Voodoo - Grim Oop North

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There are worse places in the world than this.

Yes, the room he's in is falling to pieces. Sure, the sky looks like a sullen gradeschooler tipped over the cup she'd been washing her paintbrushes in. Yes, the air smells oddly sharp when the breeze trickles across the leaden river.

But overhead there's a couple of black blots moving and for all that they're probably large birds, they're not circling. And while the road between the building and the river is not so much a road as a mildly contiguous group of asphalt chunks blasted pale by time, it's not stained with the dull rust brown of old blood or punctuated by bullet holes, so there's that. Hell, even the brownish things scurrying in the dry grass and rubble outside at least have the decency to be smaller than a man's fist. That counts for something, right?

... right?

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

Haha. Haha. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, narration.

(Though there is a point to be made that things, indeed, could be worse.)

First things first. Get out of the motel and into cover. A burnt-out van suffices nicely, and he drops to one knee, carbine up, ears prickled.

This is beyond fucked - but now's not the time for panicking or soul-searching.

One hand comes off his weapon to key his radio.

"This is SO1 Colson, United States Navy. Anyone on this frequency, respond and identify."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There is a static that stands in for silence, and it goes on for quite some time.

But then there's a faint shift in the crackling grey noise, and then:

"Message incompletely received. Please repeat."

[boston_bruiser]

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Goddamn piece'a shit radio-"

He keys up again.

"This is SO1 Colson, United States Navy. Responding party, identify."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," mutters the voice. Then, a little louder, "American sailor, this is the Canadian Border Patrol. Care to report your current position?"

[boston_bruiser]

A dry chuckle. "Would if I could, pal. Ain't got so much as a map."

He glances around. The landscape is still - in the distance is a long bridge and the towering remains of what, at first glance, looks to be the ruins of a department store. A closer look reveals a sign hanging off it, like a badly extracted molar.

"Opposite me is a river and a fortified wooded area. To my south is an arch bridge and a yellow brick building. Sign on building reads 'aviary'. How copy, over?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Bird Kingdom. About two clicks short of our current position," says the voice. In a faintly amused tone the speaker adds, "We can come and meet you if you don't mind the wait."

[boston_bruiser]

"I got nothin' but time, pal. Advise when you're close."

He takes his hand off his radio, returning his attention to the world around him. In the distance, from the direction of Bird Kingdom, comes vaguely parrotlike screeches. Around him, in the wreckage, comes the clatter of smaller animals scrambling about.

This- this is gonna be one hell of a thing to explain.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Don't look now, Voodoo, but you're being watched by tiny little beady eyes among the tumbledown bits of rock.

One of the creatures scuttles out from under a fallen brick to get a better look.

[boston_bruiser]

"-the fuck's up with you?"

No, seriously. The fuck.

(Mice-sized moose. Definitely not his world. Probably one of...shit, thousands of others.)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The moose does not seem inclined to answer. It flicks an ear at Voodoo and galumphs off, at least as well as any fist-sized creature can galumph.

Something splashes in the river, but something always splashes in the river.

Then the radio chitters. "You still there, Yank?"

[boston_bruiser]

"'firmative. What's up?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"We're within sight of Bird Kingdom. Come on out to River Road, we can't wait to see you."

[boston_bruiser]

Please, Mr. Border Patrol Dude, could you say that any creepier?

"Copy, I'll be right out."

Fuck. Just what the hell has he gotten himself into?

There are some more burnt-out truck carcasses along the road, along with some crumbling concrete trash cans. He stays low and moves slow, listening for footsteps and voices and watching for anything human as he goes from cover to cover.

These guys ain't shit. Probably.

Some Time Later, And South

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

It's a heavy kind of darkness in this world at night, the kind of dark that's more kind to animal eyes than human. There are things roaming the places where civilization used to be that aren't friendly at all. On the other hand, they don't go out of their way to attack; that should be something of a relief for a traveler low on ammo, aiming for the only real speck of light and warmth in the shadows of western New York.

