Salva knelt down behind a boulder, secured his pumper on it and aimed carefully to the figures coming along the road. Around him the rest of the caravan also started to move, a bunch of junkers (they preferred to call themselves “collectors”, although the former name was much better than the derogatory “scavengers” used in some other places) returning to Scrapbridge after several weeks kicking sand across the Wasteland in search of all kind of objects, new or remnants of the World Before.
Their buffamels were loaded almost to their top capacity with countless sacks, boxes, crates, backpacks, bags and loose pieces strapped to their stirrups with anything suitable for that end. They had found a true treasure in an old military bunker, full of inscriptions and signals none of them had been able to decipher, and which had surely been exposed not much time ago due to a sandstorm or some other nasty Wasteland phenomenon. There they had found a shitload of gas masks in perfect shape, mounds of bullet shells ready to rearm, helmets, bulletproof vests and, best of all, two ammo crates still sealed that had made them jump in joy like madmen. They had really hit the jackpot, sure as hell they had. Their leader, the dynamo Angus, had dutifully noted the exact location of that place in his notebook and then they loaded everything they could on their buffamels, along with the rest of the booty they had collected during the previous collecting days. Angus’ decision of burying both ammo crates near the bunker, to go back later with a suitable escort and retrieve such a treasure, had raised some protests as everybody wanted to take them back to their settlement and be greeted as heroes and boast about the success of their expedition. But now, with the caravan stopped by two huge rocks blocking the gorge while three hooded figures approached with strange weapons in their hands, Salva thought it had been a clever idea.
When the three strangers had came close enough to the barricade they stopped. For a while nobody said a word, and during that time lapse Salva realized that he was too far away for a shot from his pumper to be effective against the newcomers. He got up and started to walk towards Angus, who had walked some steps ahead of the rest of the caravan and was the closest one to the rocks. The three bandits (no reason to call them otherwise at this point) noticed his movement and one of them turned slightly to better face him; Angus turned his head a bit to see what had caused that reaction and, as soon as he saw Salva moving on the open, made a quick gesture with a hand to order him to stop at once.
– Don’t try nuthin’ and nuthin’ will happen! – shouted one of the newcomers from the shadows created by the loose hood of his grey hoodie. On his chest he sported a quite worn-out red T, and Salva noticed then that the other two also wore similar logos on their clothes or protections. That symbol ringed a bell on his head and he was sure he had heard about the group using it, but he didn’t know that was their zone of operation. Usually his group of junkers took great care not to enter the territory of other gangs to avoid pissing them off for no reason, and it was quite strange that their dynamo Angus had made the mistake of using a route across a hostile zone.
– Who are you and why do you block this road? – asked Angus with a high measure of aplomb. In his hand he held the crack’n’snap he always had with him, connected to the electric suit that made him look like an open fuse box, but he had not yet turned it on. He didn’t want those strangers to know that the stick was a weapon, at least not yet.
– We are Black Blood Children and this land be ours now – replied one of them -. The Tex’co shrine been breached and we his sons goin’ to war.
Tex’co, that explained the red T’s on their clothes. Those loonies worshiped fire and lived at the fringes of society in their heavily defended base. So they had been attacked? Shit, that was going to have the same consequences as kicking a wasplebee’s nest. Salva clenched his teeth and shifted his pumper really slowly to put it in a better firing position, if need be.
– And what has it to be with us? You know we don’t take part in such quarrels, we stick to our business and that’s all to it.
– I see the size of your saddlebugs and can tell you are doing fucking A. As I said, this land is now ruled by the Sons and you have to pay to cross.
– May a mongolongo fuck you good! – shouted then a female voice. Salva turned just in time to see Tamara, the toughest and most foul-mouthed piston he had ever met in his life. She was wearing a bulletproof vest, riot control helmet with the visor down, combat fatigues and a huge pistol hanging from her waist. In that very moment she was advancing towards the three assailants, loading the ballistic punch in her left arm and raising it in a gesture that promised imminent violence. She did not have the time to take three steps when the hooded guy nearest to her raised the tube he was holding, aimed and released a big fireball that engulfed the piston. It was a short discharge, but enough for Tamara’s clothes to catch fire and make her drop to the ground screaming and rolling over the dirt to extinguish the flames. That sudden burst also spooked the first buffamel, that reared on its hind legs while bellowing out loud and beginning to kick in the air, making some of the backpacks and sacks piled on its back to fall to the ground and spill its contents. Someone rushed in (Salva identified her as Dany, another gear like himself), took the reins and calmed the animal down, after which crouched down to tend to Tamara, who was trying to stand up in pain.
Angus made a gesture of grabbing his crack’n’snap with both hands, but the man in front of him reacted in turn raising the weapon in his hands. A sudden sputter caused a rumbling echo along the gorge, and the circular chain attached to the front of the weapon started to spin at great speed releasing a small cloud of white smoke while the bandit held the machine tightly with both hands. Salva took a step back; the metal saw teeth of that thing seem capable of cutting through anything, and he felt sick when he imagined what they could do to human flesh. The blackblood opened his right hand and the chain stopped spinning, but the machine remained functioning, waiting.
– This is how things are, buddy – said the third man over the sputtering engine -. Don’t be some mean bastards and share your load. Better for everybody, I tell ya.
While he said that he made a gesture with his head pointing to the stuff scattered over the ground: a number of gas masks, canteens, wire rolls, knife blades… Angus looked at them for a while. Then he turned around and had a look at his crew. Tamara, their best fighter, was limping away with the help of Dany. Angus had a good weapon, but if he had to face that mechanical chain… Then there were Salva and Cut, quite inexperienced gears. So the dynamo did what he had to.
While they slowly bypassed the rocks blocking the path, with their buffamels much less burdened than before, Angus came close to where Salva and Dany walked side by side, escorting the animal on which Tamara was comfortably riding.
– We could have taken the three of them, if you had given the order, Angus – said Dany.
– There were not only three, girl. There were more among the rocks, stalking in the shadows. And they are fanatics ready to die for their leader, who surely was watching each and every of their movements from a distance. This is not the first time I face the Black Blood, but it had been years since they were this aggressive or ventured so far from their base.
– They ripped us off for good, those bastards! – said Salva -. With all the good luck we were having in this expedition…
– Eh, we are all still alive and we keep a good portion of our cargo. And think about the big prize we left buried and safe near that bunker. We only have to go back and take it. Would you rather have died in that gorge? What for?
The young gear puffed, still not fully persuaded, but at heart he knew Angus was right. The Black Blood cult… some other fucking morons to avoid. He really enjoyed living in the Wasteland.