Darkwind - Viewing Topic: Why do they tell little kids that?

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Slaughterhouse: Bloody Remains
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Patricia "Pile On" Dalton stood inside the bay of their base of operations, watching as the last of her crew rolled in from their most recent encounter.

Behind them, on 'drags' sat an Apache and a LandRunner, being towed across the sand; one by their extended cab pickup, the other behind "Ammo Can," the crew's stripped-down v8-powered carrier van.

Mechanically the salvaged vehicles were both near-perfect. Their crews had bailed and tried to run. Problem wasn't mechanical. It was olfactory.

Nobody wanted to drive them back. Miguel "Tremors" Shook had come up with the idea for the 'drags.' Hauling rope out of "Ammo Can" and tearing the hoods off a couple destroyed enemy vehicles, they'd tied off the steering in both, set their rear wheels onto the hoods, lashed them down and, well, dragged them backwards behind the BPU and the Van. Worked like a charm.

"That Miguel's a genius," she said to her lover and co-crewman, John "Tom Tom" Collins. "Pity we have to lend him out to that camp."

"That's a deal I still don't get." he said. "Without him, we're hosed in the maintenance department."

"Well, the newbies are just going to have to pick up the slack."

"Good luck with that."

Just then their daughter, 10-year-old Rebecca, walked up, wrapping her arms around her father's leg, sneaking a peek at the vehicles being dragged into the bay.

"What're those Mommy?"

"You know what they are honey." she squatted down next to the child.

The little girl shook her head. "They're not like yours."

"No Baby, they're not."

"They're like monsters."

"Pile On" recalled the encounter with the Ultraviolence slavers literally right outside the walls of the Gate'. She could feel the grit under her leathers, mixed with her sweat. They'd driven past the ruins of that forgotten town so many times none of them had been paying it any attention.

At least not until the horde of Ultraviolence vehicles came pouring out of it, right on their asses.

Juan Anderson and Omer Bahe, two newbs earning their 'colors' driving the gang's Heavy Flaming Oil Jet Apache, "Kobal," had saved their bacon.

"SLAVERS!" Juan had yelled over the comms. Omer had kicked in the HFOJ's a tick later. Juan slewed the Apache across their tail, taking heavy fire to cover the crew as they spread out into combat formation. She'd watched the Apache bounce around like a tumbleweed as it took rocket and machine gun fire. Those two were going to make great team members.

There was no thought of salvage when faced with slavers. You killed them or else. They'd been lucky to bring back the pair of SUV's. They'd destoyed 14 other vehicles, including a Buccaneer. That hurt.

"Are they monsters, Mommy?" Dalton broke from her reverie to see the inquiring look on her daughter's face.

"Yes, Baby, they're slavers. They mostly come out at night, though, mostly."

"Uncle Russell said there's no such thing as monsters, but there is. Why do they tell little kids that if it's not true?"

"Well, normally they're right Rebecca."

"Who you going to get to clean those things out?" her husband queried.

"The newbs, who else." she said, standing, looking down at her daughter and smiling.

......................... vet wv
Posted Apr 16, 2011, 5:55 pm