Death Stories for Those Who Stayed Behind -Jackson Farwalker and Cooper Bennett

Death Stories for those who stayed behind: 2 & 3 of 7

Jackson Farwalker and Cooper Bennett

The night had been long, and it certainly wasn’t without its pitfalls, but he had made it through to the hours just before the sun touched the skies.  The stars were still out and, while he took a moment to appreciate their existence, Jackson Farwalker kept his other senses tuned to the world around him.  He had been encountering and assisting a variety of locals and residents alike as they made hurried escapes from the raider threat that had descending in the night.  He knew, like the stars he was watching, that there were too many for him to worry about by himself.  He would instead work with what he had and where he could.  The shadows wearing thin would be his call to be more careful as his freedom in the dark waned considerably.

A sudden burst of low, chittering voices drew his gaze away from the sky and towards his right shoulder.  He couldn’t make them out, but he took a quick assessment and felt safe enough that he could find cover to investigate closer.  He took off at a comfortable lope, easing through the trees and underbrush as quietly as he could manage.

Cooper Bennett had been stuffed out of the way for some time, waylaid on the way back to Steel Horse by one of his favorite things in the world: raiders.  Dollie raiders specifically, because the world had at the very least a sense of humor.  At least Del would get a rise out of the story when he finally passed through the Gravemind and popped up to tell it, so it wasn’t a total loss.  It had been a while since he had seen their faces, which let him stew in his own head a bit; perhaps too long?  He passingly thought that too much time by himself was starting to cause a bit of internal sarcasm along with the extended fear he was experiencing.  That, or he had just found a great form of torture for the next jackass that tried to screw with the Donkey.  Just hand them to seemingly forgetful Dollies and see how long it takes for them to snap, but only after they had started to carve portions of their body off and dry and grind them down into a paste.

Yes, that still hurt he realized, trying to wiggle the fingers on his left hand.  They were no longer there of course, and the pain made a constant reminder of that.  They still felt attached when he did try to use those digits.  If only the blood would stop dripping into his face, he’d at least have been able to see something other than a blur of light and a smear of color.  And then he heard the voices.  Those bastards were back, and headed straight for him.

Shit…

Jackson quickly surveyed what he could see in front of him, which was as simple a scene as he had come upon the entire night so far.  With his armor in disrepair, and banged up a bit to boot, he wasn’t sure how much of a confrontation he could take.  Seeing that it was two raiders blathering at each other, he didn’t feel much need to commit.

“Com’on in here and finish it, you bastards!” came a voice that seemed vaguely familiar.  “I’m tired of waiting for you, and I hear you.  Don’t just stand there, send me on my way already!”

“Coop?” Jackson exhaled, barely louder than the breath he emitted.  He was fairly sure that Cooper was there, and that he was definitely not in a good place.  Re-evaluating the situation, he calculated the odds in his head and mentally grimaced.  He wasn’t sure how this was going to play out, but he was hoping that it was only those two.  If any more of them showed up, he was screwed.

Slipping from one tree to the next, he avoided being caught out of position and took the advantage.  He stepped from behind his cover, catching the pair off-guard, and commented in almost a whisper, “Nice make-up, but you missed a spot.”

The blade in hand made the first cut across the eyes of one of the two raiders, spilling blood across their face.

Coop was tired of waiting.  He was nearing the edge of outrage, hearing the movement outside and yet no one had bothered to come finish what they started.  If he could get lose, he was prepared to end himself simply to spite the raiders that took him.  He could almost imagine their faces finding him dead before they had expected it!

“Damn it, maybe I’m really losing it,” he mumbled, struggling lightly against his bonds.  “They’d be just as happy to grind me up.”

The scuttling noises outside had taking a brief, sudden break and then ended in a sudden crash of leaves just outside the hole he was stashed away in.  He was no longer sure how long he’d been down here, but starving and parched, and only running on half sanity, he was done.  With every bit of strength he could muster, he began tearing wildly at his bindings, unknowingly growling and grunting as he struggled.  They would finish him or let him go, he’d force their hands one way or the other.

Two bodies hit the floor in fairly quick succession.  In the back of his head, Jackson knew something was wrong.  Dollies didn’t hit the deck that easily, which meant someone else had gotten to them first.  He tried to run through a mental replay of the combat, but was interrupted as he heard what he thought was Cooper struggling loudly only feet away.  He deftly ducked into the underside of an uprooted tree, clearing away some moss and roots, and seeing only some of what he expected with a few additional surprises.   It was Coop alright, but it looked like only two thirds of him was there.  Entire parts of him had been carved away, but he was still ravaging everything in sight trying to get free.

“Coop,” Jackson whispered, trying to catch his attention with as little noise as possible.  “Coop!  It’s me, Jackson.  I gotta get you outta here, but you need to shut the fuck up for a minute.”

Cooper didn’t seem to hear him for a moment as he turned and tried to lunge at the figure in the entryway.  Grasping and struggling, the words hadn’t settled into his mind quite right at first.  It wasn’t until Jackson slapped him with a stinging blow that he realized something was amiss.

