"The Silo"

FYI:
This thread has been abandoned.
It is being restarted in the ORP forum after Turkey Day
with some changes in posts and writers.
The primary concept remains as written below!
We are simply starting anew
because of changes in characters/writers.


"The Silo"​

​

Goddess of the Dawn...

As she watched the sun slowly ascend and bathe the cold Kansas prairie in warm colors, Aurora reflected on the meaning behind her name. Her mother had raised her to believe that each new day -- each new dawn -- was a new beginning, and that she should always remember that her name meant that she was capable of making something great of each and every one of those new beginnings.

Her mother's words had stuck with Aurora, as had the symbolism of the rising sun. Since her mother's death ten years earlier, Aurora had rarely missed witnessing the rising of the magnificent orb. There had been many times when she should have missed it. Despite now being the de facto dictator of her small community, she'd occasionally been prevented -- once even physically restrained for her own safety -- from going outside to witness the start of the new day. She'd excused her detention that time when, later that day, they went topside and found the devastation of the tornado.

She turned slowly to look out upon the small, seemingly abandoned homestead located at the end of a gravel road. In the mid-20th century, the farm -- 2 miles south of Paxico, 15 miles west of Topeka -- had been a working farm and ranch, raising beef and sheep but also growing corn, wheat, and sorghum when the rain projections allowed for it. Of course, that had all been cover for the property's primary use.

Directly beneath Aurora's feet, reaching almost 200 hundred feet into the Earth, was an underground silo in which a Minuteman ICBM missile had once been housed. The missile had been decommissioned and removed in the 1980s, and the property -- still in government hands and all but ignored -- sat idle for the next two decades until it was sold. A developer had turned the silo into an underground condominium building, thinking the uniqueness would turn a profit. Before the structure had even been completed, the venture went bankrupt and again, the property sat unused.

It wasn't until the attack on Earth by the Greeve that the hole in the ground achieved its first potential. Aurora's mother, Glory, had worked for the bank that owned the property at the time, a result of foreclosure. As the aliens destroyed the largest of cities across the globe, Glory headed west with her now two year old in her hands. She and a handful of friends and family were still becoming comfortable and contemplating their futures when the Greeve used their neutron weapon on Lawrence, killing nearly every man, woman, and child in the city.

Glory, her child, and her friends hid in fear initially, huddling inside the dark silo with only a few battery operated lights and a little propane stove for heat and cooking. But as time went on and the Greeve assault abated, the group realized that it wasn't enough to survive and they needed to thrive. Glory and her people went to work, creating a bit of civilization out here in the Greeve-ignored prairie. Ten survivors became twenty, then thirty, then more. Today, as she watched the sun clear the almost imperceptible rise in the mostly flat as a pancake east, Aurora was leading a hundred people in this new beginning called The Silo.

(OOC: For the purposes of the picture in this post, the gun is real, the bag of money is just a bag, and the background is the wide, empty Kansas prairie.)


Six Years Ago:

The Lookout squinted his eyes under the harsh, blazing August sun, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Nearly a half hour had passed since he'd first spotted the distant, tiny, but nearing speck of black on the gray road stretching to the south through the yellow-brown of the Kansas prairie. He'd forgotten his binoculars at Silo which was almost two miles to north. And the rifle with a 9 power scope was with his partner, who was sawing logs under the school bus that was parked behind him, perpendicular across the road at this end of a culvert bridge, serving as a make shift security barricade.

The black speck neared. Few people here at Silo had ever seen a Greeve in person, and the lookout was in no hurry to join that number. Using only his naked eye, the Lookout was eventually able to determine that it was a human approaching...

...that is was a woman...

...that she wasn't exactly overdressed...

...and that she was also carrying a weapon!

"Gun!" he called out as he half turned his head. When several seconds passed and he didn't get the expected response from his partner, he picked up a rock and threw it at the vehicle's side. The clang jolted the second guard awake. The first called out again, "Pinball! Gun! She's packing!"

"Who's packing?" Pinball called, still half asleep and blurry eyed as he sat up quickly and banged his skull on the vehicle's exhaust pipe. He fell back, groaning in pain as his eyes filled with tears. When he recovered his senses, he scurried out from under the vehicle, rifle in hand, asking, "Flattop? Who's packing?"

