NO MAN's LAND: A Survival RP (IC/ENDED)

[Peace Loving Warlords]

(Snip)

Cain//Clinic//Salida//Colorado

So you're not even going to take a peek?

No.

Cain pulled the ski-mask over his head as Richard babbled on in their head. The demon making its intentions perfectly clear as Cain reached down and placed the old riot mask over his head and down over his face, his back still to Sera.

Hey, I'm not saying she's that great looking or anything. All I'm saying is that we haven't got much to 'work with' as of late.

And I said no. We're not invading her privacy like that.

Are you serious right now? She's probably been oogling us since we started getting changed ourselves.

And if she is? Its not like she hasn't seen me half naked before.

You mean when she was snuggling with us last night? Yeah I imagine she got quite the show.

Cain walked over towards his sniper rifle, and careful to face away from where Sera was changing, he picked it up and made his way over towards the door. Likely hearing Cain's footsteps Tony called over to him from the other side of the door.

"You two all set in there? Because the others have already gone ahead to get things ready for us."

---

Elsewhere//Clinic//Salida//Colorado

A lone Zealot arrived at the door of a locked room, his eyes darkened from a freshly broken nose. Pulling out a key from his coat, he reached over to the door and knocked. He called over to the man he had left on the other side.

"Listen buddy. You don't like me, and I sure as fuck don't like you." The Zealot's glare hardened as he eyed the door, he cold easily imagine the strangely dressed stranger listening in from the other side, the same one that had knocked him and one of his oldest friends unconscious and threatened Sister Mary the day before.

"But as you've probably figured out by all that noise outside shits hit the fan and we've decided to get the hell out of dodge." The man fingered the key in his hand for a moment, as though weighing his options on how to proceed.

"Sister wants me to tell you that she's sorry for locking you in here, so she sent me down here to let you out." The Zealot took a moment to set the room key down on the floor and slide it under the door, before quickly raising his rifle at the door.

"But after that bullshit trick you pulled on me yesterday I'm not in as a forgiving of a mood." The Zealot started to inch his way away from the door as he backed his way down the hallway.

"You're going to wait in there for however long you thinks it takes for me to get out of town." The Zealot's voice grew dangerous as he continued.

"Because if I see you anywhere near me again I'll blow your fucking head clean off! You understand me fucker!?"

The Zealot then turned and bolted down the hall towards the clinic's back exit.

---

Backstreets//Salida//Colorado

Early morning had been a rather rood awakening for Mary, if an not at all surprising one. After the explosion rocked the town, she had sent two of her four guards off to gather Cain and Sera, and free their mysterious stranger. Taking the initiative herself she lead her remaining two Zealot guards, George and Frank, to commandeer their escape out of town.

Careful to avoid as much exposure of what was to come as possible the three darted their way through the back alleys and side streets of Salida towards their destination, Mary's gift and her stubborn refusal to be carried being the only things allowing her to keep up with men half her age. Soon enough they arrived at their destination, Salida's stables, and slipped in through one of the makeshift barn's backdoors.

Mary climbed up onto the top of the carriage as her men began to load the last of the supplies on to the carriage, careful not to disturb the coffin that rested in its bed. Mary frowned at the the idea of stealing away the young woman's body from wherever her family wished for her to rest.

But the needs of her family far outweighed the needs of the dead.

---

Cain//Clinic//Salida//Colorado

"Yeah I'm good." Cain replied to Tony's call from the other side of the door. Cain shot a glance over towards Sera as he heard the sound of her feet approaching him. Sure enough she looked the every bit of the part of one of The Order's monks. Cain smiled behind his mask, they might just be able to pull this off.

"And so's Sera." As the words left Cain's lips Tony opened the door and spoke quickly to the two.

"Good to know, now be quiet." Tommy spoke quietly, "We've got a townie in the main lobby so we're going to need to stay quiet and slip out the back."

"Perfect." Cain replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes before his voice grew serious once more. "So I take it we're heading out the back door then?"

"That's right." Tony replied before looking to Sera.

"Once we're outside you can't speak to anyone are we clear? Monks almost never talk and a new convert speaking would just raise to many questions. So I don't care what you see going on or who you see, if our covers blown anyone we talk to is as good as dead right along with us." Tony shouldered his rifle and looked down the hall. "Now lets get moving you two."

"We have a carriage to catch."

[Wallenburg]

Hugh Garmany || Lauren Garmany || 30 October 2042 || Salida Jailhouse

Hugh nodded as LaForge explained his plan. Beginning to walk toward the storage locker to glean some spare supplies, he stopped as he heard Luke speak of his past.

"Salida is a good as dead as Richmond." Luke said, referencing his past in Dixie. "Or Chicago."

He turned around and gripped his rifle tightly as old memories tore their way into his consciousness. Painful memories. The airport. The bombings. The aftermath. He could still remember how paralyzed he was, knowing that--for whatever reason--the military that had protected him and his fellow citizens for centuries had suddenly turned against them.

"Once we rescue our friends, we hop town with Jennifer and head east to Virginia. At least that's where I'm going after the dust settles in Colorado." He said. It was true, he didn't plan on leaving until he got the news of the result of the upcoming battle, but he didn't plan on sticking around. After all that's happened, he decided to Forrest Gump his way back home.

Lauren spoke, "Well, I suppose we can stick together for a while, but Hugh and I are going to Louisiana. We'll have to split up at some point. I'd advise you not to make the journey to Virginia, considering the likelihood of dying in the most infected states, but I can see you have a reason for going there. Let's get going, we can figure out the details on the way."

Lauren made for the door, but Hugh stayed still, looking at Luke. "You were in Chicago?"

"Hugh, there's little time," said Lauren, grabbing him by the arm. "We need to go."

Hugh nodded at Luke and turned to the door, running out of the jailhouse and to the stables.

[New Grestin]

-snippy-

Everything had gone from bad to worse in a matter of hours. Jen was wrenched from her sleep and thrown from her decadent nest into the cold air. She was brutalized, forced to watch torture, and now she was being forced into a suicide mission with little to no idea of what had happened. An explosion, maybe? All she knew was that Claire was dead, Randy had been shot, and Mackenzie was beyond enraged. With little to no ceremony, she was thrown from the town with an armed escort and the clothes on her back.

All in all, it hadn't been a good morning.

Now, she was stuck outside with a handful of guards. She turned to them, scratching her head awkwardly.

"Well, I guess we should get going, then."

With that, she simply started walking down the road, leaving the city to it's troubles. The guards followed along closely. Almost immediately, Jen began entertaining plans. If she could lead them into the woods, she could pick them off one at a time. That would take time, though, and that was something that she currently lacked. There was also the most obvious option, which was to lead them straight into the Vulture lines. That would ensure their deaths, but provided the possibility of her own. Not that both options didn't have that risk.

As they moved further and further from the town, the cold air began to settle in around them. Snow was falling, slowly, like rain over them. There was a peacefulness to it all, even in spite of what had happened. Her mind wandered to the issue of Claire. She'd shot herself for one reason or another. Randy had been hit in the shoulder. If he was lucky, he'd walk away with massive nerve damage, maybe be able to move the arm again. Worst case scenario? He'd lose the arm and maybe his life to an infection.

She quickly came to the conclusion that she needed to ditch her escort.

Jen took a quick breath, steeled herself, and sprinted from the group into the woods. The soldier's confusion left them paralyzed for a moment, then they broke their stupor and ran after her. She pushed through the undergrowth, passing among bushes and rocks and hearing the yells of the soldiers in the distance. Confusion and panic gripped them as they frantically searched for their quarry. Jen slid into a small alcove, covered by a bush, and quickly piled dead leaves over herself. She laid there, deathly silent for the longest time, listening to their panicked search. After a few minutes, they passed on to the next area, still unsure of how far she'd made it.

Slowly, Jen crept from her hiding spot, scanning over the surrounding area. Total, dead silence surrounded her as she rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her jacket. She sighed, then started off into the woods. With luck, she'd make it to the Vulture lines in a few hours.

---

Salida, Colorado | 2042 P.O

"Well, this fucking sucks."

Thomas looked at him, sighed, then went back to wandering the cell. A brief breath of freedom had been replaced with the familiar smells of imprisonment. Randy laid on the floor, slowly bleeding. The round had shattered in his shoulder, scattering the pieces throughout him.

"You think Mackenize's gonna have someone patch this up?"

He motioned his bloodied hand to the wound, which was still seeping a bit of blood. Thomas had managed to plug the wound for now, but if things didn't let up, then Randy wouldn't make it. That much he knew. The only response Thomas could give was one of harsh, brutal realism.

"He just jammed his finger in your bullet hole. Do you really think he gives a shit if you bleed out or not?"

Randy merely shrugged, slowly turning his head to the ceiling. The cold concrete was the only thing worth seeing.

"We're going to die here, aren't we?"

Thomas didn't answer; the silence did it for him.

---

6 Hours until Arrival at Salida

[Sarejo]

Dawn shined on the young couple through the window, and silent snow drifted over the town. An ignorant outsider would not be able to guess the bloodshed that would quickly envelop this town. Westley arose from the bed into the freezing air of the room, while his wife pulled the comforter close to her body.

"Mmm... Babe come back to bed... It's cold..." Lucia mumbled to her husband, eyes still closed. Westley thought over her suggestion, and almost conceded to it, when all of the sudden an explosion followed by shouting disrupted his thoughts. He quickly donned some clothes and ran out into the street. A group of people ran past him, towards smoke, and he followed them. As he rounded the corner at the end of the street, he found the armory ablaze. The flames popped with each round that expended itself to the fire. He quickly reacted, running in and gathering as many guns he could before the smoke, flames, or explosions could get to him. He threw what he could grab onto the pavement. Three handguns, a rifle, two boxes of rifle ammo, a box of handgun ammo, a sword, and two knives. Great for survival, worthless in a war.

"Who did this?" He asked the townfolk, who indicated a woman who had just taken the liberty of spraying her brain matter onto the street. Westley sighed, looking over the damaged. "Fucking hell..." he said to no one in particular, running his hand through his short hair. Now they had little ammunition, few weapons, and little to no explosives. This would be a massive battle of ingenuity and improvisation, as a battle of attrition seemed impossible. But these people and their god, especially Father Mackenzie, seemed like sneaky, sly bastards. This was probably not the first time they were outnumbered and outgunned. Westley still worried though. Not about himself, but about his new wife. Currently his only family, as he hadn't seen his parents in many months. Or years. He couldn't even remember anymore. He shouted in frustration at the situation he found himself in. He'd left the Navy because he'd had enough fighting. But instead, here he is, fighting once more, under another banner, in another war. Albeit, his banner changed many times, but it was the same war, the same brutality, and the same carnage. He sighed once again, cursing the world and the evils it threw his way.

He decided to sit on the sidewalk, exhaustion seeped into his body. But, he had to fight. He was tired of running, and he had to make a stand here. Damn it... Wish we had Cain and Luke... Damn fine men, good fighting men.. Hope they're okay, and I wonder where in the hell they ran off to.. He wondered. He shook his head, and returned to the hotel room to catch his wife up on the news.

