A dusty waystation at the junction of the Road and the Slow Ride. The East Highland Hills Travel Stop is the last place for fuel, supplies and a good night's rest before heading out in any direction.  This outpost of rough civilization of sorts consists of an old Motel 6 catering to anyone who can pay, two working fuel stations, a general store and two taverns surrounded by parking lots holding the ebb and flow of travelers and their rigs.  The Travel Stop is protected by earthen berms ten feet high, forming a roughly square compound 1500 feet on a side.  The old Days Inn hotel in the northwest corner of the compound is a members only hotel which caters to Alpha Company troops, East Highland residents, and VIPs and their entourages.


Barter is the rule of the day at the Travel Stop.  The parking lot behind the Taco Bell is a big open air marketplace where travelers trade their salvage for fuel or anything else under East Highland's trade zone monopoly.  Anyone can buy, but only East Highland can sell.  Anyone can sell to East Highland's sanctioned traders but not to anyone else, and if people don't like it they can get the hell out.  Fuel is the closest thing to a common currency at the Travel Stop, with ammo running a close second.  Water comes in third and the pleasures of the flesh run a distant fourth.  Life is cheap in the Central Valley.
https://www.google.com/maps/@3...,1602m/data=!3m1!1e3

At the general store in the Lost Hills

Crow had rolled into town a few days before, after catching a lift from down south near the Grape Vine. While he operated out of East Highland he was often gone for weeks and even months at a time. When he was in town, Crow as he was known around these parts tended to keep to himself.

That was okay with most folks, for while the locals were glad to have what passed for doctor these days, Crow was an outsider. No one was quite sure who had hung the name on him, but people seemed to be pretty sure it was caused like a Crow he was drawn to the dead and dying. Though some thought is was cause he was tall and lean and shared a passing resemblance to the scavenger bird.

When Crow was in town, he sometimes crashed in an decrepit and immobile VW Wagon that sat up on blocks from where he operated a make shift clinic. When around he treated those folks who came to him in trade for goods, and despite being a bit young and a odd he had proven to be skilled beyond his years.

After a busy couple days treating a few of the locals as well as a few travelers, Crow headed to the general store to see if there might be something worth trading for any news worth hearing. At moment he was looking over the shelves and flipping through a tattered book.

"Got any other books?" Crow asked the storekeeper.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:01, Thu 28 May 2015.

The parking lot behind the Taco Bell

Christmas lazed atop the hood of her ride, scowling at the bazaar through a pair of colour-bled shutter shades. Aside from a miserable amount of juice, they were the only things worth taking from what the entire crew agreed had been the longest firefight of all time. It'd torn through each side's warbox; not even enough rounds left for all of them to go out quickly should they choke out up North. Christmas rattled the slugs in her fist and suppressed a shudder.

Wallace was the eldest and the only one who seemed unfazed. His legs dangled from the roof as he smoked out of a can. Lupe munched an apple in the shade of the mounted gun. The others had migrated to one of the taverns, nursing the fear they'd felt during the shootout and then along the precarious ride to Travel Stop. It'd take more than a bag of brass for them to be back in the game; Christmas was pretty sure that Crem would be dropping out this stop. She secretly hoped Leander would too, for his own sake.

"Fuck this," she muttered, sliding off the painted highway and revealing the ghost lady who haunted it. Christmas hefted a tank of water, decided she was satisfied with the weight, and left it on the front seat.

"Keep here, ok? I gotta go find us something."
This message was last updated by the player at 10:11, Thu 28 May 2015.

In the foothills outside of East Highland Hills

The rabbit had been elusive. It seemed to smell her every time she got close and bolt off. But she was out here to hunt, and patiently the small woman tracked her prey. Eventually, she had found the perfect spot to sit and wait.

So, she waited. And she thought. And she day-dreamed. Keeping her senses open to the immediate world around her, she let her mind wander to the bigger world around her. What was it like? Could it be as bad as her parents and the elders had said? Surely, it had to be better than the monotony and boredom of East Highland Hills.

Her ancestral homeland had everything she needed to survive and even thrive, but it was also lacking. She had no desire to be wed to anyone her parents would set her up with. She had no use for solidifying political partnerships and family unions between The Pumpers and The Tillers and she didn't much care for the men and women of Alpha Company.

The more she thought on it, the more she realized that the problem was not any particular suitor or organization, it was the institution of marriage itself. It represented what she disliked most about East Highland Hills - the lack of freedom. She did not want to be tied down to a geographic location, so why would she want to be tied down to a person?

Movement at the corner of her vision broke her thoughts. A head appeared from a hole in the ground, testing the air with a twitching nose. It took one step out - its last.

***

Yollie walked back down to the township proper from the foothills, her prize carried by the hind legs in her left hand, bow and arrows wrapped around her back.

The small woman, barely twenty years old, was well-tanned. "Sunkist," her mama would say. Platinum blonde hair, with bangs trimmed high and in a straight line across her forehead was pulled up into a wild bun. A single red strap, tattooed across her face when she had become a woman, ran from her cheeks across the bridge of her nose. She walked with a confident gait, happy with the morning's hunt.

The town was beginning to bustle. She took in the scene for a moment, making a note to gather some herbs to make some antiseptic balm. Someone always seemed to need it. Setting her rabbit down, she began to gather, keeping a watch on the town below her.

"What surprises will you hold for me today," she asked rhetorically and sarcastically to the town. When no answer came, she figured it would be just another normal, boring day.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:57, Thu 28 May 2015.

The parking lot behind Taco Bell

Market Day.

Lucas parked The Wrecker in "his spot," set the trailer brakes and got out, shotgun first ...as always.

After looking around for any loonies,
He started grunting and groaning as he set out his wares.  He hoped somebody wanted the goat milk he put in fresh jars that morning. He'd had enough sour goat juice to last him a day or two.
...This was a hell of a lotta work for one old man!
Maybe that kid Jack would show up sometime today...

The flatbed trailer was loaded with vehicle parts, household items, and various odds and ends he had picked up. Lucas was a mobile scavenger, and good at it.
He should be after 20 years of this life.
It wasn't the life he had planned when he was young... Before the country went to shit ...and the bombs came down...

...Stop reminiscing old man and get your wares out where the people can see 'em!
Thats how ya sell. Ya can't sell stuff they don't know ya got.

He had it... Air and oil filters, radiator hoses, plugs, batteries, fuses, oil, various sizes of patched tires, wires, and other car parts the Travelers sometimes needed.
Screws, bolts, nuts and washers were sorted out in boxes. It was almost a hardware store on wheels.
Some scrap too, for local folks that wanted the metal for one thing or another.

Beyond his automotive inventory he also displayed various and sundry: a few pistols he was done working on, various hand tools, a box of books he was done reading (goodbye Miss July!), a little canned food (waaay past expiration date), 2 rolls of copper electrical wire, a real treasured item: actual toilet paper!
and ...a box of black and tan puppies.
He had more than enough dogs!

He took his traveling dog "Dog" out and chained him to the trailer tounge, just out of reach. That older dog was a good judge of character and tended to keep the troublesome types from pawing through his merch.

Lucas glared around at the marketeers and bellowed: ,
"OKAY FOLKS!! I GOT WHAT YOUSE NEED! WHAT YOUSE GOT TA TRADE FOR IT??!"

One of the men leaning against the battered plastic counter levered himself up and shoved a short-barrelled hand shotgun into a beaded buckskin holster.  He came over to Crow, rubbing the back of his hand against his stubbled chin.

"What are you looking for?  Words or pictures?"

At the general store in the Lost Hills

At five foot eleven inches and one hundred and thirty pounds Crow is tall but thin. He has long black hair, which at the moment is a bit oily and stringy. Along with his dark hair, Crow's brown eyes and tanned skin suggest his people have lived here long before whites came to Cali.

Already a few days back in town, Crow was stripped of his normally traveling gear, and wore what had once been a white t-shirt, worn blue jeans and a pair of worn out taped together cowboy boots. An old style pistol rested in a holster on his hip, an odd looking scoped rifle hung over his shoulder. He had left a large overstuffed ruck near the counter.

"Words. Big words I guess." Crow replied. A lot of folks did not have much use for them other than starting fires or keeping doors open, but for those who could read they were a window into the old world.

"I'd like to see any books you got."

While the shopkeeper looked for his books, Crow asked "Any big news around these parts since I been gone?
This message was last edited by the player at 02:57, Sat 30 May 2015.

The man ran his hand through his lank greasy hair and shrugged.

"People don't come here for books, but I'll show you what we got."

He turned and gestured for Crow to follow him.  A stack of crates made from salvaged planks stood against the wall.  He grabbed the topmost crate and plunked it down on the floor.  Inside were dusty yellowed books, hardcover and softcover, in varying condition.  They had titles like Men Are From Mars, Women are From Venus, National Geographic, and 50 Years of Rock and Roll.

"We got a few boxes of stuff like this.  People don't know what to do with it, but we'll give them something for it if they're in good condition."  He picked out a copy of Better Homes & Gardens and opened it on the tiles.

"Damn, things were nice back then.  I bet you don't remember, but damn things were nice."

"You are right .. before my time." Crow said in reply. Johnny Blackcrow was born after the end. But he had glimpses of what life might have been like in the old days, but it was not to different from the times he had watched old time stuff on the TV, just light and shadow.

"If it is okay, I'd like to have a look at 'em. Might be something worth reading in there." Crow was interested in technical manuals, textbooks and such. The National Geographic might be interesting, but he hoped for more.

