The Bunker



The trader set one of the Bakersfield-made rounds on the counter for Jari's closer examination.  He watched Jari's every move.

"The casing's brass, not alloy.  It's made from melted-down prewar brass.  The bullet is steel with a copper jacket.  It's not going to spread much but it'll punch through a car door, that's for sure."

The 7.62mm round was new and shiny, and carried the slight tang of gun oil.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:51, Sun 23 Aug 2015.

Motel 6 Parking Lot



Donnie nodded vigorously, then added, "That guy with the truck, Lucas you call him, he has everything I own."

He knelt down by Beth and wiped her forehead with a ragged scrap of homespun.  Her eyes fluttered and rolled.

Crow was less concerned with pay than with saving the woman's life, but he needed to put up a hard front. Otherwise he learned that no one paid, even if they could.

"I have work to do here. Best you see to your belongings. Ask the one named  Yollie to come in and assist."

With the woman on the metal table that served as a surgical table, Crow quickly prepared his tools, put on a pair a rubber gloves and went to work. Based on his triage of the woman it seemed likely she was suffering from internal bleeding. Crow knew he would have to open her up and see if he could stop the bleeding before she bled out.

Using a small amount of ether, Crow made did what he could before starting to cut.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:47, Wed 26 Aug 2015.

In reply to Uncaring Fate (msg # 130):

Jari studied the round for a while and then put it back on the counter.  It looked good, a newly manufactured round rather than a reload and that was interesting.  Most of the rounds he had for his rifle at present were reloads as that was simpler to produce so someone actually melting down and recasting brass was very interesting indeed.

"Yea.  I want forty of those for the rifle grenade," he replied.

Christmas stepped to the rear of her rig, reluctant to tell the crew about Beth's pro bono rescue. She rifled through the box bolted into the trunk, eyes hidden behind shuttered shades. She selected a  shift and an ancient towel. She smiled at the strange, happy animals who inhabited the towel's faded colours and collected her jacket before heading North past the market's bustle. She searched for Carl's disposition as she glided past, becoming Neo-Hepburn again with a twist of her old towel.

Christmas hefted her spare weapons and bundled them in with her  into a thick crinkling bag as she strolled up to the car wash. She entered, washing herself quickly with her firearms and fabric in a plastic bag she'd roped to her ankle. Christmas wasn't big on privacy -- scarce as it was on the road -- but wore the kind of standoffish expression she hoped went some way towards distancing herself from Christmas the Elder's reputation. She toweled off and slipped on the shift, followed by holsters and jacket.

Her reflection smiled approvingly back at her from the hoods and side-mirrors of the rigs she passed. The shades and jacket definitely made her look less lanky and gawky, while the inherited dress showcased long, tattooed legs she'd never thought to shave. Christmas disappeared into her rig upon returning, and emerged, hefting a rocket-propelled grenade dressed in canvas. She stepped briskly towards the ammo igloo, determined to return with rounds this time.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:54, Mon 24 Aug 2015.

The Market behind Taco Bell   

The Wrecker truck rumbled back into the lot.
Lucas skillfully backed the hill runner's station wagon up to park it behind his trading trailer.

He saw that "Dog" was still on his chain, and the box of puppies were still under the trailer in the shade.
The trailer load of goods appeared to be unmolested, but Lucas would soon begin checking on the various items.

Lucas banged on the sleeper cab to remind Scaff to be alert as he was again on watch.
He climbed down to relocate Dog's chain to a fastener on the trailer tounge,
putting the beast just a bit out of reach of most of the trailer.
Only the front end of the trailer with the more valuable car parts and tools was still in Dogs reach.

He nodded to Tiff and any other fellow traders he was familiar with.
Then Lucas began checking on his trailer goods and greeting any nearby customers.

In reply to Jari Helminen (msg # 133):

"I wonder where they got those," Higgins mumbled under his breath. "Those are well made bullets." The confines of this place made the old cop nervous. Any where he didn't have a good escape route should probably make anyone in this world nervous.

