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[DVFP] Bad Mother Truk-er (C 1.1)
Cinch,
Truk Stop is the vehicle supply counterpart to The Depot, which is a short drive away. Over the years, it has turned into a converging point for independent road warriors, raiders, and gangs who range through the central basin of the Free Prison. It is a lawless and dangerous area where antagonistic bands circle the stronghold awaiting their turn to enter and gain their precious supplies.Cinch, you said you like to hang around mechanics and greasers, right? How did you end up here in Truk Stop in "The Conference Room", playing a scorched hand of poker against some of the fine, upstanding employees of Truk Stop, including
- Monkeywrench the second-mechanic, with his shaved head and cooking flame tats on his shiny dome
- Kerouac, a sharpshooter, the best shot in the ranks, if you ask her
- Lether the chemist, one of the handful of guys who whips the Megahol mix that works so well in all the vehicles here and around.
Kerouac has a stack of chips in front of her, and she probably has yet another unbeatable hand. Monkey scowls and tries to see if she's bluffing. He always says she's bluffing (she never is).
Who spoke up for you to get you in here?
What was the haul you brought to these folks?
Who's jingle are you gambling right now?
Comments
Who spoke up for you to get you in here?
Who spoke up? You kiddin? I'm tight with Monkeywrench, the guy's straight-up in love with the machines. I don't trust too many hands on my ride and I make sure he gets a slice when I roll in.
What was the haul you brought to these folks?
So right. I made a run down to Funeral Peak to drop off a couple of smelters, paid me in probably-worthless iou's (I play along, pretend they'll pay me some-fuggin-day) and two bucket loads of shiny steel rivets, forged weak so they can't use 'em for the scaffold. But they're the kind some of the raiders like to bling their rides with and Monkeywrench can probably make some scratch punching them through fenders. So that's sitting here at our feet and I plan to accidentally forget it when I bail. He knows the deal. Thanks for getting me in and treating me right in the garage.
Who's jingle are you gambling right now?
Ok let's get this straight. I'm a courier, I don't fugg with what doesn't belong to me. Word gets around that you can't trust me it's over... deevee my ass.
Looks like I'm losing though, huh? Kerouac running the table again.
- - -
"I fuggin' fold..." toss my cards face-down on the table next to my helmet and goggles, "gonna need a tank before I roll, Lether. Losers club!" I offer a fist-bump to the chemist, already folded ahead of me. Wiser than Monkey.
Cinch,
Lether returns the fist-bump, his expression sour at losing again. Monkey, though, he pushes his pile to the center, standing up to declare, "I'm all in! All in, Kerry! Do it! Come on!"
Kerouac looks at Monkeywrench for a long moment. Only the thrumming bass of the cybergoth mix playing on someone's radio. Her face is stone. Then she glances at Monkey's chips and smirks, "I'll match that. Throw your cards, Monkey."
Monkeywrench tosses down two pair, yelling triumphantly, "Aces over fours! Two pair! I've stillllll GOT IT!" He throws a blistered hand in the air, hopping up to do a victory dance, sort of an Iggy Shuffle. Then he scoots back to reach over the middle of the table and scoop the chips.
That's when Kerouac throws down her cards. In her normally even tone, she says, "Three Queens. Sorry, Monkey. That's my jingle." Monkeywrench stops, looking up with his hands still stretched over the pile that he thought was his. His face falls, and he starts to get angry. You can feel it, Cinch, the tension rising in the room. Kerouac has won too many hands.
What do you do?
I was just settling back in my chair, neck itching as hard-earned jingle gets scooped up on the table.
Then tempers flare, in a moment I'm on my feet, shake my head and reach out to take Monkey by the wrist, "whew," I whistle, she sound of shared defeat, "bad beat Monkey... let's get outta here eh? Fresh smokes from 'traders... on me." I pat my pocket and urge him to come outside.
Cinch,
That sounds like a mighty fine Manipulate for Monkeywrench to take it easy. Unless you're offering 1 Barter worth of smokes, I'd like to see you roll for it!
Manipulating Monkeywrench: hot+1(+xp)
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 4, 2. Total: 7)
It's obvious that Monkeywrench is losing it. Gotta get him to listen.
I pull out a pack and tap two smokes easily into a hand, slip one into my mouth, the other into his, then a not-too-sharp pat-pat on his cheek to get his attention and turn his head a bit to get him to look at me.
"Don't forget your bucket."