"What happened? What was the commotion? Are you okay?" She asked worriedly when she saw him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Armory was sabotaged, we lost a lot of stuff. The woman who did it already offed herself..." He said, frustration seeping into his voice. "We lost almost all of our weapons.. I got my rifle and revolver, because they were close to the door, but that was mostly it." His wife looked at his, concerned. "All that matters is you're safe. I don't know what I would do without you." She said, embracing him gently, which he returned. "I know, but still, that was our greatest hope of holding off Bill and his entourage. I don't know how long these walls can last, Lucia. We need a miracle is what we need." He said. The silence hung over the room, with each of them lost in their thoughts whilst they held each other. Westley finally got up, and began putting on his uniform once again. The time to fight was drawing nearer, and he needed to be ready. He walked over to the mirror in the room, and straightened out the dark blue jacket, and pulled on the white helmet. Checking his weapons, he holstered his revolver and slung his rifle over his shoulder, and walked off to talk to Mackenzie about the plan of battle, and how he was scheming to try and win, if he even was.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

Salida, Colorado; Joseph Foley

"You need to pay the proper price for that rifle." The merchant said adamantly to Foley who was examining a very old M40; the weapon's frame had cracks running up the side and the stock look like it was a replacement cannibalized from another weapon. The sight was a battered and abused piece of metal pipe with lenses at both ends with a rudimentary cross hair drawn on. However the action and barrel were clean, and the trigger assembly seemed to be in working order, which was an improvement over the shotgun on the table next to the rifle. Foley sighed as the man in front of him tried to shoo him away in favor of the growing line of citizens piling up behind the former marine.

"That price ain't going to matter when those bandits arrive here. And we both know eventually they will catch up with you even if you cut and run now. So you will give me the rifle and eleven rounds of ammunition. In return you get the shotgun, the remaining shells and this." Foley withdrew a wrapped package from his left cargo pocket and set it on the table. The merchant
eyed it cautiously before opening the small but hefty package to find a sizable amount of tobacco. Foley had picked up the package a few months prior from the remains of an ambushed caravan and had been using bits and pieces to pay for odds and ends as he moved over the countryside. The man looked at the contents of the package warily as he took a small bit and stuffed it into a pipe before lighting the substance and taking an experimental puff, before nodding in affirmation.

"Okay, take the rifle, but you only get six rounds."

"Ten" Foley said as he crossed his arms

"Seven"

"Eight rounds, take it or leave."

"Fine, take your stuff and move out of line." The merchant pushed the rifle towards Foley who picked it up and slung it barrel up over his right shoulder before inserting rounds into the bandoleer that rode across his chest. Then the former marine turned and left as the merchant gave a short scowl at the marine before sweeping his newly acquired goods out of sight and turning to the next person in line.

Foley's next stop caused some problems among the populace as he walked into the town's hotel and stripped the sheets from one of the beds and a few the white pillowcases before confiscating a length of rope, along with a needle and thread. While the hotel owner debated what to do about the man who sat in his lobby, Foley went to work slashing a hole in the center of the bed-sheet before draping the mostly white cloth over his shoulders like an oversized poncho, Foley then cut the end of two pillowcases so that both ends were open, these he pulled up so that that they were draped over his boots but left the soles open, while covering the black combat boots and a bit of his pants before securing them in place with a length of cord. Lastly Foley took the last pillowcase and cut a slit from the closed end down to the open end's seam but not cutting the whole way through. for this Foley used sowed the pillow case onto the bed-sheet so that when he dawned the poncho again he now had a hood. While not as white as the pre-apocolypse bedsheets they were better then his current clothing and from a distance would disrupt his outline, giving him the time to complete his task.

With his camouflage ready, Foley loaded the rifle with three of his rounds to prevent a jam and left the hotel as the owner wondered whether he should have used the sawed off shotgun hidden below the counter. With the rifle now slung on his shoulder Foley marched with purpose to the gate, his hood was down and his scarred face was clear as the pup followed in his wake. Foley drew strange looks from the gate guard as he opened the fortified doors and the former marine was about to take a step forward when he stopped suddenly and said one word over his shoulder.

"Stay" The pup gave a small whimper as it sat down on it's haunches in the snow and watched as the former marine left the confines of Salida and made his way west towards the approaching vulture band. The marine didn't pause as he pulled his hood up and shifted his bandana to cover his nose and mouth as he went to war again.

[Derelldia]

The morning air was cold, so cold. The only warmth to be had was from the suns rays that hit him through the gaps in the leaves. Locust was patrolling through the forest out near Salida. His rifle in his hands, he patrolled to make sure there weren't any Vultures or anything else of any major threat to the town. He was only out this far from his normal camp spot due to the Vulture war party that had been moving towards the town, and so he was intrigued as to what was going to happen. He moved towards the edge of the forest to try and get a view on where the war party was, but before he had a chance he was interrupted by the sounds of yelling. He glanced over towards where the sounds had came from and just watched what looked like soldiers chase a girl into the forest. From this angle he saw the smoke rising from within Salida.

"Seems like it's been an interesting start to the day for those lot. Probably gonna run into some people, not convenient for the patrol." He pulled his mask onto his face and began walking towards them by heading into the forest again, "But hell, not my fault if they go get themselves killed."

He kept down behind bushes and behind trees as he made his way to where the soldiers were searching, just listening to the frantic rustling and of occasional calling out to each other. Locust was wanting to know what happened to that girl they were chasing after, assuming they were trying to find her and not that she was a commander for these ones. He waited around a bit to make sure that they wouldn't hear him following before he attempted to move on after them.

[Flarbinia]

"Screw this shit! If their military leadership is too incompetent to show up for an important meeting, then they can go suck Vulture cock for all I care!" Cerberus Dead-eye said as he left the jailhouse and headed to the gate. However, as he approached the gate, he noticed that an entire portion of wall was empty. "The guards are probably on some wild goose chase. How the fuck did this community survive with leadership this incompetent?" Cerberus thought as he looked around to see how many guards had been assigned to the pointless snipe hunt. A sudden explosion interrupted him before he could get past 30 and he lifted his crossbow, ready to shoot anything that moved. Not knowing whether the Vultures had started using artillery or a drunk was throwing dynamite at a squirrel, he went on top of the wall to investigate. What he saw surprised him. Chunks of flesh were flying all over the place as more of the infected wandered into the mine field. "I have seen this kind of thing enough times to know that when Salida runs out of landmines, the Vultures will tear through it like bratwurst in a kennel full of rabid Rottweilers." He thought as he saw more explosions coming from the mind field.

[Beiarusia]

Sera Tallow // Salida, Colorado

The girl nodded, understanding fully that any error on her part could, and most definitely would, get them all killed. A far from pleasant situation to be certain but one that she would have to face regardless of her inner fears. At the very least the girl was given a simple enough task. Being silent would be all too easy, what with her sullen mood and emotional downcast.

The guard, Tony was his name, led the way from the clinic, slipping unnoticed from the back door and waving them along. Cain gave Sera a reassuring nod and followed after. The girl, pausing for only a moment, was right behind, hood pulled low and gaze turned downwards. Her leg was screaming with every step, the hastily constructed splint doing only so much to support her weight. It was a terrible pain but she ignored it as best she could. There was little choice in the matter. Cain would only draw attention if he helped her. She would have to endure it as best she could.

A misstep. Sera stumbled in her step, almost crying out with the spike of pain. She continued on, doing her best to not limp along, eyes glancing upwards for only the briefest of moments to see if anyone had taken notice. No one had.

The air smelled of smoke and fire. A great plume of black could be seen rising from up ahead, a crowd having gathered to watch whatever it was that was unfolding. Screams and shouts could be heard as they fought back the inferno, keeping it contained to where it was lest it spread to consume the town. A fresh snow had fallen in recent days, inhibiting the fire and helping to limit its rage.

Tony led them around, taking a longer path if only to avoid the majority of the crowd.

Sera hoped they would arrive soon.

Tyrone Mercer // Salida, Colorado

He was awoken by the sound of the blast. Falling from his bed, and fearing the worst, Mercer grabbed his coat and stormed out of the inn and towards where the crowd was gathering, the sight of the raging fire reminding him all too well of the sack of Aspen.

“What happened?” cried out a bystander. She was pushed aside as several of the town Zealots rushed ahead.

“That’s the armory,” another said, disbelief in his voice.

Mercer cursed under his breath and pushed his way through the crowd. He was soon at the edge of chaos as guards and likeminded citizens did whatever they could to fight the enraged inferno. Further out the body of a young woman could be seen, a makeshift tribunal taking place against whom Mercer could only assume were the perpetrators. It didn’t matter to Mercer who began making his way back towards the pub.

“Mercer!”

The man turned to see Drake running up to him. “Drake? What the fuck happened?”

“Don’t know. Went to take a piss and then-” Drake looked over to the rising smoke, not needing to finish his statement. “All our guns were in there.”

Mercer was silent for a long moment. “Fuck. Find everyone and tell them to meet at the town bar. We need to figure out what the hell we’re gonna do.”

Drake nodded before running off.

They had lost everything they had brought with them from Junction, which admittedly wasn’t much to begin with. With the Vultures breathing down their necks it would be in the group’s best interest to leave as soon as possible, but without guns to protect themselves they may as well be a sitting target. Numbers alone may discourage any unwanted attacks but should they run into a Lurker pack…

Sera could still be in Salida. He had to go and find her. After that it didn’t much matter. They’d make something work.

Mercer smashed his hand against the door of his room.

It was open.

Surprised, Mercer stepped inside and saw that someone had been here after him, a mess having been made in their search. It was soon apparent what was missing: Sera’s backpack. Anton was the first to come to mind, but then Mercer remembered the old man in the red coat and how he had eyed the unassuming piece of fabric. Cursing loudly, he stormed off down towards the bar. Drake would have gathered everyone by now, and afterwards he would tear apart the town in search of the men and, of course, in search of Sera.

Emmanuel Watts // Salida, Colorado

The former mayor sat in his room, deep in thought as his personal guard was away to witness the mess that had been made so early in the morning. A terrible occurrence, not for the town but for Watts who had wished to depart immediately. If what they said was true then the armory had been razed. Everything inside would have been lost, including the weapons that Watts and his entourage had willingly turned in the night before.

His guard confirmed as much upon his return.

Watts wasn’t keen to test his luck with the Vultures a second time. He would be long gone by the time they arrived. There was a stable in town. He would merely borrow whatever it was he needed and then slip away before any were most the wiser. Of course the few who had come with him from Grand Junction would only slow him down. He would be gone before even they knew. Sacrifices had to be made after all.

“We’re leaving,” he told his loyal guard.

The man nodded, understanding that the others wouldn’t be accompanying them.

Watts stood to grab his things. “Get yourself a gun. I don’t care how you do it. We’re taking ourselves a horse and leaving this horrid state.”

The guard returned not too long after, rifle in hand, likely taken from some guard who had the misfortune to cross paths with the man. Ready, the two departed and made way for the town stables. With luck they would be gone before the fire was completely under control.

Gerald Walker // outside Salida, Colorado

“That’s a lot of smoke. Think Shaw and Cutter are all right?”

Walker looked on from the roof of the small business building that had housed them for the night – and likely for the coming nights unless the situation demanded otherwise. Even with binoculars he could tell that something had went on within the town of Salida early this morning. They had been too far to hear the blast but the smoke was obvious enough.

Shaw and Cutter were in that mess, though Walker felt certain enough that they were not responsible. They knew not to expose themselves like that. If anything it was the work of the bandit gang that was rampaging in the area.

Walker made a decision. “Armand. Take on of the spotters and keep tabs. Report back as soon as you know something.”

Armand gave a quick nod before departing with his spotter, both armed should the need arise.

They would know something soon enough.

Sparrow // near Salida, Colorado

“That’s a lot a smoke,” Krow said with her mouth agape, watching as the sky turned black.

She started to walk ahead only to be dragged back by her sister, Raven. “Where are you going?”

“To see what’s happening.”

Raven frowned. “Why are you so thickheaded.”

Krow shrugged, still watching as the smoke wafted lazily into the air. Her ears could just hear the shouts far off in the distance. The town was in a panic, that much was clear. Whatever had happened had come as a surprise.

“What do you think happened?” the younger sister asked.

