The Black Dog growled down the cracked pavement of the old Confed Route 82.  It was a quiet ride for the most part.  The small group of survivors take a chance to rest and breath easy after the harrowing convenience store stop.  Or perhaps quiet for other, more introspective reasons.  Despite the fatigue and potentially broody inner thoughts, the energy in the cab of the truck is strangely upbeat.  Excited.  It wars against any weariness and negativity.  The Black Dog is free to run the highways again.  And it is happy.

The trip east had taken Kelly and Harry over half a day on the heel-toe express.  Harry guessed they should be able to make it back the same distance in under three hours.  Back to the survivor city of Texarkana.  Or, based on the "corrected" signs they remembered from their recent visit: TexarCana.  The K getting covered over with a  spray-painted or rough sheet metal "C".  The exact reasons for this were never made clear to them.  But, at a guess, it had to do with the junkers.  TexArcana is a haven for junkers in the East-West.  Especially since the population upheavals caused by the invasion of tinhorn walkin' dead from across the Mississippi.  In fact, it was those junkers, along with the surviving remnants of the nearby army repair depot, that managed to hold this little city against the hordes.  The "safety" provided by the strange weapons, contraptions, and cobbled together war-machines have attracted more displaced survivors seeking some new safe haven to continue surviving in.  Of course, increasing populations put new strains on already hard lives....

Martin and Harry do manage to make some educated guesses on between the old maps and their own knowledge of the area.  By the time they reach the loop highway around the burg, they have some pretty good ideas on the next route they are going to be taking.  So long as they can figure out some way to get hold of supplies.  Hand painted signs on the loop direct them towards the TexArcana Welcome Center.  Which is, in reality, the campground the locals have set up for refugees, travelers, traders, etc. outside the walls of the downtown areas of the survivor city proper.  Tent cities are never the most pleasant places, but, as Harry and Kelly experienced before, the TexArcanists really are trying to do their best to help the refugees without just allowing all of them right inside the walls.  Yet.

The local militia troopers posted up at the exit ramp from the loop seem to perk up at the sight of the pristine paint and gleaming chrome of the Black Dog as it grumbles down to their checkpoint.  The four "soldiers" are set up around a armored-up military transport truck across the bottom of the ramp as a gate.  All of them are standing up, armed but not aiming, just goggling at the sight of this truck straight out of the past.

One woman, possibly the "officer" of this unit, shouldered her hunting rifle and walked up to the driver's side.  She obviously took a bit of extra time to get an extra close look at the apparition to make sure it was real before yelling up to the cab, "Welcome to TexArcana.  How can we help you?"

"Well, as you can see, fortune has favored us." Harry says, patting Black Dog's steering wheel. He wasn't sure how true that really was, yet, but that wasn't the point. "But we have a long trip planned, and we're going to need supplies for it. Getting Go Juice is fairly high on our priority list. So I was wondering if there might be any jobs worth doing around here that might be worth what we need."

The militia-woman's eyes went a little wider when she got her first good look at the cyber'd up dead man in the driver's seat with the window down and him talking all friendly like.  But it was only for a moment before she regathered herself, "Fortune, huh?  Well, it does look like fortune favored you with somethin' pretty.  Sorry I didn' recognize you at first.  Just here the other day right?  Well...  Fuel is still pretty tight right now with all the work to get these folks settled.  Other supplies are low too.  But, we did just have the Turk's trader convoy roll in earlier today, so I'd check with them."  She paused, eyeing the cyborg as if weighing the usefulness, "As for work, well, there's always something needs doin' these days around here.  Check in with Eldridge at the Welcome Center tent.  Same rules as before.  Peaceful place.  No killin'.  No stealin'.  Folks in the camp have enough trouble.  Don't add."  She stepped back, waving a hand at the "gate" truck.  With a nod, the driver rolled it back out of the way.  The Black Dog was free to roll on into the camp.

Where to first?  Splitting up?  Priorities?

Kelly was coming to and was more awake and talking.  "We're going to need some dinero before we do anything.  I reckon that's job one.  Am I wrong?"

Fatigue damage go bye bye?

She looked at their strange vehicle.  "Are either of you any good at repairing these things?  I know you can drive it Harry but can you fix it?  Getting us some... fans... or extra wheels... or something.  Might be a real good idea."

"In a pinch, probably." Harry says as he steers the Black Dog into the camp. "I'm not the world's greatest mechanic, but I know a few things. So yeah, spare parts would be good. However, the spirit seemed to be patching things up, so whatever it's draining from us seems to keep it functional. Spare parts might help it not need to draw from us so much, but it's lower on the priority rack right now. I figure seeking out this Eldridge fella will help with the dinero situation. And if this Turk is who I'm thinking it is, I've met him. Decent guy. Might have a job for us as well. Heck, he might even be heading the same way as us...he'd know a lot more about the trade routes that we can follow from here."

  I'm thinking Kelly is right.  We're all broke and we probably won't get any fuel on our good looks... he shot a glance at Harry with a smile.  We need to lay hands on supplies as well as fuel.  I didn't see much in the truck that we could trade or barter for much so it looks like work is our best option.