I loudly kick the bucket of rivits with a hard rubber toe, scoop up my gear, plop my helmet low on my head and tip the brim at the table, "keep it hundie-under, thanks for the game."
Cinch,
He reaches up to pat your helmet, then slips an arm around you, friendly-like.
"How's your girl?"
What do you do?
Yeah, ok. Should bother me. Doesn't really. I take the little pet and all in stride. We're cool, you know? Not lovers (any more) but something like soulmates linked by motor oil and steel.
"Lether has the devil's luck at cards... we got what matters," I tip my head into him, my kevlar helmet against his shoulder and probably cheek or chin. I meander us together towards his garage and my ride, his arm around me making the hot feel hotter.
I wait till we're out the door into the wall of unbearable hot. A deep, hot, reluctant breath, then, "she's runnin' good. You're a magician, Monkey.... but gonna need a new set of eagles 'fore long..." The sandbag walls of the 'Stop loom around us. I instinctively walk towards the garage without deciding to do so.
Only once we reach the shade of the garage to I stop and find my lighter. Always right there in the little half pocket of my jeans.
I look up at him, flip and strike the silver zippo with an automatic, practiced motion. The fire glints in my eyes. "Any news? Raiders fueled up this week, yet?"
More dangerous if they have.
MonkeyWrench releases your shoulder about the time you reach for the Zippo. He walks over to his "other favorite lady", your ride, and pops the hood. He moves around to prop the hood up and leans over the engine when you ask about raiders.
He's suddenly serious, and his tone's concerned. What do you do?
I stand and watch him. Always nervous when anyone's near my ride.
Yeah. Concerned. I'm suddenly ancy, nervous and itching to be behind the wheel. Standing still is just getting old.
"Saint... Anger?" little sarcasm in my voice. "He ain't subtle is he? I'll stock up... get word to my people at the Depot. They won't bust red on you here, just dont lose your blazin' head, Monkey," I walk over to his side at the fender and run a hand along the smooth armored contour. "Saint Anger ain't gonna last. Too much snarl in that name... gonna burn out 'fore long.
But something about Monkey's tone has formed a knot in my chest. People gonna get hurt. I stand there near him for a few quiet moments then lower to a crouch near the car and the top of my head touches the fender. Hands flat on the metal. I pat it softly, not unlike how I patted Monkey's face earlier.
Then stand and roll a shoulder, shake out my hands... I've been still too long.
"Allright. I gotta go make nice with Lether, top off and get me some reserve on board," I almost turn to go, then pause, "West gate, huh? How safe do you think I wanna be?"
"Be somethin' to see, Monkey... "
I whistle low at the mention of the big gun. In a way I kind of hope to see it, feel the shock as I drive white-knuckle through clouds of chaos. Monkey may catch me smiling.
"But thanks for the heads-up... I'll stay outta the crosshairs." He worries about me, still. Cute.
I wrap a hand around his head and pull him into a brief smooch on the cheek. Then release and head for the gate.
"Back in ten." I walk with purpose to find Lether.
You head towards the refinery, the clay-brick building where Lether and his peers process a crude form of Megahol, the fuel used by most of the Free Prison’s vehicles. Lether once shared that it's s a mix of Ethanol and other highly combustible additives that are Megahol burner compatible. You step past a couple guards who know you well enough and walk inside. Various kilns, urns, tubes, vats, chemistry equipment, and liquid separators are organized shockingly clean in this processing facility.
"Be somethin' to see, Monkey... "
I keep my head down as I pass the crew and the equipment. Some people probably wonder if I have eyes at all. Tip my head to the guards and toss my spent smoke outside the fuel refinery as I pass.
Lether is good people, really, if he's cheating he's fugging good at it.
"No smoke, Lether... you know I don't like to see you boys fightin' over chips," I pull my half-gloves tight, just fidgety for something to do as I make my arrangements.
"Need a fill up, and much as you can spare of the good stuff in case things get loud 'round here... gotta keep the girl fed."
I have some auxiliary tanks in the trunk, holds about half a tankful... gives me plenty of range.
Cinch, you paid for Lifestyle so that covers this. Anything more, and you'll need to pony up some jingle.
What do you do?
Uncomfortably close again but I try not to show it. I keep steady and talk into his chest like he ain't standing too-familiar close. He still holding a grudge against Monkey... over me. That was two years ago though.
