Voodoo - Salamank

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

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.

Comments

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The girl nods. So do the older two. "It's not far," says the woman. "Just be aware that they've got guards on the city perimeter. They don't much like surprises coming from the road in Salamank."

[boston_bruiser]

"Why do you think I'm in back?"

A beat, as he realizes that might be the kind of rhetorical question that needs an answer.

"'cause you guys look friendlier. 'sides, it's not like they'll stay mad once they see this fuckin' thing." He pats the boar.

"Now let's move. Don't bunch up."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"I suppose that's true," says the woman. "Let's pick up the pace, then. No need to keep the guards waiting, or make you carry that thing any longer than needful."

[boston_bruiser]

The woman is right - it's not far to Salamank. Probably a mile, at most.

That's when they hear the racking of rifle bolts.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Penelope, Antoinette, and Thomas Jimerson," says the older woman, "and this gentleman with the pork roast is called Voodoo."

There's a skeptical silence for a few moments before the guard says, "I thought you three were buying breeding stock."

"We were," says Penelope. "Unfortunately, we were set upon on the way back. We owe this gentleman our freedom, possibly more."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts, adjusting the boar on his shoulder.

"Let us in and we can give you the full debrief."

A beat.

"Sooner's better."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"... yeah, okay," says the guard. There is a sound of guns being lowered and put away. "Get that gate open, Will."

[boston_bruiser]

Will complies, and the gate creaks open.

"Thanks."

He nods for the three in front to go first.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The gates are not as big and heavy as the gates of Megaton; they're more the sort of thing that you'd expect to find at a community airport, chicken wire and pipes and deceptively heavy and sturdy for their appearance. Will has to round up two other guards to start pushing them open and hold them apart long enough for the Jimersons to get through, and they've already started easing it back into place by the time Voodoo steps across.

The road here isn't paved, not the way the old road outside is, all scabrous chunks of faded asphalt. Here they seem to have pulled up the failing pavement years ago and replaced it all with gravel and pebbles- dusty, sure, but maintainable, and easier on the legs than constant slipping on broken concrete. To one side of the road, a white-on-green sign reads:

C TY OF
SALAMANC

ENTERING
SENECA NATION
TERRITORY

Someone apparently found it less effort to draw a line of white paint down the back of the C than it would have been to fill the terminal A back in. It just wouldn't be a post-atomic world without some kind of pointless linguistic corruption, would it.

[boston_bruiser]

It'd be missing an element of nessecary grunge, for sure.

Around them are some reasonably camouflaged watchtowers - some are built into telephone poles, others into trees. Small houses line the road, the kind that would have something growing in the backyard with better soil and climate. It's warmer than he'd expect for October in New York - the bombs are to blame, probably.

He keeps mum, watching the road ahead of him.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Third on the left," says Thomas, and nods towards a little brown house with one boarded-over window and one carefully cleaned and repaired one. "Just- let's get that pig into the house, and then we can cut it up and portion it out while you clean yourself up."

He moves ahead of his wife to unlock the door. A moment later, the lights inside come on.

Not candles or hurricane lamps. Lights. And there's no sound of a generator firing up, either.

[boston_bruiser]

-well now.

Voodoo looks around the place - it's not bad, for post-apocalyspstick.

He takes Patience off his shoulder, putting it down on a nearby table. "Got the city grid up and running?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"A good part of it," says Penelope. "Antoinette, put the man's gun down, we're safe now- the power's from Kinzua, down the Allegheny. You won't find a more fiercely protected point of pride anywhere on the river, not even the fisheries."

[boston_bruiser]

"You don't say."

He walks into the kitchen, setting the boar down on the first surface that looks halfway sanitary and stable.

"Last lighted house I saw had hurricane lamps. No hydroelectricity around for miles."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Coming from the north, were you?" says Penelope, as she opens one of the drawers and produces an alarmingly hefty cleaver. "Well, that's no big surprise. Used to be dams up there, so I hear- big ones- but they were wrecked even before the War. Sabotage, apparently. There's stories, but I don't know which of them anyone can believe and which are just some kind of fever dream made up to keep folks company while the Canucks are prowling around in the night."

She eyes the boar, and then Thomas, then shrugs and sets about the initial butchery herself.

"We've got a basin and a pump if you want to wash up," Thomas says. "Right this way."

[boston_bruiser]

"Thanks."

He follows Thomas out to the pump, unbuckling his helmet and setting it down, revealing a carefully-managed crop of brown hair - more akin to a cop's than, say, a Marine. His sunglasses and gloves are next - both get dumped into the helmet.

"Those raiders looked like a small patrol to me," Voodoo says, pumping some water into the basin. "Some kind'a foraging expedition, maybe. I'm guessin' their bossman's set up shop somewhere around here. Either he's got his eye on this place or he will soon."

He cups his hands in the basin, splashing the water on his face and running it over his head. It's not a proper bath, not by any means, but it means a lot to finally get the days of dust and grime off his face.

"You have many run-ins with these guys around here, or was this a first?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Fairly often, unfortunately," says Thomas with a resigned sigh. "When I was younger it used to be just a handful of stupid young fellows with a taste for excitement and a bad chem habit, but this past year there've been raids and attacks more often. The Council sends out parties to dispel them when it can, but..."

[boston_bruiser]

"-but you don't have enough guys to spare, and they keep on comin' back."

He splashes some more water on his face, wiping his hands on his cammies before putting his headgear and gloves back on. No need to buckle the helmet, not just yet.

"Well. There's four less to worry about now." He stands aside, flipping the carbine's fire selector to safe and letting it hang at the end of its sling as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Live here long?" he asks, leaning against the house's exterior.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Since I was a boy," says Thomas, with an expression that suggests those days are very far in his past indeed. "I'm not Seneca, mind. I was born south of here, about halfway to the Pitt. Things were a lot worse down there then- Mother came north after Father got killed, and got a job on one of the farms here. Been here ever since."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts, turning one ear to the wind.

"The words 'Capital Wasteland' or 'Brotherhood of Steel' mean anything to you?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Thomas thinks for a moment. "There's a woman who goes by 'Yinzerella' living on the south side of town," he says. "She was a slave in the Pitt. Said the Brotherhood of Steel showed up with an army of robots behind them and started trading them for people- and letting the people go free. I don't know where she's from originally, but she survived the Long Eighty and made it here in one piece. That's about all I've got for you, though."

[boston_bruiser]

Another grunt from Voodoo. "Pitt's the last place I wanna go, even if the Brotherhood's there. -still, can't hurt. What's she look like?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"About my daughter's height," says Thomas, indicating Antoinette's height with one hand. "Keeps half her head shaved, wears all the rest of her hair over to the right. Dark skin, and a lot of rings in her ears. She's a full-time guard at Peter Minner's general store."

[boston_bruiser]

"I'll go talk to her."

He stops in the doorway, leaning on the frame.

"One more thing. Teach your daughter how to shoot, or get someone who knows how to. It'll be the difference between her burying you and you burying her."

He looks at Thomas over the frames of his sunglasses.

"You get me?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"A-all right," says Thomas. "I don't think she'll argue much after everything that's just happened. Thank you, Voodoo."