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."