After Lucas had put up his folding tables to display the boxes of smaller items, then he set out his signs: (Wrecker's Auto parts and Hardware,
..Mechanic Towing and Gunsmith,
..Got Milk? - It does a body good,
..Beware of Wrecker - he's Meaner than the Dog,
..I can't fix STUPID PEOPLE)

When he was satisfied with his displays, he stood and reached up to grab the overstuffed blue microfiber chair he had mounted on a sliding frame that he had bolted to the trailer.
The chair rode about head high when the trailer was on the move. He pulled it down the slide now to rest on the ground. Then Lucas unfolded and put up his awning to give his chair shade.

Lucas picked an underripe orange out of his pockets as he sat down.
The small greenish orange was sour... but so was Lucas's disposition.. It was too hot today for him to take any crap!

"Dog" gave a low growl of warning as a dusty and tired traveler approached cautiously, his sweat-stained hat in his nervous hands.

The traveler eyed Dog's big blocky head and thick rumpled jaws. Dog looked more like a Rottweiler than anything else in his genetic mix.

"Mr Wrecker ..sir? I hear you is a good mechanic. ...Me an' my family, ...we could sure use a repair on the car?
...its the radiator hose I think? Keeps losing water. ...I try patchin' it with tape and..."

The wrecker interrupted the familiar tale he had heard before: "Yeah dat wont hold after da hose gets hot. Youse can stop every twenny minutes ta let it cools off... an get killed by some LOONIES out dere on da road?
Or...I can fix it."

The greasy haired old man raised his eyebrow with an acquisitive glint in his eye and a hint of cruelty in his smile:  "But what youse got to trade?
I takes fuel, ammo, smokes, canned food, salt, most chemicals, lead, silver, leather if its good, seed if its something we aint got around here? ..I might take books, some other kinds of Paper...
This message was last edited by the player at 23:25, Fri 29 May 2015.

The old man's face fell and his eyes rolled back and forth.

"Hell, all I can give you is the shoes on my feet and the crossbow bolts I pulled out of my wife's back.  I'll give you the gas left in the tank if you can siphon it out. I'm not asking for much.  Hell, I'm not even asking.  I'm begging.  A damn hose ain't much to you.  But I got to get my wife in here.  She won't make it out on the road."

Suddenly his eyes widened.  He dug in the pockets of his tattered home-sewn canvas pants and held out his hands.  Cupped between them were a handful of shiny brass casings, about the size of military pistol rounds.

"Look," the man said, "Shiny and new.  This ain't any old handloaded garbage.  This was brand new when it was shot off.  Brand new, from before the war."

His head drooped and his shoulders sagged.  He was quiet for a few heartbeats, then he raised his head.  There was a hard-edged determination in his eye and his mouth was a thin line.

"If you bring my car in, I'll give you this brass.  If you fix my car, I'll tell you where I got it."

His eyes narrowed.  "And don't think you can just set your dog on me.  You can't tear it out of me and by the time you're done trying, my wife will be done in anyway."

No sooner than Christmas' feet had hit the cracked asphalt did she hear a familiar voice, followed by the scampering of a pair of bare calloused feet.


"Hey Christmas!  You got something for me, huh?"

The voice belonged to Brattie, known around the Travel Stop as Rat Girl.  It's reedy sound was cracked and tremulous, and there was a barely detectable undertone of menace, like the rainbow sheen of diesel on a puddle of water.

Brattie walked toward the rig with a swing in her scrawny hips, making her long matted hair sway against her ragged hemp shift.

"You got something for me, Christmas?"  She spread her hands, then wiggled her fingers to show that they were empty.  There was a rather persistent rumor that the Rat Girl killed her tricks.  "If you got something for me, then I got something for you."  She sneered and licked her sun-cracked lips.  "I think you're gonna like it."

"Well sure," the man said.  Crow hadn't seen him around before.  He was tall and well-built for a resident of the Travel Stop, with skin like tanned leather from years in the sun.  He hefted the crate up onto the counter, followed by another.

"Take a look through these, and let me or the guys know if you want to keep anything.  Then we'll get down to dickering."

He shrugged.  "Let me know if you want to get anything else."

In reply to Uncaring Fate (msg # 11):

Lucas kept his face sour, but inside, his soul felt for the man.
He kept chewing on the sour orange peel, which made the ugly scar on his right cheek pucker.
"Yeah da brass, where ya got it, ...and dem bolts.
I gots a hose, can do it right here. It'll take me ..ten minutes maybe."

"Youse can wait dat long if you like?
But yer wife needs a real doctor. We got us some here dat can be helpful with herbs and such. Maybe dey know enough? I couldn't say...
I knows one girlie that does herbal cures, she might be some help.
Might be she knows another healer that I don't.

I'll get my tools out now... You think it over."

The man took a deep breath.

"My car's out of town.  West on the Slow Ride.  I started out on foot before sunup.  It shouldn't take too long driving."

The parking lot behind Taco Bell

Christmas studied Brattie, brow hitching over her eyewear as she affected the requisite skepticism. She shrugged and removed the conflict shades, expression softening around wry eyes.

"Here. I don't got a whole lot else today." Christmas dangled the glasses before Brattie. She leaned against the car and stretched her legs, anchoring herself for the pitch.

"So what do you want?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:56, Sat 30 May 2015.

Brattie blanched, her hand stopping halfway to the dangling shades.

"You got nothing to eat, Christmas?  Just something your crew don't want?  Maybe just a little water?"

She brushed her hair away from her eyes.

"I got something for you, I really do," she pleaded.  "I know you're gonna like it."

The parking lot behind Taco Bell

"Something I'm gonna like."

Christmas looked up for Wallace's reaction, sighing when she found none. She hooked the shades over her collar and reached through the driver's window, pulling back a ripe apple. She took a bite and handed it to Brattie.

"More if I like it enough," Christmas promised, chewing as she popped a canteen open.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:27, Sat 30 May 2015.

Brattie grabbed the chunk of the apple with both hands and shoved it into her mouth.  She closed her eyes and chewed, then quickly swallowed.  She panted for a few moments then looked up at Christmas through her dirty bangs.

"I didn't have to sleep in the dirt last night." A shadow of her sneer returned.  "Yeah, Brattie got to sleep in a bed."  She jerked her chin in the direction of the old Days Inn that overlooked the interchange between the Road and the offramp to the Travel Stop.

She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head.

"There's new soldiers in the hotel, a lot of them.  Those are all their brown trucks outside it.  They say they're the Wolfpack, up from the Airport."

She drew a crude wolfshead on the dusty hood of Christmas' rig, its mouth agape and filled with pointed teeth.

"They got a lot of guns and they were cleaning them late.  They were working on their trucks late too.  They kinda made me leave, but I listened.  The Sergeants were saying they need road warriors.  They're going up North, but they don't know the way.  They want rigs to scout it out for them."

"Sounds good." With that Crow leaned his rifle against the wall and began picking through the books and magazines. Most of the time he found nothing, but there was always a chance. In the old days people had written down knowledge on paper to pass it on. At the time maybe that was odd, but now it was what stood between descending into being animals. Though truth be told that was already happening.

The parking lot behind Taco Bell

Christmas swilled water and parsed it all, mesmerised by the dust wolf. Thoughts of massacre scenes along decaying Northern roads made her shoulders stiffen, nerves like a knife. She loomed next to Brattie and weighed up the job. Alpha Company contracting meant free gas--maybe bullets. No reputation meant no chances, no slipping and no way Crem would go for it. Christmas tossed another apple Brattie's way, turning her gaze to Wallace and Lupe. She decided everybody ought to be solid after a day or two's decompression.

"Thanks Brattie." Christmas passed the canteen, smiling.

"You seen anybody else from the road around?"

This message was last edited by the player at 08:20, Sat 30 May 2015.

The sun was climbing higher in the sky, and Yollie could see the refining towers of Fractionation Station #4 shining in the distance.  As she watched, a dust cloud rose and a big Alpha Company tanker rolled out from one of the refinery fueling gantries.  She could tell it was Alpha Company's because it was dark green with eight wheels and a nose like a gila monster.  Soon it was joined by a few of Alpha Company's tan military trucks and the small group of vehicles headed slowly toward the Travel Stop and its ever-thirsty crowd of travelers.

Brattie nodded quickly.  She tried the apple, but her yellowy teeth pained her.  She grimaced and drew a rusty lockback knife from a woven belt beneath her shift.

"Hog's here, him and Reyna," she muttered as she worked with the knife stubborn mechanism.  "They're up at the 6."

"The Brothers pulled in a couple days ago too, but they're just in Elias' car now. I guess their truck died out on the road. They looked angry so I didn't get too close."  She smirked.  "Lots of shiny spots on their sides though.  I guess they got into it, and I guess they lost."

She got the knife open and cut off a chunk of the apple.  She popped it into her mouth, savoring the sweet fruit.

"Thanks Christmas,"  she said.  "I can't get too much from the fields anymore.  The dogs know me."

She ate another slice and thought for a moment.

"Bronco's here, hanging around the pumps by the gate.  He always wants something for nothing and he threw a rock at me when I wouldn't come near.  I hope someone kills him.  The Wrecking Crew's here too, all of them.  They had a big party a couple nights ago in the 6.  They cut up somebody's rig down south and sold it all in Taft."  She jerked her head contemptuously at the traders setting out their goods among the wooden stalls in the shade of faded plastic sheeting moving gently in the breeze.  "This bunch didn't see a scrap."

One of the traders caught her gesture.  "Get outta here, Brattie!  If I catch you stealing again, I'll strip the hide off you with a cable!"  He stepped out from around his stall and wrapped a length of small-gauge chain around his fist, leaving a good length trailing.

Brattie sucked in her breath and ducked behind Christmas.

"You know who's here?  Sable!  Sable's here and she's looking for a new gunner.  Her man's dead out on the road and now she wants another one."

