You've got to be f&@#ing kidding me.
Jenkins walked around the house, letting Hawkeye there go ahead with the bow, already pretty sure what was going on.
Xander and Adam come around the house to see Trivia out back, shovel gripped in both hands and just starting into the work of digging up the first, older grave.
Despite finding what he expected, Jenkins has to struggle to avoid grinding his teeth. G*$%&$ned disrespectful psycho... f%*~, what do I care? Might as well learn what there is to learn. Jenkins quietly saunters up next to Trivia, pointedly not offering to help her desecrate some poor tortured woman's grave, but also not stopping her.
"What're you hoping to find?
Lucas follows around the side of the building with Adam and Xander, keeping his shotgun in hand, but lowered.
Once he sees that it's just Trivia digging he lowers the gun completely.
"Yeah, Adam. We'll do a sweep of the outlying area before heading back into town proper."
"I also agree that we should check out Ineptitude...though I wonder if it would be smarter to hit up the Mine first. If they have food and no weird s$~# to speak of that might be our best bet to keep Ashland from starving."
Lucas moves over and helps Trivia clear away some of the dirt.
"Triv, you think you'll actually find something useful down here? I'm afraid we're diggin' this poor girl up for nothin'."
"Then again, if she's dead and the husband has moved on, there ain't a whole lot of folks who'd care or know left in this world beyond us."
As the two get closer to revealing the corpse, Jenkins becomes more and more agitated, despite trying to will himself to stillness.
It isn't her. It isn't her. It g+$$%%n well isn't her. Name is common as s!~*. This chick had f%~%ing kids way too old to be her. And she's almost certainly dead years ago anyway to Throckmorton and his asshats. But that Adam kid is too damn weird and if Reggie is... Still, it isn't her. How many times have I thought I was close? It isn't. Isn't....
By the time Trivia and Lucas have the body nearly exposed, Jenkins is sufficiently keyed-up that light is noticeably bending around him and his nose has begun to bleed.
As soon as Xander sees it's only Trivia he puts away his bow and goes back to searching for things of use.
Trivia continues to dig. "We just assumed it was the wife, right? And that all the mess upstairs was her. And that it was Reggie that walked away. It probably is, but there is too much weirdness here not to check. Doesn't make sense for him to bury her, leave the girl, and head to Ashland like his family hadn't just been brutally slaughtered."
She wipes her forehead, leaving a trail of dirt across her face. "The timeline is all wrong. Maybe he went there before this happened, but why leave the family behind if he knew there was something nasty out here?" She shakes her head. "Nah, best to check. Better to get some answers, even if they are gruesome, than to leave here with just a ton of questions. If it's her body, it might give me a better idea why the two kids got the pin-cushion treatment and she didn't."
Mid-digging, she glances up at Adam. "You got something." She gestures to her nose. "If this is going to upset you, I suggest you go scrounging with Xander." Didn't take sykers for the squeamish type. He's acting like this is personal or something.
After finishing scroungin' up some supplies, Xander goes out to load up as much food from the farm as possible.
"Hey Jenkins, if you're not gonna help Trivia then maybe give me a hand over here."
Jenkins gets ahold of himself well enough to stop unconsciously twisting the fabric of reality around him and wipes the blood away without a second glance. "I'm fine, just a headache." He lies. "Just finish so we can get the f&+@ out of here."
At a glance, it's clear that Jenkins is sufficiently intent on the grave so as to not have heard, or at least to have failed to process, Xander's attempt at distraction.
The grave proves to be somewhat shallow: only three feet below the surface, Trivia's shovel jabs something that definitely isn't dirt. Crouching down alongside Lucas, the two begin sweeping away the still-loose dirt by hand, soon revealing a sheet-wrapped body. The sheet bears a dark smear on its mid-section, as well as several smeared handprints.
Without much fanfare, Trivia unwraps the sheet, soon revealing a short, Hispanic woman in her 40s.
Most of the woman's abdomen is missing. Some of the muscle remains on her back, but otherwise it's like someone took a giant, jagged ice cream scoop to her gut. It's obvious to each of you that this poor woman is the source of the entrails in the master bedroom.
Someone took care in laying her to rest. The sheet is tightly wrapped, and her body is placed in as peaceful a pose as could be managed in her state: eyes closed, hands folded on her chest, and it even looks like someone took the time to comb her hair. Signs of grief, or remorse? It's impossible to say.
With the business done of digging one grave and opening another, the day has neared its end. Looking west, you can see the sun touching the horizon, a sickly red glow visible behind ranks of tattered black clouds. It will be dark soon.
"Looks like she was wearing a necklace. We find the person with that and we might get some answers." Trivia studies the body, taking a close look at the woman's arms and legs to see if there are any marks on her that suggests she had been tied up like the son. It seems strange that the two children were ritualistically killed, but the wife was just disemboweled.
Unless this thing likes children and she happened to be pregnant. Trivia shudders at the thought, but forces herself to examine the woman for signs that she may have been pregnant.
She sighs in frustration. The body is badly mangled, so it's hard to tell if the thing responsible for the damage had a specific intent or not. Still, it is something that she will be on the look out for if--when they discover more bodies.
Jenkins's face flashes quickly through a series of emotions. Relief? Regret? Chagrin, perhaps? Each are gone too fast to identify. A moment more, and his face settles back to its normal cocksure competent mask. He spares a quick glance at Trivia with hard eyes, briefly considering mentioning the theft before deciding against it. Instead, he takes up the spade to help Xander gather the crops.
"Let's hold off on the circuit until tomorrow. I get the distinct feeling we do not want to be out here come full dark."
Lucas eyes the horizon, and the rapidly setting sun, with a worried brow.
"Yeah...I'm with you, Adam. The circuit can wait for daylight. In fact, why don't we bed down here for the night. This farmhouse will be a fair bit more pleasant than camping out while on the road...and, a fair bit more defensible as well in case 'something' turns up."
Lucas then assists in loading the truck up with food. Once finished he heads into the house to give a quick search for pictures showing or old keepsakes that indicate what Maria's necklace looks like.
8 total
Once the searching is done Lucas finds a suitable spot to lay down.
"I'll take second watch. Wake me when it's time."
While attending to some of the odds and ends for settling in for the night Xander wants to know what was going on with Jenkins earlier.
"I know digging up a body isn't exactly something that should be considered normal, but you seemed a little off when Trivia was seeing to the lady. Anything going on we should be concerned about?"
In the closet in the master bedroom, Lucas finds a small stack of ratty photographs rubber-banded together. Most of them are shots of soldiers -- LatAm infantry -- posing together in front of hovertanks or gathered around cheap folding tables in unidentifiable FOBs. Though she's much younger in the pictures, you can easily identify the woman buried out back in several of them. In each, you can see the chain of her dog tags looping around her neck. Though she may have taken to wearing something else in the intervening years, you know from your many encounters with ex-soldiers that most still wear -- or at least keep -- their dog tags.
