05-14-2016, 05:49 PM
Carmelita filled up the tanker with little incident, even with a brief scare when two stormtroopers had asked for a permit. Thankfully, she got away with retro-actively purchasing one with some of the money she’d liberated from the bandits, and the two had walked away without a second glance. Apparently they had more important things to do than to fine some lowly truck driver. Carmelita fancied that those things might include like tracking down someone who’d snuck through the portal recently. A self-indulgent fantasy, perhaps, but it was possible.
Without further ado, Carmelita hit the road. There was a radio in the truck’s cab, and she fiddled with it, looking for a broadcast it might be capable of playing. After some interesting chatter involving two kids playing with radios they’d found in a scrap dump, she found a station that called itself ‘The Channel With No Name’. That wasn’t hard to extrapolate from, and so she found herself being cued in on the situation through the inferred knowledge she got from the broadcast.
“So now for the weather. Mara?”
The Texan drawl was replaced by an Arabian twang.
“Sandstorms have been spotted several times in the past few days, so the general warning is to batten down your windows and keep your belongings inside. Moisture farmers will want to begin partial shutdown procedures for caution's sake. Back to you David.”
“Thank you. Today we have the god-given pleasure of welcoming into the world two brand new baby boys, one of them a little Gideon Red and the other an Azaoxosis Erixonis. The station gives congratulations to their families.”
“No further clues on who broke in and stole from Mr Fans’ bakery last week, nor yesterday’s theft of food from Mrs Ervice’s granary. Roland was unable to comment due to being extremely busy with the more urgent problems, and the rest of the deputies refused to comment.”
“Shooty McShooterson’s Gun Shop has a special offer on ammunition today, reducing the price of standard revolver and pistol ammunition by twenty percent. I use a rifle myself, but that’s certainly a good deal.”
“And later on in the program, we’ll be talking about the water shortage. First, though, traffic. Mara?”
“The Carrefore approach has seen an increase in low-life activity, the Jeans and T-shirt gang the most organised bunch. The New Babylon road is commonly filled with relief efforts and refugees, which has led to a resurgence of skag activity and sand scorpion attacks. The Ashen Wastes route has been quieter lately, with the recent rebuff of the Fire-belcher mutants leaving the groups licking their wounds. Back to you David.”
“Thank you. Now, onto the water crisis that has gripped the Town With No Name. The town’s aquifer continues to be reduced to a muddy trickle, the pumps and wells running dry. Normally, we’d be relying on the moisture farmers to deliver tanks of water to keep the water towers filled, but there’ve been a lot of convoy raiding, especially from the Jeans and T-shirt gang. Water tankers have been stolen alongside food and supplies, and even armed vehicles have been subdued through dirty tricks and a few roadside bombs.”
“It should be no surprise that we’re expecting trouble from the malcontents again. Sheriff Roland has been prowling around to keep the peace, but that doesn’t make it easier on the deputies. Hopefully, this water crisis will be solved soon.”
Carmelita reached out and turned off the radio as the program came to an end. She felt the glow of self-justification, though the revelation that a few previous trucks had been waylaid despite an armed escort made her slightly nervous. She turned her eyes back to the road. The grass was giving way to sand and the hardened road she’d been travelling was now kicking up a huge column of dust behind the truck.
It was when the Town With No Name came into sight, palisade walls and all, that Carmelita was attacked. She had kept an eye on the mirrors, expecting any pursuers to sneak up behind her; what she hadn’t been expecting was for the road to travel along a ridge that hid two catapults to literally launch flatbed trucks into action from a standing start. Once again, the vehicles chasing her were smaller and more lightweight than the tanker she was driving. The truck on the left was full of humans, all of them shaved bald and several of them waving melee weapons or shotguns. The one on the right instead had three reptiles wielding flamethrowers. Carmelita shook off her surprise and slammed her paw down on the accelerator and hunkered down, preparing her shock pistol.
The truck on the left pulled ahead, and the other slammed into the tanker from the right. Thinking the miniguns the greater threat, Carmelita charged a heavy-duty shot and took careful aim, landing the shot on the driver through an open window despite the shotgun shells flying around her. The truck swerved as the driver lost sensation, ploughing into the soft sand of a nearby dune.
She turned back to the other truck just in time to see it slam into the side of the tanker. She turned the wheel, trying to avoid jack knifing. The wing mirror showed several of the passengers had boarded the tanker, and despite one falling screaming into the dust a few had hung on. The truck slammed into the side of the tanker again, and she grit her teeth tighter as she pulled her cab back into line. She prepared to barge back only to feel her cab lurch and pull ahead of the truck. All of a sudden, she was going much, much faster, and looking in the mirror, she could see why: the raiders that had boarded the truck had decoupled the water tank from the cab. Now it was slowing to a halt, the raiders were circling protectively around it, and she could see another cab driven by raiders approaching from the left. Gritting her teeth, she knew there wasn’t much hope if she went back now, and ploughed on along the road.
