as one would expect from wounds caused by 20mm fragmentation grenades and .50 calibre bullets.

Except this didn't seem to be the case! With growing surprise and horror they saw the attackers that were the farthest away begin to struggle to get on their knees. The ones closest were also slowing rolling around to try and get up. Only those whos' heads had been decapitated or pulped by the hot lead were staying down. These beings didn't seem like "Walkin' Dead". For one thing they moved far too fast. Another was they seemed too feral and almost rat-like, at least for most common varieties of "Walkers". And their features were altered: most had lost most of their hair and they could see at least some had overgrown canine and incisor teeth protruding from their mouths!

The ones that Peter and Trask blasted were at 30 yards range. The half-dozen Jane took down were lying down, writhing, 2-5 yards in front of the technical.

Smoker couldn't see any of this. Instead, he saw a handful (5) attackers break from the woods to the right and lope towards the rear of the trailer at a dead run! They were about 30 yards away.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:07, Tue 26 June 2018.

Smoker opened fire on the figures approaching the rear of the trailer.

Peter let out a small growl of confusion as he saw them all starting to get back up, some quicker than others. He shook his head and radioed Roadkill, "We are going to have to try and drive for it, fast!"

So saying, he put the truck in gear and made for the first open 'path' he could find that the semi could follow - well, the semi could go through some of the creatures if it had to, he supposed. The point was not to get overrun and keep moving, hopefully fast enough before the creatures got back up.

Trask lowered his rifle slightly and fired a series of bursts into any groups standing and then he started in on those just getting back to their feet.

OOC: Three five round bursts.

Increase Trask rolled 23 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 8,(12+11)23,7,9,8.  Shootin 1.

Increase Trask rolled 10 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 4,10,3,10,7.  Shootin 2.

Increase Trask rolled 11 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 2,7,11,5,3.  Shootin 3.

Brother Edgar leaned forward, trying to will his eyes to see through the mist and gloom and gunfire to find a path for Roadkill to follow.  Until he did, he kept up a quiet, whispering prayer....

Quickness 9, so 2 Action Cards.  Keeping my Hole Card from last round.

Edgar is trying to assist Roadkill in finding a way through....unless something tries to get in the cab or something major gets in the truck's way....  Cognition just in case? 11

15:11, Today: Brother Edgar rolled 11 using 4d6, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+1)7,2,(6+5)11. Drive Assist! Cognition. 15:05, Today: Brother Edgar rolled 9 using 3d8, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 4,4,(8+1)9. New Round Draw - Quickness.

There was no particularly clear path through the group in front of them. Peter was forced to swerve left and right to avoid running people over as he accelerated!

Marshall's Note: Peter can make a Drive check (TN5) to avoid running over anyone or hitting them. After this I will resolve other actions and complete the turn.

  Chricton is a little out of his element at the moment. Motor pools and what not are his normal thing. However he is a soldier. So he reacts like one. Anything that gets close he shoots at point blank range. If nothing's close he tries to clear a path more or less.

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 150):

The technical speeds up as Peter opens the throttle. Swerving back and forth he avoided striking the dead and wounded lying around in front of them. The truck found itself in a wide avenue between a large warehouse on the left and a dry goods and wholesaler on the right. The strange morning mist was still present but it didn't seem like anything was waiting for them ahead. That they could see.

Back at the gate greenish-black smoke spat out of the rig's stacks as the AI driver fought to get free of the chainlink fence. It was only partially successful and at  n012le0ast a 20-30 foot section was ripped free, caught on on the trailer's underc0arriage and dragged behind it in a shower of sparks.

Of those figures chasing the rig as it slowly started to accelerate away Smoker targeted the closest two. Massive 12.7mm bullets ripped into and through them, blowing off limbs and taking out chunks of ribcage and spinal column in the process. Unfortunately, this left three attackers, who easily caught up to the lumbering rig, leaped, then started to climb both sides and the rear doors at the rear of the trailer. Smoker could easily see them by leaning over but couldn't target them with the rear fighting position's pintle-mounted M2HB. Their faces were feral, smeared with blood, uneven mouthfuls of fangs gaping open as they slobbered hungrily.

To make matters worse the dozen or so attackers that had been in front of them had now risen unsteadily to their feet. A couple started to chase after the technical and Jane dispatched them with a couple bursts from the bed-mounted cal-fifty. But the rest of the mob the oncoming rig and decided that was easier prey! Trask fired a few bursts at the now-approaching horde. Two figures went down but the rest kept coming! It was clear many would be in a position to jump aboard the rig as it pssed them.

PD Note: New Turn!

Smoker's dialogue below is fine to be considered part of last turn. That is you may take it into account this turn.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:08, Wed 18 July 2018.

"A LITTLE HELP HERE!" shouted Smoker.

"THREE HOSTILES CLIMBING ON THE BACK OF THE RIG, CAN'T GET A SHOT AT THEM!"

Brother Edgar apparently reached a tipping point of frustration stuck within the confines of the rig's cab as the swarm came on.  His personal glow flickering more and more rapidly as he gripped the spent fuel rod he carried.  Suddenly, he reached for the cab door and pushed it open.  He dropped free of the cab and slammed the door shut again as he landed, "I give Praise to Saint Bates, for his having had the courage to Act Strongly and Bring forth a New Age."  The Doomsayer paid no attention to the enemies swarming around him as he stepped away from the rig. The Glow brightened across him with waves of fury and heat.  His eyes burned with a green light,  "Blessed be his name and the Truth of Atomic War."  He moved to stand between the horde and the rig...
This message was last edited by the player at 04:45, Sat 21 July 2018.

  "Peter! Brother Edgar just bailed from the Rig!" Chricton shouts as he holsters his pistols and pulls the rail gun. "Please try to keep it steady at least somewhat. Hope this damned gun holds together."

Trask turned to engage the individuals on the rig, a series of red triangles crossed his HUD as he fires off a burst at each one having walked to each side of the rig. He aimed for the central mass of each of the targets looking to hose them off the left and right sides of the vehicle.

He then waits while covering the trailer looking for anyone else to show themselves.




Increase Trask rolled 7 using 4d8, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 5,7,7,2.  Quickness

Increase Trask rolled 10 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 5,4,2,7,10.  Burst 3.
Increase Trask rolled 11 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 4,3,7,8,11.  Burst 2.
Increase Trask rolled 23 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 6,10,3,4,(12+11)23.  Burst 1.

Increase Trask rolled 15 using 3d6, keeping the highest dice only, with rolls of 6,4,5.  Damage Burst 1.

Increase Trask rolled 13 using 3d6, keeping the highest dice only with rolls of 6,6,1.  Damage Burst 2.

Increase Trask rolled 9 using 3d6 with rolls of 2,5,2.  Damage Burst 3.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 08:48, Mon 23 July 2018.

Peter let out a heavy sigh and slowed the technical and started turning it around. It was not the easiest thing to do, but he couldn't just leave the rig to be overrun. His head snapped around when he realized that Brother Edgar had left the semi-truck. His eyes narrowed. This was turning in to an untenable situation quickly.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 156):

On top of the rig, Trask blasted one climbing up the left side. The rounds entered the upper chest and the target spasmed as internal organs were pulped and the spine severed, then he fell away. He moved over and targeted a woman climbing up the right side. He waited for the last one, another woman, to appear.

She did, hissing as she leaped into the air up and over the rear lip onto the fighting position. Smoker lit her up with a long burst rom the M2HB that punched holes in her chest and abdomen. Trask's well-aimed burst hit the same areas. Punctured by several wounds she fell, lifeless, into Smoker. She didn't knock him over but lay unmoving beside him in the rear fighting position. Both noticed her eyes were yellow and diseased-looking, and her wide-open mouth sported a set of protruding fangs!

