Ortho's Journal - Vol. III
Back when he was in still in the service, Ortho went through his share of psychiatric therapy in an attempt to improve his atrocious people skills. He didn't get much out of it except a habit of keeping a journal as a means of organizing his thoughts and contemplating his actions. This portion of the Shelter will be dedicated to "Stone Cold's" ruminations as he wanders the Wasted West. The journal itself takes the form of a special audio-only palmcorder, and the data slug entries he records are transcribed verbatim (or as close as possible) here. His latest entry is posted last in this volume due to a cut/paste error on my part. Page down to the latest date and deal with it (sorry). Dates reflect the date of the game session.
12/12 - Back in northern Arizona. There's nothing quite like a couple of days in a scrap heap to make one start to long for the comforts of the waste. We all spent the down time teaching ourselves (or each other) new tricks or improving upon old ones. I enlisted the tutelage of Straight-Guns himself for a few pointers in the manly art of fisticuffs. Even El Chupacabra worked on his boulder lifting skills (my hero). With our raft repaired and our newly acquired gear in stowage, we got back to the river and continued our journey to Lake Meade. Our destination: a bustling trade hub that the locals called simply Lake Town. This seemed to be the source of the Green Robe rumors Rat had passed on to us, and at the very least seemed a good place to start. Our resumed journey was really uneventful - not a Sky Pirate in sight. The only thing that stood out was the way Two-Strokes seemed to be acting. He was very nervous and twitchy; way more than usual. Kind of like a how a Taleteller would get when wrapped up naked in barbed wire and presented with the notion he's going to get dumped in a barrel of toxic waste [Marshal's Note: This humorous reference really did happen to one of Bob's characters - Claude Journeyman - earlier in this campaign :) ]. He'd jump at the merest mention of his name. As I was paddling, I'd look back at him from time to time. If he wasn't watching the river ahead, he'd be casting nervous glances at the Scav. That is until the Scav noticed him looking, at which time he'd get real interested in watching the water again. Something happened between the two - that much was obvious. Didn't really want to find out what, however. Didn't care.
We reached the lake on the third day after leaving Rat, and night was closing in as we reached our destination. The lights and noise told me that Lake Town was indeed a major hub. I got that slight tense feeling I usually get whenever I get close to a major population of any kind. As we docked, I found my feelings were justified. The settlement was large, and was built half on docks and wharves over the water and half on land. It was crawling with humanity of all shapes and sizes. Places like this made me long for the silence of the desert. The one constant we found throughout the crowd as we began to explore was the presence of men wearing black ball caps with the word "STEELERS" across the front. The Papergirl was noticeably shaken at first by these guys. Upon realizing they were members of the local sec force and had nothing to do with Throckmorton however, she quickly reverted to her usual cheerful self. While me made our way into the city, Two-Stroke abruptly announced he was parting ways with us. Personally, I could care less, but the rest of the group wouldn't hear of it. I identified completely with the guide; he'd been paid to do a job and had done it. End of story. Besides we tended to attract trouble. If I were him, I'd probably want to light out at the first opportunity as well. As it was, they finally agreed to part ways if he would have one last meal with us. We just needed to find a place to chow down.
That's when we saw it: an actual honest to god "Pizza Hut", complete with the lit up red and white sign (I'd noticed the number of electric lights around - apparently this town had some sort of functioning power grid). The older members of the group all got real excited, and the Papergirl kind of jumped in on the enthusiasm band wagon. I remembered the fast food chain from my childhood as well, but the passage of time didn't improve my opinion of the joint. The line to get into the place was one thing. The prissy mutant door goon was another. When we finally got to the front of the line, he made a face like he was smelling a wet canvass bag full of freshly killed rad-rats (actually, I imagine we didn't smell even that good). Then the brainer wanted a cover charge from us to get in. That was all I could take. No way in hell was I going to pay for the privilege to pay for a meal, regardless of what it was. Apparently the Scav and Straight-Guns felt the same way, because they were close behind me as we left the others to their indulgences.