"Look out, Christmas!" the big trader yelled as he came toward them.  "She'll take everything she can get her dirty hands on and the only thing she'll give you is a disease!"

"Awww, leave her alone Carl!" another trader called.  He cocked his pinch-front hat back and looked to the traders to either side of him.  "She keeps the roaches down!"  Some of the laughed, but another shook his head and went back to stocking his wares.

"She's got you shaking like a rattler, Carl!" a bald mustachioed mechanic yelled.  "What are you so mad for?  Did she turn you down?"  His crewmates guffawed and went back to setting up their shop.

The farmer and his wife putting out their baskets of fruit and vegetables said nothing, but stopped to watch with grim smiles and folded arms.

The parking lot behind Taco Bell


The weatherbeaten old man glanced at the brewing confrontation between the beggar girl and the trader.

"How bad do you think this is gonna get?  I don't want to get hung up with anyone starting trouble.  If I can't get my wife to a doctor soon, she's done."

General Store



The men at the counter continued their quiet conversation about the doings and concerns of farms and shops, of worry and fatalistic determination.  They kept an eye on him, but for the most part left him to himself except for stacking the crates he was done with and bringing more to the counter.

Yollie watched the Gila with interest as it moved from the shiny pumping station toward the Travel Stop just outside of her home. Her first instinct had been to head home and give her parents the rabbit before moving on to the Travel Stop, but it looked like more activity than usual was gracing the place.

She stood up, pushing the herbs and wild flowers she had gathered into her well-used leather messenger bag. Inside was a mixture of odds and ends, and some essentials. She mostly used the bag to store herbs, a bottle or two of water, and anything interesting she happened to find in her travels. Content that her curiosity would win out over her familial obligations, she sighed and tied the rabbit off to her belt by its feet.

Like a deer moving through the woods, she stuck to established game paths, allowing her feet to silently pad at the ground through comfortable moccasins. The sun was starting to rise higher in the sky and the heat was starting to come on, but she welcomed it, knowing that the sun was the giver of life and that the land-people must absorb its energy and respect its power.

When she got to the outskirts of the Taco Bell parking lot, she waited patiently and silently making sure to observe everything and, more importantly, everyone before making her way inside. In this way, she could see who looked jumpy, irritated or tired. She could see who was armed and with what. She could find threats before they found her. It was second-nature now, and all East Highland Hills children were taught about the threat of outsiders and how to prepare for it long before they were ever allowed to step foot inside of the Travel Stop.

Confident that nothing was too out of the ordinary, she made her way over to a familiar face. She had known Lucas for some time, and while they weren't close by any means, she did appreciate the books or seed he sometimes was able to get a hold of. She also had a soft spot for his mean old dog, "Dog."

She approached like a shadow, as was her way, remaining quiet and as out of sight as she could. She knew Dog would smell her before he saw her, but habits were habits and she was not accustomed to letting her dog down.

She waited patiently until Lucas noticed her and then approached.

"Mr. Lucas," she said with a slight nod, keeping her eyes on the man who was already at the stand. She let her guard down for a second as she took a step toward Dog, a big smile coming over her face.

"And you thought I would forget about you, big boy?" She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out some dried meat. It was squirrel and was what remained of her breakfast, but she couldn't help but do anything other than spoil Dog when she saw him.

Ironically for a hunter, she happened to like animals more than people for the most part; animals could be easily read: their moods, their needs, their intentions. People, not so much.

After feeding dog, she stands awkwardly, watching the odd situation between Mr. Lucas and the man unfold in front of her.

Lucas scowled "Ain't nothin ta concern youse about.
But dat warrior girl dere... might be a help..."

Just as Lucas made up his mind and slung his shotgun over his shoulder... then Yollie appeared from nowhere.
"Yollie girl?! ...huh. Youse a mind reader?
Dis guy ..needs a doctor fer his wife. You good enough ta patch up bolts in da back? Least maybe keep her livin' while I hook up dis guys car?"

The parking lot behind Taco Bell


Christmas slipped on the shades, bending to appraise herself in the sidemirror as Brattie delivered the road census. A sour eyebrow upon learning of the Wrecking Crew celebration she'd missed. It sounded as though she'd be at the 6 at some point. Her jacket creaked as she peeled it off, rolling sore shoulders. Brattie's hungry and helpful routine always left Christmas feeling like kind of a sap, but the Rat Girl probably didn't deserve the amount of shit the locals gave her. The odds didn't favour the entire amount, anyway. Christmas spoke briefly to Lupe in Spanish, telling her she'd be returning with a decent job and agreeing it was a shame about Sabel's man before drifting towards the market.

"You can get your hand busted real easy that way, Carl," she said, toeing the chain-wrap spilling out of his fist.
This message was last updated by the player at 04:33, Sun 31 May 2015.

Carl looked at Christmas with squint-eyed disgust.

"You ain't seriously sticking up for that piece of trash are you, Christmas?  She's been stealing and whoring around this stop since some rat-tailed coyote crapped her out with the rest of its pups.  I always thought you had more sense than that."

Brattie hurriedly cut the apple into slices and shoved them into her mouth.  She crouched down by the driver's side door, inching her way toward the front of the car where she could make a quick dash around the corner if she needed to.  Her eyes flicked from Carl and the dangling chain to Christmas.

Christmas glowered behind her shades and pulled a butchered gown from her belt. She wrapped it around her head like a scarf, becoming a cargo cult Audrey Hepburn. The prospect of defending Brattie's character wasn't helping her mood. She shifted her weight and tried to sound calm.

"Everybody's heard it, Carl. Step off."

Lost Hills General Store

23:44, Today: Crow rolled 5 using 1d100. luck.

Crow flipped through the books. Nothing really caught his eye until ...

Yollie looks the man up and down, like an animal measuring up its prey. While she had the smallest modicum of trust for Lucas - in the sense that she was fairly confident he would not try to harm her - she did not know this new man from a hole in the wall.

Might not even be a wife... She thought sardonically.

"I dunno," She said still taking in the man's persona and demeanor. "Suppose I could give it a shot. I have never been fond of letting someone die for no reason." She thought about adding something cynical she had heard the Alpha Company troops say often enough: Ain't nothing in the world is free. But that wasn't her style. Truth be told, if she could help someone in pain, she would.

The small, lithe little hunter stayed put, her legs bent slightly like a snake should she need to move quickly.

"Four questions. Answer them true and answer them quick: Is there a wife? What's her name? How long you been married? How many people you killed before today?"

When she wanted to, Yollie could project her personality to get answers from people. She had to make sure she wasn't walking into a trap and most people were caught off guard by the confidence she could exude.

<60 Charisma, rolled 97; <60 Luck, rolled 25. Thinking one of those could help me get straight answers from him

In reply to Yollie Guevara (msg # 32):

Lucas watches carefully how the guy reacts to and answers Yollies questions.  (Insight: 40)

The man looked from Lucas to Yollie and back to Lucas, his mouth agape.

"Of course there's a wife!  I'm not standing here begging from a stranger because I've been in the sun too long!  Her name's Beth and we've been married for years, and she's dying in my damn car!"

He shook his head and looked at Yollie.  "I don't know how many men I've killed.  I've done my damnedest to kill every man that has come at me.  Some of them died and maybe some of them didn't, but my wife is going to die out there if I can't get her in here!"

He turned to Lucas.

"If she just wants to riddle that's no business of mine, but I'm begging you Mister, if you willing to go, let's go."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:18, Sun 31 May 2015.

Yollie eyeballed the man, then she looked at Lucas.

She couldn't know if he had been this erratic and passionate upon first meeting Lucas and had to wonder whether this was a genuine response or a reaction to her getting under his skin with questions he didn't want to answer.

Eventually she turns to Lucas and says, "I'll go if you or Dog comes with me."

She turns back to the man needing help. "How far away is Beth and how badly is she hurt?" She hoped using the wife's name would spark an automatic response, hopefully having a calming effect.

The parking lot behind Taco Bell

Lucas almost managed a half smile
"Yollie girl? If youse want to come along i'd be pleased. Might do his woman some good? ..you ride behind with Scaff and keep somethin' sharp pointed at this guy."

"Ain't room for the Dog inside, girl, unless he's learned howta work the guns!"

"I gotta unhitch da trailer an' find somebody ta watch my merch... Dammit...
That boy Scaff better have a damn good burrito for me when he gets out here..."
Lucas kept grumbling as he slung his shotgun over his shoulder, removed the chains and pulled the pins holding the trailer, then added a length of chain to Dog so he could patrol the trailer area.

Yollie nodded, keeping her eyes narrowed on the man with the tale of the wounded wife. She hated being on her guard like this to a stranger who could have a very good need of her, but the stories of her mother and father came back to her.

Gotta be someone out here worth trustin'...

"I can do what I can. Clean and stitch wounds. Have some balms to stop infection. But if she's hurt too bad we are going to need to take her to the Crow."

Yollie walked over to dog and pet his big blocky head. She kneeled down on her haunches, her comfortable cargo pants stretching around an attractive petite frame. Pushing her lower lip out, she blew some hair away that had fallen from the back of her head across her mouth as she dug in her messenger bag.

She pulled out a small tin filled with a whiteish colored cream that had the texture of vaseline. Taking a few of the herbs she gathered earlier, she ripped off the leaves, tearing them into small pieces before dropping them inside. Finding a small rock on the ground she began to grind it up into the balm. Confident she had gotten the "plant-blood" thoroughly worked out, she scraped the rock on the side of the tin, not willing or wanting to be wasteful in any way.


Then she stood and rearranged her bag, sealing it with two leather straps and pulling her bow off her back and notching an arrow.