“Does it matter?” Raven crossed her arms, pressing her hands against her body to keep warm. The night had been cold and the day was not much better. “We should just go home. Can we?”

The girl turned to look over towards Sparrow. The young man was still, listening intently. Raven did the same, hushing her sister who soon joined in. For a long moment they stood still as statues. And then the crack of a twig. Close.

Sparrow moved then, motioning for the twins to hurry. “Up. Now.”

Little time was wasted climbing the trees, hiding themselves in the branches just as the first Lurker appeared. Slow and lumbering, massive even for its kind, panting hard as it trudged along. Several others followed after, six in all, heading towards the smoke far off in the distance. Trailing behind was a pack of Mutts, the dogs sniffing at the snow in the wake of the Lurkers. One paused and sniffed at the tree which held the twins before continuing on.

Minutes passed in silence before the three descended. Sparrow looked on to where they had gone, a frown creasing his face. “They must be starved to be out.”

“Can we go now,” Raven begged.

Sparrow looked around the wood, listening for any other threats and finding none, though that did not mean they did not exist. Lurkers were known to live in the area, but most preferred to stay hidden during the day, coming out only after night had fallen. Food must be growing scarce for them to ignore the light as they had. Others may think the same.

“Let’s go,” Sparrow said at long last.

[New Grestin]

Time until Arrival at Salida: 0 Hours

The forest was cold, dark, uninviting. Trees hung overhead like specters, their branches seeming to reach out at nothing. The wind shrieked and moaned past Jen, chilling her already frigid body. She'd been walking for the better half of several hours now. How long exactly, she did not know. Her boots crunched into the mushy earth as she continued onwards, unsure of what to do. With the remnants gone, she was left with her thoughts. Part of her wanted to simply abandon the group. It wasn't like she couldn't. All she needed to do was simply turn another direction and start walking. Sure, Mackenzie would likely kill them, but at this point, that might be an improvement.

A rifle report cut the silence like a knife. Jen crouched down, easing her way up to the road. The Vulture's war party was pushing past, carts and weapons in hand. Some were just clad in normal, albeit tattered clothes. Others were packing full military regalia, fur coverings, and even metal armor. A smattering of rifles and shotguns and bows were their weapons, the rest left with whatever they could scavenge. Her eyes then glanced to the scene before her.

The remnants were lined up at a ditch, about a foot or two deep, and bound. The Vulture soldiers were meticulously collecting their equipment, clothes and personal possessions. The men were left to sit there, naked and cold, as the Vultures then proceeded to execute them. One at a time. Each one fell with their gunshot, each one was shoved into a ditch. Some swore at their captors, some cried and begged, most simply fell silent. Since the fall of the remnants, it had been a scene many among them were accustomed to. The last man, a sniveling recruit, begged for someone to help him. He cried for his mother, his friends, even his wife to stop this madness before his brains oozed from his skull onto the pavement.

The Vultures merely kicked his corpse into the ditch, brushed the gore from their clothes, and collected the equipment. Just another day in this hell for them. Jen sat there, uneasy for some time while the main force passed by. The realization that had she not abandoned them, she might have suffered the same fate was one of pale disquiet. Finally, after minutes of stillness, she finally rose and slid into the ditch. The bodies were completely stripped, leaving her nothing to work with. She was still totally unarmed in the middle of nowhere.

Bootsteps on the shattered pavement echoed past her; Jen flung herself among the corpses.

---

There was an explosion first. Then another, and another. The guards watched with curiosity and contempt as Lurkers threw themselves at the town. Most were quickly picked off by the men at watch while the remainder were blasted into oblivion. The townsfolk had just begun to relax once more when two sets of snipers, posted in the woods on either side of the town for days now, finally revealed themselves. They threw their camouflage off, set up their rifles, and took aim. The spotters soon sighted the first targets and motioned to fire.

Bullets cut into the town. Guards fell like limp dolls, screaming as they were hit. One man, clutching his now opened stomach, tumbled from the wall onto a landmine. His corpse detonated like a morbid confetti cannon, throwing organs and limbs high into the air. Panic set in immediately as the snipers began a reign of terror upon the town. Men, women, even children were not safe as their gunfire skirted over the buildings. The main force could hear it for miles, along with the explosions.

Bill smiled when he saw the smoke of the armory billowing upwards. The ashy black mass seemed to grasp at the sky itself. Everything was going perfectly. He motioned forward and the men followed. Three teams, led by a trooper in heavy metal armor, began moving up on the town. Before they got too close, they moved up into the treeline, using the makeshift cover as they began to assault the walls. Another team, flamethrower in hand, went to work trying to clear the mines. A stray bullet hit the tank; the Vultures screamed in horror as their compatriot exploded, coating their friends in the fiery mass.

Men and women alike were dropping like flies. The defenders were holding fast.

---

Jen couldn't see the battle firsthand, but she could certainly hear it. The rear-guard of the Vultures had begun to set up a command post. Tents and bedrolls were laid out, cooking pots prepared for if the siege lasted long. At least Bill was planning ahead, she thought. Her eyes then moved to one of the tents. Her heart skipped a beat.

There stood Bill, Emperor of Denver, watching the battle unfold.

She cursed god, the world, even her own parents for not having a rifle. She could have ended it then, but fate was a fickle mistress and she was left with nothing. She slid in behind a tree, watching the man with rapt disgust. The fact that he had murdered her father was old hat at this point. The fact that he had spent exponential resources trying to avenge his mangled face was different. She was going to-

A quiet dripping of water, mere inches from her face, drew her attention to her left. A man, clad in riot gear, stood there. He whistled quietly, seeming to be enjoying his reprieve. Jen smiled.

She was never happier to see someone taking a piss in her life.

---

The siege had only been going for a few minutes now and things had already gone to hell. The guards were being picked off by snipers, all the while making a spirited resistance against the attackers. Even with this, though, the attackers were left at an impasse. The landmines remained in place.

Some had tried to assault the town on foot, only to receive the same fate as the lurkers before them. The captured beasts were meant to clear the field, but they had done little more than run up and get shot.

With few other options, a few small crews of Vultures began trying to clear the mines, most of them dying before they could even get to the walls. Madness had overtaken the battlefield and it's reign was absolute.

[Flarbinia]

Cerberus Dead-eye opened fire on the Vultures as they ran towards the gate, picking several of them off one by one until more guards had showed up. "You lazy bums took your sweet time getting over here!" Cerberus Dead-eye said as he readied another shot, only to hesitate for five minutes before continuing to open fire at the enemy, seeing many of them exploding as they stepped on a landmine. Several of the Vultures had begun chopping at trees with their machetes. Never in his life had he seen bandits lend a careful hand to a task and he believed that they were trying to create improvised draw bridges. The guards on that section of the wall immediately opened fire, killing many of the Vultures that were providing cover fire for their companions, but their ammunition began to run low as the enemy began to disperse, making it harder for their volley to hit the Vultures. Realizing that this group of Vultures were cutting down trees so that they could clear a small section of the minefield, He immediately ordered the guards to fall back to the courtyard. The section of wall they were standing on began to shake from the resulting explosions as Cerberus Dead-eye and his current allies began to run down the stairs. A lone soldier, a veteran who had a large battle scar on his left cheek, had arrived to receive a status report, telling Cerberus Dead-eye about what was going on. "Whoever is in charge of this chicken shit outfit needs to pull his men back to the keep. We do not have enough lead or crossbow bolts to keep the Vultures out forever!" Cerberus Kane replied as gunshots were still being fired. The lone soldier immediately ran towards the town square to inform his superiors.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

Near Salida, Colorado; Joseph Foley
Foley vaguely remembered about a time before the world went to shit; when he and a few buddies had sat in the rec hall of a base somewhere in South Korea and had watched a film about a SEAL sniper. Foley had remembered his attitude back then, cocky and believing he could do anything, the range, the patience it all seemed so easy. Now as Foley gently brushed away the snow that had accumulated on the lens of his scope, he admired the patience and control those men had; to sit there and bide their time for the perfect shot. Now as Foley's gaze drifted over the camp below, his rifle followed as the crosshairs bobbed from person to person. The camp below was not as large as the one that was obviously the command center, but it was sizable and that warranted Foley's attention as he peered through the scope. the attackers bustled around as they set up their supplies and assembled the beginnings of a fire. However, he still sat patiently as he peeled back the organized chaos of the camp below, he saw how as the bandits interacted with each other, there was one man who was in the center of it all; the man gestured more then his fellow bandits, he always seemed to be talking, but the final nail in his soon to be coffin was when a young teen spilled some liquid from a container and the man began to berate the teen. Foley felt that even if he wasn't in charge, he held some position of authority and that was good enough for one of the former marine's few bullets.

The bandit leader below wore a dirty coyote tan assault vest that looked no better then the bandit's well patched pants, completing the outfit was a grey ushanka that looked like it was more for looks then keeping warm given the fact the flaps weren't pulled down. Foley felt his breath slow as he shifted the rifle up slightly so that the cross hair was just above the right ear of the bandit. Foley's then no longer inhaled or exhaled as the safety was pushed off with a dull click and his calloused finger placed itself slightly on the trigger. One last check ensured the target had not moved and Foley gave a solid squeeze until the trigger broke and gave way, a second before the rifle kicked into his shoulder and the muzzle spouted fire for a tenth of a second. The homemade round spun down range and made a sub-sonic crack, something the bandit recognized and made to move when the bullet struck home. The bandit leader's head whipped to the side as a spurt of blood and skull fountained from the new opening s in the skull. Then the now directionless body lost it's battle with gravity and fell, as it's blood sprayed across the face of a wide eyed bandit. For a short while no one moved as they absorbed what just happened, then there was nothing but confusion as bandits dove for cover, dragged supplies to "safe" spots or returned fire.

Foley watched them from above for a short while before he began to crawl backwards up the slight incline he had used to get into position. Two minutes crawled by as Foley wormed is way through bushes, over dead trunks and the cold snow that allowed him to remain unseen with his makeshift clothing. the steady crackle of gunfire told Foley there was still a fight to be had and that gave him renewed vigor as he pushed himself off the ground and into a low crouch before he made his way back east. Even though he had only gotten one kill so far, the former marine counseled himself that there would be more to come as he made his way back to Salida. The booming of a high powered rifle nearby assaulted his ear-dums and cause d Foley to stop as the boom turned into booming as rounds went out at a rapid pace. Frowning, Foley picked his way through the dead brush and over dry snow as the booming of the rifle became closer; and as he came closer to the booming, Foley picked up other noises, the metallic rasp of a bolt being worked, a low chuckle accompanied by loud whisper.

The former marine ducked under a snow laden branch and found the source of the noises; two men who lay prone on a flat rock, beside them lay a white covering that they had obviously thrown off prior to them shooting. Off in the distance, there target was marked by a pall of smoke as explosions flared and died in front of the fortified walls of Salida. The rifle boomed again and the chuckle returned as the sniper opened the rifle's breech and began to feed the rifle cartridges from a satchel that sat between the sniper and the spotter. Not one for wasting an opportunity, Foley reached into on of his pockets and withdrew his folding knife from it's resting place; then came the easy part of flicking the blade open and beginning the trek towards the sniper position. Even though his boots crunched slightly on the snow and the gentle swishing of his outer layer followed him the whole twenty feet, neither bandit noticed until he was upon them. The spotter went first, even though he held a pair of binoculars in his fists, laying beside him sat an AK within easy reach; so Foley chose him as the first target as he fell on top of the prone spotter and jerked the man's head up by his long hair so that the knife in his right hand sliced through the artery and effectively signed the spotter's death sentence. The sniper saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to confront the new threat before Foley's iron grip seized the man's left hand and jerked it up so that the man rested on his right elbow, then it was a simple matter to stop the movement of the earlier slice and stab into the now vulnerable neck.