Harry pulls the Black Dog into an available spot. "Ain't the both of you been listening? The woman at the gate said a fella named Eldridge at the Welcome Tent might have a job or two. And as for The Turk...he was with The Convoy. He'd be our best bet at having useful things, and he might also have work that needs doing...and since we have a working vehicle, that work might involve hauling things to other survivor camps. Or something courier related. We have options, is what I'm saying. Now, I'm of the opinion we should check with both. See what's up."

Maggie had been staring out the window at the tent camp as they rolled closer, clutching her bag a bit tighter.  She is either too distracted by what she sees to offer an opinion or has no particular opinion on the matter of trucks, supplies, routes, etc.

The tent city is sprawled out across an old fairground.  The skeletal remains of a Ferris wheel towers over the grounds.  In the topmost gondola, movement can be seen.  Maybe a lookout, with a perilous climb to his or her post.  The remains of a few of the larger rides remain; but only what was too difficult to take apart or re-purpose into something more useful now.  Someone has taken the time to repair an old carousel and get it turning again.  A few other pieces of re-purposed junk make a small playground around it.  Much to the delight of the children of the tent camp.

Around the defunct fair, tents are scattered everywhere.  Tents of many different sizes, shapes, and colors.  Some recent made from scavenged materials.  Some precious, well-cared for Pre-war models.  Some look like midway booth tents from the days of the original fair.  At a guess, well over a hundred people have gathered here.  The folk of the camp are going about all the daily chores that need constant doing in such a place.

The road lead into the old parking lot, which had been cleared away to make a space for the occasional trade convoy.  One of which was currently set up.  Four trucks were pulled up in parallel lines.  The backs of the trailers are wide open with big colorful awnings to attract the eye and the attention.  Not that they need it.  The camp is obviously fairly desperate and there is a crowd at the trucks, wheeling and dealing with the Drivers.  A scattering of other convoy vehicles surrounded the trucks.  Convoy guards milled through the crowds, keeping an eye on their stuff and making sure everything stays cool.  An old APC sat at a corner of the lot, with the same colors as the "gate" vehicle of the local TexArcana militia.  A group of that militia sat in and around it, watching.  Just in case.  But obviously, the local militia doesn't have a lot of folks to spare to play police here in the camp.

As the Black Dog rolled into the lot, eyes turned.  Then more eyes.  Some in awe of the pristine truck.  Some in absolute envy of the scavenger wealth that it seemed to represent.  Especially since whoever was driving it had such wealth that they could tool around in such a gas guzzler without even bothering to haul a worthwhile cargo.  Even the convoy folks looked up from their trading at the truck rolling in; immediately beginning to calculate just what such a find would be worth....

Kelly grunted.  "Well.  This is going to be A Problem.  Someone's going to have to stay with the truck all the time..."

By the time Harry was pulling the Black Dog into a space near the other trucks, a welcoming committee had formed.  Some of the convoy types by the look of them.  A little too flash in their choices of scavenged clothes.  Showing off the prosperity.  Better than.  Three look like guards; gun hands and bladeworkers in all their post-apocalyptic variety of styles.  One of them, a rail thin woman with a very old style preference....

The other two look like leaders of some kind.  Drivers probably.  An older woman in a yellow leather duster, red bandana around the neck, and a very dirty, worn in old trucker cap.  The man wears a leather vest over a loose, once-white shirt.  Red sneakers.  But its the red fez that really catches the eye.  Odd, even amongst the vast array of outfits on display in the West.

The Fez moved to the driver's side of the Black Dog, obviously intent on meeting whoever might be driving a rig like this.  Squinting up into the driver's window, his smile grew, "Harry?  'Zat you?"

 Martin nodded to Kelly, You're right. We need someone to stay with the truck.  You and Harry have been here and know the ones to talk to.  I've never been this far so I'm an unknown and folks seem to like to deal with the known over the unknown...  I'll stay with the Black Dog and keep an eye on things while you two drum up some income for us.. He glanced back to the sleeper section and back to Kelly,Plus, Maggie is pretty zonked and might need someone to keep an eye on her too.

"A'ight."  Kelly nodded, not really sure it was wise to use her and Harry as the diplomatic corps, but there was a logic to it.  She then looked at the assembled crowd.

"Groupies of yours Harry?"

Kelly really had no idea what a groupie was except by context and inference.  She'd heard her dad use the expression once and her mom slapped him.

Maggie continued to stare out the window as they passed by the staring crowds.  The fact that the crowds seemed to be staring back heightened her tension a bit more.  As the truck pulled in to park and the others discussed who was staying or going, Maggie suddenly perked up at something she saw out that window.  Her nervous tension seemed to change to a more excited curiousity.  "Not zonked..  Sorry, was thinking...," she offered by way of no explanation whatsoever, "And...  I'm not going to stay...in the truck...  I think I saw someone.  I really need to talk to her..."