The three of us made our way across the street to a strange little greasy man with a vendors pushcart (complete with a tattered red and white umbrella). He was selling the kind of food I like. The cheap kind. While we bought our "meat on a stick", Straight-Guns and the push cart's owner (Guiseppe) talked up a storm. The Scav and I hung back and let Straight-Guns work his magic while we ate our various (deep fried and battered cat and rat, and even a bit of dog) meat products. Tasted fantastic. Hell, I could of cared less if it was ground up mutie burger served at body temperature and still bleeding so long as it was fish. The vendor guy proved to be a wealth of information about the ville; where to go, where not to and so on. The most worthwhile piece of information pertained to the recent interest the Green Robes were taking in Lake Meade itself. Many of the local fishermen were currently hired out to find something at the bottom of the lake. That something was subject to quite a few rumors and anybody's guess, because the radioactive interested party was being rather tight-lipped in the explanation department. While Straight-Guns and Guiseppe's exchange bantered on, the Scav and I caught a glimpse of the "interested party". One very large Green Robe with badly scarred and mottled grey skin and a small entourage of various mutants and lesser Green Robes came around the corner and headed straight for the Pizza Hut. Tall, dark and ugly and his crew went straight to the head of the line and inside. Obviously this clown was the bad guy in charge, but Straight Guns pressed the issue with our new (and only) "meat on a stick" vendor. Guiseppe told us that the Doomie and his gang had been spending a lot of the local script (of which there was a one for two exchange rate - I hope none of the group traded for anything they'll want back again) and had most of the populace falling over each other to make them feel like royalty. Interesting. In my experience with Greenies, they're much more into the intimidation factor, taking what they want by force. Didn't seem to be the case with this one. Definitely deserved some scrutiny.
With the important issues taken care of, we moved on to the subject of places in town we could stay. After being given several options (most of which involved enough of the local script to buy myself a full clip of .50 ammo), Straight-Guns, the Scav and myself opted for the cheapest of the cheap; one of the many dock dive flop houses that took standard trade goods with no questions asked. Around that time, the rest of the gand emerged from the Pizza Hut and Guiseppe made himself scare, moving off down the street continuing to sell his wares. Straight-Guns laid out the information we'd learned from our slightly eccentric new contact. Otto (or Minne-G as I now refer to him) opted for the roach hotel along with the rest of us money conscious types. Fran on the other hand (who for some unknown reason was spending money hand over fist all of a sudden), went chose an upscale joint on the waterfront called the Royal Crown (there was a Best Western believe it or not, but that was even out of her price range). The Royal Crown also happened to be where the Doomie was staying, and Tanus went along with Fran and the Papergirl to keep an eye on him. Somewhere around this time, El Chupacabra disappeared. It wasn't until the next morning that we found out what happened to him.
The next day started early, as the noise of business on the docks started up around 4 A.M.. Rousing myself, I found Straight-Guns on the rotted, unstable front porch of the hovel we chose to stay at, deeply engaged in debate with an old timer over the dredging of Lake Meade. While they went round and round, nothing was really made any clearer - clearly no one knew for sure what the Doomie could possibly be looking for. Personally I didn't care, so long as it equaled a non-fishy payday. A short while later we met up with the rest of the group near a dockside bar for some breakfast. Over the meal we decided that we'd stick to the docks since the action seemed to be near the water and pooled our information. El Chupacabra was back, but looked like hell; bruises and abrasions cover his face and torso, and it looked like someone had taken a chain to him. It came to light that he had wandered off to volunteer at the local Pit Fights after we'd all gone to bed and had lost. His unconscious body had been dropped outside of Fran's room in the middle of the night. I nearly bit through my lip trying to contain my hysteria. I wish I had known about it - I could have made a fortune betting against him.
Unfortunately my brief moment of joy was cut short by a scream of panic issuing from an incoming boat just returning to the docks. The noisy guy at the helm turned out to be one Willy Dayne (why this is important comes later). It seems he and his brother had gone out early in the morning for a dredging dive in one of the deeper parts of Lake Meade, when something happened. His brother, Billy, was unconscious and not breathing when he surfaced and was pulled into the boat. Seeing as we didn't have anything better to do, and that the nearly departed might give us some clue as to what might be in the lake, we hustled over to the crowd that was quickly forming on the dock. Tanus, Minnie-G, the Scav and I helped calm Willy down as we rushed the unmoving Billy to the nearby Doctor's residence. Straight-Guns, Fran and the Papergirl decided to make contact with the local Law, and we agreed to meet back up later at the Doctor's place. Though we got to Doc Heimelin's place double-quick, Tanus's initial prognosis proved correct; Billy was already dead. After a good deal of questioning on all sides (turns out the doctor was related to the brothers and things got a mite personal), Willy left distraught as the Doc settled in to an examination to determine the cause of death. Enlisting Tanus's assistance (turns out the mutie has medical skills), an autopsy was performed. This is where things got interesting. Like most floaters, the Doc expected to see that straight drowning was the cause of death. Initial probing showed some anomalous bumps beneath the skin around the lower spine however, which prompted the Doc and Tanus to initiate a more visceral exploration. Cutting the body open, the Doc found what looked to be a black, translucent "eel" wrapped around the deader's spinal column - something the Doc shakingly admitted he'd never seen before. Disengaging the critter from the spine (it wasn't moving, and was presumed dead as well), the Doc preserved the thing in a specimen bottle as Tanus continued the examination. Abrasions around and inside Billy's mouth showed the probable entrance of the parasite. We were just discussing the possible ramifications of our discovery when Kelly showed up with the local sheriff in tow. Franklin (the resident law) calmly listened to the story and took a look at the critter, before we all put our head together to discuss a course of action.
