Voodoo - Charm City

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

It's a long bit of walking from Philadelphia to DC, but Voodoo and his people have a few advantages in that regard. One is that Ellen's provided them with a map of the route she took, including landmarks along the way. Another is that, while it's a good distance, it's nowhere near as long as the trip from Canada or New York to Philly. Perspective can be key.

The route on the map doesn't go anywhere near I-95 for most of its length, though. And there's a thickly drawn band around a not inconsiderable piece of territory- most of which is inside the curve of what used to be Interstate 695.

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

It's strange, for sure - but Voodoo doesn't spare it more than a few seconds of thought as he traces a finger along the map. He's steadied it along what used to be a concrete divider, brow furrowed in thought as he finishes fixing their position.

"We're on-track. We move quickly and we'll be in D.C. by sundown."

("A group of Outcasts less inclined towards reconciliation, or even peace, was reported setting out from the Capital region-")

"You see someone, don't shoot 'less they do. 'specially if they're wearing power armor."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Fine by me," says Josepha. "Are we likely to run into some kind of trouble this close in?"

[boston_bruiser]

"If we do, here's where it'll happen," he says, tapping the approximate location of Baltimore on the map. "Once we're past it, we're home free. If I ain't mistaken, the Brotherhood makes a habit of conducting presence patrols in and around the Beltway, so we should be safe once in D.C."

He tucks the map back into his pack and adjusts his carbine's sling. "Still. I ain't come this far to die or waste ammunition we don't gotta. We get in any trouble, we try talking our way out first. I'm on point."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The others nod, and fall in behind Voodoo.

There's a chemical sting on the wind out of the southeast, something foul and off without the organic elements it'd need to convey a sense of rot. If a paint factory could go rancid, maybe, the result would be something like that smell. When it's not blowing on the wind, though, the air is still and quiet, unstirred by sound or smoke.

A comment might be made about the state of the Baltimore skyline in the distance, but that would have required Baltimore to have ever had a skyline worth mentioning in the first place. Which... sorry, no.

[boston_bruiser]

(Something something We Don't Go To Baltimore, am I right?)

"There it is. We're closer to D.C. by the minute."

Voodoo can live with the quiet. The smell, too. Usually too much of the former means something's kooky, but if someone's watching them, he can't see them, and he wouldn't set an ambush on this road - there's not enough cover to be had, and the sightlines along the road are too long.

With a few gestures to the rest of them to maintain their spacing, he continues on.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

It's a sound enough assessment, and it works both ways- the road's a bad place to set an ambush, but a decent enough place to assess someone from a distance.

At least, that's what the brown-clad figure down the road, leaning against the corroded remains of half a highway signpost, seems to be doing.

[boston_bruiser]

And so Voodoo shifts his carbine to one hand, raising the other in greeting as they close the distance. No need to start this off on the wrong foot.

"Hey there. You local?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The man is somewhat darker-skinned than Josepha, although with Wasteland living conditions it's always hard to tell how much of something like that is natural and how much of it is just daily hygiene. The only visible protective gear he has on is a heavy leather duster, but there's enough bulk to it to suggest it's layered over something more substantial. He turns a little more in Voodoo's direction, a curved scar running from his hairline to one of his eyebrows visible for a moment as he nods. "As close to local as anyone gets these days," he says. "You ain't."

It's not a question. It might as well be written on the travelers' faces, after all.

[boston_bruiser]

"No kidding."

A good portion of former Baltimore should be visible from here, except that it's not. Instead, what remains of it can be charitably described as "ruins" and un-charitably described as "if the Elbonians from Dilbert had their interminable brownish muck replaced with a mélange of a city's worth of highly toxic and radioactive compounds". Entire sections of the city are gone, not even their foundations left standing, and the rest looks like - well, like a couple dozen nukes hit it.

Voodoo surveys the scene, and lets out a long, low whistle.