"Day trip, Lether. Consider it done." He's making me a good deal. Maybe he's flush with winnings, or just trying to impress me. Wonder what he wants with the soap. Don't wonder enough to ask.
I stand and wait for him to disengage. Not going to show him if he gets to me.
Lether doesn't seem to notice your skittishness, even reaches up to pat your bicep in an unearned bit of familiarity. Then he disengages, moves over to work on filling your aux tanks. He's startled when you both hear an air horn. It's an alarm of someone coming.
What do you do?
Ok. Already stoic from dealing with Lether, the sudden alarm gets me in a near emergency mode. With what Monkey warned me of, too... that alarm gets me moving.
I hurry to the nearest door and heads-up to see what's going on.
"What's the sitch?" I call up to the nearest lookout. My hands itch to get on the wheel... this place isn't so safe, is it?
The lookout turns out to be Kerouac. She looks down at you, "Caravan coming. A big one." She peers back out, "Looks like United Front." Back down to you, "They'll be here soon. You better diddy mao, Cinch."
What's the rumor about drivers caught by UFers?
You've got enough time to get one aux tank full, no problem. Anything more, and you're pushing it. If Kerouac is right about their speed. What do you do?
I hiss through my teeth, that stings. A hand on the back of my helmet at I crane my neck to speak up to Kerouac on the wall.
"United Front? You got eyes on 'em Kay?" For Kerouac, and she clearly does, I don't doubt it. "Thanks for the heads-up. Treat 'em nice, Kay, but not too nice... and... yeah I wasn't here."
I give her a nod and hurry to the car. I've heard about United Front. They deal with the slavers at Pitts and it's pretty unusual for them to be this far West. From what I hear, they acquire drivers same way they acquire everything else. Take what they need and you spend the rest of forever cuffed to the wheel they give you... if you're lucky enough not to be sold to the foundry masters.
"Nix the second tank, I gotta blaze," I say sharply to whatever technician Lether has giving me the fill-up. Or maybe he's doing it personally.
I check my Magnum, eject the magazine and pop it back in with that satisfying click, pull my gloves tight and as soon as I'm clear, say my seeya's to Monkey and the crew and gtfo.
Monkey walks beside your car as you slowly move her up towards the eastern exit. They drop down the tire trap so you can pass, and Monkey reaches in to squeeze your shoulder affectionately, whisper some words just for you, then he moves away to let you ride out.
As soon as you get out of the walls, you see them. Four UF bikes, zipping around from the right and left. Advance scouts for the caravan. Like wolves, they might be looking to "annex a driver".
What do you do?
Little slice of home, slipping into my driver's seat. The palms of my finger-gloves worn just so. I feel the warm slight stickiness on my back against the seat and as that engine charges and roars to life I finally feel right again.
I keep the windows down as I roll slowly towards the exit with Monkey walking alongside. He reaches in and squeezes and it feels good. I'm glad he's here... someone cares if I make it.
There isn't really much doubt in my mind though... but you take each 'sitch serious or it'll become serious.
Soon as I'm past the gate I put on some gas. Not enough to smoke the tires but enough to feel the seat press against me from behind and the wind come in hot and urgent through the cabin.
I see those UF bikes, loud, rough-looking machines that look like anger and threaten to close in from both sides. I comment quietly, "oh you think so, huh?" I plot their paths in my mind, there's going to be a way to cut right through. Always is.
Reading the sitch. +1 Sharp. +xp(2)
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 6, 5. Total: 12)
Hold 3 for reading the sitch.
First question. Maybe only one that matters:
● Where’s my best escape route?
Best escape is just to gun it, run straight ahead. Once they commit to come in on either side, you can head for The Depot and shimmy back and forth to keep them from getting up on you easy.
Chances are good that they'll give up after a few miles.
A wry grin spreads across my face as they see me and seem to commit to some sort of charge. Maybe this batch hasn't heard of me, you know I'm not that easy to catch, don'tcha boys?
I wait just long enough for them to zero-in on my trajectory before suddenly shifting and putting on the power. The car lurches forwards and they find themselves charging at my frickin' dust. Good luck with that!
Windows still open, I spare whichever one of the jokers gets closest to my nine a glance. Try and get a look at a face, too. I like to know who I'm dealing with, especially of we happen to meet up somewhere on foot.
● Which enemy is the biggest threat?
Yeah they'll chase me for a little while, I lean to one side to kick up some extra dust for them to play with before centering on the road to leave them behind.
(That's the plan, anyways.... hope it works out that way.)
