The Black Dog roared down the cracked old highway.  The sun was already setting when they had taken the Weirdo scouts.  With the interrogation and all that came after, night had truly fallen now.  The Dog's brilliant array of lights lit up the blacktop and the forest to either side.  Occasional breaks in the scrubby tree line show momentary glimpses of the shadowy ruins of old homes and rural businesses or overgrown, forgotten fields.

It was at one such break next to a field striving hard to return to wild forest that McKellar indicated they should stop.  Once stopped, a couple of the riflemen jumped off the trailer and moved off to shift away bundles of camouflaging wild grasses and fallen branches between the old field and the trees.  They were quickly able to reveal a hidden dirt road that ran off into the seeming wilds.  It wouldn't be impossible for determined folk to find it, but was hidden enough that any passersby without some knowledge would likely pass it by.  As the Dog passed through, the riflemen hopped back aboard.

It was slow going down the hidden farm track.  It may not have been originally designed for something quite like the Dog, but McKellar assured Harry that they could make it.  There were a few more stops to clear another hidden passage or go around some hidden obstruction.  Thus far the old overgrown fields and wild forest didn't seem to indicate that there was anything like a farm back here.

Again, without any obvious sign for the non-locals, McKellar decided this patch of scrubby woods (which looked no different from the rest) would be the drop-off point. He gave Harry clear instructions for the rest of the road and what to avoid in the short distance to the Harrison farmstead.  As he stepped down, he added, "My people are expecting you.  Don't let them down.  We'll be there when it will count."  With that, he went to join the rifles.  As it had been pre-determined who should stay and go, Prudence and Martin joined in with the Lockesburg brigade.  Which left the .50 unmanned.  Crowboy understood that he was supposed to as well, but he was the last to jump down.  He cast a look back up at Kelly; half hoping she'd rethink it and let him come along.

Alright!  The NPCs are offloaded!

Kelly and Dean have Geiger Vision Goggles (-1 to everything, but no worries for any other lighting or cover penalties)

Kelly, Delilah, Fletcher, and Harry have Environmental Protection....err....  Invisibility packs.

Dean is naturally invisible to the Goggled

Everyone have their gear and gun choices set?  Anyone want to man the .50?  Any other last minute preps or anything?  Last words ICly...etc...  I mean....words.  Just words...surely....

This message was last updated by the GM at 09:18, Tue 11 June 2019.

Harry looked around. He'd been down a lot of back roads during his biking days, but those were always meant to be shortcuts, not destinations. This place was empty.

He waited for McKellar to get out of earshot before speaking up.

"So, something bothering me." He said. "This farm we're supposed to be protecting...it's damn hard to get to, and it seems to me that it's out of the way enough that you wouldn't find it unless you were specifically looking for it. Security aside, that strikes me as kinda backward. If you're hauling goods to a market, ease of access is important. The Lockesburg folks gone to great trouble to make this as inconvenient a trip as possible, which is something you don't want to be doing when you have to haul large amounts of produce back and forth."

To be clear, Kelly is carrying the goggles at the moment.  And let's do this, Kelly will stash the .22 pistol with Crowboy since it's better than nothing if we're going to leave him behind.

Kelly listened to Harry.

"Could be they didn't have a choice?  Maybe there's something from before the bombs there that's intact that ain't nowhere else around here?"  She guessed, not trying to invalidate Harry's point, just throwing out she'd seen other settlements that didn't make a damn bit of sense either, but some singular mitigating factor mandated their apparently stupid location.

She checked her levergun over to ensure it was ready to go.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:36, Wed 12 June 2019.

Harry frowns. "That don't mean you don't widen the roads, nor keep it tucked out in the middle of nowhere." He muses. "McKellar said the weirdos tagged this farm, and are apparently sending a significant force after it, right? Farms need a lot of space." He looked around at the scrubby, almost reclaimed field. "Now, none of this looks cultivated. At all. It certainly don't look like any sort o' path that gets regular use from heavy loads like a truck or even a horse-pulled wagon, not with all the obstacles we've had to avoid and apparently still need to get around. Whatever McKellar's people are doing way out here, I don't think it's farming. Might have once been a farm, maybe, but too much ain't addin' up."

"Big area.  Eggs.  Basket.  One hit, loose 'em all," he said with a simple shrug of one shoulder.  It wasn't a tactic he agreed with here but he could see it.  He didn't stop from his own task though, turning back to it and keeping an eye out.  It was hard to scout with the Dog running but it was still his job.  Since he couldn't be out front a ways, he settled for scanning the surroundings as best he could.

Before McKellar left, Fletcher pulled out his masks and charged them all up.