“Jackson?” Coop murmured, his hand with missing digits reaching his face where the blow was struck.  “Seriously?  No shit?  I was sure I was going to die…”

“And you will,” Jackson cut him off, wasting no more time as he cut the other man free, “if you don’t keep quiet, follow me, and let me get you out of here.”

Coop nodded, not that it mattered in the dark hovel, and Jackson quickly freed him.  Helping him from the hole, both men took a brief survey; Coop adjusting his eyes to the minimal but newfound light, and Jackson trying to see who had heard the pair.  Seemingly, they were still alone.

Jackson took one last look and nodded at Coop.  “Time to go, we have to make tracks.”

The pair moved as hastily as the injured man was able, but as Jackson had already realized much earlier, it wouldn’t be fast enough to avoid pursuit from the amount of noise that they had made.  Another quick set of calculations in the back of his mind as he looked to the sky, he stopped Coop briefly and pointed to the sky.  “See that star?” he asked, looking around cautiously.

“Yeah,” Coop responded, wiping at the blood on his brow, “I see it.”

Jackson nodded, still looking around for signs of others, “Go that way – follow it.  You’ll make one of the Rover camps that are waiting for folks at the south side of town.  It should still be safe, and they’ll get you out to evac points.”

Coop tried to protest, but then heard the noise that Jackson had likely been scanning for.  It was in the distance yet, but it was closing.  It was one of those noises that tingled in the back of your neck as unnatural, yet you couldn’t figure out why.

“Go Coop.  Live.  Find your passion, hold onto it, and make sure you spread that like an infection,” Jackson filled in the silence, gently pushing the other man forward on the back.

“Damn it, Jackson, get your ass back safe.”  Coop struggled with the pang of guilt for leaving the other man in the forest, and the realization he’d be little more than a branch in the path of whatever was coming in his current condition.  Jackson was giving him a chance, which was more than he’d have had on his own.  He almost said more, but instead decided to move his body as fast as he could make it move.  They weren’t too far from the Dollies, and he was sure there were more unaccounted for.

Jackson quickly scoured his pack and pockets, pulling the last stores of what he had on him to help prepare for the oncoming noise.  He still couldn’t identify the source, but it sounded like only a single body moving clumsily about in the distance.  He took a quick drink of the meager mixes he had left, and watched Coop make his way along the barely lit forest path.  The guy could move for having that much muscle missing in places you’d expect it to be particularly required.  He crouched low, trying to fade into whatever cover he could afford himself.

Turning back towards the oncoming noise, his head snapped quickly left then right as noise came from both directions in quick succession.  Not one, then, but at least two.  He peered into the darkness, but couldn’t pick out any movement from his vantage point.  He didn’t dare to move from the cover he had established, but the last report of noise seemed close enough that he should see whatever it was that was making its way towards him.

He had a dreadful thought that he was missing something just a moment before he felt the razor sharp point stab through the remnants of his armor, cutting deep into his back just above the kidney.  He swore he could feel the weapon’s tip tapping the lower spine, which hit him almost like a detached moment of scientific interest rather than a blow that would kill a person.  It wasn’t until he attempted to turn his head to see who had struck the blow that he realized he couldn’t move, nor speak.  His body would no longer responded to his commands.

“Jackson Farwalker,” the voice whispered directly into his ear, the sweet smell of something familiar lingering past his face, “your time is now.  My client sends her regards.”

As the blade slipped from his back, a card flashed in front of his face.  An image he knew well, with the number thirteen written in one of the old world numbering formats, disappeared as he felt the hand slide the object into his jacket.  Most of the world went numb beyond that, his last few moments left to him as he expired.  The eyes that watched him from the shadows bothered him briefly, but then there was no more time left to worry about such things.  He would try to move, escape, flee… but he knew he could never truly do any of those things.

It wasn’t so much of a run as a wobbling hobble that Cooper took to, moving as quickly and quietly as he could manage.  He knew he wouldn’t have much time if Jackson couldn’t hold off whatever was coming, and he wasn’t keen to be caught a second time.  His mind raced and he pushed his body to the limit, knowing only that his salvation was still in the distance.

If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with everything that just happened, including trying to validate his position with the star that was pointed out to him, he might have seen the figures rounding a copse of trees.  He might even have had a chance to hide or otherwise get out of the way.  But none of that happened.  All he could do is stare in stark disbelief as the remaining dollie raiders that had been missing rounded the trees into the small gap between them.  He felt the deepest of sighs, one of pure resignation, erupt from him as if daring anything else to go right.

As one of the figures pointed, recognizing him from recent encounters, he felt the mental blast wash over him that sent him into a state of confusion.  He stood there, shaking his head to clear it, no longer sure where he was or what just happened.  He panned the faces for Jackson for a moment before registering that these were raiders and he was not safe.  Everything went dark as something hit him from behind.

Death Stories for those who stayed behind - Riley Trent

She wouldn’t budge, not even an inch.

“But I want my momma!” cried the young child, easily loud enough to be heard by local raiders that were willing to eat her, despite her not understanding the concept. Even sleeping raiders might wake for this one.

“Then let’s go meet with them,” they said quietly, trying to calm the child, “they should be waiting for you with everyone else.”