"No wonder people ain't talking about this place. War do that?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"War and heavy industry, as I understand it," says the man. "You're lookin' at the Charm City Exclusion Zone. Least raided real estate in the world, and if it ain't, I don't want to see the place that is."

[boston_bruiser]

"No kidding."

Voodoo glances around the area.

"So you make a living on the outskirts, then? Doesn't seem to be much of anything around."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Yeah, no," says the man, and shifts his balance; there's a shotgun holstered across his back, and it was starting to dig into his shoulder. "Go much past here and into the Zone itself, and you ain't comin' back. What dies in there stays where it falls- it don't even rot. Not a whole lot of call for folks to stay in the area, but if you know what you're lookin' for, you can still make some good finds in some of the buildings that ain't down yet."

One foot nudges at a heap of faded cardboard boxes. They've all got a child's manically grinning face on them; the words 'Sugar Bombs' are just about readable on the topmost one.

[boston_bruiser]

-well, one man's detritus is another man's sustenance.

"How big is this across? Meanin' to get to D.C. before dark."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Big enough you be better off goin' around'n holing on the third floor of one of the old schools or some such overnight," says the man. "Might make it to Bethesda before sundown if you haul enough ass."

[boston_bruiser]

"Aw, fuck a duck."

Voodoo lets out an explosive sigh, hands on his hips as he surveys the wreckage. He's sure as hell not walking through all that sludge.

"Don't got much of a choice, I guess. Where's the closest one?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The man nods towards what looks like it used to be a highway exit. "Down that way. Couple of old projects're still standing, but they're just this side of fallin' down on each other. There's a school'n an ol' brick church, they're both all right. Ain't nothin' moved in on that church since my grandma killed a couple of fuckers who were tryin' to get the drop on her on the front steps."

[boston_bruiser]

"Then that's where we're headed. Thanks."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Ain't no problem," says the man. "Anybody gives you trouble for it, you tell 'em Omar knows you're there."

[boston_bruiser]

"Will do."

Voodoo digs into a MOLLE pouch and comes out with two gray circular pills, which he holds out for Omar.

"For your trouble. Water purification tablets."

He nods for the others to continue on down the road.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Omar shakes his head with a bit of a smile. "No need, bruh," he says, holding up one hand. "You can keep 'em. S'all in the game. You just watch your backs, you understand?"

[boston_bruiser]

"Ain't about to forget."

Voodoo tucks the tablets back into the pouch and nods, moving to catch up with the others.

"Same to you, yeah?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Sure, sure," says Omar. "I will."

He leans back against the half-sign again and starts trying to light a bedraggled cigarette.

Later

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There was a time when the building to which Omar directed Voodoo and his friends was a stoutly built granite imitation of Romanesque architecture with visible resemblance to historic Italian basilicas in Ravenna. That was a long time ago, though, both in terms of the building's structure and in terms of anybody remembering those resemblances. The church took a pounding like everything else in this hell-pit of a city vicinity; about a third of the bell-tower's missing, and the roof's so heavily pitted and cracked with the ravages of time that you'd get more protection from a Brahmin skin strung over the holes. Still, granite goes a long way. Where other buildings in the vicinity would fall apart if you sneezed on them wrong, the remains of the First Methodist Episcopal Church still stand, and give the impression of not moving any time soon.

[boston_bruiser]

And believe you me, Voodoo's just fine with that.

"We'll set an observation post in the tower. I'll take first watch."

With a gentle push, the front door creaks open, and Voodoo steps inside. The interior is rounded, and centered around a platform where there is an organ and a pulpit. The pulpit has been hacked away for firewood, and the organ has suffered the decay of centuries of nonmaintenance.

"Start checkin' rooms," he says, every step light as he moves along the wall toward a door close by.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Will do," Hector promises, and readies his shotgun- not that it wasn't ready before, but there's a certain mental difference between 'someone might come out of the ruins' and 'someone might be just around the corner in front of me'. The others follow his lead and start moving cautiously through the dark-painted interior; Al's the first one to call out that he's found something in a nearby vestibule- a generator and an inactive set of lights.