[boston_bruiser]

Boy, is it ever.

It's still not light enough out to forgo his night vision goggles. Voodoo can deal with that. Gives him an advantage.

Still a couple miles outside the city, from the looks of it. He clambers up onto the top of a half-collapsed warehouse, lowcrawling to the edge before taking a pair of binoculars out and scanning the city.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

It was a pretty impressive city once, the fifteenth largest in the States. It hasn't seen numbers like that for a long time, though. There's a handful of buildings taller than four or five floors left standing, and smaller ones that give the impression of being moderately habitable. Here and there a few people are still abroad in the streets despite the hour, although at this distance and at this hour they're mostly visible when they walk past a light source.

A sweep of the wider area will show what looks like a reasonably well-traveled route into and out of the city, off towards one of the not-even-lit-a-little-bit areas surrounding the outskirts of town.

[boston_bruiser]

He squints when he comes upon the road, zooming in and idly hitting the rangefinder. Something in the neighborhood of 2,000 meters away - he's not paying attention to the exact number.

It can't be that well-traveled without someone having eyes on it. He could forgo the main route in favor of something more subtle...

...and risk getting lost in the rubble or lit up by a startled survivor. Depends on what kind of people live here.

Well, he'll find out soon enough, won't he?

He descends from the roof and makes his way onto the road. He stays to the far edge, every step measured and delicate as he holds his weapon at low-ready.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

He'll hear the footfalls soon enough- three people, armed by the sound of things, probably not heavily armored, still some distance down the road. Or maybe closer, given that this isn't exactly a cityscape that absorbs noise.

[boston_bruiser]

-shit. Better hide. Could be anybody walking down that street.

There's a dumpster nearby. No way he's getting inside that thing, but if he squats down a little he can take cover behind it.

Time to stop, look, and listen. If they're raiders, they'll give themselves away.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

They're wearing leather, but it's the sensible covers-everything kind, not the spikes-and-bare-midriff kind. The leader is a tall, balding man with a shotgun; the others, a younger man and a similarly aged woman, are both carrying what look like salvaged assault rifles.

"Good thing the harvest's over. I was getting tired of spending all damn night out in the fields," says the woman.

"Just wait until planting season-"

"I intend to be working inside when the time comes, thank you. Last thing I want at my age's running into muskwa for the sake of a bunch of vines."

[boston_bruiser]

-not raiders, then. Okay. Here goes nothing.

"Friendly at your 10, comin' out. I won't shoot if you don't."

With that, he stands up and slowly walks out, carbine held muzzle-up by the foregrip in his shooting hand, the other held up and away from the weapon.

That's sufficiently nonthreatening, right?

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

It'll do. Well- admittedly the three of them all point their own weapons at Voodoo for a second or so, but only until he steps out into full view; when the shotgun goes down, so do the other weapons. "Hell of a time for a traveler to be out on the road," says the group's leader. "What brings you out here so late?"

[boston_bruiser]

"Might ask you the same thing."

He looks over the trio, keeping his hands up.

"Tryin' to head south to meet up with a friend. The words 'Capital Wasteland' or 'Brotherhood of Steel' mean anything to you?"

A beat.

"Or '101'?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Only if you mean where the Wasteland Survival Guide came from," says the woman. "There was a trader who came through here about a year ago with several copies. Last we saw of him he was heading west, but he said that's where he got the book from."

"Didn't one of the people who wrote that thing say they came from somewhere called 101?" says the younger man.

"Yeah, some Vault, if you can believe it," the woman says. "That what you're looking for?"

[boston_bruiser]

"More like 'who', but close enough."

Voodoo shifts on his feet. "You mind if we take this somewhere less exposed? I'm sure you're real friendly 'n all, but I don't wanna take the chance that someone watchin' this whole shebang is linin' me up."