With that in mind, you look through several of the other drawers in the master bedroom, as well as in a few of the closets throughout the house. Your search is somewhat cursory, being cut short by the fading light, but you find no dog tags.
The rest of you re-bury the woman and load the truck with the much-needed crops. You then settle into the house, drawing the mismatched curtains and lighting a gas lantern found hanging by the back door. Though the sleeping options on the ground floor are limited, no one mounts the stairs, as the discomfort of sleeping on a threadbare carpet is preferable to what each of you knows lingers overhead. Restless spirits are all too real a thing in the Wasted West, and there is no reason to go tempting fate by taking your rest in the defiled bedrooms of the Carter family. The couch, recliner, and carpet will have to suffice.
You each prepare your sleeping areas and those of you with appetites choke down unsatisfying dinners. It's during this time that Xander attempts to make conversation with Adam.
Jenkins rights himself from a third search of the kitchen in search of anything that can give him his fix and turns to Xander. Regarding the young soldier, Jenkins smothers another flash of contempt.
Restarting the United States. What a f@+&tard idea. From what I've heard, we were the ones who started this whole nuke-'em-till-the-whole-f$@~ing-world-glows thing. G!*%~#n politicians and g!$#!%n soldiers following g%&#&$n orders, just like my dumb ass.
"Had a girl once named Maria when I rode with the Convoy. Kind of close that maybe woulda been called a marriage in the old world. I had a couple of girlfriends before I went to Banshee, and even a couple of girls I spent time with while in the Legion, but being tapped for syker training in your teens doesn't leave much time for developing real relationships." Contempt thickens Jenkins's voice for a moment. "Too busy being turned into a weapon to be used by fat, rich, idiotic babies."
Jenkins spits into the dry sink, as if to clear a bad taste from his mouth. "Whatever. I just... thought for a minute that it was maybe her. Carter boy was named Adam and, you may not have noticed, but he looked a f#&%load lot like me, just with hair. The boy's age was all wrong and I think my Maria probably died with the rest of the Convoy, but it hit hard."
Glancing around the kitchen, Jenkins adds in a mutter: "G@!&$%n f*#*ing Lucas and deciding to stay out here in a slaughterhouse rather than head back to town." Looking back to Xander, Jenkins continues. "Regardless, my s$&+ is straight and I don't give a f@+& about bodies. Made plenty, seen far more. If you're worried about my readiness, I'll still shoot straight. And if you're worried about me, that's nice sweety, but f&#% off."
With those half-truths done, and the kitchen search just as fruitless as it was the last two times, Jenkins slides off to the living room to crash out and face his dreams without any numbing.
Gradually, three of your reach for slumber, while a fourth sits by a front window, curtain parted a sliver, on the lookout for whatever might take advantage of the dark to sow further horror and sorrow into this already well-tended field.
Taking turns on watch, each of you is relieved to find the night passing quietly, if slowly. At last, the first glow of dawn rises, red as last night's sunset, throwing long, angular shadows from sickly, leafless trees across the Carter's fields. None of you feels well-rested, and your necks and joints are stiff from the inadequate bedding. You prepare quick and unsatisfying breakfasts and emerge into the unwelcoming early morning light. There is little refreshing in the air outside today -- perhaps the nightmares of the previous night will take a little more than sunlight to dispel -- but the Wastes don't wait on comfort, and no one is eager to stay here a moment longer than necessary.
Tired and sore, you climb into the truck, now crowded with bags and boxes of supplies taken from the fields and farmhouse. You pull away, returning to the overgrown gravel road, and follow whatever paths present themselves that seem likely to lead to settlements or survivors.
You pass most of the morning following promising back roads that ultimately lead nowhere. In several cases, you're forced to abandon progress because there is no way to continue forward with the truck. Properly prepared for such an outing, you might have luck on one of those out-of-the-way roads, but today, with a truck bed full of badly needed food, you decide not to press your luck.
Before heading back to Ashland, you discuss options, and Adam, Lucas, and Trivia agree that taking a quick detour through the ruins of Old Ashland might yield something, with the added benefit of not taking very long.
Around noon, you find yourselves coasting down a stretch of downtown road. On the corner ahead, next to the remains of an old Taco Bell, stand two brick buildings of similarly uninspired design, probably simple efficiency apartments. Neither building is immediately noteworthy, but as you draw closer you see that both have been subtly fortified. What look like arbitrary piles of junk against the windows instead seem like sturdy blockades. The door to one is similarly blocked, while the door to the other is entirely collapsed. Furthermore, the edges of the roof have been lightly barricaded, mostly by sheets of corrugated tin nailed to wooden beams.
Slowing, you spot something that gives you greater certainty that this is indeed some kind of settlement and not just an abandoned, makeshift fortification: strung between the roofs of the two buildings is a sort of bridge made of pieces of a fire escape welded together and covered in plywood.
You pull to a stop in front of one of the buildings, but no one calls out a greeting, and no guards peer down at you from defensive positions. You're not even sure how you'd go about entering the settlement. For the moment, you're alone on the street with the wind.
Result: No Fatigue.
Result: No Fatigue.
Jenkins steps wearily off the back of the pickup's bed, taking in the area. "I'll cover the roofs. Doesn't look like anybody's home, or if they are that they are interested in getting frisky, but I'd rather be the guy who gets the jump rather than be the jumped." Jenkins drags the rusted out dumpster belonging to the Taco Bell up next to its drive-thru window, and uses it and the window ledge to lever himself up onto what remains of the building's roof.
Total: 13
Scrambling up onto the roof, Jenkins hunkers down and uses his perch to scan the nearby buildings' roofs and windows. He carries his rifle in his hands, but doesn't actually lift it up and point it at the buildings, in case he is being observed by non-hostiles.
Lucas gets out of the truck, shotgun in hand, but pointing to the ground and not held at attention. After giving a quick scan of the surroundings he calls out:
"Anybody hunkered down in there? We're friendly. Passin' through on our way back to the Ashland survivor settlement just up the way. We don't want to start any s~+@, just seein' if you folks are interested in trade or talkin' bout stuff that's going on around here."
Xander mans the truck's gun while scanning for any activity.
Total: 16
Several moments pass, leaving you to wonder if the place might be empty after all. Xander hears what sounds like quiet, furtive talk, but can't pinpoint direction or source, and soon dismisses it as his mind finding patterns in the low whispering of the wind.