The final plan was, first and foremost, to locate the absent Willy Dayne for questioning. Franklin deputized our whole group on the spot. I was thrilled, because my concern, first and foremost, was a paycheck. Once I was sure I was on the payroll, I donned one of the STEELERS caps the sheriff handed out to us, showing that we were now representatives of the local law. The first place we checked out the was brothers' residence; a nifty two-room shack on the docks with access to the lake directly below it through a narrow trap door. No luck. That made us have to start looking in some other less savory locales; the Doc informed us that Willy was a patron of several of the local whore houses. For the next several days we scoured the waterfront area, diving into dozens of cesspools of humanity without any luck. Even though I was getting paid, this was getting old real quick. I'm not a big fan of talking with the group I travel with on one of my good days. The shear number of scum I was being forced to deal with in the course of our search was really starting to get to me. Our lack of success was bringing all of us down, and we talked about and tried several other courses of action. Fran even had the inspired idea of hiring a group of resident street brats to keep an eye out for him. Turns out this was one of the better tactical decisions Screech has made as long as I've known her. Four days after he vanished from the Doc's office, one of Fran's street urchins informed us he'd seen Dayne paddle up underneath his shack on the dock and go inside. Just our dumb luck that the brainer showed up back at his own place. With our usual tact, we headed for the docks and proceeded in an endeavor to subdue our prey.
Entering the shack, we found Willy surrounded by empty bottles of hootch and in a catatonic state. When approached, he bellowed like a man possessed, spittle flying from his jaws, and drew a scattergun from the mouldering cushions of the chair he was sitting on. He moved impossibly fast, and his eyes were shining with a weird, mad light. It looked like Willy, but this obviously wasn't quite the same man that left Doc Heimelin's office several days ago. We had him surrounded, and closed in on him. While some of us were a bit "overzealous" in our efforts, we managed to take Willy alive (beaten to hell and out cold, but alive). We carted him back to the jail and put him in a cell for safe keeping.
An examination of Willy by the Doc back at the jail showed that he also had the strange bumps along his lower spine, and therefore was also probably carrying one of the parasitic eels. When he finally awoke, Franklin had hoped to question him, but all Willy would do was stare malevolently at us from his cell. When anyone came close, he threw himself against the bars (despite his injuries), fingers hooked into claws in an attempt to grab them. The Doc concluded that whatever was inside of him had driven the young man completely and violently insane. This left a very uncomfortable question for us to ponder - was he contagious? Could the parasitic thing inside him somehow be passed to others? We were looking at four unaccountable days of Willy's activities. If, like the Doc said before, he had been going to visit his favorite "ladies of the evening" and the parasite COULD be spread, the local law enforcement was going to have its hands full REALLY fast. Suddenly, being a deputy looked even less attractive than it had already become.
- S.C.
12/19 - Arizona. Still at Lake Meade. As I expected, we were all busy the following day after the capture and detainment of Willy Dayne. When we received the call about a disturbance at a waterfront whore house, I can't say I was too surprised. Apparently the Doc's fears about the parasite having the capability to be spread from host to host was warranted. It looked as though Willy had spent some time with one or more ladies in the time he was missing, which meant we could now be dealing with a situation of epidemic proportions.