Flattop already had his open sighted rifle leveled at the woman who was now less than 100 yards away. Pinball blinked his eyes clear of the pain-induced tears, leveled his own rifle, and looked through the scope. "Je ... sus ... Christ! And to think I didn't want to stand watch today."

"What do we do?" Flattop asked, his voice filled with concern if not outright panic.

Without taking the scope's crosshair's off the incredible body swaying towards them, Pinball murmured, "We get out the whiskey and condoms."

"She's got a gun!" the other guard reminded him.

Finally pulling his eyes from the scope, Flattop said with scorn, "So do you, you stupid fuck!"

The more confident guard stood the rifle against the back of the sand bag barricade that formed part of the South Road Lookout and pulled the 9mm from his hip, telling his partner to settle down. "And get your finger off the trigger. You kill her on accident before I get to fuck her purposefully, and I'll cut your dick off with a dull knife."

It seemed a lifetime before the woman finally neared close enough for Pinball to call out calmly, "I need you to stop, Miss ... put the weapon on the ground ... then proceed forward with your hands where I can see them!"

The woman continued forward without hesitation, her gaze set upon Pinball.

Pinball's confidence had been based upon the idea that the woman would do as he said without question. After all, there were two of them, both armed -- one with a rifle -- behind the protection of a sand bag wall; and there was only one of her, with just a semi-automatic pistol, out in the open. But when she didn't slow at his command, let alone disarm, his confidence began to wane.

"Miss!" he repeated, this time louder.

Flattop cut in, "Maybe she doesn't speak English."

"I need you to put stop!" Pinball continued, ignoring his partner. With his free hand, he gestured toward the pavement, now cracked and filled with wandering lines of weeds and grass dried by the long, hot summer. "Put down the gun ... and come this way ... slowly!"

Again the woman continued forth without delay.

"My God..." Flattop murmured. "Look at her. She's ... is that blood?"

Pinball had noticed it, too, but until his partner said the word, he didn't realize that the woman's arms, legs, and clothes were stained black with what might very well have been old, now dust infused blood. He raised the gun and put himself more on guard as he commanded, "Stop! Stop right there, or for Christ's same...!"

He didn't finish. The woman's approach ceased, and a moment later, she bent at the knees and waist and set the gun and bag on the ground. Pinball continued to repeat his orders to her, but after a minute of getting nothing from her, he commanded Flattop, "Cover me."

The bigger, confident, yet slightly trembling lookout circled around the woman, watching her closely, the aim of his sidearm never leaving her torso. He retrieved the gun and stuffed it in the small of his back. He retrieved the bag, then stepped back away from the woman. She didn't move, only staring at the second man still behind the sand bag wall. Pinball was still asking her questions -- Who are you...? What's your name...? Where'd you come from? -- and getting nothing from her.

Checking to ensure that Flattop was covering him, he holstered his own weapon and opened the leather bag -- and immediately turned and retched all over the crumbling pavement...



Today:

The man buckled his pants and zipped his fly as he looked down upon the leggy naked form staring up at him in silence. He smiled, saying, "That was great ... Vicki, right?"

The woman said nothing, only staring at him without emotion as she waited for him to finish and get the fuck out. He retrieved his coat, dug into one of the oversized pockets, and pulled out several poker chips from the Indian casino that had once existed just a couple of dozen miles from here. The tokens were now the central currency of Silo, used to simplify trade between those who lived within the decommissioned ICBM tube and those who only visited it when needed.

"Fifty, right?" he asked, setting two of the green chips out on the lamp table next to the bed. He looked to her, then set out another pair of chips, this time red ones as he said with a happy smirk, "And for that thing you did."

He waited for her to say something ... anything ... but all she did was stare at him with those big, dark eyes. He began to feel a bit nervous and finished gathering his things. At the door, he stopped for a moment, then looked back to her. She was incredible, not just in what she'd done with her body but in that body, too. He didn't understand why some man -- or even woman -- with power and resources hadn't scooped this woman up as his -- or her -- own personal consort. He couldn't realize that whoring to make ends meet had been Vicki's first choice, not only choice.