Just as you begin to consider turning away, a voice, clear and sharp, comes from atop one of the buildings. "That's a Law Dog!" More muttering follows, now audible to all of you, several voices in a rush to talk over one another. The confusion lasts only a moment before a man, somber, bearded, and well into middle-age, leans out from between a gap in the tin walls surrounding the roof. "You there!" He points down at Lucas. "If you value what that badge means, then you and your companions may enter. If not . . . We've had heartache enough of late. Bring violence upon us at your peril." So saying, he disappears from view, and several more moments pass before a cluster of junk in a first-floor window swings aside, revealing, beyond, a young woman standing in a hallway. With the shotgun in her hands, she gestures all of you inside while scanning the streets, as though expecting attack at any moment.
You each approach quickly, affected by her nervousness. None of you noticed any threats in the area but, figuring she knows better, you climb onto a small, surprisingly stable pile of junk below the window and hustle through the strange, camouflaged door, which she quickly slams closed behind you.
It could be related to the sorts of shrines used in voodoo. Some of the trappings involved could be involved in demon summoning, although it's also possible that you've just got demons on the brain at the moment.
____________________________________
The woman introduces herself as "Lisha," and leads you into the darkness of the building's interior. You all soon understand that the whole interior has been converted into some kind of complex labyrinth, with piles of junk blocking obvious passageways and holes in walls opening others. Combined with the darkness (as the windows are all thoroughly boarded over), you are confident that any attackers would have a hard time making their way through here in one piece. Moreover, you find yourselves doubtful of being able to find your own way out, if needed.
Despite the complicated path, it's only a couple of minutes before Lisha pushes open a metal door at the top of a flight of stairs. The light pouring in nearly blinds you as you struggle to adjust to the sudden shift from dark to light. It might be a frightening moment -- What better time to attack than when your victims can't see? -- but as you squint and blink your way back to sight, you find yourselves not only alive but half-surrounded by a group of people so obviously desperate for help it's almost pitiful. Eight people stand around you in total, and you find yourselves feeling that this is the community's entire population.
You're standing on the rooftop of one of the two buildings -- not, it seems, the one you entered through, meaning your crossed at some point without even realizing it. The rooftop has been cleared of most of the machinery and pipes that otherwise clutter such places, replaced by a different kind of clutter: shacks, tents, tables, and benches. This, it seems, is where they live, and judging by the accumulation of junk in out-of-the-way places and the feeble but earnest attempts at decorating that this is not a temporary state of affairs. This odd camp is their home.
It becomes less ridiculous as you survey your surroundings. There are no buildings of similar height nearby, and with the tin walls put up they're effectively invisible from below. As long as they have a safe way in and out to go scavenging, you can easily imagine such a setup working for a small group of people -- which this most definitely is.
Among those gathered is another woman, younger even than the one who let you in below. Despite the hardships of the Wastes, she is remarkably pretty, and your gazes linger on her for several seconds even as the settlement's leader -- the bearded man -- begins addressing you. It's in those seconds that you notice that the young woman's gaze is fixed solely on Trivia. Noticing the attention, Trivia glances her way, only to see the young woman make a subtle but very odd and distinct gesture with her hands. This is followed by a knowing nod and a prideful smile, and the woman's attention finally turns away, resting on the leader as he speaks.
"I am Arthur," he says. At the same moment, you notice the sword at his hip. On anyone else, the name and the weapon would combine to form a picture of a badly deluded man destined for a gruesome death. It fits Arthur, however, as his entire bearing has a natural nobility rarely seen on this side of the world. He seems like nothing less than a king holding court. "And this is Aco Be. Our home." He gestures, taking in all those standing at his sides. "You are welcome here to trade if you desire, and rest if you have need of it, but I warn you that we have little to offer, given recent . . ." His eyes, weighted with responsibility, dip further in what you guess is sadness as he glances toward a tent near the roof's edge. Its flaps are zipped closed. ". . . betrayals," he concludes. "Yet no well-intentioned wanderer of these Wastes should be turned away when help can be offered, and let it not be said that, even in extremis, the good people of Aco Be turned cold and callous."
He gives a slight bow at the conclusion of his little speech, then straightens and introduces the other members of the town. He reaches the young woman on the end last. "And this fair maiden," he says, prompting a mocking smirk from her that goes unnoticed by him, "is Morgan."
"Now, that done, perhaps you could introduce yourselves and more clearly state your business with us."
Lucas extends his hand for a friendly handshake to both Arthur and Morgan.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both."
Lucas hikes his thumb toward the other Ashland settlement.
"The folks living over yonder aren't half as hospitable as you lot. My name is Lucas Bartlett. I'm originally from just outside Tulsa, Oklahoma...not that that sorta thing really matters any more...But, to be honest with you, we're brand new to the area and we don't know which way is up at the moment. The reason we're out and about is that the other Ashland community is starvin', y'see, and we're bringing some food back to them."
Lucas eyes the two of them over, looking for any sort of hunch or intuition that these people aren't to be trusted.
Feeling confident that this community is on the level he presses on.
"Y'see, there's talk of a demon haunting this area. Seems it likes to kill innocent folks real messy like. Also seems to be causing issues with the food stores over in Ashland. Well, maybe the two aren't related, but regardless..Stuff spoils quick and makes you sick. Have you folks had any issues with yer food 'round here? Any attacks by a monster/demon of some form?"
Lucas waits for a response from the two, then goes on.
"The real reason the four of us are up this way is Junkyard sent us up here. See if we can help you folk get things cleaned up and more civilized like. From what they tell us there's some warlord type named Suki Alvarez that lives over near Portland. She's carved...probably literally carved...a name for herself as some sorta damn shogun. Our thinking is that warlords and despots don't really help the spread of nice and civilized things, so she might have to change her ways...one way or th' other."
"Since you folks seem to have a level head set upon yer shoulders, I figure we could probably help you folk out with yer issues as well. You mentioned something about a betrayal...is that somethin' you'd care to speak about to us? Have you folks considered throwin' in with the lot over in the other Ashland community? Seems like it'd be wiser to have strength in numbers, right? Then again...that group is kinda hard to get along with at first, ain't they?"
Lucas motions back toward his truck.
"As far as trade goes, we don't have a lot either...just a little bit of food down there in the truck, and we can't give a ton of that up. But if you folks are in as bad a spot as they are we will just have to make it stretch. What does Aco Be have to offer?"
6 total, 8 if law dog bonus applies
Jenkins quickly scans the crowd before his eyes land on Lisha. Sidling over to her, Jenkins quietly asks a few questions:
"In addition to Lucas's grand mission, we are tracking something that hurt some folks on a farm outside of Old Ashland. Might have been at least one survivor, and finding him might help us find what we are after. Supposed to be named Reggie, carries himself like a soldier, half his face burnt? Any chance you know who I'm talking about or seen him lately?"