The Sheriff had decided to place his regular deputies across the street on the second floor balconies of an adjacent building. I can only assume they were placed there as ranged support or snipers. Some more deputies had thrown up a barricade of barrels and packing crates, blocking off the street from traffic. Random fire came from the whore house/tavern (called "The Beaver Dam"...nice to see folks still have a sense of humor) from several points on both floors. While not particularly accurate, it was effective in keeping everyone's heads down. The rest of us arrived just as a local came screaming out the front door of the Dam, frothing at the mouth and swinging a rusted fire axe around his head. The Steelers gunned him down without blinking just as he cleared the short flight of steps to the street. After a quick look-see, I noticed that brought the body count to three before we even arrived for the action. You just know its going to be a good day when the brainers start droppin' before you even show up. Despite the danger, the Sheriff wanted to take as many hostiles alive as possible for questioning. We were about to engage in our usual group strategy (you know..."Plan? What Plan?") when the shit began to hit the fan. Without warning, Fran did one of the most idiotic things I'd ever seen her do. Most of the posse had managed to creepy crawl their way to within spitting distance of the building when Fran tossed a smoke grenade into the open main doors, quickly filling the entire lower floor with smoke and reducing our visibility to zero( can only imagine that all the acid she's dropped over the years has finally rotted her brain).
Without being able to see, the majority of the posse beat a hasty retreat back to the cover of the barricades amid a smatter of gunfire from the Dam's upper floor. Only Tanus strode forward and entered the structure, apparently unhindered by the smoke. We began to trade fire when El Chupacobra suddenly made his move, bringing the idiotic actions quota to two for the day. Hoisting a huge crate of smelly fish in front of his face like a shield, he strode right out into the field of fire in an attempt to make the front door of the Dam. Suddenly given a new, juicy target, the hostiles inside the whore house redirected their fire. Several rounds were stopped by the crate, but several more found their way to El Chupacobra's chest and legs. In a flurry of bullets, blood and fish fragments, the Mexican went down in a heap and stopped moving. Trying to take advantage of the distraction, the rest of us moved in from other angles of approach. I went around to the side of the building making use of some alley ways and tried to Spider up the side of the building. I finally managed to get in through an unguarded rear window. Kelly shouldered his rifle and began to make some concentrated effort at spotting the shooters on the second floor of the Dam. I thought a saw the Papergirl make a run for the other side of the building, but I can't be sure. I lost sight of her and the others in the smoke that continued to pour out from the structure (this group really needs some training in operating as a unit). Once I was inside, I started to deal out the pain.
When all was said and done, a total of ten suspects were counted, six of which we managed to take alive. Tanus had some mild difficulty with a completely deranged prostitute that got onto his back and kept trying to open that armor of his using a steak knife as a can opener, but managed to get the best of her without hurting her much. As the unconscious and the dead were removed, we went through the establishment looking for clues or evidence or whatever it is that Law Dog types are supposed to do in such situations. Being representatives of the local law we weren't permitted to loot the joint for valuables...felt kind of strange. A couple of us managed to sneak a drink in "on the house" while conducting our "police work", but nothing else really of interest transpired. Meanwhile both Tanus and Doc Heimelin worked feverishly trying to revive El Chupacobra, but the idiot had simply taken too many wounds and lost too much blood. The Scav even tried something (there's more to him than meets the eye...I know he's hiding something), but also to no avail. His body was carted off with the others to the morgue at the Doc's office. And that was the last of ol' goat sucker...or so I thought.
After things started to settle back down a bit, we conferred with Doc Heimelin and Sheriff Franklin about what had transpired. A quick examination by the Doc showed that the unconscious suspects were most likely infected as well. This led to a discussion as to the possible number of infection cases that were currently walking around. After doing some simple math, the prospects didn't look to good - we might be in this crowded city for quite a while (time to ask for more money). Finally the conversation swung back to another uncomfortable topic - the source of the mutant parasite things. Finding it wasn't exactly the problem. Rather it was where we were going to have to look that bothered me - the bottom of the lake. It was decided (by whom I can't say) that the posse be the ones to make like little fishies and go treasure hunting. The Sheriff would continue to look into the infection situation on shore, while the Doc would check the bodies of the deceased from The Beaver Dam for more clues.