"I, um..." He hesitated, then chuckled nervously. He looked to her again, saying, "I almost didn't come in here ... to you, I mean. I heard a--" He laughed again. "I heard a crazy story that when you got here, you were carrying a leather bag with a head in it ... a human head." He laughed again, waiting for her to say something. Anything! his brain screamed, wanting the woman who had just given him the greatest suck'n'fuck since he'd lost his virginity so many years ago to deny the wild tale his Boys had told him earlier. But when she said nothing, a concerned expression filled his face. He hurried to open the door, saying only, "Thanks."

Once the man was gone, Vicki went into her private bathroom -- in whole, barely 12 square feet in size -- and showered under a weak stream of water. August had been hard on Silo, and water usage had been cut not once, not twice, but three times in just this month alone. The only people allowed free use of it were the kitchen staff for preparing meals and the whores for earning money. Other than that, if you wanted to bathe or wash clothes or anything else, you had to either pay out the nose or take the mile and a half walk down to the river which, in late August, had decreased to little more than a foot wide muddy creek.

Once she was rid of the man's smell -- inside and out -- Vicki dressed as she typically did, in tight fitting, shape revealing clothes. She did her eyes with the normal black that some said was the color of her soul but otherwise put no makeup on what was, essentially, a perfect face. Then, she reached to a hook and took down the leather bag strap that -- regardless of what she was wearing -- had served as belt for her over her six years at Silo. It was all that remained of the leather bag she'd arrived here with, the leather bag that had been taken from her and burned ... along with the human head that had been inside it.

Colonel Parker looked at the devastation wreaked upon his base of operations by the alien attack and shook his head lightly. They'd gotten lazy and careless recently. There hadn't been any significant Greeve activity in central Kansas in more than three years; and the opposition from other Human paramilitaries had been meaningless at best. This sudden attack from Greeve drones had caught them with their pants down.

Without looking to the Aide at his left, the Commander of the New Kansas Patrol asked, "Casualties?"

"Three dead," the Corporal began. "Eight injured, two seriously. One certainly won't last the night." When his superior shot him a disapproving, hard look, the man realized his error. Parker had meant their loss of resources, vehicles, fuel and important things, not men, who could be easily replaced. He started down the long list of items, including light and heavy weapons, ammunition, potable water, and more. He hesitated, not wanting to bring up this last item. "The, um ... Bump'em bus ... it took a direct hit. They're all dead. And the still..."

"Well ... fuck," Parker murmured. The loss of the mobile whore house and the last of their working stills would not set well with his 50 man paramilitary force. He, of course, considered the damage to his force's equipment a little more important than getting his knobber shined by a reluctant set of whore's lips or putting brain cell killing booze through his own lips. But, an army doesn't fight without happy soldiers, and the easiest way for Parker to keep his soldiers happy was to keep the cold booze flowing and warm pussy available.

"Put the damage control teams to work," he told the Aide as he turned and headed for his underground headquarters in the sub basement of what had once been Greenburg's city hall. "When we're ready to move, we'll go pay Aurora a visit."

The Aide's eyes widened. "Silo, sir. Is that ... is that wise?"

The New Kansas Patrol, of which Parker had become commander after putting a bullet into the back of its previous commander's head, had last visited Silo just three weeks ago. And the treaty between the two entities specifically limited Parker and his paramilitary force to one visit per month.

When Parker slowed to a stop without looking back at the Aide, the subordinate recalled how he had gotten his job after his predecessor questioned Parker's orders. He quickly changed direction with a simple, "Yes, sir."

.................................................

Aurora: Profile; image.

Silo
Today:

Aurora exited the farm house with a platter in her hands. On the porch, one of the Security Officers smiled at the sight of the sandwiches and mugs of steaming soup. As he took her offering, he quipped, "I wonder how many mayors walk around their town to personally feed the masses."

"First...!" Aurora responded quickly, reaching into her vest pocket for a spoon which she stuffed down into his shirt pocket instead, "I'm not your mayor ... I'm your Queen!"

They both smiled at her playful description of her position within the community. In a sense, Aurora was queen. Her mother had established Silo and -- because the property had belonged to the bank in which Glory had been a Managing Officer -- she essentially owned the Silo. Not once in her nearly 20 years of running the community did any resident make a serious argument about replacing her, either through a democratic vote or armed uprising.