Standing Foley looked over his white sheets and found that none of the now rapidly pooling blood had stained the cloth. With that taken care of, Foley looked at the dying men for a brief second before he scooped up the satchel that they had used to store ammo and the AK from where it rested just beyond the bloody fingertips of the now motionless spotter. Foley with his newly acquired rifle in hand and the satchel stowed under the protective embrace of the white sheet Foley left the now red stained snow and rock for the comfort of the forest. As Foley shifted to duck under a branch, something on the AK's stock caught his eye and brought about a weird sense of familiarity. Tally marks, twenty four of 'em. What people do now. Foley said to himself as a fresh wave of gunfire rippled through the air and the marine packed a side his musings as he began his search for another officer.

[Wallenburg]

Backstreets//Salida//Colorado

Early morning had been a rather rude awakening for Mary, if a not at all surprising one. After the explosion rocked the town, she had sent two of her four guards off to gather Cain and Sera, and free their mysterious stranger. Taking the initiative herself she lead her remaining two Zealot guards, George and Frank, to commandeer their escape out of town.

Careful to avoid as much exposure of what was to come as possible the three darted their way through the back alleys and side streets of Salida towards their destination, Mary's gift and her stubborn refusal to be carried being the only things allowing her to keep up with men half her age. Soon enough they arrived at their destination, Salida's stables, and slipped in through one of the makeshift barn's backdoors.

Mary climbed up onto the top of the carriage as her men began to load the last of the supplies on to the carriage, careful not to disturb the coffin that rested in its bed. Mary frowned at the the idea of stealing away the young woman's body from wherever her family wished for her to rest.

But the needs of her family far outweighed the needs of the dead.

Emmanuel Watts // Salida, Colorado

Watts stood to grab his things. “Get yourself a gun. I don’t care how you do it. We’re taking ourselves a horse and leaving this horrid state.”

The guard returned not too long after, rifle in hand, likely taken from some guard who had the misfortune to cross paths with the man. Ready, the two departed and made way for the town stables. With luck they would be gone before the fire was completely under control.

There was an explosion first. Then another, and another. The guards watched with curiosity and contempt as Lurkers threw themselves at the town. Most were quickly picked off by the men at watch while the remainder were blasted into oblivion. The townsfolk had just begun to relax once more when two sets of snipers, posted in the woods on either side of the town for days now, finally revealed themselves. They threw their camouflage off, set up their rifles, and took aim. The spotters soon sighted the first targets and motioned to fire.

Bullets cut into the town. Guards fell like limp dolls, screaming as they were hit. One man, clutching his now opened stomach, tumbled from the wall onto a landmine. His corpse detonated like a morbid confetti cannon, throwing organs and limbs high into the air. Panic set in immediately as the snipers began a reign of terror upon the town. Men, women, even children were not safe as their gunfire skirted over the buildings. The main force could hear it for miles, along with the explosions.

Bill smiled when he saw the smoke of the armory billowing upwards. The ashy black mass seemed to grasp at the sky itself. Everything was going perfectly. He motioned forward and the men followed. Three teams, led by a trooper in heavy metal armor, began moving up on the town. Before they got too close, they moved up into the treeline, using the makeshift cover as they began to assault the walls. Another team, flamethrower in hand, went to work trying to clear the mines. A stray bullet hit the tank; the Vultures screamed in horror as their compatriot exploded, coating their friends in the fiery mass.

Men and women alike were dropping like flies. The defenders were holding fast.

---

Hugh pulled away the heavy wooden door to the stables. Its loud creaking made Hugh grimace. Even though there was no one around, his instincts told him to be surreptitious. Once the door was open, he ran in, Lauren covering him, slowly walking backwards into the building, her rifle ready in her hands.

"Third pen, left side," shouted out Lauren, guiding him to where the horse had been when she had taken the pistol.

Immediately making for the pen, Hugh stared in confusion at the empty space. Indentations in the ground suggested a cart had been there recently, but now there was nothing but dead grass. He croaked out some pitiful noise from the back of his heart and Lauren ran over to him. Seeing what he saw, she pivoted in circles slowly, treading over the soft brown grass. She threw the rifle on the ground and grabbed her head, clenching her hair between her fingers.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" her nails dug into the barrel of her rifle, her teeth clenched together. "One thing!" she shouted. "You assholes couldn't give us one thing! You couldn't even leave us our goddammed daughter!"

Hugh ran back to the entryway to the stables and knelt down. The ground, carpeted with leaves and slowly melting snow, left tracks of something heavy rolling away, perhaps only minutes ago. "Honey, we can catch them. Get a horse!" Hugh stood and walked out slowly, following the path of the tracks. He held his gun ready to fire, his finger hovering over the trigger. The tell-tale muffled clip-clops of a horse signaled Lauren's arrival, and Hugh turned to climb onto the horse's back. But as he did, he saw a pair of men, one with a rifle, approaching the stable.

"Oh, shit."

"What?" Lauren asked, grabbing the butt of her own rifle.

"We have company." The man with the rifle saw them and raised his weapon at the horse. Hugh flung his automatic to his shoulder and blasted a short stream of bullets into the man's torso. Crimson puffed out in short sprays against the white snow as the man's comrade shouted out in confusion. Hugh jumped onto the horse as quickly as he could and shouted, "Go!"

Lauren kicked the horse to a full gallop and it happily obliged. Explosions rang out behind them, on the other end of Salida. "Holy shit, that's bad," said Lauren, putting her rifle over her shoulder as it became impractical to handle on horseback. Following the tracks, they tried to ignore the screams of terror and pain echoing from the town.

"The Vultures must be here," said Hugh. Lauren only nodded, watching carefully where the tracks lead them. Up ahead the form of a horse and cart materialized. "There she is."

Lauren coaxed the horse to the right, down another street, and out of sight of the carriage. Riding parallel to their target, Hugh and Lauren held tightly as the horse galloped forward, far faster than the carriage was going. They encountered a few guards, but with the chaos of the attack, they did little to stop the couple. An intersection rushed up on them and they turned hard to the left, letting the horse slow as it came in front of the carriage. Hugh slid off of the horse and raised his M16 at the driver of the carriage. Lauren too held her rifle to her shoulder, looking down its sights at the carriage.

"Stop right there!" shouted Hugh. "Discard your weapons and step away from the cart! Nobody needs to get hurt!"

[True Refuge]

\

<SNIP>

The Walking Men observed the carnage from inside the city, just behind the wall. Men, women and children ran in fear around them, gathering essentials. Those who were sensible or cowardly were most likely leaving, fleeing Colorado in the wake of the bandit attacks.

The Walking Men were sensible and a little cowardly, no one survived that long without either. But they had a motivation. Redemption. Fairview weighed heavy on their hearts, and their inability to do anything while the Vultures battered the walls saddened them. The Vagrant quickly recovered from that emotional blast, distracted by movement on top of the wall. The Evictor and the Watcher followed his gaze.

Cerberus Dead-eye opened fire on the Vultures as they ran towards the gate, picking several of them off one by one until more guards had showed up. "You lazy bums took your sweet time getting over here!" Cerberus Dead-eye said as he readied another shot, only to hesitate for five minutes before continuing to open fire at the enemy. Several of the Vultures had begun chopping at trees with their machetes. Never in his life had he seen bandits lend a careful hand to a task and he believed that they were trying to create improvised draw bridges. The guards on that section of the wall immediately opened fire, killing many of the Vultures that were providing cover fire for their companions, but their ammunition began to run low as the enemy began to disperse, making it harder for their volley to hit the Vultures. Realizing why the Vultures were cutting down trees, He immediately ordered the guards to fall back to the courtyard. The section of wall they were standing on began to shake as Cerberus Dead-eye and his current allies began to run down the stairs. A lone soldier, a veteran who had a large battle scar on his left cheek, had arrived to receive a status report. "Whoever is in charge of this chicken shit outfit needs to pull his men back to the keep. We do not have enough lead or crossbow bolts to keep the Vultures out forever!" Cerberus Kane replied as the sound of a tree slamming into the wall began to grow louder and louder. The lone soldier immediately ran towards the town square to inform his superiors.

"Is that the arrogant swords slash crossbow man you were talking about when we regrouped?" asked the Watcher.

The Vagrant shrugged.
"I would say so," he said less quietly than before, "He assumes he commands the guard unit, and the Salidan defenses are inferior. Ha!"

The Evictor put his hand on his chin.

"The strange thing is that the guards are listening. Always good to have a bit of natural authority."

The Vagrant placed a hand on his sword's hilt.

"Do you have your blades?"

"One of the first things we grabbed when we heard the explosion. We're lucky bastards that they hadn't been taken from the gate into the armory, otherwise they'd be warped to scrap metal."

"I suggest helping out on the wall. Perhaps they'll be plenty to kill once they try to come up the walls or through the gates."

"It's certain they'll try and do that."

The Walking Men moved smoothly and together. Their fingers hovered over the embroidered hilts as they climbed up one of the many available ladders onto the wall's narrow guard platform. Cerberus, or the Arrogant Soldier to the Walking Men, would easily notice three mysterious cloaked men arriving if he was looking anywhere near behind him, and this was the three's intention. The Evictor approached Cerberus.

"Good morning," he said as bullets whizzed past him, their accuracy ruined by the long range, "May I inquire into your name? A colleague of mine has been wondering ever since your little show at the gates.”

The Vagrant looked over towards the approaching force. The landmines would hold them off for a long time, especially with all their flamethrower troops exploding and incinerating everything around them. He turned back towards Cerberus.

“I’m that colleague, better get that out of the way. I was also looking to inquire into your remarkable lack of confidence in Salida’s defences. You’re yelling at the guards as if they haven’t experienced a day of training in their life.”

He shrugged curiously.
“Quite an interesting way to muster morale in an army.”

[Flarbinia]

"I was a history professor before the world started going to shit. I know how sieges normally end and what the attackers do to anyone left standing when the defenses are breached." Cerberus Dead-eye said as the explosions got louder and louder. "We cannot defend the city with what little ammunition we have left, especially since most of the men under my command are new recruits who have never been fought a battle before. I suggest that you fall back to the keep before the Vultures get inside the walls." Cerberus Kane added as the thudding got louder and louder. He finally made it to the city when sound of exploding landmines grew louder and louder.. "When the enemy breaks through, open fire. When you run out of ammunition or the enemy starts getting too close for comfort, ditch the guns and pull out whatever melee weapon that you were issued. Once we become exhausted or whoever is in charge of this chicken shit outfit gives the order to retreat, we will fall back to the keep." Cerberus Kane had ordered as more landmines exploded.

[True Refuge]

"I was a history professor before the world started going to shit. I know how sieges normally end and what the attackers do to anyone left standing when the defenses are breached." Cerberus Dead-eye said as the section of wall that the Vultures had been ramming began to crack. "We cannot defend the courtyard with what little ammunition we have left, especially since most of the men under my command are new recruits who have never been fought a battle before. I suggest that you fall back to the keep before the Vultures get inside the walls." Cerberus Kane added as the thudding got louder and louder. He finally made it to the courtyard when large chunks of the western wall began to fall the ground and raised his crossbow. "When the enemy breaks through, open fire. When you run out of ammunition or the enemy starts getting too close for comfort, ditch the guns and pull out whatever melee weapon that you were issued. Once we become exhausted or whoever is in charge of this chicken shit outfit gives the order to retreat, we will fall back to the keep." Cerberus Kane had ordered as the thudding grew louder and louder.

The Evictor smiled, a strange expression for the situation.

"You misunderstand the skill of Salida's protectors. As we've experienced quite a few times, the guards are hardened mercenaries."

"As you are, I believe," said the Vagrant.

"And we're not guards."