"Let's get out of here," he said to Jari.

In reply to Crow (msg # 132):

Motel 6 Parking Lot:  Crow's Van

The sun rode high in the sky by the time Crow's clamps and sutures turned the flow of blood to an oozing drip.  The heat in the van was almost unbearable and no breeze stirred the parking lot. Beth lay on the metal table, breathing shallowly.  When Crow began, she had struggled and moaned despite the ether, but now she slept in the senseless coma of a woman clinging to life by the thinnest of strands.

In reply to Jari Helminen (msg # 133):

Travel Stop:  The Bunker

The trader glanced at Higgins.

"Bakersfield, the Merrick shop.  He and his boys do good work."

He motioned behind him and an unseen assistant handed him a prewar military ammunition box.  He lifted the lid and counted out 7.62mm rounds into a small metal tray until forty lay in groups of ten.

"Look them over before you buy.  All sales are final.  No promises, no guarantees."

The last words were spoken like a ritual.

In reply to Uncaring Fate (msg # 138):

Having done what he could for the wounded woman, Crow gathered his instruments and dropped them in a pot of water, he removed his gloves and did the same. Before taking the time to clean and sterile them, Crow put up a beat up pop up tent to block the noon day sun.

He hoped the woman's husband would show up to help cool her down and be on hand if she passed.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:52, Thu 10 Sept 2015.

In reply to Lucas Mancuzo (msg # 135):

Travel Stop: The Market Behind Taco Bell, Lucas' Trailer Area

"Hey Lucas, how'd it go?" Carl called out from where he sat with several other traders in the shade of his stall's tarp.  "It looks like you made a pretty big find!"

The market was bustling by the time Lucas finished resettling Dog and getting his trailer ready for business.  In the heat of the day, there was more lounging and conversation than there was haggling, but activity Lucas could see told him that the more permanent denizens of the market were preparing for the commerce that would take place in the cool of the evening.

At Crow's trailer

Yollie made her way out of the trailer, shotgun still strapped across her back but her hands were a little bloodier now. She had assisted where she could, but her knowledge was nowhere near the Crow's. She had applied bandages, cleaned instruments and wounds, helped suture, and applied balm, but that was the extent of it.

Whether or not Beth would survive was in the Maker's hands - and she could be fickle.

She said a quick prayer to the wind - only realizing that there wasn't any to be found. It didn't matter, the prayer and the words would be carried out into the great beyond regardless. That was how it worked.

With not much more to be done, she says her goodbyes to Crow and the sleeping Beth and makes her way back home. She needed to return the family shotgun and shells and help her mother with dinner. A part of her wanted to stay, to see what happened next. The last few hours had been filled with excitement - the kind of which she never saw - and something in her craved more.

She made a mental note to come back as soon as she was able.

Headed into East Highland Hills proper to the Guevara household

In reply to Uncaring Fate (msg # 138):

Higgins nodded. "They do custom work?" he asked.

"As sure as you can piss on a fence post," the trader grunted.  "Springs, gears, gun barrels, car parts, pretty much whatever you need.  Show them the original or just tell them what you need it to do, and they'll come up with something that'll do the trick."

Travel Stop: The Market Behind Taco Bell, Lucas' Trailer Area


Lucas nodded and the ghost of a smile almost interrupted his habitual grimace as he tipped his grimy cap bill to the man:
"Yo Carl.   ...I gots da wagon in for repairs ...fer a fellah down on iz luck.
...Hope he can figure a way to pay me.
...Anybody been around here askin' fer me?"



After his wares were again set out for business, the posessions of the dead "loonie" being added to the mix.
Lucas took time to thoroughly search the hill runner wagon for any hidden valuables.
After that he checked under the hood. Most likely the problem was a radiator hose leak, he checked to see what needed to be patched or replaced.

"We had a few folks come around," Carl said.  "They looked like rough types from the road.  They probably swept in with that big dust cloud Alpha Company always brings with them.  Your dog kept them away from your gear though."