(GM- On behalf of Rusty Harry's Player)

Harry glanced out the window at the trader envoys, giving them a good once over, and then a slight smile of recognition, "Turk.  Been a while.  Down in a second"  The cyborg then turned to the others in the cab, "Nah, Kelly.  Old Convoy friend, like I said.  I'll deal with him. See what he can do for us.  You want to head on over to the local guy, see what you can manage?"  He then looked at Martin, "You go too.  I'll stay with the truck while I have this little chat.  I figure the crowd's gonna find other places to be once they see me step outta the driver's seat."  Maggie got a look, considering, but he didn't bother to offer her any advice one way or the other

Kelly only nodded.  She wasn't going to linger on the point.  If she could get something done, all the better.  She made eye contact with Martin very briefly and began to move after the slightest of pauses.  Not that she knew exactly where she was going but she'd figure it out.

  Well, since you've got company and Maggie us feeling a bit better rested I'll go with Kelly.  I haven't seen this settlement yet!  Bigger than most every one I've seen before.... Martin didn't seem too upset at the change if plans and made ready to hop out of the passengers side and let the two women out.  Lead on, Boss... it didn't matter to him if she knew where she was going or not.  Seeing the sights while they found their way around suited him just fine.

Harry's door opened and the oil and grime streaked warmachine stepped down from the cab of the Black Dog with deliberation.  Most of the crowd took involuntary steps back at the sight of the cyborg.  Turk didn't and that fact kept the rest of the convoy group from moving back.  Though it was obvious some wanted to.  The man in the fez glanced back to his people, "We're good.  Back to business, eh?"  He then gave the nearby crowd of gawkers a look that suggested they might want to go back to business too.  Most began to do so.  The other Driver in the yellow duster stayed, along with Turk, to talk to Harry....

Kelly, Martin, and Maggie made a bit less of an impression as they descended the cab on the other side.  Still coated in oil, grime, and, likely, blood, they did look a horrible mess.  Which was enough to make the crowd less interested as well.  For now.

Maggie muttered a quick, "I... have to..."  But she kept her eyes trained on the crowd, desperately looking for someone.  She finally finished her thought as she walked off, "Um.  Bye."  And the witch went off into the crowd...

Kelly, having recently been in this camp a day or so ago, did have /some/ idea where to head.  The thinning crowd made it easier.  She and Martin still got looks.  Some from being so dirty.  Some because they descended from the truck that was quickly becoming the talk of the camp.  Some just because they were new faces.  New was always interesting in the Camp.  The refugee camp Welcome Center tent was at the far edge of the lot at the old fairground entrance.  The easy first stop before moving into the camp itself.

"Maybe they have showers."  Kelly grumbled.  It wouldn't hurt to check the tent right?  Might make it easier to find... well, something.  Anything.

They do in fact have showers.  In some temporary facilities set up bear the Welcome tent.  There is a fee for travelers (read: not living in the camp) to make use of them.  There is a higher fee if you want that water to be hot.  Camp folks seem to be able to use the facilities on a rotating schedule. From Kelly's last visit, she was aware that travelers are allowed to use some camp facilities, but have to pay for the privileges.  Camp residents don't have to pay, but do help keep the camp running and join the work crews that head out from the camp to various projects.  She never got the sense that the refugees were being used.  More of a no free lunch policy.  Everybody helps.

Though there doesn't seem to be much of a line right now.  A pair of local militia men are standing out in front of the shower facilities.  To keep the peace, probably.  You might not know it from their looks and muttered jokes to each other as they watch passersby.  Something about them just trips the Jerk Alert...  As Martin and Kelly watch, a young woman walked towards the shower facilities in a very, overly determined fashion.  Like she had had to steel herself up for this and was trying to look as brave as possible.

One of the militamen stepped in her way with a grin that definitely settled the Jerk question, "Hey, Melissa...  Nice t' see you again..."

Melissa, forced to stop, did not seem to agree at all that it was nice to see him as well, "Get out of the way.  Please."

Jasper grinned back at his buddy, who gave a quick laugh, then turned his eye back on Melissa, "Please?  Be glad to."  He then leaned in to say something much quieter.  Just for her.

Whatever he said started to crack whatever steel Melissa had managed to find.  She took a step back.  You could watch the courage draining away...
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:26, Thu 15 Nov 2018.

  They have showers alright.  And they have jerks to go with those showers... Martin noted to Kelly as they came onto the scene.  Martin forgot all about how oil & grease slathered he was and felt a bit of heat rising to his cheeks as he watched the guards bully the girl.  That always had been a bit of a hot button issue with him...  If there was one thing that he couldn't stand, it was a bully.  It wouldn't be hard for Kelly to note Martin's balled fists and glare that could wither a tree directed at the two 'guards'.

Kelly noted this, not on paper, but in a mental ledger.  She lifted a hand and put the back of it against Martin's chest to check his motion a moment.

"Easy chief, ice down your tits there.  There's assholes who say stupid shit and there's assholes who do stupid shit."  She shrugged.

But, she was moving.  Not in a particular hurry, but she didn't want 'Melissa' to be able to leave the scene without bumping into her.