It was a small lie, but one they felt justified in telling. Riley Trent was cautiously optimistic that such a lie might both quiet the child and get them to safety. The truth, which they had already seen firsthand, was that the child’s parents had been smart enough to hide their young daughter while the raiders swept through the small farming village. How she hadn’t woken up at the stir, or been taken already, was a small miracle.

Riley had heard of the raider threat, and had fully intended to make their way out of Steel Horse quickly. It was the families she heard of that were either trapped or likely to be overrun that they felt a need to check on. These families, recipients of the post and generally a likeable lot, had grown on Riley over their time in town. They had been one of very few post runners to reside in town and, by virtue of that, they had also gotten to know many of the town’s outlying families at least at face value. Their own faith drove them to make sure that either the outliers had been overrun or could be, at least in part, saved.

“Are you sure?” the small child asked in a much smaller voice. She hadn’t been entirely reassured, but the words were at least correct enough to staunch the flow of tears in order to speak instead of scream.

The pang of guilt grazed their conscience as they almost frowned, but quickly held their face in check. “Of course, that’s where everyone is going. Everything is very messy right now, and people are missing others they love, but we’re all going to meet up just over there.”

They hadn’t remembered the small child specifically, but could pin the likeness on her parents easily enough. Riley would have put a wager on this particular child being Philip and Erina’s girl, who they had mentioned in passing but hadn’t shown her off to date. They were kind people, willing to help their neighbors and the town alike. They were Sainthood as well, which didn’t hurt knowing that Riley would be helping their own.

The girl snuffled into the long sleeve of the dressing gown, clearly handed down to her and a bit larger than a proper fit. Riley took a quick assessment, and reached their hand out offering it to her. The child took the offer, and without too much urging, the pair was on the way to meet others heading out of town.

“I’m Riley,” they said cautiously, barely loud enough to be heard, “and I deliver the post to your mom and dad. We have to be very quiet while we run, okay?”

The mention of the post, and both her parents, seemed to take the child’s mind off the jaunt through the darkness. Riley’s light made a small dent in the blackness of the path, while the moon was clear overhead and gave a bit more help where it could.

The young girl, now keeping up with some effort, breathed out, “Hi Riley, I’m Annabelle. Momma calls me Belle.”

For some reason, the notion of this explanation made Riley crack a wry smile. In the middle of the woods, avoiding certain death, a small child found it important to reveal not only her name, but seemingly her favored moniker. Only children could have this innocence, and the sudden realization that coming back for her was both fortuitous and almost fateful. A flash of a younger girl streaked across their mind, someone important. Someone from their past, long ago, that they couldn’t quite reach. They were almost at the edge of the light where one of the caravans was held up waiting for the last few survivors to catch up.

“Sister?” they found themselves whispering, as their mind raced to find purchase on the face or the thought itself. The fleeting moment seemed to be sprinting away when Riley’s foot gave out from under them.

“Go Belle! That way,” Riley pointed toward the light as they tried to pull themselves upright.

The small girl looked back, her eyes growing to what seemed to be twice their size, as she let out a shriek only a child could make. She turned and ran as quick as her legs could carry her, as her guide thus far had almost made it to her feet. Riley turned their head over their shoulder, not expecting to stop given Belle’s reaction, but was hit in the throat and felt their windpipe collapse. Their feet, ready to move forward, seemed not to react. Something was wrong.

Taking another moment, a required moment, to check their right leg, it was clear someone had cut straight through the heel. While Riley hadn’t felt it at the time – I swear, that face – it hurt like hell now. The scream, trapped in their throat when the small band of raiders emerged from the trees, felt like it had claws, ripping away at where the air should have been escaping at that moment. The last thing they remembered was a pair of shields emerging at the edge of the light, a pair of bodies. Bartok was there, and Belle would be safe. Everything went a painful black soon afterward.

Exodus from Steel Horse Crossing - The Diesel Jocks

The constant crack of gunfire ripping through rounds at a furious rate was the first sound that was made in the ensuing fight.    The whine of a motor coughing out the power to spin the cylinder emptying those rounds wasn’t far behind, but other guns had picked up where the first left off.  The tense calm that existed only moments before was shattered, and every last person that knew what those sounds brought with them leapt into action.

“Raiders, north side!  Prepare the spikes, man the guns!”

The voice called out, faceless in the dark, but the call echoed down the line of the massive compound.  The Diesel Jock clan within the walls didn’t hesitate, as each of them took up their post and began their assigned tasks.  More voices began to mark calls to some order or another, and eventually the air was thick with screams.  Screams of orders, screams of battle, and screams of death.

“Lights,” grumbled an older man from relative darkness.

It was all that needed to be said, and suddenly the compound was lit up like the sun was sitting just above the compound, its brilliant light shining outward.  The man issuing the order stood up, shifted his hefty frame around the small office at the back of the garage, and peered outside.  He nodded once in a matter of fact fashion, seemingly sated by the immediate results.  The tactic had made two very distinct points, which he saw had eluded the two other RPM members attending his immediate orders.