The first biker you spot is this girl, the one giving you the finger:
Her name's Mimi, and she's the biggest threat. She has a machine gun mounted by her feet, and if you pull ahead and she can get in behind you, she will light you up.
OUTDISTANCE ANOTHER VEHICLE
When you try to outdistance another vehicle, roll+cool, modified by the vehicles’
relative speed. On a 10+, you outdistance them and break away. On a 7–9, choose 1:
• You outdistance them and break away, but your vehicle suffers 1-harm ap from the
strain.
• You don’t escape them, but you can go to ground in a place you choose.
• They overtake you, but their vehicle suffers 1-harm ap from the strain.
On a miss, your counterpart chooses 1 against you.
Who puts a machine gun on a bike? Not going to give her the satisfaction.... Let's dance.
(Rolled: 2d6+4. Rolls: 5, 2. Total: 11)
Minus her bikes speed.
Mimi's bike's speed is 2, Vs. your car's 2, that's a solid hit.
You give Mimi and her trio the slip, threading the needle and pouring on the gas until they straggle back. Mimi fires off a few shots, frustration getting the best of her, then they turn back for Truk Stop. You're free and clear.
What's the radio station you pick up around this way play, by the by? What do you think about it?
What do you do?
Whew. Ok. Current emergency over.
I watch my six for the next few miles but I know I'm through. Mimi must have some sort of grudge against me... though I can't think of what for. Maybe just for daring to elude her. Not going to drive for you, not going to work in the mines neither. Right?
Once the 'Stop has disappeared over the low rolling terrain I punch on the radio, swipe over to the one station broadcasting out here... plays constant heavy metal punctuated by angry tirades about the heat. Guy makes me laugh sometimes... I'm pretty sure he's broadcasting out of a van or something, must set up on a hill somewhere and raise his antenna.
I was hoping my sattelite connection would work in here but they must have us blocked. Sometimes, a bit of signal leaks through and I can hear distorted bits of songs and news from the outside... but rarely enough to get more than a taste... it's kind of frustrating when it happens. At least I don't get commercials. Silver lining.
I turn towards the Irons, give the 'Stop a little space for now and take care of my pickup. Lether seems to think it'll take a whole day to make the trip so why dissapoint him. I won't hurry back.
Scream 101 plays on the speakers as you zip down the faded gray highway. The tar patchlines stream back and forth like a string of obsidian spiderwebs and the yellow scrub flashes to right and left of the road like the flashes before a drag race.
The long highway stretches ahead of you, and you're alone with DJ Gnarly, your ride, and the world you now live in.
You slip into that foggy haze of the long haul, and before you know it, you see the thin stream of white smoke ahead, the telltale sign of something fresh burning on the highway. At a mid point like this, during the hottest time of day, what does that mean, Cinch?
"Sand-snakes?" I slow and and turn down the music, lower my goggles to help fight the glare and see what we've got here.
- - -
The sand snakes are a primitive-living group of more or less related families living wild out in the sand. Their lore says they've lived here since before the wall. But who knows. They bury themselves in earth to escape the heat, and excel at using the natural terrain to keep cool and are pretty much second to none at tracking and stealth. They eschew technology and keep pretty insular, but do sometimes prey on passers-by out of necessity when times are tougher than usual... that smoke tells me that this might be one of those times...
- - -
Although I have had friends among them, I hate to see someone ambushed unawares on the road and I grit my teeth as I near. I slow to a non-aggressive pace and flash my lights... a sign that I'm coming in friendly.
There's a chance that the snakes have taken out a vehicle on the road and the driver... passenger... someone... might still be alive... fingers crossed.
You get a flash back, probably a hand mirror from the look of it. As you come over a small hill, you see it, a flipped car a hundred feet from the road. Still burning. Five folks covered head to toe picking it over.
Their watchout is facing you, he has the mirror. Looks like this.
You can ride right past, leave whoever might be alive in that wreck (doesn't look likely that's anyone), or you can stop, which will be seen as encroaching, but as you say, you have some friends among them.
Oh, speaking of which, who's the most powerful of your Sand Snake buddies?
I roll slowly over, tires crunching on the sand and salty-crusted earth. I eye that car as i near, trying to place it... looking for decoration, regalia... or signs of someone I might have known.
I keep my window down and my left hand open and visible. Driving with my right, should be clear I'm not an immediate threat, but my magnum is of course within reach against my thigh.