And so began the hunt for diving equipment. The Sheriff obligingly gave us two sets of scuba gear from his office that were in reasonable shape, but that left us several sets short. We scoured the town's shops and markets for more, but came up empty handed at every turn as the days went by. I began to get more and more uncomfortable about the whole venture. Diving into the unknown and having to leave my gun behind? No sir...didn't like it a bit. Around this time we got an unexpected (and frankly unwanted) surprise. The large mutant big shot and one of his green robed lackeys met up with the posse back at the Sheriff's office. He said that he was aware of our situation, and displayed a willingness to share his diving gear with us (apparently, the reason we had been so unlucky in finding some was due to his group already securing every usable bit of equipment in town). This fishy venture didn't come without a price, of course: he wanted the lion's share of whatever we found on the lake bed (this translates to: coral your competitors, use them to meet your objective then eliminate them). Hag, as the big boy's name turned out to be, directed most of this conversation to Tanus. The mood was definitely tense as we waited to see if the two Doomies were going to go at each other. Meanwhile, Fran and the lackey kept eyeing each other. It was obvious they knew each other, but from where? The pussyfooting around lasted a few more moments before Tanus managed to get Hag to share his thoughts on what might be at the bottom of the lake. Grudgingly, the big Doomie spilled the beans about why he was at Laketown and what he was looking for. It really was sunken treasure - irradiated ghost rock. An estimated 20 tons of the stuff. The rumor was that is was a lost shipment on the last leg of its journey, being transported by barge. Intended for experimental uses at a government lab attached to a hydroelectric plant on the Colorado River, sabotage sank the vessel in a deep part of the lake near the mouth of the river shortly before the day the bombs fell. If this rumor was true, the parasite things could be some form of mutated lake life, caused by radiation leaking from the vessel. Hag had been sent by Silas to check out the rumors, but confidentially told us he was having second thoughts. It seemed he had a buyer in Junkyard that would pay handsomely for the ghostrock, and put more stock in profit than in the ways of Silas (nothing like a traitor...especially a greedy one). For a good portion of the findings, he would give us the use of the gear along with his assistance in fighting anything we came across. While we trusted him about as far as we could have thrown him, the prospect of that much irradiated ghost rock definitely caught the group's interest (especially Tanus). A begrudging partnership with Hag was formed and we agreed to cooperate with each other (just barely keeping me from putting a very large bullet in his very large vile, mutant Doom-Saying ass), and we began a crash course in the operation and care of diving gear. Around this time, something happened with the Doc that had Kelly running for the morgue and he was gone for several hours. When he finally showed up again, who should he have in tow but the bullet-riddled corpse of El Chupicobra...except it was back up and around, walking and squawking as usual as if nothing had happened. Great. Another deader in the group. Couldn't have happened to a bigger idiot.
As I sit here completing this entry I can only wonder. Are we finally going to act like an organized unit? Or are we going to wander around like blind-folded children trying to pin the tail on the donkey, only to find nothing more than a pile of old bones, realizing WE'RE the ass? I retire with my thoughts and a wary heart. The dawn brings another tomorrow - possibly my last one.
- S.C.
1/9 - Lake Meade. As expected, we spent some time splashing about learning some basic scuba skills. Time was of the essence, however and the big dive was waiting...along with some unpleasant tidings (but I'll get to that later). After our training session, we stowed the majority of our gear (all the stuff we couldn't take into the deep grey) at the Sheriff's Office. We weren't thrilled about this at all. I felt naked without my rifle, and the Papergirl kept complaining about leaving her bike behind. The kid has been acting kind of strange lately. Maybe its just puberty or something. Well, we finally got everything prepped with the boat and cast off, making our way to the spot Hag believed the booty to be (I gotta get back to the desert - I'm starting to write in pirate). In addition to us and the old fisherman that owned the old tour boat we had hired, the Sheriff sent two Steelers along with us. Two of Hag's henchmen rode along as well making for a pretty crowded and tense trip. Nobody said much of anything as the boat chugged toward the far side of the lake and our final destination. Coincidentally, it seemed to be right in the area that the two Dayne boys ran into difficulty...the Sheriff had marked the spot with a small floatation buoy, anchored to the lake bottom with a length of cable.