Trying to avoid sounding too interested, Jenkins continues. "Know where a guy can get a drink? Been a thirsty few days."
Trivia eyes the group warily. She doesn't know why Morgan seemed interested in her and it sets her teeth on edge. Just what she needs: someone mistaking her for another Daughter.
Seeing that Adam and Lucas are busy chatting up other people, she leans in and whispers to Xander. "Saw a shrine while we were coming in. Looks like voodoo. I don't know much about that sort of thing, but some of the things out there could be used in demon summoning. The bones especially make me worried, but I couldn't tell what the bones came from."
With that, Trivia makes her way over to Morgan. She gives her own shy smile and lowers her voice. "Been a bit since I've seen work like that outside. I'm guessing it's your's."
Xander goes over to stand by Arthur and Lucas. He's eager to see what help can be provided, but also wants to try to relay Trivia's message about the voodoo to Lucas just as soon as he can do so discreetly.
As Lucas mentions bringing food to the people of Ashland, Arthur interrupts by spitting on the ground. "Phah! Hungry, you say? Robbed us and killed three of our people, yet still they're starving? Whatever curse haunts those knaves is well-earned, I'd say. No matter what may have befallen the world, I still believe that the black-hearted will reap what they sow -- and Ashland has sown little but evil of late."
"As for demonic presences," he continues, "we've had sightings of late of beasts foul enough to keep us sheltering within our tower, despite our dire circumstances. It may be that these are the demons you speak of, but our good people know nothing of such matters."
____________________________________
"As to aid," Arthur says, "we would welcome any that you have to offer. Unfortunately, what we most have need of is food -- and it seems what food you have is destined for those who stole our own supplies."
Nearby, Adam addresses Lisha, only to find she has little to offer. A shake of her head sends her dreadlocks swinging. "Never heard of no Reggie," she says, "but if you talkin' 'bout booze, we got some over there." She hitches a thumb toward a red-and-white cooler sitting next to a tent toward the camp's center.
Trivia's attempts to converse with Morgan don't go much better. Though Morgan beams with obvious pride at what she interprets as a compliment, she bites back her initial response after getting out only a syllable. A moment of stammering later, she leans toward you and says in an exaggerated stage whisper, "You're supposed to do it back, remember? That's what they said. No matter who it is, you have to do it back." She gives an uncomfortable shrug, as though embarrassed at her words.
About then, Xander makes his way to Lucas. Arthur pauses in his conversation to acknowledge Xander, giving you an opportunity to lean forward and quietly pass along Trivia's message to Lucas.
Lucas nods in understanding towards Arthur.
"You're right, some of the folk in Ashland might not be worth savin'. But, I'm not one of those damned Templar passing judgement on every person living in a town because their leader is misguided. He'll come to justice soon enough, don't you worry 'bout that."
Lucas eyes the crowd, sizing up the population number in his head.
"...I tell you what. I need friendly faces in these parts, and I know Ashland probably did you wrong. I haven't heard the best things about Alan over there, and his due is comin' sooner than he realizes. Let me split up the food we've got. Yer town is smaller, so you get 1/3, the other 2/3 are goin' straight to the hands of Nadine Holt back in Ashland. She's good folk. Salt of the earth type. She'll make sure the food is handled fairly."
"As for these 'beasts most foul', anyone here seen one first hand? I'd like to at least have an idea of the kind of monstrosity that might be stalking us. Maybe let us know where you saw one last? The quicker you folk feel safe getting out and about in the world the better."
Lucas then turns to acknowledge Xander and nods.
"Just one moment, Arthur, my associates require my attention."
Lucas steps out of earshot of Arthur and turns to Xander.
"What's up?"
After relaying Trivia's info about the voodoo, Xander addresses Arthur loudly enough to be heard by most if not all the others, "In our brief time in Ashland we found that the people are scared. There's a man that is little more than a thug has used that to get them to do things they wouldn't normally do. I'm not saying it's right, but I am saying that if we can tackle whatever is plaguing this area we might get everyone going down a better path."
Lucas gives Xander a weird look or two as he explains Trivia's voodoo theory, sparing a glance or two over his shoulder towards the leaders of Aco Be as the story unfolds. Once concluded he strides back over to Arthur with a bit of an attitude.
"Now Arthur, I'm willing to forgive and look past a lot. I know people have it hard nowadays, and sometimes people get desperate...but I'm hearin' that as we were brought into your compound one of my compatriots saw what looked like a voodoo shrine, bones and all, that could be used for all sorts of unpleasant stuff."
Lucas casts a glance around at the gathered townsfolk to see if he can identify any reaction on one of their faces indicating they might have had something to do with the altar.
Total 5
"But if you know someone in this town has that sort of capability, please either let us know or implore them to stop whatever it is they summoned. Revenge based or not, these monsters aren't something folks just trying to survive should have to deal with."
Jenkins snorts softly at the newest dead end, but moves on, more than used to them at this point. "Got a few things I can trade, be it information or material, in return for some of that booze. Like I said, been a thirsty couple of days."
Jenkins takes a moment to glance about at the more important goings on about him, and decides that he gives exactly zero f~$&s at this point. I like that I secure the food, knock out some a!%~+@* who tries to stick a g~###~n spear in me, and then load up all the food. Then a government man decides he just owns all the s%!$ I worked for and can give it away to whomever without even a "by your f$&!ing leave." Why the f+$* did we have a government again? Why the hell am I helping these a*%&&@#s set up a new one?
"And I imagine it might be a few more before all is said and done. Join me for a drink? I'll trade you news of the outside for local news, straight up question-for-question, if you've a mind."
Let me split up the food we've got. Yer town is smaller, so you get 1/3, the other 2/3 are goin' straight to the hands of Nadine Holt back in Ashland.
Arthur performs a thorough bow to Lucas. "Your generosity humbles me, sir. Under any other circumstances, I might refuse your offer, but, alas, such are the times that I feel it would be irresponsible to even feign refusal. Know that we of Aco Be will forever be indebted to you."
"Of the beast, we've all seen glimpses, and thankfully little more. It resembles nothing less than a demon, of a kind spun out of a medieval peasant's worst nightmares. Tall and broad, with towering wings and spiraling horns. I'm told it has a tail and cloven hooves, though I saw neither myself."
Xander approaches and Lucas steps away from Arthur to consult with his comrade. Having passed on his news, Xander speaks up, saying,
In our brief time in Ashland we found that the people are scared. There's a man that is little more than a thug has used that to get them to do things they wouldn't normally do. I'm not saying it's right, but I am saying that if we can tackle whatever is plaguing this area we might get everyone going down a better path.