[OOC: what type of truck does Lucas have again? A tow truck, right?]

Carl looked at Christmas with half-lidded eyes.  He slowly wrapped the chain around his fist, loop after loop.  When the chain no longer dangled, he jerked his chin at Brattie, who slunk down further under his gaze.

"Have it your way, Christmas.  If you want to stick up for her you go right ahead, but she ain't nothing but a coyote on two legs and she'll bring you just as much trouble."

With that he turned to head back to his stand.

Christmas looked down at Brattie and tried to imagine a version of her which made her as angry and evangelically anti-Brattie as Carl was right now. Maybe she'd turned him down, after all.

"Uh huh. Thanks for looking out for me, Carl."

Christmas admired her own rig and waited for the leftover aggression to evaporate before disappearing into the noise of the market. She trudged past tanks of gas and piles of junk, depleted and impervious to the furnace of commerce. The smell of cooking began taunting her. Perhaps it'd be best to approach Alpha Company after eating and unwinding. The sound of dogs led her eyes to a familiar truck. Christmas approached Lucas' rig to find the old man working the trailer's joints and Yollie handling an arrow.

"Hola."

Christmas rolled 54 using 1d100. Insight. (That's what I do, right? In case I pick up on anything between Carl and Brattie)

"Thank you, Mister, thank you," the man said.  He glanced at Yollie.  "With a truck like this, it won't take long at all to get out there.  It's a straight shot, just out West."

He turned and looked in the direction of the oilfields.  "It's past all the pumps, but still in the flatlands.  There's some old fields and wrecked houses by the place where I pulled off the road."

His expression hardened.  "We were coming out from the mountains after doing some trading and we got jumped by some bandits.  They got some dead cow somewhere and put it in the road, then when I went around they came up out of the ground.  They must've had pits dug or something because they just came right up.  They all started shooting with a bunch of crossbows.  They scored me across the back, but they got Beth."

The man fell silent, then turned back to Lucas.  "I didn't know it until I got out of there.  She's always been tough.  I drove out of there until the damn hose blew.  I limped it along until I couldn't go any farther, then pushed it off the road.  I don't know how long she can last."

Yollie walked to Christmas and quickly filled her in on what was happening.

 Christmas was one of the usuals at the Travel Stop and Yollie normally bombarded her with questions from the Road, from Bakersfield, from anywhere outside of East Highland Hills and the Travel Stop.

Now, she was just happy to see a familiar, tough face. Christmas had always treated her well, more like an older sister than a typical adult.

When she was out of ear shot she threw a glance over at the man. "I want to believe he has a wife out there that needs us, someone that we can save, but what if its a trap, Chris? What would you do?"

The man fell silent, then turned back to Lucas.  "I didn't know it until I got out of there.  She's always been tough.  I drove out of there until the damn hose blew.  I limped it along until I couldn't go any farther, then pushed it off the road.  I don't know how long she can last."

Lucas nodded at the man while looking toward the Taco Bell, from which his man Scaff was finally returning...

Then he looked over at Yollie talking to Christmas and came over with a cagy smile showing his brown stained teeth.

"If youse bored... sittin' aroun' here Christmas girl?
Come on along! Another gun is always a good thing.
Won't take much fuel... Just an hour maybe?"

Christmas tuned out the pup yips and listened with growing interest, sucking her teeth. She looked the man over, shedding her glasses to meet Yollie's eyes, uncertainty on her face.

"Ugh. Most places? Tell him sorry, probably. It's cold, but out there... yeah. Here..." The shades went up and her expression became stoney again.

She picked grit from her tanktop as Lucas asked her along. She felt as though she should be helping her crew instead of some stranger's wife, but something about the situation made walking away feel too heartless. She sighed and turned to Lucas.

"You think the bullets are real?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:04, Mon 01 June 2015.

In reply to Crow (msg # 31):



The crates of books contained mostly convenience store paperbacks, magazines, some hardbound fiction, and a few orphaned encyclopedia volumes.  One magazine was thicker than the others.  It was the 2008 omnibus edition of High Times.  In the center was a thick special feature about the legalization of marijuana in California.  It featured a glossy photoshoot of a growing facility in Ventura, California.

"Our farm is totally indoors, totally organic and of course non-GMO.  We source locally, and we completely avoid artificial fertilizers since our grow-barns are completely aeroponic.  Now with the state legislature finally getting on board, we can supply the pharmaceutical-grade hemp that so many people need.  It's really about the spirit of California.  We're a West Coast business helping people; we grow hemp and have lunch on the beach every day.  You don't have that on the East Coast."

General Store

Crow looked over the magazines, perhaps there might still be some tech there to assist with growing hemp, or even other plants.

Only one the one magazine seemed interesting, but that was never a wide way to bargain. So he picked two others and asked the shopkeeper "What do you want for these?"

00:24, Today: Crow rolled 79 using 1d100. bargain 40.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:39, Mon 01 June 2015.

Behind the Taco Bell Parking Lot

Yollie looked at Christmas, notcing how tired the Road-Woman looked since the last time she had seen her. Something must have gone down out on the Road and Yollie was practically chomping at the bit to ask about it, using every bit of her self-control to resist knowing that the current situation was much more dire.

Either they were about to be led into a trap in which things would be bad, or they were about to tend to a hurt and potentially dying woman in which things would be bad. A small part of her wished the Crow was around, but another part of her wished he wouldn't come along. She knew she was no healer. She knew what healers would call "tricks of the wild" to survive and stay healthy, but she was smart and learning came very naturally to her. It was a battle between the need to prove her worth and the want to learn more by watching the Crow.

"You don't have any bullets?" She whispered softly to Christmas.

Yollie was no slouch when it came to firearms. No one could really afford to be being raised where she had. She just happened to prefer the silence, skill and sustainability of Kindness, her longbow.

"If we are moving out through E.H.H. we could stop by my place and I can grab my dad's shotgun for you, just for this thing we gotta do." Truth be told, she had no idea if her family would go for it and she would probably have to lie that she needed it for this or that. Also, she did have to drop that rabbit off anyway...

Uncaring, I started the game with pretty good firearms skills with a shottie, but we never bolted down whether or not Yollie had one. I figured it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility that its actually her family's or the town's weapons she's practiced with.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:52, Mon 01 June 2015.

Christmas eyed the surrounding lot and gave a curt headshake when asked about ammo. Her brow arched with worry as soon as Yollie mentioned her father's gun. She nodded gratitude, but hunched to whisper back, sounding as though her eyes were wider.

"Yollie... when things like this happen, the best that's gonna come out of it for you is this guy thanking you with maybe some of whatever they promised up front. Maybe some crumbs or whatever. Lupe says her mom met her dad that way, but I don't think that's in play today..." Christmas glanced over at the man whose wife needed help. She saw no need to speak on the other outcomes and deliberated over what she really wanted to say.

"And the worst? I'm not an idiot, Chris. I know how bad things can be."

While it was true that Yollie was not an idiot in any sense of the word, she did not have a clue the realities of how bad it could and was outside of her relatively safe home.

Christmas raised plaintive hands before loosening her stance. She tried to sound less condescending.

"It doesn't matter if you know the worst. I just have to know why you have enough faith in this man's sad story to risk your folks burying you, all 'that's why you don't leave our lame ass town' to their other kids."

Yollie considered the experienced woman's words. Thinking for a few seconds before actually responding.

"Same reason I wouldn't leave you out dyin' I suppose. Someone needs help, we help them round here."

It seemed like the most obvious, simple answer in the entire world.

"I never had nobody I loved, you know, like loved-loved. I love my mom and dad, sure. But I never had anybody I was in-love with. I suppose if I did, I would risk life and limb for them. No matter what."

Yollie risked a furtive smile, thinking about the possibilities of falling in love - something she had only read about in the various books she was able to get her hands on. It all sounded so wonderful, so it behooved her to feel some empathy for the man's plight.

The man who had brought down the crates for him came over to Crow.  He shrugged.

"What do you got?  Are you a hunter?  I'll give it to you for a couple of fresh-killed rabbits."

General Store

"My name's Crow .. I'm a Doc. But I can get you some rabbits if you don't have a need for my other skills." Crow replied. Heck he could always snare for rabbits.

In reply to Crow (msg # 52):

General Store

"A doc, huh?" the man replied. "There isn't anybody sick right now, but I can put that magazine down in the bottom of the crate until you get some goods."

General Store

"World is a hard place. Everyone will need a Doc some day. How bout you put 'em in the back for a few days."

"I'll be back." Crow said already thinking of the nearest place he could snare some rabbits.

Picking up his rifle, Crow headed out with the plan to go lay some snares. Figuring the closets spot was to the north, Johnny prepared for a long walk unless he could fins someone heading that way and catch a ride.

19:10, Today: Crow rolled 65 using 1d100. find some bunnies 62.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:47, Tue 02 June 2015.

Christmas looked at Yollie with interested incredulity for a moment. She doubted she could convince her to abandon the man; the only thing she was certain of was that she lacked the ice to walk away from this dilemma, leaving Yollie and her idealism to fend for themselves. She nodded..

"Love's like..." Christmas' manner took on a sly fondness for a second as squinted, remembering something and failing to put it into words. She abandoned the effort, suddenly looking sheepish.

" ...it's hard to fake. Not impossible, but not the first thing you'd try. I'll come, ok? But we should probably grill the guy on stuff like where he met her. See if he trips up."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:23, Tue 02 June 2015.

Yollie smiled and nodded. She felt much, much better about their odds with Christmas around.

"Good idea. We can keep on him during the trip. Seems to me like love would be something worth talking about - especially if it is the one thing keeping hope alive. If he keeps getting agitated or can't give us answers..."