He handed two to McKellar.  "Ya got 'bout 'n hours charge on 'em.  Give 'em ta whoever ya think'll make best use of 'em."  He instructed the Syker.


Listening to Harry's worries, Fletcher shrugged.  "Lockesburg ain't a breadbasket sort a place.  They do alright, but from what I heard the output ain't always bountiful.  S'part a the reason we put together the fARMORs.  Texarcana needs 'em ta be able ta produce above what they're doin' now.  They also don't have the manpower ta guard everythin' they claim.  'Nother reason the fARMORs were designed ta be versatile.  Put one a those on each plot they got staked out amongst the wilderness ta keep things hidden, 'n it makes it more likely if they do get found, they can defend it rather 'n cuttin' 'n runnin' back ta behind the walls however far those may be."  He speculated.

"I even heard some talk that once the fARMORs get up 'n runnin' here, they might try seein' if the folks'd be willin' ta take on some of the refugees 'round Texarcana as extra hands 'long with the next batch a vehicles.  With the influx a folks, food's 'bout the most important thing ta lay hands on, but even if ya got good land that ain't full a rads, keepin' it safe from everythin' 'n everyone lookin' ta take the product a the hard work of yer hands is harder 'n makin' things grow."


Fletcher rolled 7,4 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 7,4

So 5 instances of environmental protection, one hour each, 10PP spent
This message was last edited by the player at 08:15, Wed 12 June 2019.

McKellar gave Fletcher a nod of understanding, accepting the masks without really questioning how or if they would work.  Fletcher's word and instruction seemed good enough for him.  He motioned for his force to head off and began leading the way into the scrubby forest.

Crowboy checked his new pistol again, gave one last look at the cab....then joined Pru and Martin to head out with the Lockesburgers.

---

The Dog rolled forward again.  Branches from the woods close to either side of the track scritched and caught momentarily on the big truck as it powered on through.  Some effort had at least been made to keep the big branches cut away from the so-called road.  Thankfully.  But it was still slow going and took a few more minutes to get to the edge of this stand of scrubby forest.

When the Dog breaks free of the treeline this time, the next field is quite different.  Cultivated plots can be seen off the track at the edges of the Dog's headlights.  Not nearly a farm on the scale of the World As Was, but a decent smallholding hacked and burned out of the piney woods.  Up ahead must be the "farmhouse" itself.  And it looked straight out of the ancient frontier days.  A log blockhouse; new built by the look of the logs.  At a guess, somewhere around fifteen wide by twenty foot long.  Two stories.  The lower story had a single wood door, shut, and possibly a window, currently shut and battened with boards.  The upper story had two such windows and they were currently open.  No light from within to reveal anything about who or what might be up there.  In the bright headlights, a sharp eye could note numerous holes around shoulder height on both floors.  Perfect size for sticking rifle barrels through.  A stand of sharpened stakes surrounded the place, strung low with a nest of concertina wire.
 There were a few other much smaller sheds and such outbuildings around the place.  The "road" continued on past the blockhouse and might just circle around it widely.  Hard to tell much outside of where the headlight beams illuminated.

For those of a military mind, it was obviously not a place that could stand up to heavy modern weaponry.  But it could likely be a safe place for hiding out against most creatures and small-arms fire.  The piney woods around it would make it hard to get to with equipment of any great size.

As for what folk might be living here, there's no obvious lights or movements or anything at the moment.  Which one might expect if the folk in question were warned of an impending attack....

Notice rolls!

Also, I know Kelly is carrying the goggles at the moment, but, Dean, are you wearing yours?

Also, who has the three Environmental Protection masks?

This message was last updated by the GM at 19:43, Wed 12 June 2019.

Fletcher moved back into the Dog's cab in preparation for getting rolling again.

Once they'd arrived he peered out at the fortified little building.

Fletcher rolled 3,4 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,4.  Notice, wild

Well who benefits the most from them?  *is tottally not looking at the technically dead posse member*

16:58, Today: Kelly MacLeod rolled 4,1 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,1.  Notice.

Harry considered Fletcher's explanation. "I suppose that makes sense, if they don't have the manpower necessary to clear things all by hand. I just think we may not be gettin' the whole picture."

With such thoughts to comfort him, he kept his eyes wide, taking everything in as he pulled up a discreet distance from the farm house. He aimed for a place were they were nice and exposed. so that anyone inside wouldn't be tempted to think they were sneaking up on them.

((OOC: Yeah, Harry doesn't need much environmental protection, seeing as he's dead already and is made mostly of metal.