I pull up and stop a dozen or so paces from the watchout, slowly crack the door and step out, engine still running. I open the door enough to step out, hands first so he can see.
"Your kill, I ain't makin' a claim..." a little shake of the head to show I'm not interested in their salvage, "I'm Cinch, Sunshine Streak knows me... I've traded with her pack. But today I speak only for myself."
The snakes like clarity, from my experience. They don't want to get involved in politics... they like to know who they're dealing with... when they rarely do. Most people never see 'em until they bite.
"If any travelers live... I just wanna take 'em off your hands... back to the shade."
I gesture calmly towards the burning wreck with one hand, then towards the road.
The scout leans over, trim form moving smooth, hidden eyes alert. It seems to accept your words. "I am Sight-of-Day." the scout responds, the tone is feminine. "I know Sunshine Streak, she runs like the wind and tells bad jokes. Two live. The woman didn't fight. The child cowered. We will take them into our own." After a moment, Sight-of-Day says in a lower tone of voice, "I doubt she will survive. The boy? Only the sunset will tell."
That worries me. I try not to show it too much, but I hiss a little through my teeth in apprehension. I try again to identify the car, but... maybe too far gone.
I match Sight-of-Day's lowered tone.
"They're no good to you like this, are they? Sight-of-Day, please let me take them to their people, someone may care for them... at least... at least the child," truth is I'm not set up great to transport a badly injured adult. Wish I was, but while I have rudimentary medical training I'm no paramedic and this is no ambulance. "Already injured and unable to fight? They'll only be a burden to you."
The car has Oregon plates, no marks of a township that you can tell, must've been a junkyard build-up. Maybe Gigg might know them?
Let's see a Manipulate to convince Sight-of-Day to hand over the captured pair.
Manipulating Sight-of-Day (hot+1) xp(3)
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 6, 5. Total: 12)
Sight-of-Day peers at you for a long moment, leaning in so the sun shines from her green eyes. Without another word to you on the deal, she turns to the others who are picking the car clean and throwing the good bits into rusty shopping carts. She whistles, then barks a few sharp words to them.
A few minutes later, a woman carrying a kid around eight or nine, both of them in worn clothes and bleeding, comes up from the dirt. They must've been in some tunnels. The snakes don't bother guarding her, they just let her go. She scans around, then meets your eyes.
Here she is:
What do you do?
Was holding my breath. I let it out and raise my goggles before I nudge the door shut behind me. Then take a step or two and wave to get her attention before hurrying over to try and help.
"Hey... I call, a loud hushed whisper so as not to antagonize the Snakes, "I'm Cinch, saw the wreck... I'll take you home...what are your names?" I'm speaking to the mother, but also the kid as I ask their names.
She looks hurt pretty bad, but at least she can walk. I'll help her if she lets me.
"Can you make it to the car?"
"I'm Rufe," she says through parched lips, "This is Winkle." She swallows, licks her lips with a dry tongue, "I don't have jingle for passage." She blinks, winces as you come over to help her to the car. "I don't have anything. Not any more." She doesn't look at the sand snakes, she's not about to challenge them.
Yeah. She's smart. Don't look back.
"Winkle, you're a tough kid... snakes bite sometimes. Ain't your fault... you did right staying cool... keep alive that way." she was carrying him? In her condition. I'll gently take him from her as I talk, if she allows. "Rufe... jingle ain't all that. I'm on the clock, covered... I'm headed up towards the Irons but... if you got somewhere better to be I'll make it happen."
I'm no giant, not tiny but thin and look up at more than a few of my neighbors. I take Winkle over to the car, slide a finger along the sensor and swing the door open with a foot. If Rufe is agreeable I'll slide her boy into the back... cramped but room enough for a kid to ride in relative comfort.
She can take the passenger seat. I know she knows her way in and out of a car, at least... but will help her if she needs.
Rufe manages to get in the passenger seat without complaint, but you feel her stiffen. Probably broken ribs, her left arm looks busted, maybe dislocated. Winkle climbs in the back, quiet, but his eyes search the space with curiosity.
As your car rumbles on, Rufe says just barely audible over the engine, "I've got no place better to be. Is... Diamond looking for folks?" Her tone isn't hopeful. She doesn't look over at you, keeps staring down the road ahead.
Considering my passengers, I take it easy. Don't look back at the snakes until we're safely underway, either. Wish they had a better way. I take off my helmet and sit it on the center armrest where it doesn't quite fit.