Meanwhile, Roadkill was also getting his Commando SMG ready to engage the crowd that was converging on them. "What the hell?" he cried as Brother Edgar bailed out. Peter was deftly turning the technical around, making use of what space he had to pull a U-turn, and Jane swung the Ma-Deuce mounted in the bed to cover Brother Edgar as well.

As if they were all one organism the crown turned and "locked on" to the figure standing in front of them. A figure that was just beginning to glow an unhealthy green... He also noted the fanged ravenous faces and upon the bullet-ravaged yet still-moving bodies of men, women, children, and realised they were not dealing with crazy people but something worse. But then, they were on him, throwing themselves without regard to their own safety. The Glow burned bright within him and all that touched him were consumed by the righteous heat of a thousand suns.

It looked like to everyone else the crowd surged to surround a glowing-green Brother Edgar but when they touched him they burst into bright orange flames, instantly incinerated. The heat from the burning and melting bodies didn't seem to faze him at all and within seconds the entire group was gone, consumed completely by the fire of the miracle of the China Syndrome. He stood in a bonfire of blazing clothing, sparks, ash and charred skeletons, yet was not burned.

Marshall's Note: End of turn. Fortunately Smoker, Trask and Brother Edgar all made TN9 Terror checks! End of Turn. New Quickness Checks!

Trasks HUD pulsed as the flashes registered in his targeting systems. Small red triangles simply disappeared one after the other as the threat was consumed. He began scanning again for more threats as he reloaded his weapon.

Increase Trask rolled 9 using 4d8, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 3,3,1,(8+1)9.  Quickness.


-

Smoker chucks the unwanted guest out of his nest.

Brother Edgar remained still and calm, hooded head bowed as the horde was drawn to its own incinerating death.  Moths to flames.  Only once there was little more movement towards him did the Doomsayer begin his slow walk back out of the pyre.  The nimbus of heat burned to cinder and ash anything that he stepped towards allowing him an eerily easy way out of the piles of burning dead.  Impossible to hear over the fires and roaring engines, he offered a sorrowful prayer for these people and what had become of them...

3:36, Today: Brother Edgar rolled 11 using 3d8, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 5,1,(8+3)11. Quickness.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 160):

Smoker heaved the corpse of the last attacker out of the fighting position. He wasn't strong enough to get her completely clear, so she ended up hanging from the barbed wire that was supposed to protect the fighting position from assailants climbing up the rear (which she had vaulted over to get at him). The feral woman seemed dead, although there was't a lot of blood seeping from her massive bullet wounds. But then, like the others, she seemed to revive and began thrashing around, gnashing her fanged mouth. Luckily she was caught in the wire, unable to get free, and remained out of reach.

At that point the unnatural fog began to lift, letting the first full rays of the morning sun caress the ground. Immediately all the corpses of the luckless villagers (that weren't already burned to a crisp) began to smoulder, with small flames breaking out. The woman caught up in the wire surrounding the rear and sides of Smoker's fighting position started to thrash harder and screech as she too began to smoke and burn ever more violently. After less than a moment all that was left of all the bodies, and the woman, were ash, charred bones and burning rags.

Trask got on the teams comms channel "Trask here, everyone else still in one piece ?" He continued to scan for targets and watch his sensors as the threat seems to dissipate before their eyes.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 02:34, Thu 09 Aug 2018.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 161):

"Tabarnac! I am caught on s'e fence. I cannot go se' further wis'out damaging my undercarriage."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:47, Thu 09 Aug 2018.

In reply to Gilles the Driver Bot (msg # 163):

"What the Hell just happened? If they're gone I'm gonna stop and clear my axle. Ya'all cover me!" he said into the CB. Grabbing his Commando SMG he opened the welded-armour door and hopped down.

NA Commando SMG:

As the sun touched what was left of the dead and completed what the Atom began, Brother Edgar relaxed and let go the power of the Atom.  The burning aura faded away as he headed back for the truck.  Roadkill leaping out of said truck caught his eye.  The Doomsayer hefted his nuclear control rod in a more weapon-like fashion and followed after the driver quickly, eyeing the area in case anyone...or anything made a try for him.

"Do you need a hand, Roadkill?" Smoker called down.

Peter finished driving closer to the semi-truck, but gave the Burning Man a bit of a wide berth, eyeing him sideways, until he appeared to cool down and stop melting things. He stopped the truck and got out, calling quietly to Roadkill. "I am sorry to have caused you to get caught like that. It was not my intention. I will try to do better in the future."

He kept an eye since he knew Roadkill wasn't shy and would ask for help if it was needed.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 167):

Roadkill nodded. "Don't mention it. My fault, really. You were in the lead. No reason for me to speed up before you did."

"Smoker, buddy! No problem! Just keep an eye out!"

He took a pair of bolt cutters from an exterior toolbox and began cutting away the tangle of chainlink fence.

"Peter, we gonna search for survivors of... whatever this is? They ain't Walkin' Dead, that's for sure!"

As others with actual firearms came forward to watch out for the driver, Brother Edgar relaxed his ready stance with his strange weapon.  "I would like to attempt a search for any survivors, as well.  There is also, I believe, someone we came to find.  He may still be here..."  At the idea, the radpriest scanned the area hoping to catch sight of the axe-wielding villain.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 169):

As Roadkill and Peter worked to clear the rig's undercarriage the others moved down the street towards the centre of town. Past the two large buildings flanking the entrance was a pleasant-looking town square with a (non-working) fountain. Across the grassy plaza was the town hall. To the left was the CS post office and a church. To the right was the town police station, a Humvee with police markings was parked in front.

Suddenly, a woman burst out of the front of the police station. She made a dead run for the police Humvee.

 "Should we fire a warning shot or just let her keep running?" he asks while sighting his pistol.

Trask amplified the speaker for his audio with an eye movement.

"Lady we are here to help." He waited for a response before trying something else.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 08:14, Wed 15 Aug 2018.

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 172):

The woman stopped at the police-marked Humvee and, after deciding the Posse wasn't Black Hats of the Combine or even worse than the horrors that devastated the town, put the shotgun she was holding down on the bonnet. She also pulled a semi-auto handgun from her waistband and laid it down beside it, then raised her hands to show they were empty.

She called back to him, pleadingly, "for the love of Jesus! Ya'll gotta help me! They took my husband! They done killed everyone here, but they took my Jerry! Please help! We gotta hurry, they just left!"

Brother Edgar raised his own hand in a calming gesture as he began to slowly step towards her, "We can help, absolutely.  But we need to know who "they" are and where "they" have gone?"

Trask moved up to the Humvee andbent down to have a look inside before righting himself. "Like the priest said we will need some details and weapons, ammunition..."

Trask tries to get a sensor ping on "them"....


-

Peter was in the midst of helping Roadkill out with the semi-truck when the woman burst out screaming. His head involuntarily whipped around to see what the commotion was about, but things began to calm very quickly before he could really stop what he was doing and move that way.

He radioed Trask, "Trask, you okay there? Found a non-hostile survivor?"

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 176):

Trask replies to the radio message.

"Yes it would seem so, just getting details now. Looks to have been another group that caused this mess and they have just left."

-

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 174):

The woman, with dark hair streaked with a little grey and brown eyes, calmed down and introduced herself. She looked to be in her thirties or early forties.

