Voodoo - Harrisburg

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

It is generally considered traditional that when any ragtag group of travelers undertakes a long journey, particularly on foot over unfamiliar territory, someone in the group will begin whining, "Are we there yet?" far too soon for the answer to be anything affirmative.

The first time the words came up in the group, Voodoo and Hector both smacked the offender on the head at the same time. It has not happened since.

At any rate, the group has been walking for a long while, and fending off interest from all the wrong sorts of people and wildlife. But there's a smell of smoke and human habitation on the wind ahead.

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

Plot twist: the smoke is from burning bodies and the habitation is a carefully crafted ambush by cannibal raiders. I mean - probably not, but if it is, the narration called it.

As the smell wafts their way, Voodoo holds up a fist and drops to one knee. Nothing too discernible or unique on the smoke just yet - no sounds, either. He turns to the group.

"Hector, you're with me. Josepha, keep watch."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Once in a while, even this world isn't entirely horrible. Once in a while.

Josepha nods, and readies her shotgun. Hector moves forward, his own weapon at the ready. "Let's go see where we are," he says. "Here's hoping they don't make too much of a stink."

[boston_bruiser]

"They won't. Not if they're smart."

Up ahead are the kind of fires you get from burning wood, dung, or trash for heat. Smoke rises languidly into the sky, and shanties stretch to a far-off riverbank. Voodoo digs into his pack and takes out his binos - stretching across the water are three bridges. Two are broken to hell and back, and the other...is not quite as broken, but it's seen much better days.

A closer examination reveals the remains of office buildings among the post-War detritus across the riverbank, of various shapes and sizes. It's going to be a fucking doozy clearing those out.

"City on the other side of the river," Voodoo mutters, stowing his binos. "Last bridge left ain't lookin' so hot. Worse comes to worst, hope you know how to swim."

He squints. This shantytown is too quiet. Too still.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There's a whistling sound, and then a whirr of small engine technology.

Will ya look at that, one of the nearer houses just launched a wee bitty Sputnik. One that looks like it's been clear to Cleveland and back, and can't quite fly straight, but it's trying.

[boston_bruiser]

Prepare to be squinted at, Sputnik Jr. Prepare to be squinted at mighty hard.

Voodoo's weapon isn't up, yet - it's not visibly armed, and doesn't appear hostile at the moment.

"An' just what the fuck are you supposed to be?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The bot- which is possibly about the size of a regulation NFL helmet- floats up to Voodoo's eye level, perhaps two arms-lengths' away, and emits a series of curious sounding beeps.

"By God," says Hector, "I've seen one of those things before. On a poster, from before the War. I didn't think any of 'em still existed."

[boston_bruiser]

"No shit? What is it, some kind of reconnaissance drone?"

That bot is going to get a lot more scrutiny, now. It better get out of Voodoo's face most ricky-tick if it values the total sum of its components.

Lancaster

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Well, the day was a fairly productive one, overall. The market in Harrisburg's a little bigger than the market in Buffalo- apparently there's more trade to be had here now that the Pitt's no longer grabbing people. Stocking up was relatively easy. Triple-T Town was good for scavving, but it turned out that the primary factories in the area had all belonged to the Triple Treat Candy Company, owned by one Tamara Theresa Tidewater (and her husband Thomas)... on the bright side, their candies apparently used plenty of preservatives, and are still quite edible. So there's that.

It's been a full and busy morning. Vault 83, if the map is right, should be reachable by mid-afternoon.

[boston_bruiser]

Indeed it is. The terrain here is rocky and rolling, ideal for concealment. There are no obvious signs of settlement or Vault-dwellers yet, but the more subtle signs take time to see.

"Watch your sectors. We're close."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"I'm not sure I like this," mutters Josepha. "I've never met anybody who came from a Vault, but you hear stories about those people..."

[boston_bruiser]

"We've all heard stories about 'those people'. Police the noise."

In the distance, a drum echoes. Voodoo holds up a fist.

A few seconds of silence, and then the drumbeat starts up again - snares and basses in tandem, beating out a rhythm. It's not obvious where it's coming from - the very next priority is looking for cover. Voodoo finds it in a dried-up streambed running parallel to their position.