When Glory was killed during a raid on Silo, Aurora had simply stepped into the management position. There had never been a question about who would be in charge. And because she had treated her people with the same fairness and respect her mother had, Aurora had been left to the job of Mayor, or Queen, and the peace and harmony had continued for yet another decade.

Well, peace and harmony might be a stretch. There were always times of stress within the community. And there were stresses and dangers from without, too. But Silo had pulled through each and everyone of them and stayed together.

Aurora continued her playful chastising of the overweight SO, patting him on his oversized belly as she said, "And second...! The only masses I'm personally feeding need to think about a diet."

She headed down the steps as the man behind her laughed. He called out to her, "I'm just stocking up for winter, your Highness!"

Aurora laughed, waving him off dismissively. It was mid-December following a very good year of harvest and production, despite the ongoing drought that had affected some of the thirstier crops. Silo had its tribute obligations to the New Kansas Patrol, of course. At 40% of total production, it was Silo's greatest expense. But compared to organizing, training, equipping, supporting, and trusting a permanent militia of their own, 40% was a bargain. That didn't mean that Aurora was happy about the way she and Silo was treated by the NKP's Commander, Colonel Parker. But, assholes will be assholes.

After the expense of their protective militia and their regular level of trade with the neighboring Free Towns -- Paxico, McFarland, Alma, Eskridge, and others -- Silo had had a hard time finding space to store its annual harvest. Every nook and cranny in the deep hole that could be locked was filled with bags of grain, dried meat, preserved trout and bass, and more. Aurora had given pay bonuses to every worker and doubled the Annual Production Bonus and still had to scramble for storage space.

She peeked back over her shoulder at the SO, who patted his extra ten pounds proudly, again laughing. She smiled, pleased. It was nice to see his people worrying about obesity for once, after five previous years of deprivation and even worries of starvation. She continued down the slight hill for a hundred yards, the gravel crunching beneath her feet, until she was nearly to the school bus that sat perpendicular across the driveway just beyond the cattle guard.

"Hey, boss," one of the SOs called out at the sight of Aurora. Making a joke about the pizza delivery business that had been long gone since before his birth, he quipped, "We called in that order more than 30 minutes ago. That means it's free, right?"

Aurora only shook her head as she watched him take his share. She looked about the Guard Post, asking, "Where's Scott?" When the man with the mouth full of flaked trout and homemade mayo sandwich nodded toward the bus, she headed for and through the open door. Inside, she found one of Silo's reluctant heroes scoping the horizon through the powerful scope atop his rifle. "Hungry?"

He pulled himself away from his scanning to take the meal. There was an extra pair of sandwiches, which Aurora told him to keep here for himself and his partner to eat nearer the end of their shift. She leaned over a bit to look out to the east, toward Boothill Road. As she always did anytime she brought food, drinks, or simple conversation out to the Guard Post when he was here, Aurora again thought of the day Scott had, essentially, saved Silo from destruction.

He didn't talk about that day, at least to her. He seemed quiet, reserved. In the six years he'd been here, Aurora couldn't remember a conversation with him that had lasted more than a minute. She didn't know if he was that way with everyone. She doubted it. No man could be that introverted. He had friends at Silo, she was sure. He must have had women, too. He was a good looking man, brave, dedicated, loyal, and good looking. Oh yeah, I did that one already.

In fact, Aurora had once considered taking him as a lover. But, as with all of her workers or SOs, Aurora had decided that a hands off policy was better. She looked back to him as he ate, asking, "Can I bring out anything more? I'm making another trip out in a bit."

She waited for his response, then looked to the south out the window at the rear of the bus. She couldn't actually see that which her mind's eye was seeing. The little man made pond called Jenny Lake was only 3/4s of a mile to the south of Silo, but it sat down in a slight depression out of sight.



She walked toward the end of the bus and sat in one of the only remaining seats inside the vehicle. Most of the others had been removed and either used elsewhere. They'd wanted to make room inside for more important things: the sand bag wall that ran the entire east side length of the vehicle, the passenger side which faced potential attackers. There were also cots for SOs taking their two hours of shut eye during their 12 hour shift. And in the middle of the bus, with a pipe heading right out a hole cut through the aluminum roof, was a small wood stove that Aurora knew was probably a century old.