"I'm Marcela. I don't really know what happened here. It all started late last night at the roadhouse. Somethin' happened, some kind of fight.Jerry went out to join the posse formed by the town Marshall, Itson. I went down in the bomb shelter out back with our kids and the neighbor kids. I don't know what happened after that, there was a lot of shootin' and yellin', it lasted all night. Me and the oldest, Bobby Lee, we got the other kids out through the fence and into the forest. I came back to help Jerry out. This was about an hour ago.

"I managed to get into the jail through the back door. I looked out at the square. I seen five, maybe six cars. Real nice, must have cost a lot before the war! Never seen them before. Plus a semi, probably one from out at the Roadhouse. There was maybe a half dozen of them, men and women, all in leather and soldier gear. They had Jerry and another guy, some biker, and Jerry. They were both on their knees. There was a woman, I think she was the leader. She says to them they'd see if the biker, named "Cargo", I think, see if he  or Jerry were good enough to "join their ranks" by the time they got to the river, whatever that means. The Cargo dude was meaner but she said Jerry was cuter. The loser would get "eaten". All the others, they laughed.

"Then they all got back in their cars. The biker got on his hoverbike. Jerry went in the woman's car. They took off, going south. But from what they said I think they were actually heading to the Mississippi."

Brother Edgar listened attentively to the woman's story, making it quite plain that she had his full attention and was being taken seriously.  Upon the completion of said tale, he offered, "I think we may be able to help you.  We were, in fact, looking for this biker.  But, our rig is needing some quick repairs before we can move out.  You mentioned there were children hiding in the forest?"

Trask moved forward and checked the Humvee while waiting for an answer. He was looking for weapons or ammunition and to see whether a support weapon was mounted to the gun ring.

-

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 179):

"I checked and they're ok. The kids, I mean. It's just my husbad I'm worried about Jerry. If you need to fix something, please hurry!"

The Humvee was a police vehicle so in addition to a light bar there was an empty shotgun bracket on the dash board and a lock-box in the trunk. There were also what looked to be first aid equipment in the trunk.

In reply to Marcela (msg # 181):

With some desperate work, the semi was cleared of debris from the fence and gate.

As they waited, an impatient-seeming Marcela called to "Bobby Lee" out in the forest, convincing him it was ok to come out.. A young man in his late teens  led about a dozen children out of hiding.

"One last thing. Your biker friend, the one it looked like that gang was trying to recruit? He said they needed to head south towards the coast. I don't think there's much there anymore. But that's where I think they'll head.

"Now, let's get moving!"

Her son, Bobby Lee, didn't seem to sure about being left alone with a dozen children to take care of. But it was his dad that was missing. "I guess I understand, if they got dad and all. Good luck!"

Brother Edgar waited patiently by Marcela while the truck was being fixed, though he did suggest to Trask at one point, "Perhaps you could perform another scan or survey of the town for....anything else that we might be leaving behind?"

After the children arrived, the radpriest gave them a quick visual inspection for any obvious hurts or pressing health issues.  He asked Marcela, "The police station seemed to secure you through the night, perhaps we could set the children up there until we return?"

"Lets take the humvee, I can probably fit and there is a lock box in here that may have some weapons and ammo."

OOC: Not sure if this is the pickup or soft top version.

-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 184):

Searching the dozen buildings in the town proper would take time.

Meanwhile, Marcela seemed to think the police station was a good idea and got the children organised to hide there fore safekeeping for now. It was fortified as a kind of redoubt and so was probably as safe as anyplace.

She said, "I don't know about you but I'm takin' the Humvee. I got the keys! I am going to get my husband, then we're going to leave here. Go to where I know some family, about a day's drive west in Texas.

"If we're going, let's go."

Brother Edgar gave a quick nod to both Trask and then Marcela, "Of course.  Would you mind if I rode with you?"  He didn't really wait for the answer; confident that he could guess it.  He stepped over to the passenger door and opened it, then glanced in the back...then slowly back over to the power-armored soldier, "I'm....  uncertain this is the best vehicle to carry you."  He looked to Crichton, "Perhaps you could ride with us?"  Even as he asked, the Doomsayer was already climbing into the "shotgun" seat of the Humvee.

"Yes, I'll get back on board the rig." Trask makes his way back to his previous position.

-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 187):

It took 20 minutes to get the rig free without additional damage. This was with Smoker and Crichton's help, as they were expert mechanics. Although Marcela was impatient she recognised the importance of having more than her along. Plus now her remaining family was safer.

"Sure... Padre? You can come with me." Marcela got in the driver's side door and put her shotgun back in the bracket. She put the key in the ignition. "Let's go?"

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 188):

While searching the town, Jane checked out the bad guys' escape route.

"We know they didn't go east to the Interstate because that's where we were. If they are going towards the ruins of New Orleans they won't have gone north. I checked the south and east perimeter. I mean, west perimeter. Looks like they took a western route out of town. There's kind of a rear gate there that looks like it sees a lot of use. It goes into the forest. Kind of a jungle, really."
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:52, Sun 16 Sept 2018.

In reply to Jane Guin (msg # 189):

Marcela replied, "oh yeah, there's a speedway out on that road. Folks around here like to race. It's about a mile down the road."

  After the rig was cleared Chricton goes to the Humvee and climbs into the back. "Gods this takes me back." is all he says as he lets the memories both good and bad wash over him for a moment.

Peter helped out with the rig as much as he could. He listened to what the various people had to say when they returned (as he hadn't been near enough to hear Marcela's story) and raised one eyebrow at the humvee being loaded up. He gave a nod to Brother Edgar as the radiation priest boarded the humvee instead.

He looked at Jane directly when made her 'report' and frowned. "We need to catch up to them before they get to the river apparently so no one gets...eaten." He mounted back up in the technical and, when everyone was ready, started heading out after the...whoever this group was that had taken Cargo and Jerry.

Smoker finished clearing up and scrambled back up to his usual perch.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 193):

They saddled up, eager to head out in pursuit of Kargo and the fiends that destroyed the waster town. It seemed possible that their meeting here was deliberate and not accidental, that Kargo had arranged to meet them here. But why?

The Humvee with Marcela acting as guide was in the lead, followed by the technical and then the rig. The road out the west gate turned to head southwest through the deep forest. Kudzu-smothered and Spanish moss-draped trees and lush bushes crowded the crumbling roadway, overgrowing the soft shoulder.

After a mile or so they passed a sign that announmced:




Soon they came to a wide open area where space for a large-ish oval racetrack of red dirt surrounded by safety fencing sat next to a small lake. There were some small portable style prefab buildings lining the pit area. Beside that sat a small uncovered grandstand. Ads for long-gone auto-related products and businesses (STP, PENNZOIL, HELLSTROMME MOTORSPORTS, BIG TEXAS AUTO PARTS, THRUSH FILTERS, etc.) were plastered to most surfaces. This had been a real rural racetrack where backwoods racers with high-octane fuel in their veins battled it out on dirt tracks for purses not worth much more than a few months rent. Aside from adverts for hover racing every Thursday this track probably hadn't changed much in a hundred years.

Unlike the countless burned-out ruins they had passed this seemed to be relatively well-maintained. While the buildings could use a coat of paint they were free of the clutches of the relentless Kudzu vines and Spanish moss that festooned everything in Louisiana that remained motionless for more than a week. Vandals, salvagers and looters had not stripped the place and then set it on fire as often happened to abandoned postwar structures.

The parking lot between the road and track was more red dirt, and strewn across it in a line were several well-maintained looking muscle and racing cars, nose-to-tail.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 194):

Looking over at the track as they came up to it, Marcela said, "I think this track's been here for a long time. People here still could race because there's fuel and lubricant from the oil wells.

"That's odd... those cars, those belong to Big Frank. Used to, I think he's dead now. I saw them yesterday. They were on a transporter being hauled by Big Frank's rig. Looks like someone stole the rig, dumped the cars. But why would they need a transporter and rig, and not the cars?"