"Diamond?" Yeah. She could probably do that if that's what it takes. I pause a long moment, glance at her. She's messed up, but Esco'd probably like her... I figure. "Yeah, Esco's always looking for..." he would use a more vulgar term, "for help... that's right on my way. Get some rest."
I watch the boy in the back with a melancholy amusement. See if I can catch him watching back in the mirror. Not much but odds and ends and my personal stuff back there. Once they've had a chance to settle down I'll ask what happened. But not just now.
I start to think of what to say to Esco... my to-do list for the day is growing longer.
This is Winkle:
He spends some time playing with the zipper on your duffel. Where did you pick that up? When he sees you in the rear-view, he looks down, scooting away from the bag like he was doing wrong. His mom is asleep, cradling her arm and leaning against the door.
I almost laugh, the duffel is pretty much full of my clothes, socks, underwear, and a few personal items. It's a reminder of who I was, though... emblazoned with the FPS logo and part of the kit I was assigned when I took the job at DVFP.
Seeing him interested in it kind of brings back a little lost feeling of what normal once was and I feel a little pang of memory I really would rather not feel. But... makes me smile and shake my head in slight amusement at this kid, managing to still be a kid after all that's happened.
"There's some seed-bars under my seat. You can have one," I speak quietly so as not to wake his mom. And extend a hand back, "Gimme one, too."
Winkle takes a moment, looking at you in the rear-view before he seems to get that you're serious, then he disappears into the floor board. A moment later, his little hand appears between your seat and Rufe's, holding up a wrapped seed bar. He sits back in the seat and spends a few moments trying to figure out how to pull off the wrapper. It's like he's never even seen a pre-packaged seed bar.
Seed bars are handed out at Bordertowns, "enough to feed the prison population". But they rarely make it past Depot.
I take the bar he offers and wait a moment until his attention's on his own, then slip it into the pocket of Rufe's vest with a gentle pat.
I enjoy (a little) watching him try to open the thing. It's surprisingly hard if you don't know to tear at the little pre-cut notch they put in one corner.
If you know who to talk to there's a trade of contraband through the gates. There's still a few faces I recognize, too, and I'm able to sometimes get a deal on stuff from the prison commissary, or actually a little something from the real world. But it's risky to get so close to the wall, and even more so if they're seen helping me in particular... so I view that as a last resort, and a bit of occasional luxury.
"There's a little cutout," I make a v-shape with two fingers. "in one corner... tear it there."
Winkle peers at the cutting motion, not sure what you mean, at first. He ends up putting his teeth on the cut-out section and ripping. From the moment he sees the beige bar inside to when he's licking his fingers is maybe ten seconds. He gobbles it down, crunching and pushing the bar further up out of the biodegradable plastic wrapper. After licking his fingers, he licks the inside of the wrapper, too, for good measure.
With food on his belly, Winkle finally gains some courage. "Miss Cinch... why didn't those people kill you, too? Why did they let us go?"
How to say this to a kid. I take a long moment in thought, watching the road and watching his momma, injured, sleep next to me in that seat. I wipe sweat from my temple with the back of my hand.
"They took what they want from you," I say sadly, "because everyone's just trying to get by and that's their way. Whatever's on the road is prey to them. Because they don't know you. And someone they respect knows me. And that makes me more safe."
I sigh and watch him.
"Do you hate them? It's ok if you do."
Juju. Someone didn't make it. Father? Maybe. I don't ask.
I gently interrupt, "Hey... Winkle. You went through that and you're gonna be ok... they are like monsters, but they're just people... scary, hungry, lonely people. But wow, you are one tough kid... I don't think I coulda gone through that and not freaked out a little. You were right to run..."
It's not easy to talk to kids about stuff like this... every word could affect his future.
"I think your mo... mommy will be ok... you're gonna need each other. She's gonna need you, especially."
Winkle nods, looking up at your reflection closely. He blinks a few times, then yawns, the energy of talking seeming to sap his strength. In a few minutes, he lays down and falls asleep, leaving you alone again. How do you pass the long hours alone on the road, Cinch?
If it weren't for his mother's injuries, this would actually be kind of nice. I keep an eye on them as we go but as always, the main this is keeping alert on the road.
The scorch, by now, should be cooling a bit and there may be a few wheels out on the road. Mostly they don't touch me, and if I know them, we sometimes flash at each other... those that actually have working lights, at least.