The Walking Men pulled their cloaks aside, revealing the extravagant sheaths and hilts of their blades. A breeze wafted in, lifting the hem of their cloaks and flapping them, adding a dramatic flair.

"I noticed you didn't give your name," continued the Watcher.
"So I hope you don't mind us not giving you ours. Nothing personal."

"We're the Walking Men,the three swordsmen that used to be legendary in Colorado and the surrounding states, seven years ago. I'm the Evictor."

"I'm the Watcher."

"The Vagrant."

"So, we'll not be heeding your order," said the Evictor. "We've got personal reasons to be out in the fray. If you've heard and understood the siege of Fairview, you'll know what we mean. But I'm assuming you do not. Otherwise, it's nice to meet you."

[Peace Loving Warlords]

Armory Fire//Salida// Colorado//Several Hours Prior to Siege

Father Mackenzie watched as the remnants led Jen away, off on what he knew was a suicide mission. Part of him couldn't help but pity her, such wasted potential thrown away to die in the wastes, torn apart by Vultures' claws. Personal regrets and what ifs matter little however when they squander it letting the devil into your door.

Mackenzie looked down with mild annoyance at her two co-conspirators, should Jen survive their lives would be her reward for a job well done, a penance for sins committed. With a wave of his hand Mackenzie had his zealots drag the two back to their cells to await Jen's return.

If they were to die waiting for her then it was of no concern to him.

---

Cain//Back Alleys//Salida//Colorado//Half Hour Before Siege

But come on.... This is so boring!

Quiet Richard, I'm trying to focus.

Cain, Sera, and Tony made their way through Salida's back alleys towards the Stables. Though as they grew closer to the Armory the group had to divert away from the growing crowd that Mackenzie's trial had attracted. Cain shot Tony a look as they started to work their way around the crowd, he whispered over to him through clenched teeth.

"This will take to long with how things are going. By the time we get there Mackenzie will probably have the cart stripped of everything its got."

"I know." Tony replied evenly as the trio darted through yet another ally, this one leading towards the Salida's Western Gate. "Mary's not one to have a fallback plan. She said to meet her and the others by the West Gate should things take to long." Cain shook his head in worry as Tony explained the plan further to him, his mind was awash in worry as he thought of his foster mother.

Please Lord, let her be safe...

---

Main Roads//Salida//Colorado

"Very well ma'am. God Speed." The Zealot nodded as he allowed the carriage began to pass by unopposed in the growing anarchy that was Salida's streets. Three times since she had deemed it necessary to abandon the barn had she been stopped by some of the town's protectors in one form or another, and each time she used her authority within the church and a believable lie to make her way unopposed towards the west wall with the carriage full of supplies.

"May the Lord protect you my child. Just as these supplies will protect our brothers and sisters on the walls." Mary called over to the Zealot as she rolled past him. A voice, seated to Mary's right spoke quietly into her ear as they made their way down the road.

"I'm surprised that that's been working so well." Mary smiled lightly and glanced over towards George, who still sported a rather nasty black eye from his encounter with the day before. Mary was quick to whisper back a retort of her own as they approached an intersection in the road.

"People will cling to anything if it gives them comfort. Regardless whether its the truth." Mary shaded her eyes with a free hand as she scanned the road ahead of them. Frank, her remaining Zealot, whispered from from Mary's left.

"And as long as Howard's gotten himself to the gates we should be-" Frank's musings were cut off as a pair of armed gunmen galloped out from a side street and, with rifles raised, held the trio at gunpoint. One of the gunman got off their horse and barked out orders to the three as his compatriot kept their weapon held in their direction.

"Stop right there!" shouted Hugh. "Discard your weapons and step away from the cart! Nobody needs to get hurt!"

Mary knew that the pair we're certainly not Zealots or any of the armed thugs Mackenzie had managed to sink his claws into. The raw fear, anger, and pain in their eyes told her all she needed to know about the pair as a growing sense of dread filled her belly.

It would seem that the living have returned to reclaim the dead.

Unwilling to back down from what she knew was right, Mary glared at the pair, a plan quickly forming in her mind as she yelled at the couple.

"Like hell we are!" Mary shook her cane at the pair, anger flaring in her voice.

"What? You old love birds to chicken shit to stand up and fight for whats right!? Going to kill an old woman and her attendants just to steel what some of what little ammunition Salida has left?!!" Mary knew she was making a scene of as she berated the two, for all she needed to do was to get the pair to either back down or for a passerby to 'intervene', though she wished it wouldn't come to that.

"So we're bringing these supplies to the boys on the wall and their ain't a damned thing you can do about it!" Mary yelled out the taunt at the two, out of her peripherals Mary could see more of the town stopping to watch the bizarre scene.

"So either shoot us, or get the hell out of our way! You Rat Bastard!!!" Mary finished staring daggers at the couple.

BOOM.

The Gunman's horse and its rider fell behind him as the thundering boom of a shotgun filled the air. Seizing the momentary distraction Mary whipped her own horse forward into a fury nearly running over the still standing robber as her carriage barreled forward, sending the man to the dirt besides his horse and its rider.

"Choke on that fuckers!" Sheriff Norman called from the other side of the street, his new shotgun still smoking in his hands.

"Ya'll should have listened to the Sister!" Another shot fired from the sheriff's gun as several nearby mercenaries saw the scene and they too began to open fire on the downed horse.

Another volley of fire soon followed the first as Sheriff Norman and several Mercenaries started opening up from behind their improvised cover across the street. Their bullets sending pink puffs of blood up into the air as they impacted their foes' improvised cover. Laughing, Norman called over towards the pinned down pair as the carriage barreled its way down the road.

"So how are ya'll liking the sight of yer own blood ya Yankee fucks?!"

[Wallenburg]

Hugh Garmany || Lauren Garmany || 30 October 2042 || Salida, Colorado

Unwilling to back down from what she knew was right, Mary glared at the pair, a plan quickly forming in her mind as she yelled at the couple.

"Like hell we are!" Mary shook her cane at the pair, anger flaring in her voice.

"What? You old love birds to chicken shit to stand up and fight for whats right!? Going to kill an old woman and her attendants just to steel what some of what little ammunition Salida has left?!!" Mary knew she was making a scene of as she berated the two, for all she needed to do was to get the pair to either back down or for a passerby to 'intervene', though she wished it wouldn't come to that.

"So we're bringing these supplies to the boys on the wall and their ain't a damned thing you can do about it!" Mary yelled out the taunt at the two, out of her peripherals Mary could see more of the town stopping to watch the bizarre scene.

"So either shoot us, or get the hell out of our way! You Rat Bastard!!!" Mary finished staring daggers at the couple.

Hugh wasn't sure whether to be amused or infuriated. He had trained his sights on the old woman's loud head as she bombarded him with swearing unbecoming a woman of the cloth. Stepping slowly toward the carriage, one foot after the other pressing down into the half-molten snow, he did not take his eyes off of the three riders.

"Ammunition?" he half chuckled, half shouted. "I don't give a damn about ammunition. We just want our dau--"

BOOM.

"Choke on that fuckers!" Sheriff Norman called from the other side of the street, his new shotgun still smoking in his hands.

"Ya'll should have listened to the Sister!" Another shot fired from the sheriff's gun as several nearby mercenaries saw the scene and they too began to open fire on the downed horse.

Hugh spun toward the origin of the gunfire and squeezed on the trigger, bullets speeding across the street. He snapped his head back to watch his wife and their horse crash into the ground, the duffel bag landing on top of Lauren. The sounds of movement took his attention back to the carriage, now barreling down on him, a furious horse's hooves stomping toward him. He jumped away and onto a patch of dirt as the carriage rushed ahead.

More gunshots riddled the body of the horse, mercenaries for the city arriving to join the sheriff. Hugh felt himself grow lighter, less attached to his surroundings, barely aware that he had risen to his feet, brushed the snow and dirt off of his uniform, and opened fire on his assailants, Lauren's assailants. He watched through the lens of combat as he took out the enemy one by one, hands steady and committed to delivering death to his enemies. Laying down cover fire as he advanced, he disappeared into an electronics store adjacent to the mercenaries' makeshift defenses. He watched with fury as their gunfire resumed, pelting the dead horse and sending fountains of blood into the air. But the attackers did not abandon their cover.

Hugh watched as the carriage grew further away, escaping. Quickly, he raised his rifle, lined up his eye with the sights, and fired a short burst of bullets into the body of the horse carrying away his daughter. It isn't going to be that easy, you assholes, he thought to himself.

Suddenly, the nearby gunfire cut short. Hugh could only hear the cold wind and the distant firefight at the wall. Now there was murmuring among the mercenaries. Hugh's boots tapped softly against the filthy linoleum floor as he made his way to the back entrance. The door was already open, falling off of rusty hinges. He hid behind a counter as footsteps crunched through the snow. Hugh drew his knife. A footstep against the linoleum and then a confused tumble. Hugh rushed the mercenary and knocked the gun from her hands. She struggled against him, screaming as Hugh raised the knife.

"Please, I'm sorry! I'm just doing my--"

The knife sunk into her head and then yanked out. Hugh stood. He stared at the woman--perhaps no more than seventeen years old--without remorse. Grabbing his gun, he returned his knife to his belt and stepped out into the cold winter air. He heard more footsteps approaching, undoubtedly in response to the screams. Two figures rushed into the alleyway. Another burst of gunfire and they were lying in the snow, pools of hot crimson running slowly into the whiteness. Now the mercenaries were shouting, running about in confusion. Hugh stopped behind the wall of a building, knowing that they were waiting for him. He looked about and saw an old fire escape. He smiled.

Edging forward on the roof of an apartment, Hugh caught a glimpse of his enemies. Checking his magazine, he realized he would have to be careful, and accurate. He crawled back and stood up. Advancing slowly, he held his sights firmly on the mercenaries. He saw one head and fired. A mercenary shouted out and Hugh ran to dispatch him. Now the sheriff stood alone, and Hugh had his gun trained on his chest.

"What the hell do you want? Why are you shooting at us? And why shouldn't I kill you right now?"

[Flarbinia]

"I was at Fairview when it fell. I only survived because the Vultures mistook me for one of them and loaded me onto a cart with their wounded. It took me six months to escape, but freedom from the iron grip of their paranoid leader was worth the blood I had to spill. If you wish to fight them, I will fight with you until I receive the order to retreat." Cerberus Dead-eye said as he stared the Vagrant in the eye, the sound of exploding landmines growing louder and louder. "However, once the Vultures get past the mind field and the walls, our efforts will only delay the inevitable. Most of the men under my command only stand their ground because they know I will shoot them on sight if they attempt to flee. Guns are useless without ammunition and these men do not have enough of it to keep taking potshots from an elevated position. If you were truly a legendary swordsmen, you would know that these "infallible mercenaries" are not infallible." He added as more of the landmines exploded.

[Imperialisium]

Clinic/Salida
Pale Rider

In all honesty D could have readily kicked the door down, though, he heard the lock click and signed. Rhea was probably fidgeting at his absence, she was trained, she would stay put unless things went awry. Then she'd get out of town, hole up somewhere, and plan her next move. So D simply waited in the room, even as the Zealot shouted from the other side.

Only when he heard footsteps recede rapidly did he get up from the bed. Calmly walking to the door, breathed in slowly, and lashed out with a savage kick. The door frame splintered as it shot off its hinges, collapsing with a crash into the hallway. D slowly unsheathed his sword with a metallic rasp, and drew his 3.57 magnum from its holster at his hip. He had had enough of these religious fanatics and their lies.

Time to dispense with the pleasantries, evidently they only responded to barbaric tactics, this was perhaps the time. That was when he caught a smell wafting in from the windows. His enhanced senses picked it out as a female and male, matching the scent from the room he had knocked. There was also a third smell, male, sweating profusely from nerves.