They remembered how back in town a little while ago they heard a rig start up, masked by the unnatural fog. This could have been it.

"There's a fuel tank for ghost rock, one for diesel and one for petrol. Let's stop and top up. I've only got a quarter tank left and no telling how long we are going to be running!"

  "Guide says we should probably top off the tanks guys." Chricton radios as he gets out of the Hummvee. "Got the works on fuel. Seems they dumped the cars but kept the rig. Weird."

Brother Edgar eyed the place warily.  Too clean.  Too neat.  Too easy.  Nothing in his experiences across this blasted wasteland West was ever so...pristine.  As Chrichton radioed, the Doomsayer asked Marcela, "Have you gotten fuel here before?  Who maintains this place?"

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 197):

"The owner was Big Frank. He was partners with a couple other people in town. I guess some people just like to race, and the oil wells in town gave them the opportunity. I've never fueled up here before because I ain't a racer."

She got out and began fueling up the Humvee.

Trask will provide cover from the rig while they investigate. As they arrive near the track he will make a scan of their surroundings to see if they are alone. And due to his nature he keeps and eye out for a nice truck amongst the supped up cars.


-

Peter was wondering what was going on, what the game was - and it DID feel like a game, like a setup to him. He wasn't sure who was behind it, but something felt off and very wrong. And then there was a speedway, one that was like in pristine condition, not looted or destroyed, and NOT covered with the fucking plant life that was everywhere else. His hackles were up.

He heard the radio chatter from Crichton and hesitated. "Keep your eyes peeled. This feels strange. Could be a trap." Unsaid was 'or worse'. "I will wait until she is done fueling before I go in." Yes, he was being paranoid, and they were probably just losing time to his over-cautiousness, but he didn't care.

Brother Edgar accepted her assessment without further argument.  He cast a questioning look to Crichton, then got out of the humvee.  He set himself to looking over the surroundings and paying close attention.  It's sad, but with the way this apocalyptic wasteland had taught him, this seemed exactly the sort of spot for something terrible to happen...

  Chricton merely shrugs and keeps an eye out. He pulls his HI pistol.

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 202):

MArcela finished topping up. She did not look suspicious, just wanted to get on the road. Moving the technical in through the gate to the speedway's pit area Peter had the choice to fill the tank with high-octane gasoline, spook juice, diesel.

The presence of an immense quantity of petroleum fuel was not that surprising, they had passed literally dozens of oil wells around and in town. Most were rusted and/or partially disassembled but there were definitely some that were still pumping away even now. The crude oil gained this way would need to be refined somehow, and the town did seem to have some kind of large obviously junker-built apparatus installed on the north side of town.

Roadkill pulled the rig in and started filling his own tanks with diesel. He had barrels of Spook Juice in the trailer but you never knew when you might need a refill and actual diesel fuel was hard to come by.

Trask runs through a diagnostic program as he runs scans over the racetrack and surrounding cars, thermal, ultra violet etc... He will give a shout out on the teams comms should anything come up.

-

Smoker just huddles down in his nest, looking around warily.

 "All clear so far. As soon as the trailer is topped off we are off." Chricton says into his radio.

Brother Edgar returned to the passenger seat of the Humvee after a while.  Letting others better suited watch out and fuel up.  He turned his own mind to matters that he was better suited to.  He closed his eyes and began going through his relaxation excercises.  Breathing.  Turning to the Glow to ease the ache of all the power he had let pour through him.  To let the Glow fill him up again.  To wash away the fear and sadness that the terrible fight in the town had brought to him.  Centered.  One.

Peter slowly, almost hesitantly, pulled his truck in. He got out and inspected what was available. His jaw dropped open a bit. "They have...all this...just sitting here? And no one has tried to take this place? No one has taken this...treasure trove?"

He looked over at Marcela. "How? How did gangs and marauders not overrun this place a long time ago to take this?"

He then began to fill up the tank and a reserve gas can with spook juice.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 208):

Handing off the fuel hose, the woman thought a little, then answered as she gestured towards the surrounding forest, "this belongs... belonged to people in the town, and they took care of it. It wasn't sitting here abandoned for the taking. The Ark-La-Tex speedway's been here for a hundred years before the war. Kind of a legend in these parts.

"I don't know if you noticed but we are in the Goddamn middle of nowhere in the backwoods here. Only one way in or out unless you are going through town. Marshall Itson kept a good handle on things with constant patrols of the road and security here could rely on the town police to respond within a few minutes. And with the wealth of the oil wells they could roll pretty heavy if they needed to. I heard over the years they slaughtered shitloads of gang members and marauders who tried to raid the place until a few years back they just stopped coming. Or came to race!"

Peter absorbed that information as he got the spook juice where it needed to be. After a long moment, he nodded. "Very well." He puased and then sounded more empathetic. "I am sorry that things have gone the way they have for your family and your town."

Once he was finished and had replaced the gas nozzle, he mounted back up and headed out unless there was any further discussion to be had.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 210):

A figure from the shadows watches. Obviously a person wearing a duster and a motorcycle helmet, carrying a rifle with a scope. Raises the rifle over his head and waves it back and forth a couple of times before bringing it back down.

In reply to 'Cannibal' Jack Hayes (msg # 211):

Noticing movement out of the corner of he eye Roadkill looked up from where he was in conversation with Peter. Startled, he drew and charged his SA Commando SMG, aiming it at the figure. After a pause, he lifted the barrel to point it up.

"What... who? Wait a second, as I live and breathe, is that "Cannibal" Jack Hayes? What are you doin' here?"

SA .50AE Commando SMG:


This message was last edited by the player at 01:20, Fri 19 Oct 2018.

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 212):

Marcela, a townie who sometimes came to the racetrack, was surprised Cannibal Jack was still alive!

"Good to see you, Jack!

"Oh, you know him? He's been out here at the racetrack. Kind of security with a sideline as a mechanic."

"Slumming" Says Jack moving closer. Slinging the Marlin, and pulling out one of the 'Eagles'. Looking over his shoulder he adds. "Got my ride shot up on the road, came here for a replacement. Saw some unfriendly types heading my way and decided to lay low. Whatcha all doing here?"

In reply to 'Cannibal' Jack Hayes (msg # 214):

'I hear ya, man! Sorry 'bout your ride.

"look, we're chasin' some bad hombres. They infected the town with some kind of disease that turned everyone into bloodthirsty monsters. You're handy with a gun and a wrench, yer welcome to ride with me as long as you like."

Smoker waved from his perch.

"Hey there! We came here chasing a rogue who stole a bike off one of the group, and my gun - after shooting me with it - and found the place a mess. So we have these bad'uns to chase as well now."

Trask watched the proceedings with impassive indifference that comes with an emotionless mask of metal. He had lowered his weapon once the new guy was identified and seem to be known among the group.

Once greeting were pasted around he went back to providing over watch for the group and checking his sensors for threats.


-

Crichton, from his post by the Humvee, lowered his pistol as the contact seemed to be a known friendly.  Silently, he cursed himself a bit for missing the rather large, heavily armed potential threat in the first place.  He covered for his discomfort by re-holstering his pistol, picking up his "custom" sniper rifle and checking over the wiring on the capacitors.  At the mention of the need for speed, he added, "Yeah.  Give us a hand with these creepy punks and maybe I can do something with your bike on the way back."

As the alert first went up, Brother Edgar stirred from his quiet meditations and took up his control rod.  But, the situation shook out before he could get out of the Humvee.  When he did step out, it was mostly to give the newcomer a look-over and a quiet nod of greeting.  Honestly, the gunman was an intimidating sight...but others he trusted seemed to be okay with it.  The Doomsayer seemed more than ready to leave it at that.