Though the group is small, the muttering in response to this is fierce. Those listening scowl at what they seem to interpret as an attempt to excuse the deeds of the people of Ashland. Little can be heard of what's said until one man -- large, bearded, and wearing overalls and a flannel shirt -- steps forward. "They're the ones that killed Ursula! Bill an' Curtis, too! We won't have no doin's with them --"
Arthur half-turns to the man and lifts his hand waist-high, palm down. It's a subtle movement, but it's enough to make the man back down. With a bob of his head, he steps back, transformed in an instant from furious to sheepish. Arthur returns his attention to you. "Please forgive Lawrence," he says. "The killings are still fresh in our minds, so his outburst is understandable, and, much as I've sought in myself for forgiveness, I'm afraid I've found none in this case. The wound dealt us by Ashland will take far more than good intentions and words to heal."
In the lull following this statement, Lucas steps forward, saying,
Now Arthur, I'm willing to forgive and look past a lot. I know people have it hard nowadays, and sometimes people get desperate...but I'm hearin' that as we were brought into your compound one of my compatriots saw what looked like a voodoo shrine, bones and all, that could be used for all sorts of unpleasant stuff.
Keeping an eye on the reactions of the townsfolk as you speak, you see obvious discomfort come over each of them, with the exceptions of Morgan and Lisha, who are engaged in their own conversations with your other compatriots and likely didn't hear. As you finish speaking, you return your gaze to Arthur to find him both shocked and suspicious. You go on:
But if you know someone in this town has that sort of capability, please either let us know or implore them to stop whatever it is they summoned. Revenge based or not, these monsters aren't something folks just trying to survive should have to deal with.
Arthur responds with a firm chopping motion, cutting a swift arc through the air in front of him. "No," he says. "If such a thing even exists as you claim, it is the work of no one here. I vouch for all of them personally." At this, he straightens his posture and pushes his shoulders back, and you realize for the first time that Arthur is a very large man. The implication is clear: impugn my people, and you're challenging me. "If such witchcraft has been perpetrated in our lands, it is most likely the work of those in Ashland. Not content with merely wounding us, perhaps they seek to finish us, and pick over the corpses. I would not have thought to compare them to vultures before, but recent events have . . . " He looks away, eyes lifting to the horizon, searching for the proper words. " . . . darkened my thoughts," he concludes.
Nearby, Adam makes his offer to Lisha, who answers with a nod. "News and comp'ny are plenty for me, baldy. What I got you wouldn't wanna pay for anyhow." She leads you to the cooler and gestures you to take a seat in one of two fraying lawn chairs. You settle into the precarious contraption slowly, wary of the groaning aluminum frame. Comfortable at last, your attention is drawn by the distinctive metallic clink of a bottle opener tapping against a cap, immediately followed by the unmistakable tss of escaping pressure. The cap strikes the roof with only a dull, quiet thunk, not the usual musical tinkle, the fault of the gravel lining the roof.
Lisha extends her arm, the sweating brown glass now well within your reach. Sweating? They must have ice in the cooler, which is odd . . . but you can't follow the thought, focused as you are on the bottle. You can't see the label, not that you really care at this point, but the smell --
Lisha interrupts your reverie. "Here you go, baldy. Now what'd you wanna know?"
Jenkins takes the damp bottle from her with a look of a man about to lay down his demons for the first time in far too long, despite the fact that it's only been a few, admittedly wrenching, days since his last respite. He takes a long, hard pull from the bottle, and his face and shoulders visibly relax despite (perhaps in spite of?) the taste. After this many years, it's now effortless to ignore the training to immediately purge the poison from his system, as he starts down the path of reveling in the gentle numbness it brings.
"Tell me about the local settlements. Like those idiots," Jenkins nods to Xander and Lucas "I got to Ashland and realized it's currently run by a group of dicks, which I'm sure Lucas and Xander there will give paid to shortly. What else is about?"
After listening to the answer and waiting to see if he'd be obligated to answer a question in return, Jenkins presses on "What about salvage sites? Food, weapons, tech, gas... you know, the usual s&++ people fight and die over in our brave new world here."
Drinking deeply from the bottle again, Jenkins piles on another question before he can get the answer to that one "And I guess I should ask if you guys need anything. The problem with riding with a f#%@ing law dog, gotta stop and be nice to everybody." Jenkins restrains himself from spitting at the idea, he is in the presence of a lady afterall, but it's a near thing. Instead, he wipes the sweat from the bottle and wipes in across his forehead instead, pretending like it gives some cooling effect.
Again, Adam pauses to answer any retort questions. After two more long pulls from the bottle, his pace slows as the desired numbness starts to creep in and his interest wanders from relevant issues. "Tell me about anything to see in the area. Anything cool for somebody who has walked most of the waste to see or do?"
Adam drains the bottle as he listens to the answer and leaves space for Lisha's question. "Well, then, tell me about yourself. The hell you end up up here living mas?"
Trivia overhears Xander and Lucas. Subtle they are not. Trivia manages to hide her wince. Turning to Morgan once more, she lowers her voice. "If everything I am hearing about Ashland is true, can't say I much blame someone for setting something on them. Revenge is one of the few pleasures we still have in this s~%& show of a world."
Xander looks down at his feet for a second before starting to talk again. Can't really fault them... God, I hate this Alan fiddlesticker.
"I can't blame you guys, and I'm not saying you should forgive everyone in Ashland. I'm just saying the way people are gonna survive is not with constantly killing one another. I think that Ashland needs a regime change, and that the those responsible for hurting others need to be brought to some sense of justice. *If* that can be managed then the good folk of both communities can work to mutual benefit.
Lucas spares a look over to Xander, then quickly looks back to Arthur and the crowd. He motions with his hands to "simmer down" a gets a pained expression on his face.
"Now now...lets not talk regime change and violent overthrow of one town to the other just yet. If you wanna rally Ashland against Aco Be, that'd be a damn fine way to do it. Lets handle things a bit more respectively and maybe a solution can be found that's a fair bit more peaceful. There's a lot of good folk over in Ashland, and there's no need to have Aco Be residents go over there and start some s%%+ to make that change. I'll handle that myself, with hopefully nothin' more than a pistol whip's worth of bloodshed by the end of it."
That being said Lucas turns back to Arthur and nods.
"I have no reason to doubt you about the shrine we saw. I don't think you had anything to do with what happened or is happening. That being said...
Lucas raises his voice slightly to make sure everyone - Morgan included - can hear
"...I'm sure you wouldn't mind my Trivia there take a look at it and make sure that shrine is cleansed and disposed of in a proper manner. If there are folks, from Ashland or elsewhere, that are using this for some evil purpose then we need to stop it as quickly as possible."
Lucas then motions for his compatriots to give their attention.