He seemed about to say something else when his eyes narrowed.  He jerked his chin at Donnie, who had just walked into the market from the blacktop and making his way toward Lucas' rig with a bowed head.

Christmas exchanged the oneshot car popper she was sick of carrying and finally looped back in the Six's direction. She was dimly aware of those she passed as she revised her mental Highland itinerary, accounting for puppy pickup. Lucas' own dog seemed to do a decent job of guarding his stuff, after all.

Market: Lucas' Trailer Area

Donnie walked up to where Carl stood talking to Lucas, his footsteps crunching in the gravel and dust.  He glanced hesitantly at Carl, then looked at Lucas.

"You did what you said you would, and I thank you."

He jerked open the back of the station wagon and rummaged in the jumble of gear.  He withdrew a large sack of rough homespun with clinked as he brought it out of the car.  He slammed the door and came back around to Lucas.

He opened the sack wide enough for Lucas to see the contents.  Clean shiny brass shone in the sun.

"There's 9 mil and 5.56.  The deal was the brass, the gas, the bolts..." He cast another sidelong glance at Carl.  He was quiet for a moment then took a deep breath.  "But the doc gets the car and all the rest of this junk.  That was the deal for saving Beth's life."
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:56, Tue 08 Sept 2015.

In reply to Christmas (msg # 146):

Motel 6 Parking Lot

The sun beat down on the asphalt and Christmas could feel the heat through the soles of her boots.  Alpha Company's vehicles still crowded the road.  A burly sergeant with his slung rifle hanging in front of him and his camouflage uniform blouse tied around his waist stood in the center of the road, directing traffic with sharp practiced gestures.  The banners on the vehicles hung limply in the hot breezeless air, but some of them were tied to the angled sides of the great prewar armored personnel carriers.  The banners were made of black fabric with white cloth insignia sewn on them, displaying a skull over crossed rifles.  The insignia were not at all like the wolfshead Brattie had sketched on the hood of Christmas' rig.

Ahead of her, Christmas could see another sergeant still wearing his helmet and dust rag shouting and jabbing his finger at a rangy road warrior in black dusty leathers with skin like a wrinkled brown walnut.  The road warrior's dark hair was cropped close on the sides but the top was pulled back in a characteristic topknot.  Christmas had seen him before; his name was Rattler, and he ran a crew as treacherous as his namesake.  They ranged south of the mountains on the Desert Route out toward Edwards, and they didn't come up North much.  His crew was spread out behind him now, facing the soldiers forming a semicircle behind their sergeant.  The soldiers held their rifles loosely as though casually slung before them, but Christmas could see the the tension in their movements.  The soldiers carried Army rifles; those rifles could spit a full mag of bullets in the blink of an eye, and most of them would tear through Rattler's crew and hit everybody else in the Traveler's Lot if somebody lost his cool.

A wide-axled prewar military pickup growled by Christmas, followed by three more and a squad of soldiers on foot with their rifles and shotguns at the ready.  They pulled off the blacktop onto the dirt road between the Motel 6 parking lot proper and the Oilfield Gate fuel station, and the squad of soldiers fanned out in front of them.  Christmas could hear shouts and screams as the soldiers moved into the transient camp.

Crow continued to check on his patient and clear up after surgery. The woman had been lucky he was in town, Crow hoped her luck would hold out and she would pull through.

When they were done at the armory, Higgins and Jari went back to see if Lucas was back at his trailer. Higgins needed his bike fixed and Jari had nothing better to do. The old cop sees the wrecker and walks up to him.

"Hi there, Lucas," he says. "Bike's acting up again. I think it's the piston sticking. Can you take a look at it?"

Christmas slowed her step, resting a hand on a respectable sack of 9mm rounds hanging from her hip as she took in all the primed firepower. Tension in settles felt totally unlike the type of danger she'd acclimated to as she'd hurtled along the Road these last few years. She knew that her reflexes were off and unhelpful. She stepped along behind Rattler's crew with caution, deciding it unwise to get any closer to Alpha Crew. Christmas trudged towards the Six, straining her ear towards the standoff for mood or context.