Truth be told, Yollie didn't know what happened in that case. She supposed she understood well enough the reality of it. If you were cornered with a wild pig, you couldn't reason with it. Often times, you just had to put a couple arrows in its heart and throat and call it a day.

The problem was that this wasn't a pig.

"Anyways, on the way out we can stop real quick by my place. I'm gonna lend you my pump-gun for this trip, OK? Just in case."

Christmas clutched her bicep and nodded.

"Thanks. Longarms aren't really my thing, but if Luc can't loan me any rounds, it'll help."

Erwin wandered past Lucas's truck on his way to the bar, giving him a cheerful wave. "Hey Luke! Busy today."

On his way back to the inoperable VW bus he called home while in Lost Hills, Crow spotted what seemed like a lot of activity at the scrap yard. Crow recognized most of the folks gathered around but one man was a stranger. The stranger was clearly agitated.

His time wandering the wastes of Kali had granted an instinct for death and dying. Like other scavengers he could smell it. Something about the man told him the crows would soon be circling.

Crow walked up to the gathering but he said nothing. He just watched and listened.

"Well speak of the devil..." Yollie says with a head thrust toward the newcomer, Crow.

"You don't happen to have your doctorey things with yo now, do you?"

Time was wasting, and if they were going to act, they needed to do it soon. In a hunt, patience was key, but if you waited after you had been given an opening, then the prey would get away. In this case, that prey was the woman's will to live.

If she is still alive.

If she existed in the first place.

"Is that a new nick name? Most folks just call me the Crow." Said with no apparent humor.

In reply to the question about his gear, Crow nodded "Of course I do. Who and where is the patient?"

Christmas gave Crow an irritated look that wanted to know why he was standing around staring at them, vulturous. It seemed more appropriate when Yollie outed him as that doctor, so Christmas shrugged and did a double-take when one of the fatter, cheerier people she'd seen greeted Lucas.

"At some ambush, maybe," she answered, peering over her shoulder at the married man. If this guy was a doctor and this was a huge mistake then helpful Highland Hills would lose a lot today.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:03, Wed 03 June 2015.

On Crow's mention that he was a doctor, the man turned to him.

"My wife, Beth, she's lying in the car all shot up and she's not going to make it unless I get her in here.  She's already been out there since before sunup.  I hiked in on foot."

He glanced at Lucas then looked back to Crow.

"If I could get the car fixed, I'm pretty sure it's just a hose, or just get a tow in here, at least she'll have a damn sight better chance than what she's got right now.  If you can save her life, I'll give you everything I got after they take what's theirs."

He nodded at Lucas and Yollie.

Yollie didn't like being around this many people. She would be much more comfortable out in the fields or the foothills, but she made her bed and now she had to lay in it. She was glad for the added person-power, however.

She occupied herself by pulling her arrows and checking the fletchings on them. She had made them herself. The wood was good, strong but with some give in it. The broadheads she had also made herself out of strong scrap metal. These were her killers. They weren't target arrows; this is what she used to hunt with.

Fourteen left.

"I need to make some more arrows," she said absently to no one in particular as she went to sit by Dog and scratch under his ears.

She was about as ready as she was going to get.

"I made a balm from some herbs that should stop infection from setting in. It's not much... Anyways, she's going to need some water too."

In reply to Erwin Smythe (msg # 58):

Looking up, Lucas almost smiled, but his face was reluctant to use those muscles. His flinty eyes brightened a bit.
"Smythe? ...You still runnin' dat Steamer?"
Helluva machine... He mumbled to himself.

Scaff Petty, Lucas's gunner and assistant mechanic, was coming back from the Bell. A tall sandy blonde freckled fellow in his late 20's. Wearing faded and frayed old army fatigues, he walked with a limp.

Lucas's face snapped back to it's usual scowl.
"Scaff! Git youse worthless hide over here!
We gotta tow run. ...you get my burrito boy?"

In reply to Crow (msg # 61):

The laconic Scaff merely nodded to Lucas and handed him a grease-stained paper bag before climbing into his usual position inside the big wrecker.

Lucas looked at the Crow with a sceptical eye.  "Yer a doctor huh? ...well ain't that jus' handy."

Lucas looked back at the needy man. "...Fella? You just ran inta more good luck than I generally see in one day. You need a doc and here he is? ...Huh."

"Well people.. I count 6 heads here.. That's a lot to cram into my Lil' truck. She ain't very spacious inside.."

"Luckily, I happen to be little," says Yollie with a smile.

She then notched an arrow in her bow and moved to take a seat somewhere near the back of the truck bed.

She liked being underestimated. It gave her a leg up.

"On the way out, stop by my mom and pops place, Lucas. I need to step in for about ten seconds."

Crow looked the man over "Not often a man offers everything he's got, so if your wife is shot up we best get a move on. I got what I need with me."

"I don't have a vehicle so I need to hitch a ride with one of you." Crow said as he leaned his rifle against a car and put his ruck in the back of the tow truck and began putting on he travel gear as quickly as he could. By the time the others had finished.

Picking his rifle back up he two climbed into the back of the tow truck.

"I'd say it happens often enough," Christmas countered, eyeballing the old man with the wife as she unraveled her scarf. If there was an ambush, perhaps Crow was in on it, fattening the score. Not that it mattered much at this point.

"I'm not getting my rig or my crew into this. Maybe someone can ride hang." She tried to see through the market to check on her ride before approaching Lucas. She produced a clip containing a single bullet and spoke in a hushed, agitated tone.

"I don't like to do this, but it'd help our odds if I had rounds. Think you could float me some for the trip?"

The man sagged with relief at Crow's words.

"Thank you."

Yollie turned as the noise and dust of either a seriously ambitious group of raiders or, more likely, the Alpha Company turned off The Road to make their way into the Travel Stop.

"This place is about to get loud and obnoxious, we should be getting while the getting's good."

She kept her eyes on the dust cloud for a little longer before turning and watching the rest of the group intently.

In reply to Christmas (msg # 69):

Lucas's face goes from sour to bitter. "Ahh ... hell... I got a few .357 mag?
Otherwise look in my Box o' odd rounds in da truck.
Might find a couple your size."

Lucas looks quizzically to the back where the two youngsters climbed in.
   "Yollie-girl? ..Doc? ..That's gonna be one helluva rough ride back there! ..Hang on da best youse can! "
They find no clear space to sit in the back. The bed space not taken up by the boom and winch and tool boxes is covered by heavy rusty chains, extra tools and a variety of spare parts. If some of this metal is cleared aside they can find space. Fortunately there are plenty of bolted-on tool boxes, steel cables and edges of armor sticking up to grab onto, and take some cover behind if need be.

"Christmas-girl? You get the front, keep youse eye on our lucky man? ..He can sit on da floor in da middle.
Scaff is behind youse in da sleeper."

"Awright! ..Get youse butts IN den!"

Sorry, I was having a hell of a time picturing the truck layout and where the hose-man was going to go. Apologies.

Yollie nods and finds a nice nook in the back between the cab of the truck and a steel tool box to get "comfortable." She was once again grateful of her small frame, for she knew that if she was just a bit bigger, this would be a whole hell of a lot less comfortable.


***

She waits until they get on the road, popping up to bang her hand on the cab when they come within a quick run of her house.

"Thanks, man." Christmas breathed relief.

She nodded to Lucas and produced a revolver from one of the greasy, wrapped rigs on her hip. She thumbed the cylinder, stowed it, and pulled herself up to the cab. She clung to the side of the rig and called to the married man, jerking her head towards the door.

"Yo. In here. C'mon," she told him, indicating the footwell. She manoeuvred onto the front and scanned the interior for the box Lucas had spoken of, eventually finding it and hefting it onto crossed legs. After efficiently puzzling through the metal box, Christmas pulled an assortment of rounds that looked to be the kind her semi-auto took. She replaced the box and looked down at the old man.

"How long you been together?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.

How many bullets should I take?

Christmas rolled 81 using 1d100. Insight.

Crow, quite accustomed to catching rides secured himself and his gear and prepares for what was likely going to be a rough ride. He hoped the man's wife had managed to hang on, but given the delay her chances were not good.

Erwin had heard enough. A job, a possible ambush. He wasn't about to subject himself to the back of the wrecker, but Lukas was well... he liked the crusty old bastard okay? He would trail along behind. "Lucas! Think I will trail you on this one." He waited a moment to give Lucas a chance to object if he wanted to, then headed back to his Steamer.

In reply to Erwin Smythe (msg # 76):

Lucas frowned and sucked at his teeth, wishing he had a smoke.
"Youse might catch a bullet Erwin! ...youse got any armor on dat ting?
..if not? yuz better hang back!!"

Lucas climbed in, slammed the heavily armored door, and started up the rig.
A deep throated rumble of diesel engine power began vibrating everything and everyone on board.

Thanks to the armor and protective bars over much of the windows, visibility inside the cab was limited.
Behind the front seats, the gunner Scaff opened up his view slots and small gun ports in the back and sides of the sleeper compartment, letting in a bit of air.

Lucas shoved his shotgun into its holder on the driver's door,
worked the clutch to put the truck in gear, and began to ease out, keeping a wary eye out for other vehicles...

Erwin eased out after Lucas, saluting the Headhunter's colors by unthinking reflex as he went past them, the habit of military courtesy so ingrained in him that he gave no thought to what it might say to them about him.

He gave Lucas a good hundred meters of lead, tooling easily along with one arm carelessly over the side of the Steamer.