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 215):

It's REALLY bad when you can see someone grin from under a scarf. "Hey Roadkill, ya know I'm in for stuff like that . Let me hop outa these sneakers and pop on my boots. Then I'll retrieve my backpack. (Edging the sunglasses without revealing to much of his face) Nice ride"

Closer reveal : Heavy duster, two desert eagles, machete, Police Motorcycle helmet, sunglasses, and a women's scarf covers most of his face. Burn marks. Thankful he doesn't uncover his face....And a lever action marlin with a scope slung across his back.

In reply to 'Cannibal' Jack Hayes (msg # 220):

Marcela said to Brother Edgar, "I think he's okay. He's been through here before, never caused a problem. He's definitely not with the crew that destroyed the town."

She cheched her 10mm S&W model 5006 police pistol. "I think we're ready to go. Let's saddle up!"
This message was last edited by the player at 09:21, Thu 25 Oct 2018.

In reply to 'Cannibal' Jack Hayes (msg # 220):

"Awright, buddy. You want to ride on the trailer? I got 2 2-man fighting positions, each with a machinegun. Smoker is up there in the rear, he's a mechanic. Also, Trask is on the front gun. He's wearing the Wolverine suit."

At Marcela's call to roll, Crichton restowed his rifle.  A bit too unwieldy for use from the Humvee.  Once sure that it was settled safely, he climbed back into his seat in the back.  His Damnation pulled, checked, and held at the ready just in case they actually caught up to these bastards, "All set."

Peter wasn't sure what to make of the new arrival at first. Their trusted semi-truck driver, Roadkill, seemed to know him and vouch for him. Peter merely gave the new person a slow nod of greeting, watching him a little warily.

He turned to Roadkill. "I will lead as before. I will do my best not to get you caught up on anything again."

He then got in to the technical and started it up, waiting for everyone to mount up on the two trucks before continuing on their way.

Brother Edgar nodded gently to Marcela's assurances, noting, "He seems known to a few.  I would never say no to such a gift of the Glow.  We will likely need all that we can gather before we see the end of this."  The Doomsayer too returned to his shotgun seat in the Humvee, saying quietly, "Praise be to Saint Darwin.  May we continue to adapt and overcome and may our enemies be naturally selected."  He clicked the seatbelt into place, "I am ready."  As he noted Peter's technical moving up, he suggested to Marcela, "It is our general procedure to let Peter lead the way.  We can follow him."

Works for me Jack says giving two thumbs up

"Come on up, then," called Smoker.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 227):

"Not much an chatter... What type of vehicles these future corpses drivin?" Asks Jack, tilting his head to the right

In reply to 'Cannibal' Jack Hayes (msg # 228):

Marcela, a town deputy Marshall, said, "They seemed to have five muscle cars. Plus one guy with an axe, a biker named Kargo, he has a hoverbike. But from the looks of it they stole a semi rig car transporter for some reason."

Cannibal Jack replies "A hover bike? And a car transporter? Sounds like they have more cars than drivers or found a lot of salvage."

"The hoverbike is why we are here. Kargo stole it. And my gun," growled Smoker.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 231):

Cannibal Jack tilts his head  "I'll take that as, its gonna be a closed casket"

Once everyone was ready, Peter started the technical on its way, heading again towards where Marcela had told them she'd overheard the group was going to - the river. He started to wonder again if Kargo was a prisoner or recruit, and if they would arrive too late to stop the initiation ritual or combat or whatever that was supposed to happen.

The convoy pulled out onto the road leading south towards the Red River and Shreveport. From there the Interstate would take them all the way to Lafayette and from thence the ruins of New Orleans.

Unless they stopped to examine tracks they wouldn't have more of an idea of what they were following.

South from Vivian they wound their way through the kudzu-drenched forests of northern Louisiana. They passed a couple of now-nameless hamlets being overrun by vegetation. One had a sign that said "OIL CITY" but aside from the wrecks of a few rusty old crude oil pumps it was completely gone, swallowed by the forest.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 234):

Past Oli City they followed the Interstate south a ways until they came to the Red River and the ruins of Shreveport. Ominously, thin columns of wispy black smoke became visible here and there in the forest surrounding them. Although the vegetation had grown back (and then some) there was still evidence around them of a massive fire and damage like burned-down structures, blown-over light and sign poles, burned and fallen tree trunks and stumps.

Over the CB, Roadkill said, "breaker breaker. This here's Roadkill. You got your ears on? Come on back."

Marshall's Note: this is where Peter or whoever would reply in the affirmative.

"We're gonna start seeing some black smoke here and there. Comin' outta the ground. During the war, there was some kind of CSA military base next to the city that got nuked. It didn't leave no Ghoust Storm but some of the oil wells around here were set on fire. The oil wells are still burning today. Some folks call this the "smoky valley" on account of that."

Trask kept his eyes pealed as they made their way along the Interstate, he could do with a drink he thought as they past the various detritus of a past civilization on the side of the road.

He kept his sensors ticking over as they rode along, and would use the internal comms should anything pop up on Trask's radar.


-

Crichton answered the radio hail, looking out the window of the humvee as they passed through, "Copy, Smoker.  Anything we should be watching for more specifically?"  He clicked off the radio while he waited for the answer and asked Marcela, "How much further to this place you think they went?"

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 237):

Roadkill replied, "Ahh... well now, I hear the gators been gettin' pretty big in the Red River. Don't you know. But closer to the Mississippi. So I hear. Come on back."

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 237):

Marcela looked over, then back at the cracked road. "They said something about heading towards New Orleans. I assume that's where they are going. But you know, the leader, that woman, she never actually said."

Peter replied in the affirmative when Roadkill spoke up. "My ears are ready to listen. Go ahead. Over." He listened to what was said, a frown sliding on to his face a bit, lip curling in distaste at the thought of oil just being left to burn like that. "That is unfortunate. I wish I had the capability to put the fires out."

The frown deepened after Marcela spoke. "So we do not know where they are going, and we do not have a way to track them? That is...disheartening. Do we continue on and head towards New Orleans if we do not catch up to them? I suppose we do not have another plan." He let out a small sigh.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 240):

Cannibal Jack unloads the rifle and puts the shells into his bandoleer. Then adjusts the scope on the passing scenery. "Hates gators..."

Crichton, after relaying Marcela's answer into the radio for the benefit of everyone, simply added, "No other plan.  Keep an eye out for giant gators.  Copy that."  After that, he settled back in for what might be a long ride.  He did keep an eye out the window though.  He wasn't sure the giant gator thing wasn't a joke....but you never can tell with the world being what it is.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:05, Sat 17 Nov 2018.

Brother Edgar's brow went up as Marcela described her "hunch."  Also keeping his eyes on the cracked road, especially with the warning about giant gators, he asked the former deputy, "Can you remember anything else you over heard?  We have a bit of time as we drive and, perhaps, there's something else we can learn.  It may help when we catch up to them."

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 240):

Over the CB, Marcela replied, "This is Victor One. They are driving a semi rig. They can only take so many routes on account of the damage to the roads from the war and just how it's been over the years. There's a lot of dirt and mud that has washed over the road, even the Interstate, so we just gotta get out and have a look. If no one here is a tracker I can maybe take a look.

"By the way, do we have call signs? I'm in the lead so I can go as "Victor One. Over."

In reply to Marcela Perez Villanova (msg # 244):

"Ah, copy that Victor One. This here's the Roadkill. I got me a robot co-driver, Gilles. He takes over when I'm sleepin' or gettin' busy."