She smiled at the fuel pile. Out here on the Kansas prairie, fire wood was a luxury. And the methane production level was down this year, too. So, the SOs had been burning straw knots, literally what the name implied, knotted lengths of straw that burned slower and more efficiently than loose straw alone. But what was making her smile was the pile of dried cow dung. Her mother had told her years ago that the homesteaders of the 19th century had relied on the cow patties for fuel, even cooking over it. Aurora didn't make the SOs do that, of course. And, to be fair, it hadn't been her who had suggested that they burn shit to keep warm. Personally, she thought it was something they did for its novelty. Either way, she respected them for making the sacrifice, and personally bringing them lunch each day was the least she could do for them.

"Listen, Scott," she called to him from her end of the bus. "You remember Jenny, right...? The fish farmer, south of here. Her delivery is overdue. Should have been here yesterday afternoon. It's not like her to miss a delivery."

She looked off to the south again as she continued, "I was just wondering whether you'd take a walk down there ... check on her ... take one of the SOs with you." She looked back to him as she added, "I, um ... I know you have a history with her. Thought you might like to take a break from just sitting here."

Delal: Profile


Atop a rise northwest of Silo:


Since well before dawn, Delal had been monitoring the goings on in and around the small farm a half mile away from and a bit below her hill top position. It had been a very interesting and enlightening six hours, most of it spent with her eye close to her AR-15's scope.

She'd heard that a community called Silo could be found here, a place where hard working, honest, dependable people could find safety and even prosperity. She hadn't fully believed such a thing when told, and even now as she watched the men and women going about their activities she still questioned the claim.

In total, Delal had seen more than 60 people since the sun rose. The uninformed would have wondered how 60 people lived in a single farm house without killing one another. But the stories Delal had heard were that in the ground somewhere near the farm house was a decommissioned ICBM missile silo, in which was built a fully functioning community, sort of a bomb shelter on steroids. Although Delal had seen people coming and going from the other two buildings on the grounds, it was obvious by the major traffic going into and out of the farm house that if such a silo community existed, it had to be accessed through the home itself.

She returned to observing the people walking about the property. Some were obviously security personnel, most armed with what from here looked like military style weapons though she had also seen some civilian hunting rifles and pistols in holsters. At one point an hour or so after dawn, Delal tracked a woman and a trio of men to and through a small grove of trees to what would turn out to be a shooting range. As she watched, the woman -- obviously a superior or a trainer -- instructed the three men on how to properly operate a fully automatic AR-15, like the one Delal herself was carrying. They didn't shoot many rounds, perhaps sixty or seventy between them, and Delal wondered whether that meant that they were simply renewing their knowledge of the gun or were short on ammunition.

There were others, too, of course. She saw little kids go in and out of what was obviously a chicken coop, likely collecting eggs. She'd watched a woman reach into a wire pen sitting in the home's overgrown lawn, pull out a rabbit, snap its neck, then head to the brown roofed barn from which -- in under three minutes --she again emerged with the skinned, cleaned carcass of what was obviously going to become someone's meal. A woman and a little boy milked one goat after another as a man trimmed the animals' hooves and checked their ears, eyes, and mouths for disease or abnormality. And at the little pond which -- because of a grove of trees -- she could only see the northeast edge, Delal could see several little boys catching bull frogs with fishing nets. They were cutting off and skinning their amphibians' legs, tossing the limbs into a pot dangling over a wood fire near the water's edge. She would have felt sorry for the little creatures is it wasn't for the fact that African Bullfrogs -- which these big hoppers likely were -- didn't belong in North America and, therefore, didn't hold a sentimental place in the heart of this life long animal lover.

In addition to those dealing with the farm's livestock, there were farmer types, too. She watched half a dozen people cutting down a mixed grain crop with scythes. She didn't know what kind of grass they were harvesting. It was too late for wheat or sorghum. It could have been just about anything, actually. She also watched as a pair of women and their little children picked carrots, beets, potatoes, and more from the huge vegetable garden that occupied at least half an acre around the south and east side of the pond.

A sound from behind Delal reminded her that she had other duties besides reconnaissance. She crawled north a dozen yards until she was behind the rise and could stand. She returned to the llama whose lead rope was staked to the ground, despite the fact that Delal knew the animal would never have wandered away.