“You see,” he said almost wearily, gesturing at the lights facing outside the compound, “this is why we clear the area around the Boneyard.  They have to fight into the lights and be blind, and we get to see them coming clearly to make sure they don’t make it to the wall.  And if they do…”

The middle aged man in front of his elder took the cue, which was quite the initiative for him.  “If they do, we run them through with the traps and the wall spikes?”

Pleased, though he’d never have admitted it, the president of the RPM gave another simple nod at the fellow.  He deserved a bit of recognition when he was finally smart enough to figure things like that out.

“Right.  And if those fuckers think they’re getting the better of us, they missed the fact we’ve been here prepared for them for just about as long as there were raiders around these parts.”

The fighting had let up briefly as the raiders outside the walls regrouped.  The light had slowed them down, but it was a temporary situation as the charging, screaming bodies were replaced with rifle cracks and the occasional glass breaking.  The situation would turn again, but there were plenty of surprises left in store.

“Panhead,” a voice called from around the corner, “where do you want the artillery pointed?  Main forces?”

Dick Berken frowned for just a moment before he spun his girth around to face the new voice.  “Keep the shells dry and plant the big guns north.  Get some of the smaller ones ready for wherever they’re thinking of hitting us next.  Line ‘em up to hit a good thirty yards out.  Any closer, we may start losing our own shit.”

“Got it boss.  And by the way, Admiral just patched in to the radio.  Says he needs a word when you’re not buried in bullshit.”  The man at the door disappeared almost as fast as he showed up, leaving Dick and his two attendants alone again.

“Alright, Ogre guard the doors.  Anyone tries to come in, give ‘em one warning.  Then put ‘em out.  Not too hard, we can’t afford to start losing bodies at this point.  Led, grab Abe, I’m gonna need him working for once.”  Dick strode by, talking as he walked through the door.  As he passed them both, he turned back for only a moment.  “And get the probies running ammo.  If they’re not half asleep exhausted in the next few hours, they haven’t been working enough.”

Dick trudged through the Boneyard, looking up occasionally at the high walls and the spike sleds that pushed through them.  Each and every turret was full, with a backup body pulling rifle duty beside it just in case.  The provisions were being managed, meals being made, weapons being tended, and vehicles of all stripes being prepared.

“Well,” he suggested with all the mirth he could muster, “he sure as hell picks a great time to want to slackjaw on a radio.”

A few hours later, the core crew of The RPM crowded into one of the bike garages, tucked away from both battle and outside ears.  Dick stood at the center of the small crowd, facing each one in turn so he could gauge the fighting on their expressions.  He could tell it hadn’t gotten brutal yet, as they all looked pretty much in the moment.  He was worried when that would change, and how much it would change each of them.  Particularly if any of them would make it through.

“Alright you schlubs, here’s the deal,” he started, making sure they all quieted down while he took a moment to let his voice sink in.  “Admiral says the shelling is about as good as he can pull off right now, as these sludgebrains are pretty much right up the asshole of the naval docks.  Best chance we have is to hold out while he rallies help from down south.”

With so few people in the room, only a single word echoed in the room; “Great.”  He knew who it was, and his nephew would get an ear full of hot air and perhaps a good lump over the head later.  Now wasn’t the time.

“No, it isn’t ‘great’.  Not one of us thinks so.  But we’ve got plenty of food for the near term, and the mush-heads aren’t getting to the walls anytime soon.  We can start worrying when the ammo runs out.  More likely though it’s going to be the food.  And that’s what we’re focusing on, rationing and stringing out the bits we have on hand.”  Dick wasn’t one to let things hang in the air often, but it was a particular point of difficultly dealing with food when you didn’t have a means of food production within the walls.

The quartermaster reported that they’d have enough food to last a month and a half, and could get into the turn of the new year if they really stretched some things out.  He had even suggested adding some motor oil to the mix if things got too thin, but Dick had told him to keep that thought for later.  He hoped there wouldn’t be a later that called for it.

“We’re waiting for troops, or whoever else they throw together,” he glowered slightly, ensuring that no one decided to pop off with another smart remark.  “And when they get here, we’ll link up and help them push.  Until then, keep this to yourselves.  And one more thing – bring me Ogre.”

The door opened moments later, a hulking man of superior size ducked through the door to get into the garage proper.  He wasn’t just tall, but was filled out like a warship with shoulders to match one.  He lumbered forward, but stood a respectful distance from the RPM officers, waiting for them to speak first.

“Ogre,” Dick started, wasting no time diving into the problem.  “You’ve been good on the road.  Captains all say you can ride, and you can handle yourself with the best of ‘em.  I’ve got a test for you, which won’t be easy, but if you pull it off you’ll end up a Tail Gunner on the road.  Good with you so far?”

Ogre nodded, seemingly somewhat surprised, but managed to utter “Sure boss, whatchya need?” before he forgot who he was standing in front of.

“Kit yourself out.  Just after the turn of the year, if these shitheels outside aren’t gone, we’re sending you down the tunnel on a ride.  Need you to bring something to Mill City.  Two things to remember that are critical.  First, you bring my ride back.  Second, you don’t let anyone touch what I give you until you’re in the walls of Mill City.  One box, one key.  Got it?”