The four tagalongs stayed dry with the old fisherman, leaving the fun job to us. Hag and Tanus were the first ones into the drink (surprisingly, neither of the muties needed an air tank), the rest of us following one at a time. Everything was going as well as it ever goes for us when the downward spiral suddenly began. First lets start with Fran. It's no secret ol' Screech is an addict, and usually she ingests her "medication" once a day, keeping her on a pretty even keel. I don't know if it was nerves or what, but it turned out she took six times her normal dosage of hallucinogens that morning. The result? Fran sank like a rock, apparently becoming transfixed by her own sparkling stream of carbon dioxide bubbles drifting up from her mouthpiece - didn't even attempt to swim. The Papergirl and Straight Guns were the closest to her, and the kid made the first rescue attempt. Unfortunately. The kid isn't the world's best swimmer, and missed grabbing Screech on her first and only try. Fortunately, Straight Guns turned out to be a bit more athletic (for a dead guy) and managed to retrieve the mesmerized Fran. That took both of them out of the underwater activities as he struggled to get her back to the boat. For the rest of us, the fun was just about to begin.
As we swam deeper toward the lake floor, the natural light grew dimmer and dimmer. We had a few flashlights, but the ambient glow that Tanus gives off was giving us a pretty good view of our immediate surroundings. By the time we all reached the muck and silt strewn bottom, the temperature was numbingly cold and the surrounding water was pitch black. There was a noticeable absence of aquatic life and the only sound came from our breathing, roaring loud in our heads in the silent atmosphere. Once we'd all gotten our bearings, Hag kicked off from the lake floor and motioned for us to follow. About fifteen minutes of our air had already been used.
After close to another five minutes of swimming and picking through debris, Hag motioned for us to stop. In the eerie glow from Tanus's hide I could see the look of confusion on the Doomies face. He tried to communicate something to Tanus, but obviously wasn't getting his point across. Waving his hands about, he summoned up a bright glowing ball of green energy, radically increasing the sphere of our visibility, and frantically pointed to something ahead. By then we had all seen it - it was kind of hard to miss.
About 10 meters ahead of us was an immense shape, rising up from the cold muck of the lake bottom. But it wasn't a ship. Rather, it looked like a huge twisted tree. A thick trunk jutted up from the floor at an angle, crowned with a mass of gnarled branches or roots. Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "So what? It's just an old sunken tree." Wrong. I've messed with some nasty things in my time and this thing gave off a vibe so black and so vile that the water around us felt oily and unclean. It seemed to project an almost palpable feeling of hatred and menace. Hag slowly swam toward the tree, illuminating its length for us to get a better look at it when the shit finally hit the fan. It moved. The mass of branches suddenly twisted toward us, and the top of the trunk seemed to open like a gaping maw, darker than the surrounding water. A torrent of black wiggling eels erupted from the hole, flowing from the "tree" in wave of horror. Hag spun, throwing out his arms in an obvious gesture of warning and was instantly covered by the things.
It was way too late to try to swim for it. The things were simply too small, fast and numerous. Most of us had way too many dance partners to try and deal with. Pockets of fighting were going on around me, but I couldn't tell who was where or even which way was up after a while. I began to panic, biting down hard on my mouthpiece as I was buffeted and ripped by the bony heads and needle-like teeth of the eels. I was losing it, and started to black out. I thrashed around frantically, not wanting the things to get into my body. Somewhere off to my left I saw a green glow begin to intensify. It was the last thing I remember before cutting my weight belt away with my knife and completely losing consciousness.
Meanwhile, back on the surface, Fran and Straight Guns were having troubles of their own. It took Kelly about fifteen minutes to finally wrestle Fran back to the surface. Coming around to the side of the boat, he spied the unconscious or dead forms of the two Steelers draped over the side. A smaller boat had pulled up to ours and was tied off, its apparent driver a third Green Robe...Sanchez Villanova, Hag's right hand man. There was no sign of the old fisherman. None of the Greenies looked injured and they seemed to be arguing about something. Knowing Silas's goons as well as any of us, Straight Guns figured we'd been set up. Getting Fran to hold onto the side of the boat, he proceeded to engage in a little "cat and mouse" utilizing some fancy gun play and good old fashioned trickery and misdirection (not having to breathe underwater probably helped too). With a little help from the slowly reviving Fran, the pair managed to rather messily take control of the boat, taking Villanova alive in the process - Kelly wanted answers. Before he had a chance to ask anything however, an explosion from shore grabbed their attention. Pulling out a spy glass, Fran and Straight Guns saw the town erupting in violence. Several of the larger buildings on the waterfront were ablaze and the crack of gunfire and screams of rage and pain were audible across the water. It seemed a riot of immense proportions had begun back onshore - apparently the infestation had spread farther and faster than could have ever been predicted.
