aaaaaaaagh_sky | Voodoo

Voodoo - Salamank

There used to be forests hereabouts, and farm country to some degree, but that was a long damn time ago. These days whatever grows expends a great deal of effort to do so and looks as unappealing as possible in an attempt to avoid being eaten. As for the farming, well... Voodoo may at some point catch sight of a few creatures in the distance that look familiar. There were critters like that down in Point Lookout. Not a whole lot of vegetable farming to be seen, though, not around here.

Maybe it's that it's October.

Maybe not.

Either way, this is a place where you have to work damned hard to get anything out of the land at all, and not everybody necessarily appreciates that. Some people would rather just take what other people raise up. There's always somebody like that.

It's been a mighty quiet journey south towards Salamank. That wisp of smoke up ahead in the distance has a nasty, heavy, greasy look to it that doesn't exactly promise more quiet.

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He grunts and sets off down the trail, measuring every step. It wouldn't do to get wasted by the last one standing, oh no. For a brief moment, he considers calling her out - but what's the point, really?

He's got a feeling this is gonna go down the hard way.

The trail leads down a small slope towards a sizable cluster of bushes. From the look of things it probably gets wider in there- it can't have been easy for the raider to have shoved herself in among the undergrowth- but for a day with so little wind, there's an awful lot of branches rustling against each other.

-yeah, no, Voodoo's not that stupid.

He sighs, raising his carbine.

"Come out with your hands up and I won't blow you outta your fuckin' boots."

"Yeah right," the concealed woman yells back. "Who the fuck plugs all my guys and then leaves me alive? I don't think so."

Another sigh.

"Yeah, well, what you think don't really matter right now, now do it?"

He shifts on his feet.

"Lemme put it this way. I'm gonna count down from ten. By the time I reach one, you're gonna be out here reachin' for the sky, or I'm gonna toss a frag your way and move on. Ten. Nine. Eight-"

"All right, all right, I'm coming, keep your pants on."

This has not been her day so far. It is not getting any better now. Perhaps she should have invested in tougher leather and fewer spikes when she put this outfit together; there'd be less torn skin, anyway.

Perhaps. Either way, it's not Voodoo's problem.

He jerks his head back toward the road, keeping his carbine trained on her.

"To the highway. Keep your hands up and move until I tell you to stop."

She glares at him and makes the rudest gesture she can possibly manage with both hands up in the air before turning to comply.

On the other hand, they're both still up in the air, so there's that.

It's the little things, truly.

Voodoo doesn't even react to the gesture as he marches her back out onto the road. To her credit, she's doing a respectable speed for someone who took a thirty-aught-six to the leg not ten minutes ago.

Once they're back on the road, they keep going until they reach the newly released prisoners.

"Stop. Get on your knees and put your hands on your head."

The raider glances from the stony expression on her former prisoner's face to the rifle in her hands, and then to Voodoo. "Are you shitting me?"

"I said-"

He lets his carbine hang by its sling as he grabs the raider's arms, wrenching them behind her back as he delivers a solid kick to the back of her knees, staggering her.

"-get on your fucking knees-"

He drives her to the ground, keeping her upper body pinned with his torso as he pins her legs with his shin.

"-and put your hands on your fucking head."

"Fuck-"

She grimaces, but just barely manages to pull her arms upward.

"Least I get to leave a good looking corpse," she mutters.

"Yeah, you wish."

He stands up, giving her a brief patdown. It doesn't reveal much - some chems, an empty stripper clip or two, what looks to be a pre-War penny. All of it gets tossed to the four winds behind her.

He stands up, glancing over at the young girl with the rifle. He shakes his head at her.

"Get up," he says to the raider. "Armor off. You'll be givin' it to these people."

The raider opens her mouth to object, looks at the guns trained on her, sighs, and wobbles to her feet. As she nearly falls over she notes, "Like they'll even put this stuff on. I know their type. They're too soft."

The older woman's expression doesn't change, but she makes a gesture that's enough to cause the raider to blanch.

"Funny, I don't remember askin' your opinion."

He keeps his carbine trained on her as she takes it off, throwing it at the prisoners' feet.

He looks to the old woman. "Where's home for you guys?"

"Salamank," says the woman. "We were on our way back from New Albion with-" She jerks her head towards the spitted, still-roasting pig. "-new breeding stock. These people took out our guards before they knew what hit us."

There was a "Salamanca" on the map Tupelo gave him. Nearby, if he remembers right. Could be the place.

He gathers up the rest of the weapons, field-stripping them and tossing the parts deep into the underbrush before pocketing the ammunition. "Okay, I'll give you an escort back. You," he says, pointing to the raider, now stripped down to her skivvies, "are goin' the other fuckin' way. Ta-ta, bye-bye, see you never, yeah?"

"... yeah, okay," says the world's most startled raider. "Let's go with that."

And she staggers off into the distance, although the young woman looks as if she really, really wishes she knew anything about how to work the rifle she's currently holding.

Voodoo sees that look. Oh, he sees it.

"Don't waste a bullet t'do what the wildlife'll do for free."

He pats Thomas on the back. "You good, old man?"

"Wuh-" Thomas jumps involuntarily. There's an abashed look on his face as he pulls himself back together. "Yes. I- I'm fine. I'm sorry, I- I'm fine."

"It's all right, Thomas," says the woman gently. "Go and see if you can carve off any of that pork. If we can't breed the poor thing we might as well at least bring the meat back with us, and get something out of the deal for our troubles- do you like pork, Mr.....?"

"Ain't no 'Mister'."

He watches the raider limp off into the distance.

"People call me Voodoo. -and sometimes, if it ain't cooked 'til it's dry."

"Well, this boar's not nearly that badly done yet, and I figure we owe you for saving us from those people," says the woman briskly. "We'll make sure to set aside a couple of pounds for you."

"'preciate it."

-man, how long has it been since he's had proper meat like that? Too damn long. Surviving on Blamco and beans and whatever else he can scrounge does a number on a guy.

"Let's try and hurry it up gettin' outta here. We're exposed on this road." He nods to the spitroast. "You need a hand with the boar?"

"Wouldn't object," says Thomas, who's doing his best against the bulk of a pig that outweighed him and his wife put together. "I normally leave the butchering to the younger folks, I"m afraid."

Voodoo walks over, effortlessly slinging the boar across his shoulders as he glances around, checking their surroundings.

"Okay, time's up. Scavengers'll find these guys soon enough, and we don't wanna be here when they do. You-" He points to the young woman with the assault rifle. "-you're on point. You two-" He points to the older couple. "-are in the middle. I'll bring up the rear. Let's move like we mean it."

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