"Now, we should unload that 1/3rd of food and then Trivia there can clean up the shrine. With that we can be on our way to Ashland, clean up that Alan mess and deliver the remaining food. That way both these communities can get along without any issue."
After the statements are processed Lucas motions that he's ready to head back to the truck and unload the food.
"Tell me about the local settlements. Like those idiots," Jenkins nods to Xander and Lucas "I got to Ashland and realized it's currently run by a group of dicks, which I'm sure Lucas and Xander there will give paid to shortly. What else is about?"
“Main place worth talkin’ about is Josie, just a little way north of here. People call it Little Junkyard.” She shrugs. “I don’t know no ‘bout all that, but it’s the best we got in these parts. All kinds of entertainment and trade, and a old hospital they got kinda fixed up some. Pit fights too, if you’re into that kinda thing.” By her tone, you guess that she isn’t.
“Closer by, I guess the main place is Klamath Falls, east of here. Kind of a quiet place, but that ain’t necessarily a bad thing. Mostly just farmers and the like. Nice enough folks, in my limited experience.”
"What about salvage sites? Food, weapons, tech, gas... you know, the usual s!+& people fight and die over in our brave new world here."
“This whole area been picked over pretty good by now. All the safe places, anyway. There’s plenty of unsafe spots, though, not that I’d recommend visitin’ anyway without plenty of preparation. All these mountains, the sparse population . . . The old government figured they had themselves an ideal place to put all kinds of bases and secret installations, and old corporations did the same. Or those are the stories, anyhow. You know how rumors are. I only know one place like that I can speak of with any confidence -- some crazy tower west of here. Lots of old roads that way, windy mountain paths and the like, almost all closed off now without anybody takin’ care of ‘em. But I been out that way and I seen that tower -- like an old skyscraper lookin’ half-finished or somethin’. Had big ol’ birds circlin’ it, too. I didn’t go close -- didn’t have the chance at the time -- but I can tell you right where it was, if you’ve a mind to risk your life for old secrets that probably oughtta stay buried.”
"And I guess I should ask if you guys need anything. The problem with riding with a f%!~ing law dog, gotta stop and be nice to everybody."
She gives a meager chuckle. “What do we need? Everything. But mostly we need our spirit back. Bein’ turned on by neighbors has a tendency to take the wind right outta your sails. We were small, but we were pluggin’ along just fine, until . . .” Her eyes wander toward the tent at the roof’s edge. “Well. That ain’t no practical answer. If you’re of a mind to give aid, then food is probably the big thing. We got supplies to last us for the foreseeable, but after that . . .” She shrugs.
"Tell me about anything to see in the area. Anything cool for somebody who has walked most of the waste to see or do?"
She smirks. “Like you? I guess the answer to that depends an awful lot on just what kinda man you are. All kinda opportunities up in Josie. I think there’s a syker runnin’ the show over in Chiloquin, if you’re lookin’ for more of your own kind, but I’ve heard he ain’t a real nice fella.”
"Well, then, tell me about yourself. The hell you end up up here living mas?"
With a snort, she retrieves two more beers. “No story there, baldy. What family I had stayed on the move after the war. I was still a kid when they . . .” She clears her throat. “. . . died. I fell in with some other kids livin’ in the mountains, but they got a little too weird for me. I made for civilization -- or what passes for it around here -- and I met Arthur. First I stayed with him for safety, but then I realized I’d started takin’ all his foolishness to heart. Then I stayed ‘cause I couldn’t imagine bein’ anywhere else.”
____________________________________
“You have to do it,” she says. ”Is this a test? I promise I’m following the rules, but that means you have to as well. Even you.”
____________________________________
At Lucas’ words regarding the shrine, Morgan casts a bewildered look at Trivia, an expression that quickly turns into that of a child suddenly without a parent in a strange place. Her body language is all panic, but she holds fast and makes an obvious effort not to draw attention to herself. The other people of Aco Be notice nothing amiss.
Meanwhile, Arthur nods sagely at the conclusion of Lucas’ speech. “With this so-called shrine, do whatever you feel is best." After a significant pause while he considers Lucas through squinted eyes, he continues: "You are a fair man, Sir Bartlett, and wise. If there are more men like you in this world, we may have a chance of seeing a new dawn after all. I am glad to have met you and wish you nothing but good fortune in your future endeavors, and you have my undying gratitude for your aid and counsel.” Arthur extends his arm and Lucas shakes with him, the older man’s grasp powerful and reassuring. With an appreciative nod, he bids you farewell, leaving you to your own devices in his settlement.
Trivia wracks her brain, trying to recall the gesture Morgan first made as well as connect it to anything she has seen before.
Believing that she has at least some idea of what the gesture means and wanting to put Morgan at ease, Trivia responds with the correct gesture. "Of course, you are correct. Forgive me, I suppose I was a bit too excited by the handiwork."
Following her eyes to the tent at the corner of the roof. "What's the story there? If Alan or somebody else has done wrong by you folks without provocation, I can virtually guarantee Lucas will want to set them straight if you give me the details on what happened."
Jenkins snags the second bottle, taking a long pull while he digests her latest revelation.
"So what is Arthur's thing? Noticed the whole 'once and future king' vibe, is that what causes folks to come to him and Aco Be?"
After that last series of questions, Jenkins relaxes into irrelevant small talk and s#~%-talking to pass the time until somebody comes and kicks his ass back into gear.
She chuckles at your question about Arthur, turning her head in the man's direction. The admiring look on her face is obvious, almost painfully so: it isn't love, but a level of devotion you've seen only rarely, usually given to those truly selfless and endlessly courageous leaders you've had the fortune to encounter in your military career. Such men and women were rare on Banshee, and usually didn't last long, but the spark of their presence ignited a passion in the hearts of all those allied to them, a briefly-burning ember that, for a time, beat back war's encroaching dark. What it might be like to follow such a man here in the Wasted West you can't imagine, but you find some assurance in knowing that, at least, such men do exist.
"He is what he is," she says at last. "Far as I can tell, he plays it as straight as anyone I've ever met. Now whether what he is is crazy or somethin' else, somethin' a lot more rare, that I don't know. And you can see for yourself it doesn't attract much of a kingdom." She waggles the neck of her bottle at the meager crowd gathered on the rooftop. "Frankly, most people meet him don't buy it. They think he's some nut we just put up with, or they think he's playing them, or they think he's naive and just charismatic enough to get everyone who trusts him killed. Some guy while back tried to talk me into leavin', sayin' Arthur was gonna lead us all to ruin. But I seen him -- I know him. He's the real deal, that's what I think. And those of us who've stayed all tend to agree on that."