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 245):

"Salut! Yes, I am Gilles. I prefer to drive s'e race car, but I can be driving this rig very well."

Gilles spoke over the CB in a distinctively synthesised tone, but with a French accent.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:12, Mon 19 Nov 2018.

Brother Edgar smiled faintly as Gilles chimed in.  It was hard not to like the friendly driver AI.  He added, directly to Marcela since they were in the same vehicle, "I am unsure of anyone's particular skill with tracking.  So, if you see a likely spot, you should probably go ahead and try."

Peter listened as Brother Edgar tried to ease out any more specific information from Marcela. His eyebrows rose up as she got a bit more 'roady' on them. Victor One? Interesting. He shook his head, but nodded to the information. That gave them a place to go at least.

"That is good to know, thank you." To her question about call signs he shook his head though she couldn't see it likely. "Not really. Peter is fine, or Firecrow will do, I suppose, take your pick."

He spoke up again, "I will try to pull over periodically in what might be likely places for trackers to check for tracks." That sentence indicated he didn't consider himself one of the trackers.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 248):

She looked out over the road.

"May as well stop here. They only passed by an hour or so ago. I'll see if there are some tracks in the mud, that way I know we're on the right trail."

Stopping, she got out and examined the tracks for a few minutes, then got back in.

"I think I'll recognise the treads on tha trig they're driving. I hope..."

Brother Edgar had gotten out of the Humvee when Marcela did.  He didn't stray far or try to track, but he did keep a sharp eye out for anything.  Especially of the large gator variety.  Upon getting back in the vehicle, he asked the former deputy, "I take it that means you did /not/ recognize the treads having been past here?"

Peter heard Marcela speak up and unconsciously nodded even though she was unlikely to see that maneuver. He pulled off to the side of the road as much as he safely could. He got out of the vehicle and looked around, not really for tracks since he wasn't that good at that sort of thing, just more making sure there wasn't an ambush around.

16:17, Today: Peter Firecrow rolled 11 using 2d6, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of (6+2)8,(6+5)11.  Search.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 250):

The deputy looked a little uncertain at the Doomsayer's statement.

"I'm not a professional tracker and we're miles away from Vivian so I can't say I'm over familiar with all the possible tracks in this neighborhood. I think it's the same track, it's going the right direction. The tracks I think we were following didn't seem to turn off."

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 251):

It seemed to Peter and anyone else looking for a fight that there wasn't anything hiding in the surrounding forest. Peter did get a good look at the tyre treadmarks in the mud and agreed that it looked like a semi passed by not very long ago at all.

With not much more to see, they mounted up and continued south at a swift pace. They were on the northern outskirts of Shreveport. Marcela knew enough about the area to know that to continue south they needed to divert from I-49 to I-220 and take the bridge across Cross Lake, skirting the built-up parts of the city to the west. This was because Barksdale CAFB was adjacent to the city to the east and it had gotten pounded by a one megaton ground burst on Judgement Day. The CS Air Force Base had been annihilated and along with it most of Shreveport.

The Interstate bridge arced south over Cross Lake. To the west across the lake was deep forest, to the east the skeletal burned out towers of Shreveport ringed the lakeshore. They cross the lake without incident, and managed to not get too slowed down by the rubble choking the Interstate bypass as it curved around the western side of the city.

After that they drove the next 120 miles back on I-49 in about six hours trending from south to southeast. It looked like they were still on the trail of their quarry as the day grew hot and steamy. On both sides was a wall of forest. Somewhere northwest of Alexandria they came to a washed out bridge. There was a detour to the right that led a short distance to a ford across a large stream/small river. The shallows were choked with reeds and marsh grass.

The posse had a choice: ford here or backtrack and try and find a way around on a side route?

The Doomsayer had spent the majority of the trip keeping lookout.  He also took the time to go through some meditative exercises. and quiet prayer.  Not being among the Chosen, he really did his best to keep it relatively silent.  Mouthing the comforting words to the benefit of his own heart and mind.  Unless Crichton or Marcela expressed any interest in the teachings of course.  But he would not hold his breath waiting for that.

 As they came to the ford, Brother Edgar eyed the crossing from his seat, then looked to Marcela, "Perhaps we should look for any tracks which might indicate which way our quarry chose to go?"

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 254):

Cannibal Jack "searches" the tree line using the scope of the rifle to assist.

Once they had stopped Trask ran through a sensor scan of the area to make sure they were alone. If he get the opportunity he will get down from his perch and take a closer look at the water and the ford.

He flicks on the teams comms net "Trask here, ford looks like a prime place for an ambush of dead things or underwater things or both. Can anyone tell if the party we are after crossed here ?"



-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 256):

In the lead vehicle, Marcela replied, "This is Victor One. Roger that, I got it." Grabbing her shotgun she dismounted to have a look at the crossing. She used her walkie-talkie as she squatted by the riverside, examining the mud and splash marks.

"All units. Be advised looks like a semi passed by here not too long ago."

Something didn't seem right. They noticed that there was a van abandoned in the reeds about 10 yards downstream. It looked like something had peeled back the steel siding, nearly cutting it in two. Possibly some kind of explosive device or HEAT warhead?

Marshall's Note: Waiting on Peter and Smoker's rolls, but they haven't checked the group since the call out was made.

Peter didn't mind the driving. He liked driving actually. It gave him a sense of freedom and a little bit of joy. Driving with friends was even better, though being on task, and in an extremely dangerous world in general to boot, meant he had to keep a sharp eye out at all times. It could be a little taxing sometimes.

When they stopped at the washed-out bridge, he frowned. He wasn't excited about fording, but he didn't want to waste time and gas looking for another spot to cross over. He looked around but didn't spy any tracks this time.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 259):

Suddenly, a flurry of movement from the reeds across the ford to the right broke the stillness of the vine-festooned forest. But it was just a marsh bird taking flight. As their attention was distracted, from the direction of the bridge to their left there was an explosion of spray as a massive dark shape surged out of the frothing brown water. Whatever it was it was huge, dark, armoured and prehistoric. Teeth gaped as the mouth opened as it lunged towards them, tail lashing!

It was a mutant swamp gator, mutated and primordial. Grown to at least twice the normal size! It wasn't all in sight due to the churning water but in the glimpse they got it was probably thirty feet from snout to tail tip. And it was lunging for Marcela as she was the closest to it, at the water's edge checking out the ford.

Marshall's Note: Everyone but Peter may make Quickness checks. (Sorry, I should have asked for all rolls at once!) The TN for the terror check was 3 so I think everyone passed? Make posts on your actions in that case.

The ford is to the right of the remains of the bridge, and so the gator is attacking from your left. Range to the gator is 6 yards for those in the Humvee, 12 for those in the technical, and 20 for those in the rig.

I am not sure if anyone is out of their vehicles with Marcela to cover her. Way to go guys, let the NPC take the dangerous action alone! Let's hope it doesn't end up costing you.

High on his perch on the back of the rig, Smoker looked down on this prehistoric version of a 'gator as it splashed out of the water, anc considered whether he could get a shot off at it from this angle without endangering Marcela.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg # 261):

Something about the large mass of tree trunk floating in the brown water among the reeds seemed out of place. Perhaps a twitch that wasn't the current, or the colour was just a little off. Either way, when the gator started its slow glide forward against the current to start its attack several Posse members weren't fooled and were ready to fill it with lead.

Marshall's Notes:

OK! Please post Actions now.

Smoker can get a clear shot at it over everyone's head, although he is at the rear of the trailer so the range is a little long. He can use his FN but not the MG mounted there (M260 SA SAW).