"In the gully. Take cover. Now."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

They don't argue. They know better. All four of them scramble for the gully at once. Kate hunches her shoulders a little; she's been the least martial of the group, but she's trying. So is Al. Hector and Josepha seem to know best what they're doing, so that helps...

The drums are getting nearer. Whoever peeps out of the gully will catch sight of a sizable group of people in dark blue and gold, more than a few of them smudged with different colors of face paint or with vividly dyed cloths tied around their heads bandanna-style.

[boston_bruiser]

Add onto that a few war clubs being waved around, and it does not for a diplomatic party make.

Voodoo ducks his head down. "They're all fuckin' bonkers," he mutters to the group, flipping his carbine's fire selector to full-auto. "Fire on my lead."

He props the carbine up on the riverbank, sighting in on who seems to be the nearest authority figure.

"ONE WARNING, ASSHOLES! HALT OR YOU'RE ALL FUCKIN' DEAD!"

Vault 83

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Twenty minutes of face paint and half an hour of land navigation later, the path trampled by dozens of Vault-booted feet leads down a gulch and into a broad tunnel drilled in the side of a rock formation. To the Vaulties' credit, it does look as if they cleaned up after themselves; there's nowhere near the amount of trash and traces you'd expect from that many people wearing that much ridiculous getup. Just hastily swept-up footprints.

You gotta give them credit. Even with a door that weighs a ton and a half, the people in Vault 83 don't take too many chances of people finding their way in.

[boston_bruiser]

"-well, here it is."

A yellow code panel stands just outside the door, with a security camera pointed straight at it.

Christ, they're really about to do this, aren't they? Probably best to get it over with.

He sets his guns down safely out of view of the camera and walks up to it, staring at the lens.

"Hey, asshole! Yeah, you!"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There's a brief crackle of static from the tinny little speaker set into the code panel, and then:

"WAZZZAAAAAAP?!"

[boston_bruiser]

"We want a rematch! Us four verses all'a you!"

He holds his hands up, fingers spread to show they're empty.

"No guns. Winner keeps the hostage. How's that?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"....no shit?"

Pause.

"Shit, bro, I gotta go ask the Big Man about that...."

[boston_bruiser]

"Oh yeah? Then go get 'im. Tell him the Wildcats're at the door."

(Wildcats. Yfgh. Flashbacks to high school "team spirit".)

Quickly, he moves back toward the group, out of range of the panel's microphone. "Hide those," he whispers, pointing to their guns. "Stick 'em behind your back, behind a rock, wherever, just put 'em somewhere you can get to quick and look unarmed."

Mount Joy

[boston_bruiser]

"-fuck."

That's not something you ever want to hear from the guy holding the map and compass.

"Goddamn cocksuckin' frosted turd-mongler on a stick what the fucking fuck."

That - might be something you want to hear if you're ever trying to broaden your less civilized vocabular palette.

Re: Mount Joy

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Kate's been bringing up the rear for a while now; she comes up behind Voodoo. "Something wrong?"

[boston_bruiser]

"Yeah. Compass is fucked. Been leading us more east than it should be."

He holds the map up to the fading light. "We should've crossed the river by now. Instead, best as I can tell, we're here." He points to a small dot reading Mount Joy on the map.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Huh," says Kate thoughtfully. "You know, I heard once that a lot of those old compasses from before the War aren't trustworthy. They used to point to north being somewhere else, at a different angle or something. Not sure how that works."

[boston_bruiser]

"-oooooof course they would."

He recalls something about true north migration in land nav class - not something he needed to have worried about happening in his lifetime until - well.

"Well, this fuckin' thing's useless." He tucks it away in his pack. "Best as I can tell we're headed towards...Philly, maybe."

He glances down at the map. "Map doesn't cover much beyond...Landisville, but - we head to Philly, maybe we can find a street sign pointing us to D.C. along the way."

He looks to the group. "Anyone think they got a better idea?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There's a lot of looking at each other, and some blank faces, before Hector speaks up. "DC's on the shoreline somewhere, isn't it?" he says. "Even if we don't find a road, we could probably follow the coast south, right?"

"Assuming nothing living there tries to eat us, anyway."

"We can take 'em, Al."