___________________________________
Within, the quarters are cramped, the red fabric of the tent low and sharply-angled. Clearly not meant for occupation by more than one person at a time, and then only sitting or lying down, you find yourself sitting Indian-style, knees touching Morgan's. The tent itself is strewn with what you at first take to be childish junk: candy wrappers, old magazines, stickers pasted to the tent's interior, and so on. Settling in, your hand presses down on a button -- the round metal kind you'd wear on a shirt or backpack. Tossing it aside, you first notice the words written on it:
THERE ARE NO STRAIGHT WOMEN
ONLY LESBIANS WHO HAVEN'T MET ME
Morgan does not notice your reaction to her living space, as she is too busy digging through the accumulated stuff. "Where . . . where did I . . . I had it out last night . . ." She mutters to herself, the usual half-finished sentences of a person frustrated at misplacing something important. At last, with a triumphant, "Ah-ha!", she pulls two books from beneath a blanket. The first is a simple notebook with a pen slipped in the spiral binding. The second is a hand-bound book with a sloppily-embossed title on the front in gold foil:
OPPRESSORS AND OPPRESSED
"Okay, so." She primly straightens her back while simultaneously smiling with mixed pride and embarrassment. "Yeah, the demon was probably a little much, but I just hadn't really had a chance to do anything --" These last two words are said in the tone of a bored twelve year old, complete with exaggerated eye-roll. " -- for like, ever. And besides, the Ashlanders did attack us. And this town's got nothing for us, anyway. Ursula seemed interested --" She taps the cover of the hand-bound book. " -- but I don't think she would have followed through. Too far gone, too invested in the patriarchal narrative. So I was planning to just move on before anybody ratted me out to Arthur --" She says the name with a sneer, her wrinkled nose and curled lip not a childish affectation but a genuine reaction of disgust. " -- but I wasn't sure where to head next. Do you have any suggestions?"
_____________________________________
As Arthur shakes with Lucas, you and Xander both notice that Trivia has slunk off with Morgan. The two walked arm-in-arm behind a badly corroded air conditioning unit where you lost sight of them. Adam, you see, has taken a seat with the young woman who led you up through the building below, and the two are sharing a cold beer -- or a few, as there is already an empty bottle by Adam's chair.
It doesn't matter, though. Jenkins feels his mouth open and the words spilling out before he can stop them, knowing damn well he doesn't owe Aco Be a damn thing and Lisha only a bullet or two for the beers.
"I can cover you while you bury them. I don't know if I can go toe-to-toe with that demon thing, but I'm likely the best offer you're going to get until we find and end whatever that thing is."
Unable to snatch the words back out of the air, Jenkins instead tries to keep an even face while looking Lisha in the eye and wishing to the high heavens he had just kept his g#%&~$ned mouth shut.
. . . but then she catches sight of Arthur and the others still milling around in what passes for town square on the crowded rooftop. Following her gaze, you see that none of them are looking your way. Turning back to Lisha, you see her sporting a smile that can only be called mischievous.
"Alright, if you're serious -- And you're serious, aren't you?" She doesn't pause long enough for a reply. "Yeah, if you're serious, we can do this. There's another way down, but we gotta be quick and quiet. Arthur wouldn't want nobody goin' out on their own, so we gotta do this just the two of us, and we gotta do it without him noticin'. Follow me."
Setting down her beer, Lisha sets off through the tents in an exaggerated crouch. Whether she thinks that's an effective method of sneaking, is just kidding around, or (possibly) if a beer and a half was enough to get her slightly drunk, is unclear. Nevertheless, you reach your destination in no time. Lisha unzips the flap and quietly instructs you to help her. The two of you reach inside and grab hold of what you're surprised -- and, perhaps, somewhat relieved -- to see is an actual body bag.
You begin to wonder about this part of the plan. Dragging a corpse -- stealthily -- through a small, crowded camp? Aside from the practical difficulties, it begins to strike you as both undignified and disrespectful. Whatever objections you may have you are unable to voice before Lisha points to the edge of the roof and hoists her end of the bag. Taking your end, you quickly shuffle across the short distance to the roof's edge where you see the mouth of one of those chutes construction workers use to dispose of trash .
"Emergency escape route," Lisha whispers. "Don't worry, the landing is plenty soft. Just help me toss Ursula down, then we follow."
"After we toss her down, you go first and I'll give you a count of ten to get you and her clear of the landing zone before I come down. Run into trouble, give a yell back up the chute and I'll come down blazing." Fitting actions to words, Jenkins helps Lisha chuck the body and then pulls his rifle from its sling to the same position he was trained to hold it during plane and helicopter drops.
As he lets his training kick in, he pushes aside concerns of safety for the two of them and the impact this little stunt is likely to have on Aco Be and Lucas's plans. F~&% them is all he thinks before he stops wasting valuable brain space on the future and concentrates on his mission.
Soon afterward, you hit your ten count and follow her down. The going is a bit rougher for you -- Lisha is by no means a small woman, but she definitely weighs less than you -- but you land in the mattresses and cushions with no injury worse than a couple of "rugburns" to exposed skin that scraped against the chute for the whole length of the drop.
Lisha, to her credit, spares you only a glance from the dumpster's edge. She is in a crouch, keeping out of sight from anyone -- or anything -- that might be lurking in the alley. Seeing that you're safe and sound, she returns her attention to her surroundings. You join her, but it's soon clear to both of you that there's nothing around. The alley is silent and still. The quiet conversations overhead don't reach this far down, while even the wind refrains from rustling the scattered, half-decayed plastic bags strewn across the pavement.
"Looks like we made it," she whispers. You're not as confident as that: after all, Aco Be is bound to have lookouts and they're certain to notice the pair of you hauling a body away if you aren't careful. But, superficially, she's right. There are no shouts of alarm, no surprised faces peering down from the top of the chute. So far, so good.
Moving as quietly as she can, Lisha climbs out of the dumpster. Once on the ground, you lift the body over the dumpster's lip and gently lower it down. Lisha guides it to a gentle rest, then you climb out and the two of you heft the body and make for the alley's mouth.
Before you're forced to voice your concerns about possibly being spotted by a lookout, Lisha stops you at the end of the alley. She points out a few places -- blind spots -- where you'll be able to cross the street without being seen. "After that," she says, "they won't have line of sight on us. From there, it's just two blocks to the park. That's where we'll . . ." She falters, ending with a lame nod at the body bag.
The eerie quiet surrounds the both of you as you quickly shuffle across town. Nothing at all moves: no rats, no insects, and certainly nothing as large as a demon or zombie. You dart from cover to cover across the street below Aco Be, then run down a long alley that empties onto a badly-cracked, heavily-shadowed street. The footing here is unsteady -- you guess a tracked tank rolled down this street at some point. Still, safe from the eyes of the townsfolk you're able to take your time, picking your way across the cracked asphalt without any falls or major trips.