The roar of heavy engines, the buzz of cycles and shouted commands filled the air as Alpha Company pulled into the Travel Stop.  It was a sizable patrol, and its vehicles filled the fuel station closest to the Road Gate while a formation comprised of its armored personnel carriers flanked by off-road pickups moved slowly down the Travel Stop's main drag toward the fuel station by the Oilfield Gate.  The traders in the market began pulling plastic sheeting and hemp cloths over their wares to protect them from the dust, while some of the more enterprising farmers hastily threw ripe oranges and apples in baskets and set off to sell them to the soldiers.

The man squeezed in next to Christmas the best he could.

"It's gotta be ten years now, I guess.  I met her up a ways north of Paso when I was still trading with my bike.  Her people were getting squeezed by the bunch north of them, getting run off their land.  She didn't see much point staying with them, not with the way they treated her, so she ran off with me.  We've been together ever since."
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:27, Thu 04 June 2015.

Christmas thumbed bullets into her magazine, eyes flitting between the old man and the Alpha Company parade growling along. She wrinkled her nose. Ten years sounded like a long time to know somebody.

"She went with you instead of deal with all that, huh?" She palmed the magazine, a little more wry and relaxed for its weight.

The parking lot behind Taco Bell

Jari scratched at the itch on his neck as he glanced round the traders and their stalls, for want of a better word.  Most of them were blankets or ground sheets spread out on the dirt but a few had old picnic tables, collapsible ones for easy storage, with a few random items offered for sale.  They were an eclectic bunch and there were even a few who had folding chairs as well and looked like they were set up for their weekend yard sale, waiting for the local bargain hunters to come sifting through their unwanted junk.  That kind of peaceful pastime was long gone however.

He was a big man, tough and weather beaten, his head wrapped in a green, diamond pattern shemagh, or keffiyeh depending on which Arabic name you preferred, dressed in a combat jacket, body armour and an assault vest with a well maintained assault rifle hanging by his side on its three point sling.  On his right thigh was an automatic pistol of some kind in a drop leg holster and on his left hip was a large butcher’s knife in a patterned leather scabbard.  Jari was clearly a man who earned his living by the gun, a mercenary for hire, though one, according to the rumours, who was picky about his employer, turning down lucrative contracts based on some moral ethical code that was a hangover of the old times.

Looking into his face, behind the short beard and the scarf, it was clear that Jari was of an age where he had known the before times, knew what had been lost and was one of the survivors trying to make the best of it now.  Some said that he was an idealist, believing that a better world could be built again but his line of work suggested otherwise.  He wasn’t fully one of the oldsters though, a rough guess putting him as a teenager when the bombs had fallen, one who had survived somehow.

Hefting the backpack onto his left shoulder he wandered over to the nearest of the traders, clouds of trail dust rising from him with every step.  He hadn’t been to the Travel Stop for several months at least and he knew that dealers came and went like a hooker’s panties so he picked out one of the few traders that he recognised from before even though he knew that she wouldn't have want he wanted for sale.

“I’m looking to trade for bullets and water,” he said to the woman, a scrawny thing in her mid-forties called Tiff who he’d bartered with previously for a couple of batteries and a pair of kitchen scissors that her sons had scavenged from somewhere.  “Who’s good for a trade for them these days?” he added, his accent curious, not that of a true Green Card carrying American from before times, but that of a foreigner, though one who spoke English fluently.

He did glance at her wares however in case there was something that he wanted.

Leaving East Highland Hills Travel Stop

Lucas eyed the Alpha company vehicles and switched his CB radio set on just in case he might catch something.

He watched all his mirrors carefully as he moved out, past the gate, shifting gears up to a moderate speed toward the Guevara place.


--------> East Highland Hills
This message was last edited by the player at 03:04, Fri 05 June 2015.

Travel Stop --> East Highland Hills; in The Wrecker.

Yollie watches Crow with a cautious interest as they get moving west toward the Slow Ride. The Travel Stop had begun to bustle and move and she was glad that they were leaving. That many people usually put her on her guard, which was ironic since she was dying to mingle with them and get tales from the road.

To the south she could see the walled off and fortified portions of her home town. Inside were a number of homes that had begun to thrive off of their crop yields, existing in something of a symbiotic relationship with the pumpers and Alpha Company. Everyone gained from everyone else, and no one wanted to - or more likely had the ability to - do the other's job. It was something of a dystopian marvel of cooperation.

When they got to a straight shot south of her parents house she stood slowly and banged twice on the back window.

"Here's good."

With purpose, she jumped off as soon as the truck slowed and ran to the nearest gate. The guard opened it quickly, instantly recognizing her. They shared a few words and off she went.

***


Maybe five minutes later, the rest of the group spot her small frame coming back through the gate, holding a shotgun across her shoulders as she ran. It was comical looking given her size, but that didn't take away from its obvious lethality. The old thing was tried and true - a Remington 870 pump-gun that had been in the family for generations now. Black steel stamped with the words "3 in. Magnum" on top of the action silhoutted a brown wood stock and pump.

Yollie approached Christmas' side and knocked on the door.

"Here, Chris. It's been in my family a real long time, so be nice to her OK? Dad will kill me if something happens to it. Oh, here," out of her messenger bag she pulls eight red shotgun shells.

"If you don't gotta use the ammo, try not to. But if you got to, use it saving me." Yollie gave her a big smile, the red stripe tattooed across her face twisting upward as she does so. Then, without another word, the small feral-looking woman shuts the door and hops back in the ass-end of the wrecker.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:11, Fri 05 June 2015.

Travel Stop heading out
Crow rocked back and fourth with the movement of the truck as the left the travel stop and the army behind.

Crow mentally inventoried his equipment. First going through his medical supplies and herbs, salves and concoctions. Then his weapons, and the precious rounds. Finally the area that concerned him the most was rations and water.

There was little else to do but enjoy what little view was not obscured by the dust kicked up behind the truck.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:09, Fri 05 June 2015.

Christmas turned the shotgun over and clutched it barrel up. The tune she'd been humming to pass the time became a vague, approving noise. She nodded as Yollie explained, palming the shells into an embroidered pouch.

"I'll take care of it," she promised, returning the smile. Christmas pulled in a knee and tried to decide what she thought was going on. She was leaning towards 'real wife' but didn't know if she believed the rest.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:34, Fri 05 June 2015.

Starting us just west of East Highland Hills on the Slow Ride.  Yollie has just given Christmas the shotgun and the shells and climbed into the cargo area of the truck with Crow.

Lucas' heavy truck rumbled with constrained power in the heat of the late morning sun as Yollie found a good place to hold on amongst the towing equipment and Lucas' other cargo.  To Lucas' right stretched the fruit orchards meticulously cultivated by East Highland farmers, to his left stood the walls surrounding East Highland Hills town hall and the huddled houses of its inhabitants, and ahead him the Slow Ride stretched in a straight line through the oilfield toward the mountains in the distance.  A small dust devil whipped across the cracked and faded asphalt.

The man nodded.  "Yeah.  It was best thing she could've done.  She knew she couldn't make it on her own.  Her crowd was losing that fight.  They couldn't plant nothing and the other mob was creeping up at night and trying to burn their houses.  We went back through there a couple of years ago and we didn't see anybody.  The fields were all overgrown.  I guess nobody lives there now."

"Guess that's how it goes up there." Christmas gripped the barrel of Yollie's family iron, transfixed for a moment by the orchards rolling past. She stretched as the trees stopped whipping by, gaze settling on the old man.

"How bad did she get it this time?"

Insight - Christmas rolled 50 using 1d100 ((50)). (I'll be perceptive eventually)

The man sighed and his mouth was a grim line.

"One of them caught her in the shoulder, but that's not bad.  The other two caught her deep.  She wasn't breathing right when I left; she was gurgling and spitting."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Heading West on the Slow Ride

Lucas face was grim as he replied to the man. "That's a damn shame. ...I'm sorry it happened."
His eyes were on the road, watching for ...anything.

"Yeah, that really sucks," Christmas agreed, still using a hypothetical tone of voice. She unfolded herself and rested the gun between her knees.

"You probably had some big fights in ten years, huh?" For some reason it was very easy to imagine the old man telling the wife where she'd be without him.

Christmas rolled 2 using 1d100. Insight.

Tiff flipped her ponytail off her shoulder.  She squinted at Jari in the late morning light.

"You got more killing to do, Jari?" she said with a grin.  "Business is pretty good then, I guess.  The more you kill out there, the less we have to kill here."

She unscrewed the cap of a battered old sports bottle and poured a cup of water into a small plastic container.  She offered it to Jari.

"I got water right here.  And some fresh oranges."  She lifted a cloth from a wooden box sitting on the battered plastic table.  It was filled with large ripe oranges.

"But if it's ammo you want, head up to the Bunker."  She craned her neck, then pointed.  "That's it, to the right of the General Store."  She grinned again.  "You can't miss it, it's the only building covered in concrete.  Old Man Garcia had that built when some crappy handloads went off in the General Store.  Andy was hopping mad about losing all that business, but he got outvoted.  Nobody wanted the whole store blowing up."

She poured herself some water into another plastic coffee mug, drained it, then filled it again.

"Are you seeing much action out there, Jari?"

travel stop entrance

Higgins rolls his bike into the travel stop, eyes scanning around for hostile and friendlies alike. He didn't like this place. Too many desperate people crammed into to small a place. It was a recipe for problems. Of course, that's what he was here for, right? To keep the peace? To protect and serve? What made it different out there? "Shut the fuck up," Higgins said to himself.

He knew where the Wrecker usually set up shop on days like this, so he headed for the Taco Bell parking lot. He found the abandoned trailer easily enough and nearly got his leg chewed of by the old man's dog while he was staring at it. Now what?