Ogre stood staring, the most puzzled look crossing his face as he processed why he’d be sent out during a fight that he’d be most useful standing around hitting things.  He didn’t quite piece it together, but shrugged his shoulders acquiescing to the fact that Dick and the officers knew best.

“Sure thing, boss.  Protect the ride, protect the box and key.  Got it.”  Ogre waited a few moments making sure it wasn’t a joke, or perhaps for some manner of divine inspiration to hit, but with neither becoming obvious, he turned to leave.

With the door closed behind him, Dick chose a door headed the opposite way, calling out over his shoulder, “Get to work, road rash, we have shit to do and raiders to kill!”

Quietly, two voices looked at the door Ogre just walked through only moments ago, and asked the pertinent question.

“Think he’ll make it?  To Mill City I mean.”

“It’d take a miracle…”

Exodus from Steel Horse Crossing - The Natural Ones

The gathering had grown smaller over the last few years, and particularly this last year.  It had been a hard few winters, and many people of the town no longer understood the symbiotic nature of those that lived within it, and those tribes that lived around it.  The tribes had taken the brunt of that failing, and none more so than the Kishwaukee.  The Palwaukee, a sister tribe, had only recently given thanks to the town for their help eliminating a problem that threatened every last one of them.  Others had protested at the gesture, claiming the town didn’t understand the burden the tribes bore, but the Palwaukee insisted that teaching those that lived within the soul of the land would help show them the importance of the tribes’ plight.  The raider horde had added no small salt to the wounds that they suffered as they encroached further into the heart of their lands.

The Kishwaukee had been the scouts to the north, the warnings that were brought to the town, the caretakers of the Great Tree that suffered.  They were the hosts to keep others safe.  And yet, the Great Tree’s infection had spread to lengths very few truly understood, and the raiders were pushing south by the day.  The Dark Moon had lost all of their children, small numbers at a time, until they began to cry out in the darkness from the beyond.  The Pinefoot had slowly been falling as the northern border of the forest began to crumble.  Their world, at one point static and known, had turned upside down.

Through it all, the Palwaukee had taken on the weight of becoming the backbone of the tribes.  It was they that called the gathering, pulling together all the tribes that could muster for a decision on what was to be done.  It would be the decisive moment when all of the blood must decide on what would befall the families that had lived here collectively over the many years.  The cool wind slowly licked the great fire burning at the center of the circle as the last of the Pinefoot slipped into the clearing, only noticed by the lithe female figure that made her way adeptly through seated men and women of all ages.

“Elder Laya of the Pinefoot,” an older man spoke quietly, his head not moving to look at her, “the circle sees you and welcomes you.”

Without so much as a sound, she took an open seat closest to the fire with the other elders with a small nod to each.  As she settled, despite the light, she seemed to fade into the shadowy background.

“Elder Timothy, it is good to be seen.  The Pinefoot greet you all in turn.”

Timothy, raising his head slightly, allowed the light to reflect off his pure white eyes.  He turned his head from left to right, more out of habit than anything, sightlessly scanning the elders’ circle.

“It is time,” he began, “to decide our future.  The horde to the north will descend, and with it, will more than likely take these lands.  The town is not prepared for this battle, and we can no longer mitigate the circumstances.  We will not stand alone to die to the man and woman. This would be folly.”

In a guttural growl, a hulking man with intricate tattoos slammed his fist into the ground next to him.  “The Dark Moon will not idly allow these creatures to take the souls of our children.  They live with the land now, and we will not leave them.”

Murmurs of agreement were cut short as Timothy raised his hand.  The silence was immediate.

“Elder Cold Bear is correct,” Timothy replied, allowing his hands to slowly fall to his side again.  A crimson leaf, falling from overhead, danced into the fire and created a quick flare accentuating the point.  “We will not leave the heart of our land to the sullied and foul brained.  But we also cannot lose everything and allow them to keep it forever.  We must be more intelligent than they are.”

“What do you suggest, Elder Timothy?” Laya questioned in a hushed tone.

The older man smiled, the white eyes trained on her as she asked the question.  “We will retreat, until those that have forgotten the heart of the woods understand what they have lost.  We will organize, and help them remember.  We will return with them and take our home once they commit to taking their homes as well.”

Another murmur echoed through the gathered members around the fire, this time lingering a bit longer.  Voices on both sides of the issue spoke their mind to each other in the darkness, but not one voice rose above the rest.

“With the Kishwaukee no longer as they once were,” Timothy continued as the crowd quickly exhausted their discussion to hear more detail, “we must share duties and thin our lines further.  The only way we survive is if we all work together with our strengths.”

Laya, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping both of her arms around the knees, smiled in the firelight.  “We will, of course, run the forests and scout the movements?  I can think of no tribe better to take on the task.”

The eldest nodded curtly, “Just so, Elder Laya.  The Pinefoot are the most adept at this required task.  We must ensure we have information from the slow advance.  We must know numbers, locations, timing and even where they strike as they move.”

“And what would you have us do, Elder Timothy?  With the Kishwaukee no longer with us, how will we be divided?”  Cold Bear asked, his voice grave with the question.

