Thread: Apocalypse, Coast to Coast [Irish & Nutella]

September, 2023 Three years ago I wouldnt have thought I could make it this far. I have crossed three states, been ambushed, shot at, nearly stabbed, beat, tricked, and have killed more times than Id care to remember. Some of that was by pure dumb luck. The rest of the time I was just better than the other guy. I suppose Im just reflecting on all this since Its close to three years now since everything went to shit. It was about a three months after the bug crashed the economy, food stopped getting restocked, and people were losing their minds. Different groups started taking advantage of the situation, getting even with rivals, carving out their own little spheres of influence. Starving masses became like a wave of desperate locusts, and it didnt matter if you were generous or if you were well armed. They wanted what you had, and if there werent enough of you with the firepower of a Marine company you wouldnt hold out for long. Thats how these communities survive. They banded together, centralizing around their shared values and turning away outsiders looking to cause trouble, by words or by force. Hell, thats worked out for us more than once. The complex locally known as Bartertown sat adjacent to the old State Highway 99, just a few miles southeast of the now sparsely populated Red Bluff, California. Bartertown was set on the side of an old fabrication shop that manufactured equipment for solar farms, and as such had its own self sustaining power. The massive parking lot was now a large open-air traders market, and the old manufacturing warehouse had been turned into a combined trade hub and fortress. It was strictly neutral territory. Any trouble started was likely to be the last trouble you ever made. Keep it strictly business as generally there would be no trouble. And business was why Kyle and Sam were there. They were somewhat known to the proprietors of Bartertown. Being useful and doing an odd job here and there generally netted repeat business or a friendly word of reference. They specialized in acquisition anytime someone wanted something specific, and would pay well for it, they were the ones to go to. They were known to travel further and into rougher places that most avoided, and they were reliable. Parked nearer to the edge of the open air market, a large and heavy duty SUV sat with its trunk open, a large canvas canopy set up to provide an area of shade and cover the exterior of the vehicle. Beneath the cover of the canopy, a slight figure reclined back in a folding camp chair, its booted foot propped against an ammo can acting as a footstool, rocking the chair on two of its legs in soft motion. The figure was hard to distinguish, wearing ill-fitting cargo pants and a bulky looking camouflage jacket. The jackets hood was pulled up over the figures ballcap, and a gaiter covered their face up to the eyes. With arms crossed, one would think the figure asleep, were it not for the rocking or the dark blue eyes peering from underneath the hood. In the back of the SUV, the cargo space held a pair of closed storage boxes, stacked one atop the other to leave room for a quilt atop which lay a large German Shepherd, which was in fact sleeping away. The rest of the vehicle interior was obstructed by another sheet of canvas that hung behind the rear seats.