D sprinted and crashed out of the window, rolled, and came to all fours. His head whipped around as he took in the scent from the alleyway, and darted off to follow the trail.

[Maverica]

Outside Salidia, On mountian over looking town.
Gared Huntzmen

As Gared trudged up the mountian dragging his freind Matt along he finally have out and fell flat on the ground. He looked behind him and seen Tara, exhausted but still going. Gared watched her as she say down on a rock next to Matt to check on his wounds. At this point the wounds were starting to heal but Matt was still sleeping and would not wake up. Gared reached for his dirty, dusty pack and opened one of the zippers. His hand went in and pulled out his canteen with what's left of his water. Gared opened to steel container and dumped it on Matt to wake him up.

"Tara slap Matt's face lightly to wake him up. I am going to go up ahead over the hill. I think Salidia should be right over the hill." said Gared.

Tara just nodded and started trying to wake up the wounded Matt. Hope he gets up, the travois is almost busted and I can't carry him down the mountian safely. Thought Gared as he walked up the hill. The brush was thick but he made good work getting through by cutting through with his Tomohawk. The icey cold air blew against his face making snow on the trees start to fall lightly. Gared pulled up his windbreaker and countinued to walk up the hill in till He reached the top. Expecting to see a peaceful little settlement sitting in the valley what Gared saw horrified him.

"Vultures.... there.... here. Hundreds of them, just like at Aspen. Shit!" Said Gared as he fell against a tree and looked down below.

From the mountian he and his group was relatively safe from the vultures as they seemed to be attacking the settlement but soon scouts may find them and with a young women and wounded soldier and a farm boy slash deserter they would be dead meat. Better get back to the others Thought Gared as he ran back down the hill back to Tara and Matt. He soon reached them and Gared said one word that was considered a cure word and made grown men shiver.....

"Vultures...."

[The Nameless Wayfarer]

Wolfgang Magnusson // Salida Outskirts, Colorado

”If the trees could talk, would they speak of man’s misdeeds?”

---

Thump, thump, thump, went the frightened man’s chest. He could hear it; his heart, which shuddered with fear fueled by adrenaline, weighed heavy upon his ears with incessant pounding. He had to run – and he had to run fast – or they would catch him too. And so, he sprinted through the woods as swiftly as he could, with the morning’s rising sun aiming spears of light at his back. His ragged breathing broke through his frostbitten, cracked lips, sending out thick puffs into the frigid air. He, a fatigued beast being hunted by voracious predators, pumped his arms back and forth in hopes that they would propel him to freedom. His chest, his lungs, and every single muscle in his body felt like they had been set aflame.

Yet, he had to go on – he had to keep going, and he had to keep running. He couldn’t be captured; he wouldn’t let them take him alive. He, like many others, had of heard of this particular group of marauders’ infamy. Their name – the Wolves – inspired dread. They were a band known for their barbarity, and the terrible, horrific deeds they committed; truly, they were savages. Many back home dared to even suggest that they ranked higher than the Emperor's own right hand, Skeever, on the Colorado wasteland’s ever-changing list of legendary butchers. He didn’t want to believe the rumors, and he surely didn’t want to leave his mates behind; but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He wished to keep his skin.

The bandit was the sole survivor of a freshly slaughtered Vulture raiding party; however, he needn’t worry, for he we would see his companions again very soon. His assailants – who consisted of two men, one of who stood nearly three heads higher than the other, and a woman with fiery red hair – would undoubtedly make sure of that. They all hid behind gas masks, which were marked with some sort of pale war paint, just like the tall man’s very own disguise. All of them, however, wore different clothing and toted weaponry that was unique to each person.

The red-head wore a faded green CADPAT jacket that hugged her small, yet muscular frame, and carried a hunting rifle that looked more like a piece of scrap then a firearm. If it were junk, it wouldn’t have blown Andy’s head clean off, thought the Vulture morbidly as he fled across the dead forest’s slopes.

The bandits’ second attacker was a man; a very young man, it seemed. The surviving Vulture had only seen a second’s glance of the guy – right as he ran through one of his fellow bandits with a jaggedly sharp spear.

The last man – the one that nearly touched the treetops – was simply a psychopath. Whilst the woman picked them off from afar, and as the boy handled the more weak of heart in the Vultures’ ranks, that bastard had charged into the fray with no concern for his own safety. He had blades; blades coming out from his arms! And he used them, both skillfully and destructively, as he sliced and hacked the Vulture raiders to pieces like a rabid animal.

Yet, the remaining bandit had narrowly escaped the slaughter fest through the use of his cowardly guile and by mere chance. He kept up his flight from the killing fields. Although he could feel his shins splintering, his muscles tearing, and his lungs bursting, he was ready to run all the way home back to Denver.

If I ever get back to Coors, I'm going to be a fucking-

He wouldn’t be making it back to Coors – at least, not in one piece. The timberlands, filled with eerie silence save for the ragged huffing of his breath, suddenly resonated with the loud crack of a single gunshot. The ear-shattering shot of a high-caliber rifle echoed for miles, and shortly after, a yelp came with it, crafting an agonizing chorus that permeated the woods. The Vulture had turned in the direction of the noise; but, it was far too late. The round smacked into his right knee-cap with a squish, spouting a fountain of crimson spray. Both fragments of bone and chunks of flesh flew through the air as he cried out with teeth tightly clenched. And so he collapsed, holding his mangled, shattered knee all the while. Tears swelled in his eyes, and sobs of anguish pried their way through his lips, regardless of how hard he tried to suppress them. The bandit convulsed in pain, writhing like an epileptic having a seizure, and finally, he fell backward into the icy embrace of the earth.

The Vulture's eyes shut like closing gates – the nipping, brisk wind only made matters worse.

A titanic figure, one that stood nearly six feet and six inches in height, cast a lengthy shadow across the crimson-speckled snow. The man, whose visage was covered by a gas mask and a worn and wrinkled hood, was built like a mighty oak tree – a beautiful, indomitable thing from a world years before his time – tall and sturdy, and he projected nearly as large of an umbra. He walked forward, his rhythmic steps forming a harsh cadence as his brown combat boots, now faded and smudged with various types of debris, crushed the icy soil underfoot. The crunching noises of his march echoed throughout the still air of the woods; air that had been filled with the sounds of gunfire and agony just minutes prior. Now, all was quiet, save for the occasional cry of an unknown creature in the distance, and the noise from the giant’s short trek through the sea of shallow white powder.

The towering enigma looked down upon the fragile, wounded creature that prostrated himself before him. He was nothing more than an animal, a scavenger that picked away at the carrion that were the festering remains of humanity’s once civilized world – and for his trespasses, he would have to pay the ultimate price; a hefty price, one paid in blood. The cowering outlaw, whom was on his bloody, scraped knees, begged for the mercy that he had so grievously lacked.

“P-please, no... I’m sorry – I’m s-sorry," he rambled in a panicked, slurred tone, "W-we were just having fun with those folks, 's all – I didn't want them to g-get hurt, okay? Okay? It's all that ass 'ole's f-fault... Bill! He... he made us do it!

Wolfgang Magnusson, the White Wolf of Auburn, could be considered many things; one could call him both a barbaric reaver and a poetic gentleman – yet, he was anything and everything but merciful.

Magnusson let out a light, almost ghostly laugh as the babbling Vulture incoherently droned on. He tilted his head at what was essentially the epitome of humanity’s worst qualities, and said, “He made you?”

The marauder jerked his head back and forth violently in a nodding gesture.

“It wasn’t your fault, was it?”

“N-no, it wasn’t,” murmured the Vulture.

The redhead with rifle and the boy with the spear approached the two, hunter and prey, finding their positions a few feet behind the White Wolf. As if they knew what was going to happen, they instinctively resigned themselves to the conversation, and stood in silence.

Nonchalantly, Wolfgang began, “Ah, I see; so, it wasn’t your fault, after all. I mean, I could’ve sworn I saw you killing those refugees heading towards Salida; but I must be mistaken, right?”

The wounded Vulture held down an anxious gulp and stared at the ground, shaking his head.

Wolfgang smiled. He rarely smiled. He continued on, his voice slowly beginning to rise to a malicious growl as he went on, “Still, I can’t shake this feeling… this feeling that I saw you cutting out each of their tongues, one by one.”

The bandit kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Bloody tears began to drip from them, staining the snow beneath. His thin, ugly lips, which were chapped and scarred from days without water, quivered. He continued to shake his head from side to side as his whole body began to quake.

“And – I may be remembering this incorrectly, mind you – but, didn’t you force yourself on two of the young women in that caravan? Or, am I just crazy?”

Suddenly, Wolfgang reached down towards the raider with quick-draw speed, grasping him by the underneath of his jaw. His fingers, covered in pointed, metal gauntlets dug into his skin. He held him tight and threw his head upwards, so the Vulture’s tearful, brown eyes could meet his vengeful blue orbs.

“Or am I just fucking insane?” He roared.

The grunt shuddered and let out a whimper behind his tightly shut lips.

“You thought you could stop them from screaming, didn’t you? Didn’t you, you little son of a bitch?” Wolfgang jerked his thumb back towards the woman with the rifle. “She heard everything – everything you said, everything you did. She heard the screams.”

Wolfgang released his hold on the man, whom in his mind was already sentenced to death. The Vulture, now feeling faint from blood loss, pulled back like a wounded animal.

Magnusson turned away from such a pitiful sight. With his back turned to the Vulture, he let out a heavy sigh.

“Let’s see how loud you scream.”

The White Wolf of Auburn, whom swung around with his forearm-mounted blades drawn, stained and dripping with crimson, went to work.

---

“Snow.”

The mute adolescent spearman, dubbed Snow by the members of the Wolves since their first meeting, cocked his head curiously; he was seemingly unfazed from the entire ordeal.

“I want the last of the corpses on pikes by nightfall.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and started to jog away, until Wolf grasped his shoulder firmly, and said, “Good work. Drinks are on me when we get to Salida, alright?”

Snow couldn’t help but give a sly smirk before he set off to complete his task. The teenager hardly smiled; he never talked, either. Yet, when he did grin, Wolfgang could’ve sworn the heavens always shined down upon the wastes for just a brief, magnificent moment. Wolfgang watched as Snow sauntered off, his skier’s coat splattered with gore, dirt, and ashen snowflakes.

“You know, you could’ve made it a little less messy,” said the redheaded woman behind him with a slight accent.

Wolfgang looked to the side as he heard her light footsteps approaching.

“It’ll take days to get all this blood out of my jacket,” she groaned as she took off her gas mask, revealing a soft, pale face, which had been toned to perfection by years of hardship. She huffed, blowing a stray strand of fiery hair from her emerald eyes.

“I’d say red suits you, Ivana,” he said with a hint of sarcasm as he began to undo the straps of his own mask.

“Don’t start being a wise-ass, Wolf,” she paused and looked over to Magnusson. He gingerly removed his gas mask, revealing a rugged face with arctic blue eyes and messy black hair. He could probably pass for a handsome man, if not for the burn scars running from the left side of his head down to his torso.

She smirked, shook her head in mock-disappointment, and began walking, “You’re damn lucky that you’re good-looking.”

“Why is that?” He called after her.

“Because, it’s the only reason I'm sticking around!”