“Elder Cold Bear, the Dark Moon have long been the most ferocious of fighters.  Your people cannot stand against the tide that moves.  Instead, you must take on the role of the Kishwaukee – defenders of the people.  You and the smaller tribes will retreat, and the Dark Moon will take up the rear guard to make sure no more fall than the battle will take.” 

Timothy’s voice was solemn, knowing he sent this tribe into the fray with assured losses.  Cold Bear’s reaction was not surprisingly, but disarming for those that did know the man well.

“We will cull those we meet and return them to the forest,” the hulking figure responded, a grizzled grin spreading over his scarred face.  “May the forest mother take them swiftly.”

 Timothy nodded earnestly at the man, his head instinctively turning to his right where another elder once sat.  The empty space of the Kishwaukee haunted him briefly.

“We will, as always, take on the task of coordinating with those that make it out of the town alive and whatever efforts are being made to reclaim our home.” he said with a note of sadness in his voice.

With the sentence spoken, the three elders sat a moment, staring at the fire in the quiet of the night.  Cold Bear was the first to stand, the sharp tones of armor and weapons clattering as he did so.  He took a skin of water and poured it onto the fire.  Laya followed moments later, repeating the process.  Timothy, with a slow sigh, stood as his joints popped softly under the loose, warm clothing.  He raised his arms to the sides, at which point the smaller tribe elders began to move forward and cast water onto the fire.  Timothy was the last, and the fire was already long out, but he still followed the ritual of his people and poured the skin of water into the soupy fire pit.

“And so it begins.”

Hey, Did You Hear? - November

“Well, with the Thrill Kill season out, now all we gotta worry about is the winter raven feedings, that dark stalker, some kinda super bees, the starving season, the insane amount of raiders north of us, or the ‘Works finding something wrong in town because someone done fucked up.”
“Still, it could be worse.”
“Damn it Leroy, that’s not somethin’ you say!”

"Somebody said sumthin about a brothel opening in town. Nothin says civilization like a good ole whorehouse!"

“What’s an ‘unregistered’ psion, anyhow?”
“Around here?  One you won’t see again.”
“How ya register then if ya don’t want to get carted off?”
“Why?  You a psion?  There’s a reward for that, y’know…”

"I heard a buncha folks are all pissed that some rover who ain't even from Steel Horse tried to talk on behalf of the town. Bet they ain't gunna get much hospitality from here on out."

[Errant Note in Town]
“Roses are Red, Your Scarves are Blue, Just like Your Face, While I’m Choking You.”

“Soemthin’ got the RPM stirred up it seems.  Couple’a new faces around the edges of town.”

“I wonder how many people realize that this trade is actually closer to the Nemesis holy day than last trade?  Most folks don’t think in backwards timeframes.  That’ll be a mistake.”

"My sister said The Works has been cracking down on illegal drugs lately. Man, I hope it’s just a fine and not actual arrestin'!"

"Folks say the HFC crew dropped a mine last trade and all kinds of bugs came out of the ground. Hell, I ain't seen this many bees my whole life. Why're bees coming out of the ground?!?"

[Posted in Town]
All verifiable Fortunate Sons may be claimed for bounty at the remote depot in town for 5 Lugs per capture.  Must be alive, per Ironworks law.  Dead Fortunate Sons are broken laws.
 

Hey Did You Hear? - October 2017

“That big meet up 12 knots way seems to have made a big fuss in the Wastes.  Rumors go that the Chancellor had someone up and disappear on her?”
“Well hell, that’ll make her REAL endearing to Rovers I’m sure!”

“Fights in town with prizes?  I wonder how that’ll turn out.  Wonder if that kinda bettin’ is legal?”

“Dis gon’ be good…”

“Someone said something about that Septima gal going on a murder spree?  Did those Fortunate Sons wash off on her?”

“Nah, probably just a Pure gone stir crazy out in the fresh air.  They like to be all kept pretty and uptight indoors too much for this kinda livin’.  Bound to happen at some point.”

“End of fall, and we haven’t seen a single raven for the season?  Either they’ve got real stealthy, or they’ve gone off and cleared out.  I’m worried about only one of those.”

“Why do we keep hearing about that Merican with his crazy experiments?  I mean, I understand that we’re in a town that appreciates some science, but that man trying to trap murderous things and poke at them doesn’t seem right in the head, science be damned.”

“Hear he did say he wants to make a cow that gives off hooch instead of milk, y’know?”

“Huh, never mind I said anything.  Seems like a good enough scientist.”

“Ironworks census taking seems to be a reasonable enough thing.”

“Unless you’re a psion that hasn’t registered, or a ‘free slave’, or some other fool thing.”

[Posted on a Sign]

“The more you ignore the late night, the worse the coming last fight.”

“Fortunate Sons been mighty quite this year by comparison.”

“Ayuh, heard they keeping it low until that Coleman feller takes his butt south for the freeze.”

“Why him?”

“Seem they got them a score fer settlin’ wit them crows.”