After that, it's smooth sailing and you reach the park moments later. It's a small place, the sort where kids play on brightly-colored slides and merry-go-rounds, but lacking the space for running or biking. The apocalypse has not been kind to the place: grass has grown out of control and the playground equipment is battered and faded. Lisha leads you through a large gap in the fence and you follow her as she threads a path through the undergrowth and battered equipment. Up close, you see that much of the playground equipment is riddled with bullet holes. A shootout in a playground? Strange, but you've had some strange encounters yourself since coming back to Earth, so you try to shrug it off.
"Here," Lisha says, stopping at the edge of an especially dense thicket of grass. Lying in the deep shadow of a nearby two-story building, it's a moment before your eyes pick out the rough shapes of picnic tables scattered amongst the grass. Nearby is a patch of much shorter grass decorated with three crude gravestones.
Apparently, this is Aco Be's graveyard.
You're relieved when Lisha retrieves a shovel from nearby. "Only one," she says, "so we gotta take turns. Just as well, anyway. Somebody gotta keep an eye out."
Lisha plunges the blade into the shadowed earth, and you realize just how late it is: the shadows are long, and a proper grave will keep you both out here well past sundown. Worse, you don't see a flashlight anywhere on Lisha's person.
Jenkins moves to the remnants of one of the picnic tables and uses it, as best he can, as cover and as a stabilizer for his rifle. Letting old habits flood past the high of their excited flight and the still-present numbness brought on by the beer, Jenkins settles into a non-pattern sweep of the area with his eyes, letting them roam rapidly to detect movement and picking the images apart for details with a moment's delay.
As she takes her third scoop of dirt, Jenkins quietly throws his voice to her. "If s!&! goes sideways and I tell you we're going to bug, get to me fast and go limp when I pick you up. Stop looking at me, woman, and dig, it'll already be dark before we finish. Just remember what I said."
Trivia holds out a hand for the bound tome. "May I?" She flips through the book quickly, seeing if she can gather any information about what exactly Morgan is up to.
"You said the Ashlanders attacked first? Any idea why?"
Once Trivia gets a bit more information, she steers the conversation towards the other demonic work that she saw recently and if Morgan knows anything about that.
Some time later, Lisha has cleared what you'd consider the bare minimum for a grave. Not ideal, and almost certain to be dug up by scavengers, but at this point it's more a choice between getting back safely and needing a grave of your own. Lisha, however, continues shoveling dirt without pause, evidently intent on doing this thing right regardless of the risk.
You suddenly realize you've been dwelling too long on the size of the grave and snap your attention back to your surroundings -- almost too late to see a large, shadowy shape move into the darkness surrounding a leafy tree not twenty yards away. Lost in the shadows and tall grass, and obscured by the trunk of the tree itself, you can't be sure of what you're seeing. From the brief glimpse you had, you're sure it was two-legged and moved more or less like a human. And was there some sort of reddish glow, or was that only your imagination? One thing you're sure of: whatever it was had to be at least seven feet tall.
You keep your gaze fixed on the spot where you lost sight of it. The grass nods sleepily in the wind while the leaves overhead rustle and dance, but, for the moment, there is no other movement.
______________________________________
"Oh, of course!" Morgan hands over the book promptly, though a flicker of confusion passes over her face.
Flipping open the cover, you see a brief, unsigned inscription on the front end page:
MORGAN -- NEVER WAVER
The handwriting looks oddly familiar . . .
You give yourself a quick tour of the book, noticing that the typeface is old-fashioned, the sort of thing you'd see on a typewriter in the 30's. The binding is good, but has the look of being handmade. At a guess, the book is new, typed and bound sometime after the apocalypse.
As to the contents, the table of contents lists numerous chapters with unhelpfully vague titles. Moving on, you come to the first page, which begins:
All women are born into a state of grace, which all men seek to despoil.
A highlight from chapter two:
. . . and given the commonly accepted assertion that a slave cannot give consent to her master, it is therefore certain that there has never been, in all the history of the world, an act of heterosexual intercourse that was not rape.
From chapter five:
. . . our inherent connection to the Earth and all its natural creatures and vegetation is a threat to their order. The Oppressors seek to cleave from nature only that which is useful to them, an act of theft we can see play out in relation to ourselves time and again throughout history: the abortion "debate" of the previous century highlights this truth better than any other example, as the only possible motivation behind robbing a woman of control over her own body is to secure a guarantee of offspring -- preferably male -- in order to both perpetuate a paternalistic lineage through the historically male-centric tradition of inheritance, as well as to ensure a sufficient supply of violent warriors that, once suitably indoctrinated and kept ignorant of their own roles, serve to further support and perpetuate the ongoing system of oppression on which their privileged positions rely.
From chapter ten:
. . . let that one be blinded and raised under the lash, that he might serve in a productive way, and contribute only minimally to the ongoing crimes of the PATRIARCHY. And should there be one among them that demonstrates proper servility and respect, let him not be blinded but instead castrated and raised to read and write. These latter servants are to go blindfolded among the Oppressed, that we might not suffer the touch of their gaze and so be reminded of their awful desires, but in their own company or alone they may remove the blindfolds and take whatever pleasure they desire from the world we have wrested from them. Such is our generosity . . .
Slapping the book closed, you conclude that it is a post-apocalyptic feminist treatise -- or that's what it's pretending to be, anyway. In truth, it is a shockingly transparent work of propaganda hiding beneath a thin cloak of facts and legitimate scholarship. Based on the later chapters, you would guess that the author is working toward -- or has already created -- a society with him- or herself at the top, using the teachings of the book to justify their continued rule.
"You said the Ashlanders attacked first? Any idea why?"
Morgan gives a disinterested shrug, leaving you to wonder if her infantilism is affected or genuine. "They were out of food, I think," she says. "Arthur --" Again, she sneers at his name. " -- had a bunch, so they came and took it. Everybody wanted to strike back but Arthur --" Sneer. "-- thought he knew better, of course, and wouldn't let us." She rolls her eyes. "So I helped!" At this, she finally perks up a little. She snatches the book from your hands and flips unerringly to a page about two-thirds of the way through. Her demeanor suddenly prim and proper, she reads from the book like a churchgoer reciting a well-known verse. "It is the duty of the Oppressed to combat the PATRIARCHY --" You can hear the capital letters. "-- in all its forms, wherever it occurs." She looks up from the book. "So I helped them. They don't need Arthur --" Sneer. " -- so I gave them what they needed to do what they want. They're freer now, right?" The question isn't rhetorical: she's looking at you expectantly, a student confident in her answer but desiring confirmation.