[New Grestin]

Just Outside Salida, Colorado | 2042 Post Outbreak

The gunfire in the distance had yet to cease. The battle was still raging as Jen crept through the undergrowth, a pistol in hand. The dead body of a guard laid behind her, limp and silent. Slowly, she slid into the man's riot gear. Any sense of self-preservation had gone out the window, all that mattered now was to simply end this madness. To cut the head off the snake and watch it die. Vultures ran past her, not paying any mind to the quiet form leaving the bushes. Their temporary camp was a sea of tents and campfires, now mostly abandoned, save for a token guard unit. Jen moved along like a predatory animal; the sight of the command tent sending a shiver of adrenaline through her body. A man stood outside, clad in military fatigues. The Patriot commander. She slowly moved up to him, letting him take a long drag from his cigar before she grabbed him, throwing him to the ground. Keeping an eye out for the guards, she planted her knee against his throat and watched with an eerie silence as the man's struggles slowly faded. Within a moment, he was dead. Satisfaction filled her.

Then, she raised the pistol and pulled back the hammer. The tent flap flew open. Everyone jumped up, just in time for Jen to swing inside and fire. The pistol shuddered in Jen's hands, slide flying back and an empty case strking the ground with a ping. Ingrid tumbled back, her head blown cleanly apart. Two down. Wilhelm began to pull his revolver, only to be cut down by another shot. This time, it blew through his neck. His body collapsed limply against the side of the tent. Blood sprayed from the man's open would, splattering against the walls and Jen. He grasped at her blindly; his body shuddered and convulsed. The sounds of his gurgling filled the room as Bill pushed past Marty and ran from the tent, barely avoiding a bullet himself. Marty did the same.

Jen sneered with anger, watching them sprint into the woods. The hunt would not be averted. With barely a thought, she finished Wilhelm off with her knife. The guards had barely noticed the shooting over the siege in the distance, allowing Jen to slip from the tent into the woods. The sounds of the forest surrounded her, coupled with the shrieks and gunfire in the distance. In another time, it might have been a peaceful scene.

Marty hadn't made it far. She found him hiding behind an abandoned, rusted car. He raised his hands quickly, breathing heavily.

"Hey, hey, now. Let's not do anything drastic"

Without saying a word, she simply kept the gun trained on him and reached into her jacket pocket. A pair of handcuffs popped out, glinting in the sun. He looked at her, then to the cuffs, then seemed to understand. Marty pushed himself up off the ground, only for Jen to smack him along the head with the rifle. He fell, landing on the soft earth as she cuffed him to the car and withdrew her knife. He came to just in time to see her slice his hand open. Marty shrieked in pain. Blood flowed warmly across his hand as Jen tossed the knife down to him. An inhuman shriek echoed in the distance as she stood over him like an angry goddess.

"What," he stammered out, clutching his hand. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

She pointed into the bushes, letting him listen for a moment. Something was coming. Then, she knelt down and smiled at him.

"The lurkers can smell blood from a mile away. You've got about fifteen minutes before that pack gets here. Those cuffs are steel and, if you're lucky, you can saw through the chain in ten. Or,"

Her hand rested on his cuffed wrist. She ran her finger down it, looking at him with an ever-growing grin.

"Or you can cut through your arm in five."

With that, she rose and stepped away into the bushes to find Bill. Marty yelled after her; begging and pleading for help as the sounds of the Lurkers moved closer and closer. Marty's debt was paid, now it was time to collect what was due from the other. She found a small opening, a tiny pond in the middle. He was simply sitting there, looking off into the distance. Jen stepped into the clearing and around to his side, twigs crunching loudly beneath her boots. The concept of stealth had disappeared and now all that mattered was the confrontation. Bill looked up to her, and she could see the sorrow in his eyes. He looked now like what he truly was. An old man. An old, tired man constrained by failure. Before she could speak, he cut her off.

"Have you ever created anything, Jennifer?"

She cocked her head, still gripping the rifle tight.

"What?"

He sighed, shaking his head.

"Have you ever built anything? Ever put your heart and soul into something?"

She simply stood there, unsure of what to think. He went on.

"Of course you haven't. All people like you know how to do is destroy. You can only break the systems down and ruin it for everyone, just because you don't like how things are. It's people like you that ended the world in the first place. People like you that will keep the world like this. I offered you a chance to help rebuild civilization, and you lied to me. Denver dies with me."

Then, Bill rose to his feet. Jen kept the pistol trained on him, her countenance slowly shifting to one of unease. He looked out over the pond, taking in the oddly serene environment. Jen finally spoke.

"And the slaves? That's civilization to you?"

He shook his head.

"You're too young to know much. Every great civilization was built on slaves. The Romans, the Persians, the Mongols. Every single one needed slaves. You can't think of them as people, Jennifer. You have to think of them as a product, a commodity."

She sighed. Keeping the sights on him. She wanted to kill him, but part of her wanted to hear his last "gotcha".

"You're a fucking psychopath," she said.

He laughed. He laughed right in her face.

"And you aren't?"

"Fuck you, Bill."

He sighed, staring her down intensely. Then, he reached over and grabbed the barrel of the pistol. It planted firmly onto his head. His eyes bored into her; piercing into her like daggers.

"Takes a strong person to deny what's right in front of them."

She pulled the trigger. Bill stumbled back, his head blasting apart in an explosion of blood and skull fragments. The body collapsed against the floor, sitting there limply. There was no satisfaction this time. Only a deep, sickening emptiness. All the effort in the world expended to kill a single man. An old, dying remnant of the old world with delusions of grandeur. A man who had enslaved and murdered hundreds. A man who'd killed her father and left her alone. He was dead, but she didn't enjoy killing him. It didn't solve anything, really. It was little more than a shallow relief that he wouldn't eventually hunt her down. She sighed, letting all the air from her body. Blood was sprayed against her clothes and jacket, gray matter in her hair. It was done. She flopped down near the pond. Her whole body was in total revolt. Every muscle finally releasing, every neuron slowing. It was over. Her smile faded, his words still fresh in her mind.

"Have you ever created anything, Jennifer?"

The question bothered her. It was like an itch that couldn't be scratched. Had she ever really created anything? Had she ever really done anything other than try to survive? She'd probably never have children. She'd probably never even have a husband. What kind of legacy was that? Just another body in what was left of civilization? Then, something caught her eye. Bill's hat. It was a near-ancient general's cap, in fairly good condition. A thought popped into her mind. She scooped it up, admiring it for a moment. The craftsmanship was excellent, even the material was well cared for. The fabric had faded, but it wasn't even torn. It seemed as though it was the one thing he'd really put care into. She set it atop her head and rose, letting the pistol hang in her hand

"Have you ever created anything, Jennifer?"

She smiled, looking back towards the encampment.

"Not yet."

---

Doc moved slowly through the encampment, taking a moment here and there to check over the wounded. Most were probably going to die, while the others had about a 50/50 chance of infection. One man laid screaming with his intestines laid bare, another was missing most of his leg, yet another was already going into septic shock. It was pandemonium. If they were going to take Salida, he'd need more personnel and supplies. The tent up ahead was an eerie reminder of his failure; of the coup's failure. Skeever was in a shallow grave somewhere, the others had dispersed. Hell, Sasquatch had been missing for days. With any luck, Bill would find him useful enough to keep around in his grand "empire"

The corpse in front of the tent turned his thoughts elsewhere.

The older man looked over it for a moment. It was the Patriot's commander; a brutish military man in camouflage. He'd been choked to death. A long, dark bruise ran along his neck, as though someone had just barely crushed it. A chill rang up Doc's spine as he slowly, quietly opened the tent flap. The carnage inside was unbelievable. All of the commanders were dead; blood and viscera covered the walls. His eyes scanned the room as terror filled him. A figure was hunched over the table, observing the maps and information. Doc's fear betrayed him and he whimpered a bit, utterly terrified.

"I-I-Wha-"

The figure looked up, then to him. It was a woman. Clad in a long trenchcoat and general's cap, she turned to face him. It took Doc a moment to notice, but the coat was Bill's; it had a bit of blood on it. Her freckled face contorted into a smile as she stepped forward. Doc backed away slowly. He began to weigh his options. The woman reached her hand out. The Doctor stood there for a moment, suddenly unsure of what to think. Her voice was oddly warm, yet she still unsettled him.

"Morning."

"What-what did you do? They-"

She looked down to the corpses and sighed. "Dead, yes" she said before turning her attentions back to him. "But there's another matter." She stepped forward once more. Doc felt tiny against her, like she towered over him, even though they were the same height.

"Bill is dead, as is the rest of the leadership. Denver is going to collapse if someone doesn't step in. That person would be me."

Doc jumped as she laid her hand on his shoulder, tightening her grip.

"And you're going to help me. We're calling off the attack."

---

Doc sat at the table, holding his head in one hand. There was no assurance this would work, but it was the closest the coup had come to a solution in years. The other conspirators were gathered. Most simply milled about the tent aimlessly, drinking the meager supply of coffee they'd brought together. It was a apprehensive celebration in every sense of the word. Jen hung over the radio console, headset in hand. Slowly, she tuned the dial, finally hitting the correct frequency. The others watched with anticipation as she cleared her throat, took deep breath and spoke.

"All Vultures, cease the attack and return to camp immediately. Repeat, cease attack and return immediately."

There was a long, drawn out silence. Everything seemed to come to a stand-still. Even time itself held it's breath. A voice chimed in.

"How do we know it'll work? What if they just kill us all?"

Doc sighed, then turned to the crowd.

"We're dead if we don't do anything. Might as well try. It'll work."

Just as he finished, the radio crackled to life. A voice came through, accompanied by low static.

"Uh, roger that. We're, uh, falling back to camp. This better be good."

Jen looked to the others and smiled. A collective sigh of relief fell from the gathered crowd. One of the conspiring guards watched as the Vulture war party began falling back towards camp, moving between cover while Salida took potshots at them.

"Now," Jen rose. "We've got work to do."

[True Refuge]

"I was at Fairview when it fell. I only survived because the Vultures mistook me for one of them and loaded me onto a cart with their wounded. It took me six months to escape, but freedom from the iron grip of their paranoid leader was worth the blood I had to spill. If you wish to fight them, I will fight with you until I receive the order to retreat." Cerberus Dead-eye said as he stared the Vagrant in the eye, the sound of exploding landmines growing louder and louder. "However, once the Vultures get past the mind field and the walls, our efforts will only delay the inevitable. Most of the men under my command only stand their ground because they know I will shoot them on sight if they attempt to flee. Guns are useless without ammunition and these men do not have enough of it to keep taking potshots from an elevated position. If you were truly a legendary swordsmen, you would know that these "infallible mercenaries" are not infallible." He added as more of the landmines exploded.

The Evictor smiled mournfully.

"That's an interesting opinion to have. Quite a few Fairview survivors despised us after the Iron Legion razed the town, and they loathed us even more after we killed the few that tried to avenge the town. It's usually forgotten that they planned to torture, maim and deliver us to Father Mackenzie." He bowed his head.
"Well, most of us is forgotten anyway."

He recovered quickly, and a calm smile returned to his face.
"But that doesn't matter, that's ten years in the past. It's time to focus on the task at hand. By the way, seeing as you've withheld your name, do you mind giving us a title of some sort to address you?"

Just Outside Salida, Colorado | 2042 Post Outbreak

The gunfire in the distance had yet to cease. The battle was still raging as Jen crept through the undergrowth, a pistol in hand. The dead body of a guard laid behind her, limp and silent. Slowly, she slid into the man's riot gear. Any sense of self-preservation had gone out the window, all that mattered now was to simply end this madness. To cut the head off the snake and watch it die. Vultures ran past her, not paying any mind to the quiet form leaving the bushes. Their temporary camp was a sea of tents and campfires, now mostly abandoned, save for a token guard unit. Jen moved along like a predatory animal; the sight of the command tent sending a shiver of adrenaline through her body. A man stood outside, clad in military fatigues. The Patriot commander. She slowly moved up to him, letting him take a long drag from his cigar before she grabbed him, throwing him to the ground. Keeping an eye out for the guards, she planted her knee against his throat and watched with an eerie silence as the man's struggles slowly faded. Within a moment, he was dead. Satisfaction filled her.

