Advanced Role-Play Systems 

  • Barney Harris - Chapter 2

  • Tell your day-to-day stories here
Tell your day-to-day stories here
 #3156  by Ramblin Hans
 
Chapter 2

I can't really say this strongly enough - the man in the green fatigues was making me really, really nervous. It wasn't his clothing, though he had some military grade pants and a helmet on, they were paired with a dirty green hoodie that look it had at one time come off the rack of whatever Russia's answer to Target was. It wasn't his tone of voice either, he actually seemed sincere in his desire to offer help, though perhaps a bit desperate for some human contact. Understandable. What kept drawing my eye and making little alarms ring was his loose grip on his poorly maintained SKS carbine with his finger sitting right on the trigger. I've spent plenty of time around soldiers during my stint as a mechanic with the Army in '96. Technically I guess had been a soldier myself; I suppose I went through basic training like everyone else. But I never thought of myself as one, never felt the camaraderie or the desire to actually go to war. I never thought I'd ever actually have to kill anyone. But this guy, Steffon, he didn't carry himself like a soldier. A soldier wouldn't keep his rifle in that condition or grip it so tenderly. All that aside, he was jovial and eager to talk as we lit the fire under the arch of a tenement, sheltered from the storm. I have a feeling he hadn't seen another friendly soul in a while. I just hope he didn't accidentally shoot one of us.

"And so BAM, jus' like dat, I brought the sledgehamma right down on that freak's head." Tony's swung his hands in an overhead arch, exaggerated, while recounting the story in his thick Jersey accent. "Crushed it like a fuckin' melon, gooey brains all over ma' new fuckin' shirt. After that, I keep this thing close at ALLLL times. And I always wear a raincoat now, gotta have protection, ya know what I mean?"

Tony was the first guy I had met when I ventured down the hill, through the industrial parks, and into downtown. Drawn to the site of that fiery crash, he had been there, picking through the plane wreckage in his crimson rain coat, pocketing items of use. He stood lifting and turning over a chunk of scarred metal, examining it as if there might be some possibility of assembly, then abruptly dropped it with a scowl. I knew instantly we shared at least one thing, a fixation to get out of this place. We spent the next few days gathering food and travel items from abandoned houses and apartments. Then one day as were searching a town house, he began ranting about the abundance of brooms and duct tape the residents had stockpiled. He took one old broom, wood handle dark with age and use, and snapped it across his leg. "Fuck 'dis. Let's find a boat. There has to be a fuckin' boat 'round here, it’s a god damned sea port for cryin' out loud." And out he went, striding towards the cranes with intent. Tony had plans too - but they were born and abandoned in a moment without warning, completely opposite of me. Mine crackled like a slowly starting fire, growing with inevitability. Following Tony we seemed to randomly do tasks that needed completion out of order, priorities based on some random calculation I could not fathom. But his decisiveness once the course was laid inspired me. I liked Tony.

"I'm like Paul Freakin' Bunyon with this thing" Tony continued, making another swinging motion, this time from the side. "BOOM!"

"He used an axe I think" I stated.

"What? I just said I use this sledgehamma, five fuckin' pounds of fury baby."

"No, Paul Bunyon used an axe."

Image

Steffon laughed quietly, and I smiled just a bit. With a "whatever, fuck yous", Tony avoidd further ribbing. We sat around that fire, shared what food we had gathered and waited for the rain to break. After a particularly loud thunder clap, Steffon leaned forward, and spoke just a notch in volume down from the prevailing conversation, signaling something important he had to share. "I did hear some information. About an evacuation." We learned in, fire lighting our faces and glancing over I saw a mirror of my own eagerness written plain in his eyes. "Supposedly they are shipping people out, at Svetlojarsk." Why hadn't we known? Was this important information just being held secret instead of being plastered on every wall, the few in the know insuring their own chances of escape? Was it even true? Was this rumor veiled as some sort of credible report, or worse let a lie? "If you guys are determined to get there, I can help. Are you sure want to do this....I'm being honest here...traveling that far is dangerous. There's hordes of zeds, armed bandits, and worse." Worse? We nodded though, without hesitation. "Here let me show you then." He stamped his worn military boots down into the embers, scattering and killing the fire.

Down the seaside street, under the towering cranes we jogged. Ahead in our path two figures lumbered in the opposite direction, heads twitching. Steffon motioned to the left with a jerk of his neck, but Tony said "Nah, I got this" and sprinted ahead while loosening the industrial sledgehammer from the makeshift sling on his back. The things didn't stop staring into the distant sky until Tony was right up behind them, too late. One rattled and shouted as he turned, sending semi coagulated dark blood spraying out from his mouth and a decaying hole in its cheek. Overhand swing, BAM, and its head caved. Side stepping the other's charge, Tony brought the hammer back up halfway and spun in a side swing right to its back BOOM knocking it to the pavement. His boot completed the work. Just like he'd bragged earlier. That’s another thing about Tony; yea he talked big, but he was not prone to exaggeration. He backed up what he said, or would go down trying. Steffon took the lead for another block, methodically leveling and firing his rifle in controlled bursts, dropping three more screaming freaks lumbering in our direction a block ahead. Perhaps I misjudged him, he did have the look of a trained marksman. At the corner, he nodded to the left again and said, "Over here."

Image

We opened a wide metal side gate and went down a side alley. "There it is" Steffon said. I could hardly believe my eyes. I walked around it, eyes going over every wheel and tire, peeked in the cabin through a side window, then opened the heavy hood of the VS3. "It runs, don't worry". My mind was going down the checklist of filters, belts, couplings and electrical connections. Unbelievably, it all appeared workable. Tony was already in the cab, and the engine roared to life. "See?"

Tony hopped down from the cab. "It's full a fuckin' gas too. So what're we doin' here, cab holds two. Rock paper scissors?" For a moment I felt a small flame of panic, one was getting left behind. Just from shear presence, I knew it wasn't going to be Tony, he was a natural leader in any room and if for no other reason he was the first guy in the fire and to step across the line when volunteers were called. And Steffon had that carbine. What did I have? But one look across at Tony, I could see he was eyes fixed on Steffon, and then both of us were looking at him.

"Nah" Steffon said "you guys take it." He removed his helmet and set it on the ground, and removed something from his pack. A worn police officers cap. He stared at it for a moment, a distant look in his eyes, lost in memory. "Once.... I mean, I was...." He put on the hat. Howls were on the street and closing, the truck's engine must be drawing the attention of every freak for blocks. "Go, get out of here". Tony saluted him, an exaggerated and almost caricature motion. But it was sincere. We hopped in the cab turned out of the alley and headed east. I craned my head out of the passenger window and looked back, wind and rain blasting the back of my head, watching the outline of Steffon firing on a pack of infected shrink from view.

"I don't think police officers salute Tony, that’s soldiers".

"Fuck yous."