"Shall we go take a look?" she asked her travelling partners. "The worst that can happen is they enslave me ... turn me into a whore for the troops." She patted the llama's side. "Of course, you they'd eat." The animal jerked its head and blurted out its disapproval to the declaration that it couldn't understand. Delal laughed, reminding the beast of one of its kind's purposes, "Eighteen million Chileans can't be wrong."

She headed away from the rise, keeping higher ground between her and the farm, and circled clockwise around the ridge until she came to the dirt road that led south to Silo's driveway. She wasn't surprised when, she reached where the road named Flintview intersected a grove of trees and a pair of men suddenly burst from cover with their weapons leveled at her.

"Stay where you are!" one perimeter lookout demanded as he cautiously made him way around Delal. "Hands high!"

She did as he said and even stepped away from the llama, upon which she had already hung her AR-15. The second man, whose face Delal hadn't yet seen, moved the other direction, increasing the angle between her and his partner, just in case she suddenly whipped out a concealed weapon and began blasting away.

That was when Delal first caught sight of the man's face. She froze for a moment in disbelief that she was seeing what -- seeing whom -- she was. But as he circled around and the sun fell upon his face, Delal's eyes widened. By the time she spoke his name, it was obvious in the man's expression that he, too, had come to recognize her.

"Tom...? Is ... is that you?"

Before he could speak, his perimeter partner called out, "Holy shit!"

"Stay away!" Delal chastised, rushing around the now-panicking llama, which was spinning wildly around in circles. She grabbed at the large package that the perimeter guard had untied from the animal. The guard backed away quickly and pulled his 9mm from its holster, leveling it at her. Delal ignored him, instead steadying the package and lowering it to stand on end to the ground. She caught motion of the other man beside her and turned to look...

...at the same time that the toddler wrapped in the blanket smiled broadly and called out, "I'm'ungry, mommy!"

..................................

Jenny


Jenny's Lake was aptly named, as were most of the structures, features, and areas in the vast area surrounding the Silo. The old names of pre-Greeve times often meant nothing in this new age. Jenny's Lake, for example, had been named for the woman who had actually constructed the small pond. She'd come out from Lawrence with Glory and the others in 2020, eager to be part of this unique community.

Then came the black out of 2028.

For sixteen days during a fierce March snow storm, the silo was without any electrical power. No lights, no heat, no nothing! Much of the population was forced up to the farm house due to the lack of circulation down below, only to have the windows blown out, allowing Mother Nature to pound them up here as well. The metal shutters that protected the windows and doors today hadn't been in place then, and the residents were becoming desperate with the troubles that piled one atop another until the storm's end.

The black out would have been bad enough. The harsh conditions in the farm house could have been tolerated. But Mama Jenny, as her future daughter would call her, had been left down below, missed in the head count when Aurora's mother -- then the Silo's leader -- had recommended most of the residents at least come up to the former Command Control Center. For three days, a petrified Mama Jenny huddled in a pitch black corner, alone, without heat, without food and water ... without hope ... until finally a third head count discovered the discrepancy.

Jenny never recovered from the horror. And the day the storm cleared, Mama Jenny -- pregnant with today's Jenny -- left the underground facility and never again entered it. She built a small cabin, then later a work shed, in a grove of trees 3/4 of a mile south of the farm, spent the next several months building a dike across the spring fed creek there, and -- with trout, bass, and catfish live caught from Mill Creek to the west -- she had the beginnings of a fish farm by winter. She'd never been happier in her life, especially with a little girl to keep her company on the cold, dark nights.

The younger Jenny took the place of her mother when a flu took the older woman's life a few years back. She'd worked with others to create even more ponds, then provided some of her feeder fish to get them operational. She was making her a tidy enough profit to live comfortably, alone and isolated as her mother had before her death. Twice a week during the harvest season, she make a trip to Silo with both live and smoked fish in a pack over her back. Bones -- her now two year old German Shepherd, Doberman, Heinz 57 mutt of a lovable dog -- always accompanied her, even after the little misunderstanding he had had with one of the SOs. He'd gotten his name because as a puppy he had frequently gotten fish bones stuck in his throat before he learned how not to eat a fish.

