The Trail

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The door opens, as it often does, on a patch of scrub desert under a cloud-studded sky. Peering eastward, you can make out the shape of a shattered, once-elevated highway in the light of the just-risen sun, and perhaps the jagged edges of the tallest parts of the Megaton city walls. The air is a little cooler than it's been on past visits, and here and there the brown and yellow scrub that characterizes Wasteland vegetation seems to be sharing space with hazes of green.

There's also kind of an overwhelming stink of cow, because Ellen left Megaton astride Shiphrah and Puah and the Brahmin is busily chewing its cud with one head nearby. Ellen pats the other head briefly with one stealth-suited hand as she says, "We're not far from the caravan route where the raiders ambushed our water men. This is the nearest door I could find."

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo, for his part, is in most of his usual kit, sans NVGs. A pair of sunglasses blocks out the sun's glare, a rifle is slung over his pack, and his machine gun's in his hands. He's gone light on the body armor today - it's just recon, and the terrain would be a bitch otherwise.

He nods at Ellen's comment, looking over the landscape for signs of movement as he moves away from the door.

"We'll make it work."

He racks back the M60's bolt, producing a satisfying cha-CHIK as the weapon chambers a round.

"How long's it been since the ambush?"