Smoker doesn't waste any time. Grabbing his FN, he nestles into a comfortable shooting position, takes careful aim, and opens fire with his FN.

Anyone close can hear a muttered "Yippee Ky-ay" as his finger works the trigger, raining lead down on the giant 'gator in full rock and roll style.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:56, Sun 30 Dec 2018.

Brother Edgar had in fact stepped out of the Humvee as Marcela went to investigate.  Not being much of a useful tracker, he did not stray far from the vehicle.  As a passenger, his primary job was to be ready to sit in his assigned seat as quickly as possible when the driver was ready to go.  So, he had stayed by the door.

The sight of the giant gator lurching up from the water reminded him of his second job though.  Making sure the driver can get back to the car.  Brother Edgar's eyes went wide at the sight and he stepped away from the vehicle.  His eyes flared green as his aura pulsed with the Glow.  Power raced down his arm as he raised his hand.  It gathered there only a moment before streaking out in a sizzling green bolt towards the monstrous lizard...

  Chricton's NCO drill instructor would have been proud as hell of him for this shot. It was as textbook as it gets. The gator pops out of the water and in that moment the former Motor Pool tech simply flips a switch to the maximum possible and prays it doesn't fry his baby. He has never used it on this high of a setting.
  For an instant the rifle in Chricton's hands glows yellow and then orange as the round lances out leaving a minor shockwave in it wake. The round impacts the gator's hide and does something.

Ok so here is what just happened.
  Railgun shot #1 22 to hit I think at that close of a range he hit easy and that is without any size bonuses. So I think adjusted it is a 27 just for size.
  Railgun Shot #1 Damage is 38 Armor Piercing 2. Hope this thing has a lot of health or armor.

A flurry of water and mud throws Trasks sensors off for a second, but then the familiar orange triangle settles over the beast as a flick of Trasks eye changes it to red. His rifle was at his shoulder already, covering the vehicles and the rest of the team so he brings the muzzle of his weapon to bear as he places his sight over the top of the front leg and pulls the trigger on the 20mm under barrel launcher.

He feels the push against his shoulder as the API projectile exits the barrel and he watches as the shot went wide and he wasted a very expensive piece of kit.


Increase Trask rolled 4 using 5d12, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 4,2,3,1,2.  Shootin.



-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 266):

Cannibal Jack takes a bead on this 'monster'. Then shoots his 30/30

Shootin' 9, (12 + 3 ) 15, 11, 3, 4
+2 for aiming. Total 17, minuses for speed or size not taken into the roll
Damage 3,1,6,5 total 15
This message was last edited by the player at 05:02, Sun 06 Jan 2019.

In reply to 'Cannibal' Jack Hayes (msg # 267):

Like many of the other posse members, Roadkill had seen the suspicious ripples in the water and prepared for battle. He realised his own weapons, a Mossberg shotgun, a Southern Commando SMG and sawed-off coach gun were inadequate for any but the closest encounters. But he had borrowed the Colonel's H&K G22 assault rifle and he grabbed it from the dashboard weapons rack, readying it to fire.

"SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK!" yelped Roadkill at the size of the prehistoric monster gator began it's charge. He switched to 3-round burst and selected AP from the dual ammo feed, knowing that the puny 4.7mm rounds might be worthwhile against human targets but it probably would do fuck-all against this monster. Still, he could always get lucky! He bracing the G22 on the armoured view port and didn't bother with the scope at this range, aimed over open sights at the beast's massive head.

The G22's barrel, magazines and internal mechanism floated backwards into the stock when fired and the rotary breech was so fast that there was virtually no felt recoil. There was just a quick BRAP-BRAP-BRAP-BRAP! as he squeezed the trigger four times. In each 3-round burst all rounds in each burst were out of the barrel before it began to climb.



In rig's cab
4.7mm H&K G22 25 AP, 25 APERS / 14 AP, 25 APERS
1. Ready weapon
2. 3-round burst (1 hit) 19 dmg.
3. 3-round burst (1 hit) 25 dmg.
4. 3-round burst (1 hit) 21 dmg.
5. 3-round burst (3 hits) 31 dmg.

In 3-round burst mode, all 3 rounds hit on a successful roll. Recoil is also only -1, reduced to 0 for bracing. Kraut space magic!
This message was last edited by the player at 21:37, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 268):

Realising her shotgun and 10mm Bren Ten police pistol was useless against it's armoured hide, Marcela yelled in terror and scrambled under the nearby Humvee for protection. "HOLY SHIT! KILL IT!"

The thing looked big enough to flip the Humvee to get at her... maybe she'd get lucky and it would go after someone else!

Action 1: Gitalong!
Action 2: Hold action
This message was last edited by the player at 11:09, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

In reply to Marcela Perez Villanova (msg # 269):

Swinging the .50 cal to bear, Jane opened up on the beast. Trying not to hit Marcela!

Ma-Deuce 105/105 rounds

1. 9-round burst
2. Hold Action

In reply to Jane Guin (msg # 270):

As the beast exploded out of the water, the Posse opened up. At this range it was hard to miss! Everyone who shot got a hit. Smoker's FN bucked in his hands as the rifle was difficult to control on full autofire but even then he saw he was getting hits. Brass flew over Cannibal Jack's shoulder as shot his ancient but trusty Winchester and then cranked the lever to reload. He saw his bullet hit and actually penetrate the armoured hide behind the left front shoulder but not at a fatal angle. As he fired Trask tracked his 20mm API shot by the tracer in the rear of the projectile and saw it slam into the thing's front left leg. But it still kept coming!

Brother Edgar's Atomic blast intersected with its snout with a green flash, leaving behind a miniature mushroom cloud that was soon gone. This left a small superficial-looking crater not much bigger than the bulletholes. Everyone hit it and some bullets bounced off, but they did take a toll and the thing hesitated. Then there was an unholy CRACK as the railgun slug was accelerated from the barrel of Crichton's mass-driver, not just creating a sonic boom but superheating the air as it rammed it's way downrange.

At this range the projectile was there and gone before they knew it. It struck the gator between the eyes, mushroomed on its way through the brain, then punched out its skull before continuing into the water yards behind the behemoth, burying itself deep in the river mud in a geyser of brown water and shredded vegetation. The monster continued to move forward in a windmill of limbs, coming to rest with the snout against the Humvee,

There was a pause of shocked silence as the thunder clap continued to echo through the forest. Smoke billowed out both the entry and exit wound in the gator's head.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:43, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 271):

Cannibal Jack  releases his held breath from the shot. "Does Gator leather make good seat covers?"

  "No clue but it might make a good armored duster. And I guess I might have over estimated the possible damage factor a smidge." he says with a chuckle. "Now to make it a lot smaller to fit in the staff. One neato effect down. Dozens to go."

"Don't know about seats, but would look fine as a pair of boots. So does this mean they did not come this way, I mean wouldn't there be bike parts and limbs spread around ?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 02:28, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 274):

"Is it dead?" came from under the Humvee. Marcela crawled out and poked the dead gator with the muzzle of her shotgun. "Whatever you did seems just right, Crichton!"

Smoker grinned down from his perch, then resumed a scanning overwatch. One large 'gator might not be their only problem, and they'd certainly made enough noise dispatching it!

Brother Edgar, still standing next to the passenger seat of the Humvee, found himself staring into the snout of the very large, thankfully dead, gator.  He slowly lowered his hand and breathed.  Apparently he had forgotten to breathe for a moment.  Once he had breath, he offered a quiet, extremely, heartfelt prayer to the Glow for this successful evolutionary test.