17:21, Today: Rusty Harry rolled 1,10 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+4)10.  Notice.))

OOC:
Dean is wearing them on his head but not his face.  He pulls them down periodically to scan but otherwise uses his regular eyes until they get closer/start expecting trouble.

Notice
21:04, Today: Dean Mitchel rolled 2,2 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max ((2,2)).

"Best not to overthink until the mean men are dead, fellas," Del added, hanging on to the side of the Dog in her weird new outfit.

Save for the rumble of the Black Dog's engine, the farmyard is still and silent.  The only illumination comes from the Dog itself as Harry maneuvered it into a spot on the track to the left of the fortified "farmhouse".  Another minute or so after the Dog stops, there is finally movement. From one of the sheds steps a old man with crossbow.  A wooden, medieval style crossbow.  Other than the crossbow, his outfit is a patched old set of denim overalls, rough shirt, and a very old dirty cap.  He keeps the weapon leveled up at the cab, eyes squinting against the glare of the headlights. He's obviously put himself in a bad position; out in the open, right in the glare of the headlights, etc.  Taking great risk and pain to make himself available to whatever happens next....

Kelly slid up the goggles, just watching for now.  She thought to draw a bead, then instead remembered Harry was here, and her hand went for Connor.

Harry rolled down the window. "Howdy, sir!" He shouted in his friendliest voice. "McKellar said you were expecting us! How do you want to do this meet-up!?"

Fletcher waited for the old timer to respond to Harry and kept his eyes moving to the sides of the Dog.

He figured if the weirdos were waiting in ambush, now would be a good time to spring it.

It was hard for Harry, cyborged as he was, to ever come as "friendly."  Yet, somehow, the old farmer still visibly relaxed at the call.  He lowered his crossbow and walked, with a bit of a limp, over to look up at the driver's window.  He spat a nasty stream of...something...off to the side, "Well...  I reckon we just done this here meet-up. McKellar said he was sendin' some tough guns on out here in a fancy truck so..."  He eyed the Dog, and took the moment to spit again, "Still not partikalar clear on what's a comin', but I'll be glad for more guns I 'speck.  Well...  Come on then.  Let's get at 'er."

"We're expecting weirdos carryin' cobbled-together gear, flashing bright lights and thumping old-time music, lookin' to snatch people to take with 'em to a horrible fate." Harry says. "We're hopin' to hit 'em before they hit you. You got a place where we can stow The Dog here?" He looked around the yard.

The old farmer spat again, the squintily eyed the Dog for a moment.  He then looked back up to Harry and said, simply, "Nope.  As for the folk you say is comin', at least it ain't walkers again."  Spit. "I'm 'bout damn sick of dead things not stayin' dead like theys supposed ta."  A squinty eyed pause, then he added, "No offense there, son."

"Maybe we could use it as a distraction?"  Kelly offered.

While Harry talked with the old man, Fletcher moved forward and hopped down out of the passenger side.

"Don't mind me takin' a look do ya?"  He shot towards the old timer as he moved to survey the state of the other small buildings, ignoring all but the most solid of No's given that time may be of the essence.

Harry shrugged. "None taken. It's not like the fucker asked me if I wanted to be dragged back out of my nice comfy dirt nap."  He watches Fletcher set out. "And as for them that's comin', I'd like to use the Dog as a distraction, but my plan was to surprise 'em when they put on their disco show by suddenly flooding them with lights and drivin' toward 'em like a bat out of hell. I was thinkin' like if you had a barn, I could park there, but yeah, it don't look like you do." He looked at the track that lead between the sheds. "You think maybe there might work for that?" he says, pointing with his good hand.

"Or do we have enough alfalfa or canvas or whatever to cover it up?"  Kelly asked as a follow up question.  She liked that Harry had the same idea he was just a step ahead.

Spit.

Harrison, the old farmer, eyed Fletcher as he jogged off to look over the sheds, but didn't really verbalize an answer to if he minded or not.  He didn't stop the man though.  The farmer looked back to Harry, shrugging mildly, "Might.  Dependin' on where these bastards decide to jump us from.  I take it you don' really have no clue about that, eh?"  Spit.  "I speck you and that saw on yer arm'd be distractin' though.  I also speck shootin' them in the goddamn face'd be mighty distractin' too."

"Hey... not to interrupt, but actually to totally interrupt, there's something weird about the doors over there."  Kelly pointed to the spot that was glowing in her goggle vision.  "And more on all the windows... and..."  Kelly followed the trail with her eyes.

"...it looks like it goes all the way back there.  I think... I think we just got our answer."  Kelly pointed to the spot in the treeline where the smudges ended.