In reply to Uncaring Fate (msg # 93):

Jari nodded in response to Tiff's questions as he took a sip of the water she offered him.  It tasted good and he'd bought water from her before so he was fairly sure that he could trust it.  He swilled it round his mouth, getting rid of most of the dryness in it, before swallowing what was left.  He then drained the rest of the cup Tiff had given him before passing it back.  "That was great thanks," he said in response as he looked at the oranges, wondering whether he could afford some vitamin C.

As he pondered his finances he answered her other question.

“Yea, quite a bit of action out there.  We busted through an ambush and took some damage getting here.  Killed a few and lost two of ours so it was hairy.  Think the rig’s gonna be laid up for a while as a result so that means I’m out of a job and need a new on.  And for that I might well need some more ammo so I’ll go and check the General Store in a mo.  Thanks for the info.”

He glanced back at the oranges and then opened one of the side pockets of his pack, pulling out a small metal tin.  Popping the lid he pulled a joint out and showed it to Tiff.  “Prime spliffs.  Pre rolled with genuine tobacco paper.  How much water will you give me for one of these beauties?”

The market behind Taco Bell

Dog lunged forward barking and slavering, but his chain drew taut and jerked him back.

The nearby traders, their prospective customers, and the usual friends and acquaintances hanging around on a slow morning looked over at Dog's eruption of barking.  The hands of some of them rested casually close to their weapons.  One of the traders called to Higgins.

"You might want to get away from there before he eats you.  He hasn't eaten in days."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:33, Sat 06 June 2015.

The Market, behind the Taco Bell



Tiff gestured for Jari to hold the joint closer, leaned forward and sniffed.  She smiled, leaned back, then brought a plastic 5-gallon military jug out from her collection of wares and hefted it onto the table.

"Where have you been, up to the mountains? If you got some empty jugs, I'll fill them up."

She rested her arms on the jug.  "I'm not surprised you ran into some trouble.  I've been hearing that things are getting worse."  She squinted against the sun.  "Bakersfield's got oil, and that means gas, power, and everything else.  People finally have stuff again.  And of course that draws damn looters, like flies on shit."

She spat into the dust.

"You know a whole herd of road warriors pulled in over the last week.  Elias and his crew got shot up, too.  They're mostly up at the Motel 6."  She jerked her head in a northerly direction.  "You know where that is, right?  I'ts over there, just look for all the cars and if you don't see them, you'll hear all the hooting and hollering."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:12, Sat 06 June 2015.

The market behind Taco Bell

Higgins nodded, backing away from the trailer and the dog, which had a reputation. He wasn't even sure the creature liked the Wrecker, though it did obey him.

"Any idea where the Wrecker is?" he asked the man. "Its not like the old man to leave his stuff unprotected."
This message was lightly edited by the player at 16:34, Sun 07 June 2015.

The market behind Taco Bell

The trader who had spoken to Higgins pulled on the brim of his ragged ball cap.

"You know the Wrecker?  He took off somewhere with a few folks, passengers I guess.  I think he'll be back soon, if you want to wait around.  He wouldn't leave the people-eater chained up unless he were going to head back pretty soon.  Are you looking to do some trade or do need a mechanic?"

"Yea, I know where the motel is," replied Jari, nodding in gratitude for the information she was sharing him.  It paid to deal fairly with people as they tended to trust you in the future.

He opened up his pack and pulled his five litre canteen out.  Though it had a strap he had secured it inside his pack while on the truck to keep it safe.  As he passed it over to Tiff it sagged slightly and was obviously not full.

"OK, I reckon that that's about three litres full so I'll give you one of those spliffs for you filing it up and also chucking in one of those oranges.  That sound good to you?"  Two litres of water and an orange for a spliff would be a fantastic deal but he knew with Tiff that he had to start somewhere to get he focused on the trade's parameters.

The market behind the Taco Bell:  Tiff's stand

Tiff smiled.

"That sounds fine."

She opened the plastic jug and filled Jari's canteen to the brim, then carefully screwed the top back on that it wouldn't spill.  She set it back on the table and picked out two of the largest oranges from the crate.  She held them up so Jari could see them.

"How do these look?"

"Yeah I know him," Higgins said warily, hand I instinctively falling to his revolver. "I'm looking for the Wrecker. If you see him, tell him Higgins is looking for him."

The former cop wandered off then, looking for water. He had 3 liters or there abouts, but he'd like to get his tank full while he was in the travel stop. There must be someone around here with some water for sale.

Higgins hadn't gone more than a few steps when he noticed a market stand with a few boxes of produce sitting on a folding plastic table.  The woman behind it was pouring water from a tan plastic 5-gallon jug into a big canteen for a wasteland warrior type, with whom she seemed to be having a pleasant conversation.

Higgins looked up at the man and realized he recognized him. They'd been in a scrape a while back. Jari. Good in a fight. And had some morals too.

"Hey there, Jari," Higgins said. "Small world."

"They look great but I can only afford the one we agreed on unless you're spoiling me?" Jari replied with a smile as he handed over the spliff, completing his side of the trade.  He then screwed the top of his five litre canteen tight, tipped it upside down to ensure that it wasn't leaking and then stowed it back inside his pack.

Before Tiff could clarify whether she was being generous or not over the oranges, the deal had been for one but Jari wasn't going to turn down two, another voice called over to rifleman.


Jari turned and looked at the new arrival, quickly recognising the distinctive looking former cop.  His smile broadened further as he extended his hand in greeting.

"Hey there Higgins.  Good to see you again.  It most certainly is a small world these days but people like you do your bit preventing it descending further!"  He then turned to Tiff to ensure that introductions were conducted correctly as he had been taught at school many, many years ago.  A lifetime ago.

"Tiff, this here is Higgins.  A good man.  Was a cop before the war and still is one now.  Higgins, this is Tiff.  A merchant who trades fair and keeps her sons in order."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am" Higgins said, clearly uncomfortable with the social interaction. He was a man used to a solitary existence on The Road. Though he once was a part of society, that part of him died when the bombs rained down. Now he just did his part to keep together whatever scraps of humanity still existed. It was a losing proposition and one that would eventually get Higgins killed. Which was kind of the idea.

Unsure what else to say, Higgins just stood there awkwardly.

Jari remembered now just how awkward Higgins seemed to be in group situations.  There was undoubtedly a story somewhere about why but Jari hadn't heard it and he didn't know the cop well enough to ask.  The man seemed to prefer privacy whenever he could find it and Jari respected that.  He had tried solitude himself for a couple of years further east in the mountains but in the end he had realised that he needed to talk to a living, breathing person every once in a while and that he would go mad if he stayed isolated on his own.

It was better selling his services as a hired gun, wandering from community to community, hiring on with merchants as a guard whenever he could.

"Why you here in Travel Stop Higgins?  You need a hand with something again?"  As he asked the questions he realised that they were dangerous ones.  Helping Higgins with anything was liable to be a tug at the heart strings and not something that would put food in his belly, though it would probably make him feel better as a human being.

"Bike," he said, as if that explained it. He jerked a thumb toward his ride to be sure what he was saying was clear, which it was not. "Lookin for the Wrecker. He's gone so I thought I'd see about getting some water."

"Well Tiff can help you with water as long as you've got something to trade," replied Jari as he looked off to where Higgins had indicated.

"Hmm," the gruff cop said. "I don't have much of anything to trade. You got any problems need solving?"

Tiff smiled but it didn't reach her eyes.  She screwed the cap back on the water jug.

"It's cash only.  I don't give anything away on credit."

Higgins did not respond to the woman. He wasn't in the habit of carrying around trinkets, though he understood baubles were tradable. Truth be told he didn't usually need to trade for stuff. Usually he did stuff and folks gave him things in return. It was the idea of an honest day's work, rather than looting and trading. Turned his stomach, truth be told.

He turned to Jari, ignoring the woman, and asked, "What brings you to the Travel Stop?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:07, Fri 12 June 2015.

Jari laughed a half laugh to himself and nodded at Tiff, concluding their deal.  Taking one of the oranges he stowed it in his pocket to eat later.  "Thanks and see you around," he said to her as he hefted his pack onto his back and headed off in the direction of the Bunker, taking Higgins with you.

"You need to start picking up the bits perps drop to fund yourself," he commented to the Cop as they walked.  He then returned to Higgins' question.  "What am I doing here.  Well, now I'm looking for a new job.  Was riding as gunner on a truck but it got hairy and we took a couple of casualties.  The guy who runs the truck needs to do some repairs and he's gonna be laid up here a while I reckon so that's me out of a job and looking for a new one.  Got some food and a couple of bits of trade so I'm not about to starve but I need more ammo and juice in my batteries so I'd better start looking for a job sharpish.  Gonna start at the Bunker for now and try and sort out my ammo situation."  It was clear that was the direction he was headed, leading Higgins.

He glanced again at older man before continuing.  "How about you?  Why are you here?  After someone?"

Higgins looked at Jari. "No," he said. "Like I told you I'm looking to get my bike fixed. I'm wanting to get back out onto the Road as soon as possible." Higgins felt like his place was out on the Road. He was there to defend innocents. Atonement for failing in his duty long ago. He knew the Road would kill him eventually. That was sort of a part of the plan. He didn't have time for bits and baubles, and if folks were too stupid to realize he was there to help then maybe he didn't deserve their charity.

The old cop debated leaving right then. He had no interest in whatever job Jari was likely to get into. Then again, maybe this was where Higgins was meant to be. Fate and all that shit.

"Want company at the Bunker?" he asked, more than awkwardly.

Jari nodded in reply to Higgins.

"Yea, feel free to join me at the Bunker.  Maybe they'll feel generous and donate you some rounds to keep you policing the road," he added with a grin.

"You got something out on the road you're in a hurry to get back to?"

Higgins shakes his head.