Without further ado, Carmelita hit the road. There was a radio in the truck’s cab, and she fiddled with it, looking for a broadcast it might be capable of playing. After some interesting chatter involving two kids playing with radios they’d found in a scrap dump, she found a station that called itself ‘The Channel With No Name’. That wasn’t hard to extrapolate from, and so she found herself being cued in on the situation through the inferred knowledge she got from the broadcast.
“So now for the weather. Mara?”
The Texan drawl was replaced by an Arabian twang.
“Sandstorms have been spotted several times in the past few days, so the general warning is to batten down your windows and keep your belongings inside. Moisture farmers will want to begin partial shutdown procedures for caution's sake. Back to you David.”
“Thank you. Today we have the god-given pleasure of welcoming into the world two brand new baby boys, one of them a little Gideon Red and the other an Azaoxosis Erixonis. The station gives congratulations to their families.”
“No further clues on who broke in and stole from Mr Fans’ bakery last week, nor yesterday’s theft of food from Mrs Ervice’s granary. Roland was unable to comment due to being extremely busy with the more urgent problems, and the rest of the deputies refused to comment.”
“Shooty McShooterson’s Gun Shop has a special offer on ammunition today, reducing the price of standard revolver and pistol ammunition by twenty percent. I use a rifle myself, but that’s certainly a good deal.”
“And later on in the program, we’ll be talking about the water shortage. First, though, traffic. Mara?”
“The Carrefore approach has seen an increase in low-life activity, the Jeans and T-shirt gang the most organised bunch. The New Babylon road is commonly filled with relief efforts and refugees, which has led to a resurgence of skag activity and sand scorpion attacks. The Ashen Wastes route has been quieter lately, with the recent rebuff of the Fire-belcher mutants leaving the groups licking their wounds. Back to you David.”
“Thank you. Now, onto the water crisis that has gripped the Town With No Name. The town’s aquifer continues to be reduced to a muddy trickle, the pumps and wells running dry. Normally, we’d be relying on the moisture farmers to deliver tanks of water to keep the water towers filled, but there’ve been a lot of convoy raiding, especially from the Jeans and T-shirt gang. Water tankers have been stolen alongside food and supplies, and even armed vehicles have been subdued through dirty tricks and a few roadside bombs.”
“It should be no surprise that we’re expecting trouble from the malcontents again. Sheriff Roland has been prowling around to keep the peace, but that doesn’t make it easier on the deputies. Hopefully, this water crisis will be solved soon.”
Carmelita reached out and turned off the radio as the program came to an end. She felt the glow of self-justification, though the revelation that a few previous trucks had been waylaid despite an armed escort made her slightly nervous. She turned her eyes back to the road. The grass was giving way to sand and the hardened road she’d been travelling was now kicking up a huge column of dust behind the truck.
It was when the Town With No Name came into sight, palisade walls and all, that Carmelita was attacked. She had kept an eye on the mirrors, expecting any pursuers to sneak up behind her; what she hadn’t been expecting was for the road to travel along a ridge that hid two catapults to literally launch flatbed trucks into action from a standing start. Once again, the vehicles chasing her were smaller and more lightweight than the tanker she was driving. The truck on the left was full of humans, all of them shaved bald and several of them waving melee weapons or shotguns. The one on the right instead had three reptiles wielding flamethrowers. Carmelita shook off her surprise and slammed her paw down on the accelerator and hunkered down, preparing her shock pistol.
The truck on the left pulled ahead, and the other slammed into the tanker from the right. Thinking the miniguns the greater threat, Carmelita charged a heavy-duty shot and took careful aim, landing the shot on the driver through an open window despite the shotgun shells flying around her. The truck swerved as the driver lost sensation, ploughing into the soft sand of a nearby dune.
She turned back to the other truck just in time to see it slam into the side of the tanker. She turned the wheel, trying to avoid jack knifing. The wing mirror showed several of the passengers had boarded the tanker, and despite one falling screaming into the dust a few had hung on. The truck slammed into the side of the tanker again, and she grit her teeth tighter as she pulled her cab back into line. She prepared to barge back only to feel her cab lurch and pull ahead of the truck. All of a sudden, she was going much, much faster, and looking in the mirror, she could see why: the raiders that had boarded the truck had decoupled the water tank from the cab. Now it was slowing to a halt, the raiders were circling protectively around it, and she could see another cab driven by raiders approaching from the left. Gritting her teeth, she knew there wasn’t much hope if she went back now, and ploughed on along the road.