Passing the time isn't hard... the freedom of this road, really, is a drug. Living in here sucks... right? But it's living. And in a lot of ways better than a long and pointless drone-like life out there where you're not actually doing a lick of good.
But sometimes I play whatever's on the radio and usually loud. Other times I just roll down the windows and listen to the scream of the tires and the whistling wind... feels good when my shirt is wet with sweat and that warm wind licks and cools. Those are good times...
Most of all I try not to think of life before. This is life. Immediate, primal, real... people I meet and people I will meet are all that matter. That and freedom of the open road.
I wonder if they're watching sometimes. Mostly I hope not.
As both mother and child snooze away, you come upon the foothills of Pyramid Peak, which sits on your left, to the north. To the right, or south, is the narrow road that leads up to The Irons. If you continue on this highway you'll run straight to Bordertown East. As you come upon the crossroads, you spot some fresh wreckage. Hard to tell from a quarter mile away, but it looks like Borax Bus. You don't see any cars or anyone around it.
What do you do?
"The hell happened here?" I say in a hush under my breath. I slow, windows sealed and secure, and cruise close to get a good look for survivors... and yeah ok I'm not above taking salvage when I can get my hands on it.
Some day this is...
The tires rumble on the gravel and cracked earth in the just-off-road as I make my pass. One hand on the wheel and the other on the magnum in my lap. A quick look at my passengers to make sure I'm not waking someone of making Rufe suffer.
They weren't bad people... didn't deserve this.
First body you see is Taff. You recognize her by her green hair. Her body's broken and mangled on the side of the road maybe fifty yards from the wreck. From the way her head's bent, you'd guess she died quick.
The bus rolled a couple times, the pair of turrets that the miners paid top jingle to install are lines of metal bolts and strips of tin and iron. There's another body, a bloody mess, he was rolled over.
The bar door of the Borax Bus sits wide open. There's white powder strewn about, a big mess. As you pull up closer, Winkle stirs, waking quietly, but you spot him in the rearview.
What do you do?
Damn. I want to stop, get out, check this out, but... this place has been it hard and... I should just go. But wait... how many crew were here with Taff? Two gunners... the fella with the crossbow... regret that I can't think of his name but I think that's him there. And the other guy. At least four... five? Two, three maybe, working the chems. And I can only account for two.
"Damn it," I turn a quarter turn to angle my grill towards the wreck and glide to a stop.
I put a hand on the door... but wait... my seats are full. I mean... technically there's room for one more in the back with Winkle but I'd probably have to dump some of my stuff to make it work... or drop my aux tank.
"Winkle... head down," I physically put a hand on his head and gently hold him. "Someone's had an ... accident. I gotta check it out."
I'd rather he not have to see this but... damn it this is our reality.
"Two minutes. Don't leave the car," I order with as much presence as I can muster. Kill the engine and with Magnum in hand I swiftly exit and close the door at my back.
I take a breath and walk intensely towards the wreck, magnum pointed at the ground at my side. Ready. I call the names of those I can remember, "Kayjay? Mabs? It's me Cinch... anyone alive in there?"
Winkle nods understanding and hunkers down behind a seat the best he can. The driver's side door of the bus has been torn off its hinges, you pass it as soon as you exit your car. You move up to the opened back door of the bus and see that it's been cleaned out. The only thing inside is the dead body of Mabs, looks like she was shot, multiple times, an automatic from the look of the wounds and the spray of red blood on white borax powder.
Sickens me, seeing this. Just... ok nobody's a saint and pretty much everyone's had to to some things they ain't proud of but... these guys were just working out here and then what? A deal gone bad? Someone was chasing them? Or they chasing someone? That doesn't seem likely.
Ok though, time is sort and people are waiting on me.
I pass by each body and at least close their eyes and whisper a couple words. Mabs, and the others.
And... ok selfish moment... quick check to see if any borax packs are put together, cause I need some for my delivery and I have a feeling it might be a bit harder to come by in the near future...
But that and gtfo quick. Back to my ride.
Looking into the bus, you don't see anything that will move easily or quick. It was picked over for whatever could be moved in smaller vehicles. This definitely looks like raiders hit the bus during transit. The ore left behind could sell well, but they are big rocks that need to be broken down or carried by someone bigger than you, sorry to say.
You head outside the bus to do a quick walk back, see if there's any salvage before the wreck. You find a nice crowbar. A pack of smokes with three cigs. As you're counting the cigs, you hear a low groan, weak and dry. Sounds like a man's voice.