"The Road is..." he trails off, not sure what to say. The Road was life and the Road was death. The Road was the path back to civilization and it was the path to chaos. The Road was his penance.

"I just need to be back there - with or without my bike. I'll hang here, go with you to the Bunker, but if the Wrecker isn't back by the time we're done, I have to get back out there." There was determination in his voice. A dark void that would be filled only by the man's death and a grim realization of that fact.

Jari just nodded in response to Higgins.  He did't pretend to understand the man and his need to be back out on the road as Jari would much rather be kicking back and relaxing somewhere safe than out in the wilds where people were trying to shoot him.  Higgins was wound tight and you had to respect his dedication to his self appointed purpose, even while you wondered what would happen when he snapped.

He led Higgins across to the bunker, looking to do a trade and maybe see if there was any work going.

The main drag still bustled with activity as Alpha Company shuttled their bikes, trucks, and heavy 8-wheeled military rigs from the fuel stations to the Days Inn, and hawkers of all kinds converged on the troops to sell their wares.

The Bunker was a squat one-story building surrounded by barriers made from dirt poured into four-foot wire frames covered in fabric, stacked in a rough truncated pyramid three high and four deep. It was impossible to tell what the building had been before the war, but some people still called it Jack in the Box.

Jari and Higgins were admitted easily enough after pulling a cord which jangled a bell somewhere in the interior.  Past the zig-zagged dirt barriers, the entryway was an interesting contraption.  A heavy steel door, obviously from another structure, formed the main barrier, and behind it was a barred steel gate, resembling that of a prison cell.  A visitor to the Bunker would find himself in a cage armored with steel plates, about the size of a spacious elevator.  A small window for transactions to take place stood in front of the entryway, and another heavy door stood to the right.  Only when the steel gate closed would the window open, and above the visitor's cage rested a barred platform on which rested more dirt filled barriers.

Jari strode into the cage with the air of someone who was expecting this, someone who had been here before.  Once inside he levered his backpack off his shoulders and placed it at his side, his rifle hanging lazily from its three point assault harness.  The Velcro of a side pocket still gave a quiet ripping noise as he opened it, removing what was either a very large, oversized bullet or a small artillery shell.  Either way it had been wiped clean of any dirt in an attempt to give it a fresh out of the box look.

When the outer door of the cage was closed and the trade hatch was open Jari then held it up for inspection.

"Howdy there," he said to whatever merchant appeared to conduct business. "Got me a forty mill grenade here for trade.  Genuine unfired round from US Military stocks.  And it's not just HE but an HEDP round designed to give your thumper some AT capability.  Perfect for stopping some arsehole who's trying to ruin your day."

Jari let the merchant look at his trade but not take hold of it completely.  Trust only went so far these days.

"Now for trade I'm looking for seven six two rounds or point four five ACP rounds.  You got anything you can offer me?"



OOC - I've left it unclear whether Higgins is also in the cage as I'm not sure whether it's big enough or whether he'd come in.

[OOC: Says the cage is "about the size of a spacious elevator" but I appreciate you not assuming Higgins would follow you in. Is it safe to assume my bike can be parked safely or is that not the case? If not, Higgins would not want to leave it. It does have a kill switch, I believe. I'll assume it is safe but if not I'll need to edit post.

Higgins followed Jari's lead. He was riding shotgun on this one, and was mostly just along for lack of anything better to do. He stayed close to the other man, keeping his hand near his gun just in case. Higgins' eyes scanned the surroundings, staying aware of what was happening in all directions. He did not like being locked in the steel cage, but that was unavoidable. He stood by while Jari worked his deal, wondering where he got the grenade.

From The Slow Ride, Westbound

Motel 6 Parking Lot

The congestion had abated somewhat, and Lucas had an easy time threading his big truck through the pedestrians and vehicles before pulling into the big transient lot across the street from the Motel 6.  It was crowded with rigs.  Up-armored muscle cars rested next to stripped down jeeps and custom-rigged tow vehicles, their crews lounging under tarps and salvaged camo nets.  Some men and not a few women gambled and drank despite the hot sun, and an impromptu fight drew shouts and wagers from the onlookers.  Many stopped to look when Lucas big truck pulled past them and stopped next to the old VW van.

In reply to Jari Helminen (msg # 119):

The Bunker

The trader who peered out at Jari from behind the steel grill was a tanned prune-faced man with a mangy goatee.  He closely looked over the 40mm grenade, and nodded when he finished his examination.

"I ain't got no .45 caliber.  Those man-stoppers are in demand.  They kill wild hogs too.  But I do have your 7.62 mil.  It's new make out of Bakersfield, Alpha Company's own shop.  Not reloads.  I'll give you twenty.  That's enough to fill up a magazine."

From The Slow Ride, Westbound
Motel 6 Parking Lot

Christmas bagged the shells Yollie had loaned her and sprang from the cab. She whistled to Yollie and held the family shotgun out for her to collect, its bindle of ammunition looped around the stock. She watched Donny and Beth, giving a rote gesture mom had used, which seemed to mean 'hope ya don't die'. She shifted her weight to hear her boots creak and decided she'd maybe get fresh before hitting up Alpha Crew and the Six.

Motel Six

Crow directs Lucas to his old VW near Motel Six.

When they came to a stop, Crow motioned the others to help him carry her into the beat up old bus.

"I'm going to have to go in and locate the bleeding and stop it. Going To Be Touch AND go, and it will take supplies. Either way it goes I get paid."

"We clear?"  Crow asked his patient's husband.

Jari stared at the trader unsure whether the offered price was fair or not.  In reality he had no idea of the true value of the 40mm grenade, he only knew that he didn't have a weapon capable of firing it and that he had never actually fired one before, even when he had been a kid in school.  It was therefore just dead weight to him, something to be traded for as much as possible.

That didn't solve his immediate question though.  How much was this grenade worth?  Based purely on the assumption that the trader was taking the piss, and trying to get himself a bargain, Jari doubled the man's offer as a starting point.

"I was thinking more like forty," he replied with his counter offer.  "Let's see one first to have a look at the quality.  You say they're new manufacture but I want to look at one first."


18:46, Today: Jari Helminen rolled 34 using 1d100. Bargain task check. - that's a fail

"Thanks, Chris. I'm really glad you didn't have to use it." She smiles a straps the weapon across her back. It looked silly, given how big it was compared to her tiny frame.

"Good luck, Beth," she said genuinely before turning to Crow.

"I don't know much about real doctor'in, but I can hold things and keep light on her and bring in water. Whatever you need help with."

She stood out, stock still, hot sun reflecting off of her well tanned skin and platinum blonde hair as the hot breeze blew it slowly, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, we got lucky," Christmas agreed, eyes searching the Travel Stop sprawl through the conflict-shades. She had a single round of something that'd kill most rigs and figured at this point it'd do her the most good getting cashed at the bunker. Her gaze lingered on Beth as she turned to Lucas.

"I guess I'll be back for the dog and I'll let you know if I find any real work, Luc. Looking forward to hosing off..." She looked out, searching for her rig. Something about the way Yollie's gun dwarfed her made Christmas sigh, reluctant to reveal her eyes. They were probably about the same age, she realized, but there was something that bothered her about withholding experience -- she'd almost died acquiring it, after all. She looked back at the other girl.

"Yollie, don't help guys like this -- guys you don't know with sick kids, shot moms, burning farms, whatever. Do it enough times and one of them'll get you worst-cased, one way or another."

Christmas began trudging back towards her rig.

Yollie was about to respond to Christmas - to protest, to tell her she was wrong, that people were good - but she couldn't find the words. In her heart and mind, she knew she was right. She knew she wasn't from someplace safe like East Highland Hills. She was from out there.

And out there people were horrible to one another; they did unspeakable things to one another. Or at least, that's what her parents always scared her straight with. But after meeting some of the strangers at the Travel Stop, she knew the stories had to contain a modicum of truth.

"I... I have to at least try," she managed to say, but Christmas was already walking away.

She sighed and looked at Lucas who had always done right by her. Would he hurt her too if he had the chance? If no one was around? If there were no repercussions.

Suddenly she felt alone and vulnerable, but something inside her stilled her resolve.

"You're going to be OK, Beth." She repeated.

For better or worse, she would see the woman through. And if it bit her in the ass, then at least she had a shotgun.

"You do dat Christmas-girl." Lucas nodded to her as they parted.
Then he went to see about his business with the station wagon owner.

He found Donnie anxiously hovering near Crows VW van.
"Mr. Donnie? I'll hold yuz wagon until we settle up.
I'll be checkin' it out when I get back to da garage, but foist I's gotta get back to my trailer an do some tradin' here. It's market day.
...Youse can ask anybody where my garage is. It ain't far."

...an uh... Good Luck with da wife." A guilty look briefly passed across Lucas face  "..I'll be prayin for yuz."

Lucas tipped his filthy cap bill to Yollie nearby, and he almost smiled:
"You take care girlie! Your folks need any repairs? You give me a holler!"

Lucas turned back to his rig to see the stiffening dead body of the loonie still chained to his back bumper.
A bit of something liquid dripped out of it onto the cracked asphalt pavement.

"Ahh hell... Dont got time ta go carve up dat sumbitch right now."
Lucas opened a container on the side of the Wrecker and took out a tarp.
He unfolded it and covered over the body with it, securing it snugly with some twine.
It would hold for the short slow trip back to his trading trailer.

He called up to Scaff, who was climbing back into the sleeper cab after having helped unload the wounded wife into Crow's van.
"Alright Scaff-boy? We headed back to da trailer... You got overwatch again. Dont fall asleep in there!"

Lucas started up the rig to return to his trailer load of trade goods.
The rumble of the Wreckers powerful engine sounded good.

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."