Jenny was a full day overdue at Silo, which was the reason the two Security Officers were now descending the slight hill toward her cabin. Aurora was very protective of Jenny, as she was with all of the people she cared about, whether they lived inside the silo, on the farm, or somewhere nearby. Jenny had known someone would come for her when the trouble arrived. Now, however, as she heard the rifle fire begin, she was almost sorry they had.



Just up the hill from the little cabin on the edge of the woods, the first round struck the rookie SO between his collar bones, entering his trachea, disintegrating into shards, and ripping through his spine, scapula, and upper arm. The man never knew what hit him. He simply slumped down to the ground next to the Hellion, bleeding out in less than a minute.

Down at the cabin, the rifle fire, now from two weapons. One was obviously a large caliber rifle while the other -- smaller but firing short bursts on automatic -- was sending out smaller rounds toward the man in the mask.

"Stay away!" a male voice called from within the cabin when the firing stopped. A moment later, he continued, "Get the fuck back up that hill...! Or we'll kill the girl!"

(OOC: JC, I am sending you a PM. Read it before you post.)

................................

“Where is Jenny?" the heroic Security Officer asked the bleeding man. "Is she still on this farm answer me!?”

He got his answer when the raider's head exploded and the little cabin was again filled with the sound of the big rifle than moments earlier had been shooting across the field toward Scott. The SO looked up to find Jenny standing over him, the end of the weapon's barrel just inches from him. Jenny's face was filled with fury as she stared at the man's whose brains she'd just splattered across the wood plank floor.

She lowered the rifle, then dropped it with a clanging to the floor as she leaned over and yelled at the man who could no longer hear her, "Fucking kill my dog you fucking fuck bastard!"

She backed away, a bit unsteady, then teetered a bit, then fell to her haunches against the wall behind her ... and immediately exploded in sobs. As her eyes filled with tears, she glanced toward the far wall where Bones' bloodied body lay lifeless. She mumbled through her crying, "Fucking fuck ... kill my dog ... fucking bastard."

She slumped over to the hard wood, her tears staining the wood dark...

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Jenny (profile)

Jenny was so distraught that it didn't occur to her for several minutes that the man who had likely saved her life and then set down to comfort her -- not to mention deal with Bones -- was the same man who she'd cursed under her breath and often aloud for going on three years now. She'd never forgotten nor forgiven the way he'd treated her or her then-puppy on a fish run to Silo, despite the fact that he'd been doing nothing more than his job.

She was so spent by the emotions -- surprise, fear, anger, and heartbreak -- that had plagued her since the arrival of the raiders a couple of hours earlier that she wound up passing out with her head in Scott's lap. In her unconscious state, she wrapped one arm around the back of his waist while the hand of the other clutched at one of the many pockets of his military style pants. Occasionally, as the horror reappeared in little nightmarish fits, she would clutch tighter at the man's body and mumble.

Eventually, she jerked awake, popping up tall on her haunches. She looked at Scott with panic and scooted away on the floor, then -- just as suddenly -- remembered what had happened here in her little cabin. She looked about herself, finding the two dead men and her dog, the latter of which she crawled to slowly, whimpering, "Bones ... oh God, Bones ... I'm sorry."

Despite the blood covering the now fully grown German Shepherd, Jenny pulled the animal up into her lap and held him. She placed his ears as they should have been, and gently forced his tongue back into through his teeth. She was crying again, but without the deep sobs as before.

After several minutes, Jenny finally acknowledged her savior, looking to Scott for a long moment before saying simply, "Thank you."

She remembered his earlier offer to help her with her dog, but for Jenny, this was something with which she and only she should deal. The petite redhead tried to lift the dog -- which was half her own 102 pounds -- only to find that it was useless. As she sobbed -- just once before she halted it with a chastising grimace! -- she looked to Scott and asked, "Can you help me get Bones outside?"



She dug a hole as Scott dealt with the two men inside her home, then buried Bones and placed upon the dog's grave his favorite toy. She stood there in silence for a long while, not speaking or even contemplating a prayer. Religion hadn't been part of her upbringing.

When the dead here were dealt with, Jenny -- who knew of the other dead SO -- asked if she could help Scott in anyway. As she teared again, she said, "He died saving my life. I should help somehow."

(OOC: I can't post again until tonight. If you want her to go with him back to Silo or anything, feel free to write her.)

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