Then, she raised the pistol and pulled back the hammer. The tent flap flew open. Everyone jumped up, just in time for Jen to swing inside and fire. The pistol shuddered in Jen's hands, slide flying back and an empty case strking the ground with a ping. Ingrid tumbled back, her head blown cleanly apart. Two down. Wilhelm began to pull his revolver, only to be cut down by another shot. This time, it blew through his neck. His body collapsed limply against the side of the tent. Blood sprayed from the man's open would, splattering against the walls and Jen. He grasped at her blindly; his body shuddered and convulsed. The sounds of his gurgling filled the room as Bill pushed past Marty and ran from the tent, barely avoiding a bullet himself. Marty did the same.

Jen sneered with anger, watching them sprint into the woods. The hunt would not be averted. With barely a thought, she finished Wilhelm off with her knife. The guards had barely noticed the shooting over the siege in the distance, allowing Jen to slip from the tent into the woods. The sounds of the forest surrounded her, coupled with the shrieks and gunfire in the distance. In another time, it might have been a peaceful scene.

Marty hadn't made it far. She found him hiding behind an abandoned, rusted car. He raised his hands quickly, breathing heavily.

"Hey, hey, now. Let's not do anything drastic"

Without saying a word, she simply kept the gun trained on him and reached into her jacket pocket. A pair of handcuffs popped out, glinting in the sun. He looked at her, then to the cuffs, then seemed to understand. Marty pushed himself up off the ground, only for Jen to smack him along the head with the rifle. He fell, landing on the soft earth as she cuffed him to the car and withdrew her knife. He came to just in time to see her slice his hand open. Marty shrieked in pain. Blood flowed warmly across his hand as Jen tossed the knife down to him. An inhuman shriek echoed in the distance as she stood over him like an angry goddess.

"What," he stammered out, clutching his hand. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

She pointed into the bushes, letting him listen for a moment. Something was coming. Then, she knelt down and smiled at him.

"The lurkers can smell blood from a mile away. You've got about fifteen minutes before that pack gets here. Those cuffs are steel and, if you're lucky, you can saw through the chain in ten. Or,"

Her hand rested on his cuffed wrist. She ran her finger down it, looking at him with an ever-growing grin.

"Or you can cut through your arm in five."

With that, she rose and stepped away into the bushes to find Bill. Marty yelled after her; begging and pleading for help as the sounds of the Lurkers moved closer and closer. Marty's debt was paid, now it was time to collect what was due from the other. She found a small opening, a tiny pond in the middle. He was simply sitting there, looking off into the distance. Jen stepped into the clearing and around to his side, twigs crunching loudly beneath her boots. The concept of stealth had disappeared and now all that mattered was the confrontation. Bill looked up to her, and she could see the sorrow in his eyes. He looked now like what he truly was. An old man. An old, tired man constrained by failure. Before she could speak, he cut her off.

"Have you ever created anything, Jennifer?"

She cocked her head, still gripping the rifle tight.

"What?"

He sighed, shaking his head.

"Have you ever built anything? Ever put your heart and soul into something?"

She simply stood there, unsure of what to think. He went on.

"Of course you haven't. All people like you know how to do is destroy. You can only break the systems down and ruin it for everyone, just because you don't like how things are. It's people like you that ended the world in the first place. People like you that will keep the world like this. I offered you a chance to help rebuild civilization, and you lied to me. Denver dies with me."

Then, Bill rose to his feet. Jen kept the pistol trained on him, her countenance slowly shifting to one of unease. He looked out over the pond, taking in the oddly serene environment. Jen finally spoke.

"And the slaves? That's civilization to you?"

He shook his head.

"You're too young to know much. Every great civilization was built on slaves. The Romans, the Persians, the Mongols. Every single one needed slaves. You can't think of them as people, Jennifer. You have to think of them as a product, a commodity."

She sighed. Keeping the sights on him. She wanted to kill him, but part of her wanted to hear his last "gotcha".

"You're a fucking psychopath," she said.

He laughed. He laughed right in her face.

"And you aren't?"

"Fuck you, Bill."

He sighed, staring her down intensely. Then, he reached over and grabbed the barrel of the pistol. It planted firmly onto his head. His eyes bored into her; piercing into her like daggers.

"Takes a strong person to deny what's right in front of them."

She pulled the trigger. Bill stumbled back, his head blasting apart in an explosion of blood and skull fragments. The body collapsed against the floor, sitting there limply. There was no satisfaction this time. Only a deep, sickening emptiness. All the effort in the world expended to kill a single man. An old, dying remnant of the old world with delusions of grandeur. A man who had enslaved and murdered hundreds. A man who'd killed her father and left her alone. He was dead, but she didn't enjoy killing him. It didn't solve anything, really. It was little more than a shallow relief that he wouldn't eventually hunt her down. She sighed, letting all the air from her body. Blood was sprayed against her clothes and jacket, gray matter in her hair. It was done. She flopped down near the pond. Her whole body was in total revolt. Every muscle finally releasing, every neuron slowing. It was over. Her smile faded, his words still fresh in her mind.

"Have you ever created anything, Jennifer?"

The question bothered her. It was like an itch that couldn't be scratched. Had she ever really created anything? Had she ever really done anything other than try to survive? She'd probably never have children. She'd probably never even have a husband. What kind of legacy was that? Just another body in what was left of civilization? Then, something caught her eye. Bill's hat. It was a near-ancient general's cap, in fairly good condition. A thought popped into her mind. She scooped it up, admiring it for a moment. The craftsmanship was excellent, even the material was well cared for. The fabric had faded, but it wasn't even torn. It seemed as though it was the one thing he'd really put care into. She set it atop her head and rose, letting the pistol hang in her hand

"Have you ever created anything, Jennifer?"

She smiled, looking back towards the encampment.

"Not yet."

---

Doc moved slowly through the encampment, taking a moment here and there to check over the wounded. Most were probably going to die, while the others had about a 50/50 chance of infection. One man laid screaming with his intestines laid bare, another was missing most of his leg, yet another was already going into septic shock. It was pandemonium. If they were going to take Salida, he'd need more personnel and supplies. The tent up ahead was an eerie reminder of his failure; of the coup's failure. Skeever was in a shallow grave somewhere, the others had dispersed. Hell, Sasquatch had been missing for days. With any luck, Bill would find him useful enough to keep around in his grand "empire"

The corpse in front of the tent turned his thoughts elsewhere.

The older man looked over it for a moment. It was the Patriot's commander; a brutish military man in camouflage. He'd been choked to death. A long, dark bruise ran along his neck, as though someone had just barely crushed it. A chill rang up Doc's spine as he slowly, quietly opened the tent flap. The carnage inside was unbelievable. All of the commanders were dead; blood and viscera covered the walls. His eyes scanned the room as terror filled him. A figure was hunched over the table, observing the maps and information. Doc's fear betrayed him and he whimpered a bit, utterly terrified.

"I-I-Wha-"

The figure looked up, then to him. It was a woman. Clad in a long trenchcoat and general's cap, she turned to face him. It took Doc a moment to notice, but the coat was Bill's; it had a bit of blood on it. Her freckled face contorted into a smile as she stepped forward. Doc backed away slowly. He began to weigh his options. The woman reached her hand out. The Doctor stood there for a moment, suddenly unsure of what to think. Her voice was oddly warm, yet she still unsettled him.

"Morning."

"What-what did you do? They-"

She looked down to the corpses and sighed. "Dead, yes" she said before turning her attentions back to him. "But there's another matter." She stepped forward once more. Doc felt tiny against her, like she towered over him, even though they were the same height.

"Bill is dead, as is the rest of the leadership. Denver is going to collapse if someone doesn't step in. That person would be me."

Doc jumped as she laid her hand on his shoulder, tightening her grip.

"And you're going to help me. We're calling off the attack."

---

Doc sat at the table, holding his head in one hand. There was no assurance this would work, but it was the closest the coup had come to a solution in years. The other conspirators were gathered. Most simply milled about the tent aimlessly, drinking the meager supply of coffee they'd brought together. It was a apprehensive celebration in every sense of the word. Jen hung over the radio console, headset in hand. Slowly, she tuned the dial, finally hitting the correct frequency. The others watched with anticipation as she cleared her throat, took deep breath and spoke.

"All Vultures, cease the attack and return to camp immediately. Repeat, cease attack and return immediately."

There was a long, drawn out silence. Everything seemed to come to a stand-still. Even time itself held it's breath. A voice chimed in.

"How do we know it'll work? What if they just kill us all?"

Doc sighed, then turned to the crowd.

"We're dead if we don't do anything. Might as well try. It'll work."

Just as he finished, the radio crackled to life. A voice came through, accompanied by low static.

"Uh, roger that. We're, uh, falling back to camp. This better be good."

Jen looked to the others and smiled. A collective sigh of relief fell from the gathered crowd. One of the conspiring guards watched as the Vulture war party began falling back towards camp, moving between cover while Salida took potshots at them.

"Now," Jen rose. "We've got work to do."

As the Walking Men waited for Cerberus to answer, the Vagrant gazed out onto the battlefield, observing the bandits' advance. His eyes widened in shock as he saw the army retreat away from the minefield and into the forests. The Watcher followed his fearful stare.

"Fuck. There goes our redemption."
The Evictor's mouth dropped slightly as he joined them.

"We're screwed. Completely, undoubtedly screwed."
The Vagrant shook his head frantically.
"What are we going to do? Sister Mary clearly said that we're not welcome here, not that we'd always known that. We've done nothing the entire battle except talk and watch... just like Aspen..."

"I don't know," said the Evictor sadly, "I don't know.

[Flarbinia]

"Odin damn those cowards to deepest pit of the Underworld! I have never seen so many Vultures since they forced me to watch as Emperor Bill and his inner circle raped, tortured, and murdered Ashley, yet those weaklings continue to deny me revenge! My daughter's killers will try to deceive us with lies and empty promises like a child who has been caught doing something wrong, but there will be no peace with the Vultures! If you wish to ride out and kill every last fucking Vulture within walking distance of Salida, I will gladly follow you into the jaws of death! However, if you attempt to lay a finger on me, I will gladly send all three of you to the afterlife! Regardless of your choices, I will make the Vultures rue the day they ever heard the name Cerberus Dead-eye!" Cerberus Dead-eye said as he turned to look at the guards who had fought at his side during the Siege of Salida. "Men, the Vultures may have scattered like rats fleeing a sinking ship, but the fight will not end until my daughter is avenged! If you choose to fight by my side, then your names will be remembered for all time. If you refuse, there will be no disgrace, for your heroic actions have gone beyond and above the call of duty!" He said in a heroic tone as the men began to cheer.

[Ronaar]

A man clad in a green jacket walked along the outskirts of Salida, Colorado. This was certainly not the safe haven he had pictured when he made the trek across the country. He walked around, taking in the scenery, trying to assess the danger this place hid. It seemed relatively safe, safe enough to hide his family here, at least. Too bad they were dead. He sighed as the thoughts of those he had lost on his way to this so-called 'paradise', his teeth clenching tight as he fought back the heartache and pain.

That's when he heard it, the gunfire. Somewhere nearby there was a battle, and it sounded like guns were being used. He hated guns, so uncivilized, they were the weak man's weapon. It took skill to use a bow and arrow, but with guns all that you had to do was pull the trigger. He decided to avoid the battle if at all possible, and so went in the opposite direction of the gunfire. Wary as ever, he pulled out his bow and notched an arrow, just in case. He watched for any sign of danger, the trigger that would send this arrow flying through the air.

"Did I really leave the mountains for this?" he asked himself out loud.