When I finally came to I was floating face up and bleeding from dozens of wounds. Painfully glancing around, I saw several more members of the group in similar shape. Tanus was stroking hard for the boat towing the unconscious form of the Papergirl over his shoulder as if pursued by the Reckoners themselves. The bloated form of El Chupicobra drifted face down a little ways off to my right and the Scav was off to my left. Minnie G was awake, and swimming towards me, but there was no sign of Hag. Surprisingly, there wasn't an eel in sight. As a righted myself and began to swim wearily toward the boat, a brilliant green flash went off in the water deep below me, followed quickly be a massive concussion blast, hurling the boat, us and a good deal of water into the air like so many straws in the wind. How we came through it I'm not certain, but shortly afterward we all found ourselves clinging to wreckage and counting heads. Soon, several fishing boats that had been out farther on the lake came in to investigate, attracted by the blast. As Straight Guns took charge, organizing the group and getting us all into boats, Hag finally surfaced a short distance away. He looked like hell, as Tanus mumbled something about "getting caught in your own blast" and grudgingly helped him into one of the boats. Hag noticed the presence of Villanova, all trussed up like a Christmas turkey, and looked at Kelly questioningly. Obviously wanting answers, Straight Guns started in on the huge Doomie. I ached for my missing rifle. Hag just stared back at Kelly and said "We don't have time right now...I didn't kill the thing...only slowed it down by killing a bunch of the eels. We need a bigger boom to kill that tree thing." After a quick pow-wow with Tanus, the good news was that the pair decided they had the resources to do it. The bad news was said resources (two and a half pounds of irradiated ghostrock from Tanus and a good amount of C-6 from Hag) were back on shore...and all hell was breaking loose back there. To get the stuff we'd have to fight through a mob of eel posessed citizens, and most of our gear was locked away in the Sheriff's Office toward the center of town. The venture was definitely going to get messy. Commandeering some of the fishermen's skiffs, we split into two groups. Kelly, Tanus, and Fran with Villanova in tow would head toward the Sheriff's office for our weapons and the ghostrock. Hag and the rest of us would go to his hotel and secure the rest of the explosives.
The trip across the wharves and back through the burning town to get Hag's explosives still rests in my mind as a blurred kaleidoscope of horror and pain. It seemed about half the citizenry of Lake Town had gone completely and utterly insane. I don't remember the whole journey, just images. A woman with no arms hung from a old light pole, her face done up in clown paint. A group of children cannibalistically devouring another child alive. A man beating something that might have once been a baby repeatedly with a rusted tire iron, screaming at the top of his lungs. I fired the guns I had dry at anything that came near us and then managed to find an empty rifle to use as a club. I have no recollection of how many we killed. Blood and smoke flowed thick in the streets and the world went mad.
Both groups managed to accomplish their missions, and Tanus and some Steelers met my group as previously decided back at the docks with the gear. Utilizing a convenient empty steel drum and my demolitions skills, I managed to rig up a nasty piece of business with all of Tanus's irradiated ghost rock and 6 pounds of C-6 from Hag. Loading it onto one of the skiffs, Tanus and Hag motored out to the dive site while the rest of us hurried back toward the relative security of the Sheriff's Office. Using the cable attached to the buoy as a guide for the bomb, Hag and Tanus set the timer and lowered the deadly device to the lake floor and quickly drove back to shore.
I was reminded of the old saying, "killing two birds with one stone". That was about the size of things when the bomb detonated. The massive explosion (one of the biggest I've ever seen first hand) displaced a huge amount of water - so much that it caused a torrential downpour effect back on shore for a brief time, assisting in putting out a lot of the fires. Fighting and violence came to an abrupt halt, as the warring citizens of Lake Town were shocked into compliance by the overtaxed deputies (perhaps they were expecting something worse to follow the explosion...who can tell?)
