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It’s been a long, long way across country from where they started, but Ellen hasn’t complained. Paladin Renny was abundantly clear: find the people who stole Dave, and find Dave, and bring Dave back. There really wasn’t much leeway in that regardless of how you looked at it.
At least they found the ancient railway lines somewhere in the belly of Pennsylvania. No ghouls here, thank God. Just the giant roaches, and the ants as big as Ellen, and rats and other things best left to the imagination. More importantly, there were the handcarts. Ellen had seen them in a couple of old vids- wheeled things that ran on railroad tracks that had to be pumped by at least two humans. The work involved was immense, but it was a much, much faster trip than anything that could be done on foot. Somebody had begun the process of renovating and maintaining those tracks in the past two hundred years. Maybe one day Ellen would find out who.
Today is not that that day. Tomorrow is not looking good either. Today is the day when the cart comes to a halt just inside the mouth of a railroad tunnel that smells of industrial chemicals and burning. Someone’s scrawled WELCOME TO THE PITT – BRIDGE 1 MI. THAT WAY in rust-colored paint on one wall of the tunnel. Beyond lies what looks like a pre-War rail yard, under clouded, smog-coated skies.
Ellen rubs at her nose with the back of one hand. “I’m really not looking forward to doing this in reverse,” she mutters. “Maybe I can get Fawkes to help with a Milliways door…”
At least they found the ancient railway lines somewhere in the belly of Pennsylvania. No ghouls here, thank God. Just the giant roaches, and the ants as big as Ellen, and rats and other things best left to the imagination. More importantly, there were the handcarts. Ellen had seen them in a couple of old vids- wheeled things that ran on railroad tracks that had to be pumped by at least two humans. The work involved was immense, but it was a much, much faster trip than anything that could be done on foot. Somebody had begun the process of renovating and maintaining those tracks in the past two hundred years. Maybe one day Ellen would find out who.
Today is not that that day. Tomorrow is not looking good either. Today is the day when the cart comes to a halt just inside the mouth of a railroad tunnel that smells of industrial chemicals and burning. Someone’s scrawled WELCOME TO THE PITT – BRIDGE 1 MI. THAT WAY in rust-colored paint on one wall of the tunnel. Beyond lies what looks like a pre-War rail yard, under clouded, smog-coated skies.
Ellen rubs at her nose with the back of one hand. “I’m really not looking forward to doing this in reverse,” she mutters. “Maybe I can get Fawkes to help with a Milliways door…”