A glance over to the scrubrush and you see someone laying on their back, his left leg bent backward at an impossible angle, bone poking out. Blood all around that wound. His left arm and shoulder are covered with tribal tats.
What do you do?
I don't hesitate. Glad to see someone alive, but... damn the state he's in.
"Reese!" I hurry over, still not entirely sure the bandit's are gone so I keep my head down. But I holster my sidearm and crouch down where he can see me. "I gotcha, bud... they stripped the bus but..." I was about to ask if they have any meds on board but I probably woulda seen 'em. I take a second and try to calm down... deep breath.
Compound fracture. Training says to immobilize the victim and wait for emergency services... not an option. I try to get him looking at me, talking if possible.
"Yeah... I gotcha now Reese. What happened?" But how is the wound? I know your basic first aid but I'm no combat medic... not yet. Can I do anything for him? Stop the bleeding, tie the limb in place and get him to help...
Speaking of which. What do we have for a doctor around here? Where is the crash site on the map for that matter? The Irons our best chance?
His leg's in bad shape, Cinch. Muscle tissue torn and the bone sticking out. You're no doctor, like you said, but it's hard to imagine how he'd ever walk on it again with the medicine in here.
The crash site is right along the highway, headed towards Bordertown. That's where Borx Bus takes the goods for trade from The Irons. The mine is much closer than Bordertown, but in your car, you can get to Bordertown in an hour.
As for doctors? There's a Fipper doctor in Bordertown, also, a clinic run by The Fat Man. In The Irons, there's somebody who would work on Reese, and the miners would take care of that bill.
So The Irons is his best chance? That's where we're going anyway. At least that's something.
"Ok, one sec," I stand and scan the area once over just to make sure nobody's aiming up on us, then hurry over to the car, code the door and slide in.
"Winkle, gotta make room for one more back there," I explain as calmly as I'm able as I start the car and slowly drive over as close as I can get to Reese. Keep him on my driver's side so I can get him in behind my seat.
If Rufe is awake I briefly explain what's going on as get out and start tossing stuff off the back seat and into the dirt. My fps duffel has a change of clothes and my old mesh belt... that'll have to do to tie up Reese's leg to move him.
Have to toss whatever I can fit in the trunk when I'm done. Hell of a day so far.
I grab the canteen I keep next to the seat and return to Reese.
Rufe is awake when you come back to the car, looks like Winkle woke her. She offers to help you move him, and gets out of the car when you do. Winkle scoots way over in the back. Rufe comes out of the car to help with Reese, and finds a stick for him to bite down on while you tie off the belt. Seems like they at least recognize each other.
It takes about five minutes of trying, but eventually you get Reese into the back of your car. Rufe gets back in the passenger seat and you drive up to The Irons. Reese is covered in sweat and passes out before you make it to the mine. You have to park outside, of course. There's the skeleton of shanties that were where the miners of old lived, now only reminders, barely capable of blocking the sun.
What do you do?
Was gonna stop Rufe but hell I need the help. Thank her quietly after Reese is in the back. And drive... smooth... if that's something possible to even do up to the Irons.
My personal stash stuffed in the back with the aux tanks and the small cargo area I usually keep clear for trade goods, the car feels rattly and weighted weird with three not-so-mobile people aboard as well. But I have this oddly good feeling. Hope this works out.
I pull in, lights flashing my usual greeting to the watch, and glide to a stop as near to the gate as I can get.
I step out, rise over the doorframe all helmet and shades and call, "need a hand here! Borax bus get trashed on the road... buddy Reese here needs to see the 'doc pronto!" Pretty sure he has friends here, and Rufe at least can walk.
I lean down to speak to Rufe, "you too... doc'll want to see that arm."
Reese does have friends, and the folks near the entrance come out quickly and lift him up and out of the car. He is still out of it as they carry him away. Rufe gets out of the car, motions to Winkle and he scoots out, too. He's still got the wrapper in his little fingers, and he looks at the mine with wide eyes. He's obviously never been here before.
"Wouldn't say we're best buds but... Yeah. I can make introductions." I secure my ride, the whole cabin I'd a mess but.... later. And I've got more than a little blood on me.
I start walking, "Esco ain't what you'd call.. Nice. But you do for him he'll do for you fair. " I give Winkle a playful nudge on the way.
I hope... find myself thinking. I lead her to the Diamond. Back door.
Please go here to meet up with Esco.