Iceman's trek #2
Smithsguild
The third monkey...
- Location
- Somewhere 'near' Atlanta Ga
Michael noticed evening was coming on and being alone and out in the open at night was never a good choice if you wanted to see your next sunrise. Some of the things from the alien nests hunted better at night, and the winged ones were not hesitant to forage far afield especially once they had developed a taste for man flesh.
The Dagonites weren't as diligent about clearing infestations if they were far enough out from Charleston and the nest remained small enough not to slow their frequent raids.
Michael almost hated the bastards as much as the kaiju, as they were collectively the worst humanity had to offer.
Anyone who considered fellow people as a renewable resource of only minimal value, to be extorted or enslaved and slaughtered on a whim shouldn't sleep too soundly. Michael had only ended the ones fate had forced him too...
The ones who ventured to close to Bracer, the ones who had captured and held Jeannette for a handful of days, the ones who insisted on more tribute than he and the others could survive without.
Not to imply he was hesitant to end these animals in clothing, they polluted his world and tainted his memories of how things once were (and if fate was kind could be again).
No, he just knew too many missing Raiders drew a mobile 'Locust Camp' (10 heavily armed & armored 'Greyhound' busses that mounted 60+ motorcycle scouts) that would circle up like a wagon train and would dispatch 'Slash and Burn' raiders in a 5 mile radius to slaughter all encountered & who would take everything of value and firebomb the rest leaving no shelter standing. Inspired no doubt by Sherman's March to the Sea.
These camps had the ability to request air support in the form of MQ-9 'Reaper' drones (Predator-B) and were more than capable of IR surveilance from altitude followed by a salvo of hellfire missiles as their 'hello!'
Life was hard enough 'sharing' tribute, trying to forage enough to live while staying out of sight of "shoot first" raiders was intolerable and had nearly starved them to death.
Indiscriminate killing brought more hardship in already near impossible world. It was just easier to hide Jeanette and pay until it hurt.
Possession of modern firearms or mil-spec weapons by 'thralls' was a double edged sword, illegal for personal use or possession but valued tribute. No, 'Thralls' were expected to either survive with bows or blades or any other weapon suitable for uncivilized savages.
If survival was just too rough, "Radio: Air Charleston" promised safety and food behind their high safe walls in exchange for your labor, contributed enough and you too could become a citizen-soldier in the 'Deacon's' armies foraging and raiding in his great name and share in the plunder.
Ahead a partially burned out shell of a house, promised at least a dry level floor and maybe a chance to refill his bota bag if no one else had scavenged the water from the reservoir of the toilet or drained the water heater.
Michael loosened his biggest and most obvious knife in its sheath, the single barreled sawed off was hidden on a twine sling that looped over his head ran down the off hand sleeve of his enormous duster and could be accessed by removing the loop with his good hand allowing the weight to make it drop to hand. It was much louder and messier than the small silenced .22 at the small of his back, the .22 had only 5 rounds in the clip but it lacked serious penetration. The 12 guage was loaded and another dozen shells were scattered hidden in his gear.
Not the most hidden of stashes but enough to pass a casual once over -especially- if Michael put on his best cower, possibly including self urination.
The house loomed closer...
The Dagonites weren't as diligent about clearing infestations if they were far enough out from Charleston and the nest remained small enough not to slow their frequent raids.
Michael almost hated the bastards as much as the kaiju, as they were collectively the worst humanity had to offer.
Anyone who considered fellow people as a renewable resource of only minimal value, to be extorted or enslaved and slaughtered on a whim shouldn't sleep too soundly. Michael had only ended the ones fate had forced him too...
The ones who ventured to close to Bracer, the ones who had captured and held Jeannette for a handful of days, the ones who insisted on more tribute than he and the others could survive without.
Not to imply he was hesitant to end these animals in clothing, they polluted his world and tainted his memories of how things once were (and if fate was kind could be again).
No, he just knew too many missing Raiders drew a mobile 'Locust Camp' (10 heavily armed & armored 'Greyhound' busses that mounted 60+ motorcycle scouts) that would circle up like a wagon train and would dispatch 'Slash and Burn' raiders in a 5 mile radius to slaughter all encountered & who would take everything of value and firebomb the rest leaving no shelter standing. Inspired no doubt by Sherman's March to the Sea.
These camps had the ability to request air support in the form of MQ-9 'Reaper' drones (Predator-B) and were more than capable of IR surveilance from altitude followed by a salvo of hellfire missiles as their 'hello!'
Life was hard enough 'sharing' tribute, trying to forage enough to live while staying out of sight of "shoot first" raiders was intolerable and had nearly starved them to death.
Indiscriminate killing brought more hardship in already near impossible world. It was just easier to hide Jeanette and pay until it hurt.
Possession of modern firearms or mil-spec weapons by 'thralls' was a double edged sword, illegal for personal use or possession but valued tribute. No, 'Thralls' were expected to either survive with bows or blades or any other weapon suitable for uncivilized savages.
If survival was just too rough, "Radio: Air Charleston" promised safety and food behind their high safe walls in exchange for your labor, contributed enough and you too could become a citizen-soldier in the 'Deacon's' armies foraging and raiding in his great name and share in the plunder.
Ahead a partially burned out shell of a house, promised at least a dry level floor and maybe a chance to refill his bota bag if no one else had scavenged the water from the reservoir of the toilet or drained the water heater.
Michael loosened his biggest and most obvious knife in its sheath, the single barreled sawed off was hidden on a twine sling that looped over his head ran down the off hand sleeve of his enormous duster and could be accessed by removing the loop with his good hand allowing the weight to make it drop to hand. It was much louder and messier than the small silenced .22 at the small of his back, the .22 had only 5 rounds in the clip but it lacked serious penetration. The 12 guage was loaded and another dozen shells were scattered hidden in his gear.
Not the most hidden of stashes but enough to pass a casual once over -especially- if Michael put on his best cower, possibly including self urination.
The house loomed closer...