Trask wanted a closer look at the beast so he climbed down from the rig and went over. He walked it's length and then with his left fist raised he turned to the others, "Should we have a go skinning it ?" A long Vibrosword blade begins to extend from his cured up fist.


-

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 277):

Cannibal Jack "The thugs we follow may have gone this way. The gator might have had something else it was eating or may have just arrived"

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 278):

A shaken Marcela climbed out from under the Humvee. She took a few steps towards the fallen monster. Smoke still curled up from the gaping exit wound on the rear of its sloped and armoured skull. It actually smelled pretty good.

"Wow. Just wow. Uh, let's carve up a steak, maybe take a tooth? I think the truck did go by here. Can't tell with the hoverbike. Don't know why it attacked us and not the other rig."

Brother Edgar lifted a brow as he stepped out from the door, looking over the very large pile of gator meat-to-be, "I do not know how much time we have to spare to properly butcher this and catch our quarry..."  He pulled a scanning device from a belt pouch, made a few adjustments, and then began a quick check over the gator.  The device made the particularly distinctive clicks of a geiger counter.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 281):

"Don't butcher the whole thing. Carve a couple steaks out while we ford the rig."

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 281):

What sounded like a Geiger counter was indeed a Geiger counter. The gator meat did seem a little high on rads. Not enough to be dangerous unless it was all you ate for a month. Certainly they'd probably all had worse!

By the marks of the distinctive tire treads Trask did determine that the rig they were looking for did come this way a few hours before. He did not find evidence they had engaged in any kind of a fight with the gator, but he did find evidence (old shell casings) that someone had within the last few days.

Peter was still in the process of slowly turning towards the commotion by the time it was over (OOC: thanks suprise fail!). His eyes were wide and his hands were moving towards one of his guns. He spun in place but...it was all over but the crying at that point.

"Uhh...wow. Good shooting." He heart rate started to slow back down from the momentary spike of adrenaline. "That...is BIG." He glanced at their 'local guide'. "Are those...common around here?"

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 284):

Marcela sighed, raggedly. "Y-yes. And this isn't the biggest one I've heard of, either."

Putting away his counter, Brother Edgar drew his knife.  Largish as knives go, but utilitarian.  A tool for just such an occasion.  He moved down the tail of the beast, with some memory that the tail was where the best meat would be found.  Compared to the gator, the knife was nothing but a toothpick of course, but...it was the tool he had.  While the others sought tracks, Brother Edgar sought gator tail steaks.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 286):

Putting the G22 back in the rack, Roadkill dismounted.

"Peter, man, that was some scary shit! You guys done with them steaks? Let's get this show on the road!"

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 287):

Within a few minutes they were done with carving chunks of fresh meat out of the fallen behemoth.

Slowly, birdsong and the buzz of insects began to return to the impenetrable moss and vine-covered forest around them.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 288):

Shrugging off the effects of her near-death experience, Marcela got back into the police Humvee.

"All aboard! We'll ford first."

  Crichton climbs into the Humvee and settles the gun next to himself so he has easy access to it and gets as comfortable as a Humvee will let him.

Trask takes a couple of teeth and the climbs back up to his perch ready to go.


-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 291):

Cannibal Jack cleans a 30/30 round and inserts it into the rifle and settles in to his 'seat' to observe for movement.

"Such a rapid burst of thunder from our guns surely has made aware of the weak to go away, the chased to hasten their pace, and the foolhardy to seek us"

Brother Edgar takes the new carved steaks to the back of the humvee.  He finds something to wrap them in or put them on at least.  Maybe something to wipe off his hands and knife.  That done, he returns to his "shotgun" seat, "Ready when you are, driver."

Peter gave a slow nod to Roadkill and stayed well back while some people chopped up the gator. He moved away and kept an eye out around them - both to watch for trouble, and also to not watch the gator being carved up. He wasn't squeamish, he just wasn't in the mood.

When they were all ready to head out once more, he mounted back up in the driver's seat of the technical and started out once more. "Right."

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 294):

Returning Peter's nod, Roadkill mounted up.

"Let's go."

In reply to Roadkill (msg # 295):

They started out again, crossing the small river. Nothing jumped out at them. Cannibal Jack was right, everything smaller than the gator was frightened away.

On their quarry fled, and onwards they pursued them, southwards towards the Gulf. The Red River was visible every once in a while on their left through the trees. As they passed the ruins of the city of Alexandria, slowly being swallowed by the forest, they saw smoke from a small walled town along the banks of the river slightly to the south.

The tracks of the semi avoided turning off the Interstate and continued south. Like them, the fleeing rig probably didn't need to stop and refuel.

In reply to The Marshall (msg # 296):

"Peter, this here is the Roadkill. You got your ears on, good buddy?

"Want to stop? We got fuel to spare for now. But we don't know how far we're goin' and we may not be able to get back. On the other, it's a delay. Over."

Peter called back on the radio, "I do not wish to delay if we can help it. There is a risk, for certain, in continuing on without stopping, but at times there can also be reward, yes?" He paused. "I will defer to the group if there are stringent objections, however."

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 298):

"They might have seen the rig and the hoverbike. I say we stop and ask, maybe they have route info," said Marcela over the CB.

In reply to Marcela Perez Villanova (msg # 299):

Rodakill replied, "Nah, I say we skip it. I been here before. Near Alexandria's a small ville. An old pre-war hospital. Run by one of the doctors, kind of a mayor now, I guess? Lots of food, water for sale. Some fuel. They also run a ferry across the Red River."

Brother Edgar offered, mostly to the benefit of those in the Humvee as Marcela had the radio, "If they did not stop, we should not either.  Reasonably, if they can make it on what fuel they have, so can we."

  "Brother Edgar votes to move on guys. Not much point in hanging around and asking a bunch of questions. We know which way the quarry fled. Follow the quarry is my vote." is Chricton's response over the radio.

"Agreed" said Smoker, seeing as everyone seemed to be chipping in with their opinions.

"Lets get going they already have a fairly big lead on us... and may have eyes in the town."

-

In reply to Increase Trask (msg # 304):

They left the ruins of Alexandria and the colony of Near Alexandria behind, traveling down route 1 through the forest. Every once in a while they came across tracks of a semi, indicating they were still on the trail of their quarry. Early afternoon wore on to a hot, sticky late afternoon.

A couple hours and a bit later down Louisiana Route One, they were forced to stop at the road bridge over the Atchafalaya River. It had once been a massive steel structure. Parts had been damaged or destroyed by air strikes during the war. Those sections had repairs made from wood from buildings, tree trunks lashed together, slabs of salvaged concrete and crudely welded steel beams.

Of the three questionable repaired stretches, at least two looked unsafe for as large a vehicle as the semi.

  "So it begs the question how did our morons cross the river?" he asks over the team radio net. "I may not be an expert on structures, but I don't think you are gonna get across in the rig Roadkill. Wish I had the materials and the ghost rock to have built that recon drone."

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 306):

Dismounting, Roadkill slung his G22 and sauntered over to the bridge.

"I know rigs have been this way before. Heck, I even been here before. But lookin' at this bridge... I don't know. We had that hurricane last year, since I been by, and it looks weakened a smidge. Even more than that. Cracks there, broken spars there, there, there, and.... there.

"I think they just decided to just give it a try. They got lucky. If they unloaded the car carrier, I think it might have been light enough to scoot across. Problem is, we got ourselves a van trailer. Not fully loaded, mind, but she does have armour plate on the cab and the trailer. Plus them fightin' stations up top. Could be riskier now. I just can't tell. I think I might just drop out, maybe go back and find an alternative route. Meet up later."

Smoker clambered down to take a look for himself.

"Can we find the materials to reinforce it a bit?"