“I posit that Nemesis are like the psion manifestation.  Similar to having more psions in a place attracting more of the waking dead, so too the Nemesis threat is created with more people in one place.  I further hypothize that the population of untrained Telling Visionists doesn’t help this particular situation.  I theoretically will be staying indoors, despite Steel Horse having yet to experience a true ‘Nemesis Season’ as reported by other outlying settlements.”

“PURGE…..”

Hey Did You Hear? - September

“Hey, did you see all of those people who tromped out of town last trade? I wonder where they were going.”

“I heard something was prowling the woods at night last trade. Lil Bobby said he found some animals with their heads all torn off.”

“The guy talked like a doc and had a name like one… what was it?  Dr. Snyder?  Robert maybe?  Well, he looked like a doc for sure, but it was in his eyes.  That certain brand of crazy that you just know ain’t right.  Had something for eyes, starin’ on like that.”

"Dixie Rose and Sophie just about killed some fancy pure with pink hair. How much you wanna bet that ain't over yet? Make some popcorn!"

“If it wasn’t for that stupid witch baby, I’d have won that carnival prize too! I hope the Gravemind swallows him whole.”

"My brother said there's a feud between a bunch of rovers in town. His buddy said it was just a fight between Corvids & BFG. Either way, that ain't gunna go good."

“I heard someone’s quartermaster got thugged out near the new Depot. Pity. I tried to tell them that the old location was safer, even if it was a bit of a hike.”
"The Drunken Donkey Bar & Lounge opened up and has been real busy. 'Bout time we got a bar that ain't a murderhouse!"

“Ran into a trader that just sailed in. Said he came across a spot in the woods where some critter with 6 feet ripped apart a whole group of raiders. Said there was raider parts everywhere, but all the faces was gone. Now, I’ve seen some weird stuff out in the wastes, but I ain’t never seen a 6 legged critter that eats faces. Least one that’s blue.”

"Ricky said all the Kishwaukee done turned into raider-witches and came into town to kill folk, starting with Septima!"

“Ya gotta wonder, if the problems kept getting taken care of, you think less things’d pile up and cause double extra trouble?  Seems like problems only get short term solutions.”

"Been asking around, but nobody who went to the Helldive can say if they vented it proper or not. Nobody seems to be talking about it, which makes me real worried. Hell, I heard the only real Helldiver Steel Horse got decided to retire!"

"My Ma said some doctor put their baby-makin' bits into that sick, goopy tree and that's why we's got all kinds of sick going 'round town now."

"I heard a Lascarian family came into town while everyone was out at the 'dive and were asking to move back into town. Didn't they kill everybody last time they's lived here?"

"Coupla scarves came in and said there was some folks going around stealing last trade. They heard it was some kids, but I overheard some other folks sayin' it was folks who live in town!"

Hey, Did You Hear? - July

“I heard that Matt Derrick killed all the McLeods himself, but he didn’t stop there.  He just kept going with a sick grin on his face until he was completely covered in their blood.  I know they were horrible people but only a monster would do something like that…”

“I ain’t seen or heard anybody planning a helldive yet this season? What, they gunna just let the whole damned town burn like down in Bravo? What’s so important they ain’t been planning the helldive yet?!?”

“I heard that Hell Diving isn’t even a real thing, that these so called Hell Divers set the mines on fire themselves so they can look like big damn heros.  Pretty sad if you ask me…”

“What the holy hells is going on with all the babies disappearing around town? Folks are starting to lose their minds and been hiding their kids with relatives way outside the area. Gravemind stuff? Final Knight stuff? Baby thieves? What’s going on?”

“Sounds like Cooper’s been showing the town what a real High Saturday hedon party looks like. Where’s the hedon priests been in all this? Is this their tribute to Sloth? Letting Cooper do all the work?”

“Did you know that if you cover yourself in some crazy liquid you become immune to fire, I’m not even joking this weird couple invented it!”

“More of them purebloods been coming into town for some kind of rustic vacation. I suppose nobody warned them the whole damned town’s on fire? That’s bad advertising!”

“Ugh. I’ve had this weird itch ever since that horde of zed wandered into town last trade…”

“I heard Steel Horse is due for an Ironworks raid, they said that there were just too many illegal drugs in the area.  Better get used to clean living or get all your papers in order...”

“Did you hear that Valravn told that Knotter to go kill herself? You’d think someone as respectable as the Corvid Queen might be a little more sympathetic to a woman who’s lost her dead child like that.”

“One of those stupid earthshakes that keeps happening tipped over my favorite hooch mug and broke it. It had sentimental value, too.”

“Why do folks keep on insisting on stealing the baby-dolls from the Morgue?  Seems like the Gravemind started sending things to get them back too.”  

“Between the ‘Mericans celebrating their holiday and the Helldivers chompin’ at the bit, how many explosions do you think we’ll hear over the next few weeks?  How much dynamite do you think they have?”  

“Didja see the Admiral come in and meet with the town action counsel? That stupid action counsel thing ain’t nothin but a joke. I heard that Norske fella even done and quit ‘cause he said it don’t do nuthin anyway.”

