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.