Market: Lucas' Trailer Area


Lucas rumpled and puckered his sour mouth as he evaluated the brass.
"I've made better trades, ...but i'm glad youse wife is makin' it.

Speaking a little lower so Carl cannot overhear: "Youse said you knows where dere is more brass like dat?"

Donnie dropped his gaze and wiped his hands on his ragged pants.

“Yeah.  I can show you where.  It’s up on the Slow Ride, off the main road to the south.  There’s two ways to get there.”

Donnie raised his eyes to meet Lucas', his mouth a grim line.

“The hard way and the worse way.”

The sun was high and hot by the time the morning's excitement had trailed off and the hustle of the market had picked up.  Alpha Company quartermaster sergeants looked over gears, hoses and other mechanical bric-a-brac with a practiced eye and the roaming traders from Bakersfield pulled in and started hunting for bargains and overlooked gems among the scrap and broken junk.  No one paid any mind to the broken man shuffling away from Lucas' rig to be at his wife's side while she clung to life with every ragged breath.

Donnie had left Lucas in the Market and returned to the Travelers' Lot to look after his wife.  Lucas had seen people recover from worse injuries, but it was damn rare.  The woman had spent at least a full day lying in a beaten-up station wagon, losing blood and sweating away precious water, and who knew what kind of infections were already festering.

They had taken another drive back out along the Slow Ride, and Donnie and Lucas had gone all the way out past Keck's Homestead until the old intersection a few miles out from where the ridges closed in on to the highway.  A few Kecks who were working in the scraggly fields dove out of sight when Lucas' big truck rumbled to a stop, but no shots rang out.  Lucas' rig was known to them.

Donnie pointed out the lay of the land then.  Lucas had seen it all before countless times over the years, but land didn't change all that much.  It was the people that changed.

Along the unpaved track heading west from the intersection, the land was rumpled into valleys and ridges like a scratchy brown blanket on an unmade bed.  The track split at the foot of the ridges, one branch going northwest and the other going south.  As a crow would fly, Donnie told Lucas, there was a long twisting valley with branches and draws about three miles in behind the ridges.  It was covered in healthy scrub and a good number of short tough trees, almost like a stunted forest.  There were goats and even some wild pigs, along with the birds, bugs, and ground squirrels, but the real prize was a compound on a peak to the northwest of the valley between the two northern draws.  It didn't look like much, because it was meant to look like all the other rotten sun-bleached tumbled-down ruins that dotted the land out there, but almost all of it was dug into the hillside.  It was built before the war, Donnie said, by some kind of survivalist group.  Donnie stared at his ragged shoes when he told Lucas about the single trail leading up to the peak; he was one of the precious few outsiders to ever be invited up to the peak for supper, on account of all the trading he'd done with them over the years.

Donnie was silent on the way back, and after a muttered thanks he turned away, leaving Lucas with his thoughts before the shouts of the stall owners hawking their wares threatened to distract potential customers away from Lucas' superior selection.

Suddenly Dog's chain rattled and he let out a vehement suspicious whuff.  An Alpha Company soldier strolled casually toward Lucas' rig.  He was a lean fit older man, though not as old as Lucas, but his uniform and equipment were obviously crafted after the war.  His rifle was a Bakersfield 5.56mm M16-style imitation with smooth wooden grips and stock.  His leather bandoliers bulged with magazines and a cloth-covered steel helmet dangled from his tactical vest.  He looked over Lucas' rig as he sauntered up before stopping a respectful distance from Dog.  He nodded to Lucas and tipped his camoflage cap.

"Morning," he said, "I'm looking for a man called Lucas who drives a big ol' tow truck.  I'm Staff Sergeant Douglas, Alpha Company, 3rd Platoon.  Wolfpack."