Hey, Did You Hear? - June

• Hear that?  That scream is a couple’a engines roaring as that Abram fella come peelin up the roads from down south.  Hellraiser, I hear he calls it – gouts a flame and got zed smear all over the damn thing.  That’s a machine for ya.
• I’ll bet you five lugs I can cook an egg on the ground over there.
• Seems like the McLeods have gone quiet.  Nice bit for a change to not have every at each other’s throats.  Maybe they’ve moved on finally?
• I heard they’re building something called a ‘spa’ in Steel Horse. Must be why all them Pures are headed north.
• Who keeps writing messed-up letters to folks from supposedly dead people? Its been messing folks up in the head. That aint funny, its mean. Some say the graveheads think its the gravemind. I don’t think that thing knows how to write, buddy.
• That… thing?  The one that pinned up Jackson?  What the heck was it, and why was it talkin to folks?  Seems to come around more than just a few times.
• You haven’t seen any dead babies on the road, have you? No, no reason.
• I heard the Navy shelling is to try to keep the raiders back. They said they won’t stop hitting the front line, even if it comes into town. That ain’t no good for townsfolks.
• I heard tell a couple new folks almost set the whole town on fire again. Not sure why they’re so impatient for summer to start.
• A great ‘Merican hero killed a self-proclaimed nemesis right in the middle of town!
• See this hole in the ground? Just toss something valuable down there, and make a wish.
• Seems the fire mines started up kinda early this year. Somebody said a few steam vents opened up right in town and spit up some zed right into the Corvid kitchen and the hostel.
• Them pures talkin about a Lemonade Stand Massacre might’a been exaggerating before, but they set up right up by the Depot last trade and got hit real bad a few times ‘cause of it. Some angry lady natural ones and some nasty raider docs, I heard. I wonder if they still turned a profit?
• The say Gary lost his marbles and ascended. I heard the hostel got real messy there without him for a while. I wonder if folks are gunna be mad or more appreciative of him when he gets his head settled?
• You want to make some money, boy, you gotta learn to hustle. You’ll have time to sit around and drink hooch once you’re rich.
• Looks like the Chancellor almost got her a letter.  Guess she has people to screen out the boring ones and send off an attack hound instead.
• I heard the whole town’s gone crazy and started hearing things. Probably just the Hedons drinking Spirit Walk again.
• I heard someone wants to set off a bomb in the caves below town to put out the fires. As if burning season wasn’t enough of a reason to leave town!

Hey, Did You Hear? - May

• “Heard people made out real good at DeeCee. Lemonade stand, Jones’, & Corvids prolly real rich by now. Hope summa that makes it into town cause the rest of the folk are real poor still.“

“Wonder if some of that won’t even make it back into town at all?”

“Whatchya mean?  Ooooh….”

• “Fuck me, she actually got the letter?  And she’s responding?”

• “Iron Works is looking to crack down on illegal slave trade.  You a slaver you best have your paperwork in order least they check you.  Rumor has it they just cut you down where you stand you sell slaves without a license.”

“Course real slavers came into town again over last trade with some unusually skilled slaves.  Not much business to be had though.  And people wonder why real slave auctions don’t happen?”

• “Looks like folks are starting to feel a lot better.  Guess the doctors found the cure to that plague that’s been going around. Just in time too, who knows how much worse it could have gotten.”

• “I heard the Final Knights are trying to take over the town, made the hostel holy ground and everything. I say we just let them have it, can’t be any worse than what some other folks have been doing.”

• “Shshsh, I hear lotsa people been learning about the Gravemind from one or two people. I wonder how long it's gonna take before anyone realizes they're all gonna go crazy?”

• “Poor Marcy… her wedding was going to be so beautiful.  Nothing stops the horde though, those zed rolled through and left naught but bones.”

• “My ma told me this guy new to town named Farmer Charlie died trying to save a fancy pureblood. Ma said he crawled outta the ground and everybody made fun of him and almost let him die a second time. What kind of people do that?”

• “Things is heating up, almost time for the vents to start burping up fire again.  You know what that means, all sorts of flaming critters.  Hell, I even saw a flaming yeti one year run by, and it’s best not see that again.”

• “Sounds like the Action Committee had to sign some kind of contract to be recognized by the Works. I wonder if they hang when townsfolk break the law? That'd be one way to get rid of ‘em!”

• “Navy patrol got hit hard, heard a few fell in the fights.  Pit stops are getting worse, someone’s gotta do something soon or it’s gonna get worse!”

• “Apparently there’s some guy going around killing local monsters. Maybe the Iron Works should hire him to go about killing all these raiders next?”

• “Those stupid Darwins hunting that Hodag were apparently chasing a rat the whole time. It wasn’t even one of them giant mutated rats or nothing!  What a bunch of idiots.”

• “Why’s a bunch of people turning into raiders all of a sudden? Was it Little Red Schoolhouse? All the raider hordes? Bad food? It's getting really bad ‘round here.”

• “Sounds like everyone’s trying to rally their friends to go after this family of killers, good luck to ‘em, I wouldn’t be caught dead goin’ out there, because then I’d just be dead.”

• “Ma also told me that the local tribe came into town to get some help in their outside church and the townsfolk left them out there to die. Maybe Steel Horse Crossing ain't as hospitable as we thought, huh?”