After things began to quiet down and the organization of the cleanup began, it was time for some answers. Obviously the rumors about the lost shipment were crap, and the legends of an ancient evil at the bottom of the lake were closer to the truth (I'm getting kind of good at this "killing ancient evil" business...could be a good sideline of work if I could get it to pay more). Apparently Sanchez had acted without Hag's orders, and he was just as curious to know what was going on. He was convinced that his right hand man had sold his philanthropic plans out to Silas (big surprise). Sanchez however wasn't talking, so the Sheriff gave Fran and I a go-ahead to "proceed as we saw fit" to get to the bottom of things. Taking the Greenie into the bowels of the Sheriff's Office, we proceeded to do the standard Syker "bad cop/worse cop" scenario. Fran would ask the questions and I would do the Flesh Rip fandango on the poor brainer. Everything seemed as status quo as it usually gets with us, when Fran threw yet another curve ball at me. She started in on a line of questioning that made absolutely no sense to me. Questions about a three-eyed mutant savior, purple-robed guardians, and such. Questions that had nothing to do with Hag and this business at Lake Meade at all. As I said before, it was quite obvious that Fran and this Green Grape had had some sort of history previous to this encounter. At first I thought that this line of inquest might have been something personal that Fran wanted to clear up before we actually got down to business. Apparently I was wrong, however. Screech wasn't getting what she wanted so I used some more Syker-style persuasion on the bastard (not having had a lot of practice with the use of Flesh Rip didn't work out real well for Sanchez...let's just say my lack of control eliminated all of his future chances at procreation). We could have kept this up all day (or at least another hour), but Fran was never the patient type. In typical officer fashion, she looked up at me from her seated position across from Sanchez and said simply, "Kill him."
Unfortunately for Fran, she had two strikes against her in this situation. First off, both of us were well past our obligation to uphold any duties to a military hierarchy of any kind. There was no way in hell that I was going to follow any kind of order that she might want to give (that and the fact that ANY kind of authority makes me twitch). Secondly and more importantly, however is that I kill for two reasons and two reasons only. Money and survival. Either my life must be in danger, or I'm under contract to sanction a target. Neither of these factors were the case in this situation, so I gave Fran a simple response.
"No."
I wasn't out of the room for a full minute before the flood gates of chaos were thrown wide open. Apparently building up energy this whole time, Sanchez suddenly hulked out, pummeling Fran as she uselessly tried to get off some shots in the inclosed space. Beating her unconscious to the floor with a chair and ripping into the interrogation room door with green fists suddenly the size of my head, Sanchez burst into the basement corridor behind me. I raised my rifle and slowly backed away from him down the hall. Behind me I could hear running feet coming down the stairs. The Sheriff, followed quickly by Tanus and Hag burst into the corridor followed by more Steelers and the rest of the group. The Sheriff went for his sidearm as Hag bellowed, "Villanova! Stand down! What the hell are you doing?!"
Grinning evilly, the now massive green Doomie filled the corridor. Sanchez suddenly lurched forward, swinging his massive fists on a direct course for the aging Sheriff Franklin's head. Blinking in shock the older man froze like a deer caught in headlights. Things were so tight in the corridor that I couldn't get off a shot. Hag looked like he was trying to power something up, but there simply wasn't time. Tanus proved to be the solution to the situation. Lowering his staff across the Sheriff's shoulder, he let loose with a barrage of five green energy blasts, striking Sanchez in the face and torso. The green giant fell with a wet, steaming thud, marking the end of Sanchez Villanova, as well as killing many answers to unanswered questions. For reasons I couldn't completely fathom, the Sheriff called for a trial, thinking that the events leading up to the prisoner's death needed further investigation. Of all involved I think Tanus got dealt the shittiest hand. I'm not too sure of the details, but I could tell even under the dog-like muzzle that passes for his face that he suffered great sadness and disappointment. If I could feel anything, it might have been sympathy, but sympathy is a dangerous emotion and best left to folks like Templars.
As for me, I gave my testimony, recounting the events exactly as they happened. That might have taken some of the heat off of Tanus and placed it on Fran's shoulders. I didn't stay around to find out. After giving his two cents worth, Hag packed up his gear and headed out of town. I decided to follow suit. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday. It was downright strange to run into a Green Robe that, when all was said and done, I didn't want to kill. Despite being a greedy SOB, Hag had kept his word to us, and to find a man who knew the value of a promise these days was a rare thing indeed. He had told us that he couldn't go back to Silas, but that he didn't agree with Joan's beliefs either and was going to make a go of it alone. He's certainly chosen tough road to follow - perhaps he's tough enough to do it. I was fairly certain that the rest of the group would be along eventually, but I was looking forward to traveling alone in solitude and silence. I told the group that I'd meet up with them again where an unfinished job still hung over our heads and a promise had yet to be kept. I wonder if six months time is long enough heal (certainly not to forget) and for the Old man to let us back inside the gates of Dango?