Participants:
| Scene Title | Dead End, Part I |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A roving gang of brigands contemplates a dangerous heist. |
| Date | July 3, 2021 |
Two motorcycles roar down a winding stretch of Appalachian freeway, weaving between the rusted hulks of old cars.
The lead rider, Ren Nassar, hunches forward and opens up the throttle, wind in her hair and rage in her heart. She glances over her shoulder at the rider following her, making a hand-sign to indicate where they're headed next. The drive gives her time to calm down, to think more rationally, and to come up with a more rational explanation for her actions. Her grip on the throttle is white-knuckle most of the way. Eventually the freeway leads to winding backroads, and through them to an isolated farm several miles from where she had spotted the convoy.
Ren rides up to the farmhouse, throwing out the kickstand and leaping off her bike. Her partner rolls up behind her, coming to a stop right beside her. "Hey!" He shouts at her, tugging off his helmet. "The fuck're we doing?" The scarred man asks, arms out to his side. Ren turns around and locks eyes with him, silently challenging even that slight question. He throws his hands up in frustration, relenting, and follows Ren into the farmhouse.
Bones Encampment
Somewhere in the Appalachians
Pennsylvania
8:17 pm
There's already a conversation happening when Ren enters the farmhouse kitchen through the side entrance. A handful of people in ragged clothes stand around the kitchen table. "Yeah, but that'll only last until Winter. We can't stay here any later than October if we wanna get somewhere warm before it starts to freeze." Says a lanky redheaded man with a tattoo of an open eye on the back of his right hand. The conversation abruptly stops when Ren barges in, and they can tell something has her hackles up.
"Was she there?" A heavy man with a thick beard asks.
"Yeah," Ren says sharply. "Whole fucking convoy. Didn't get close enough to see what they're hauling for cargo, but they had a fuel truck with 'em." Her assessment elicits murmuring from the rest of her gang. "That wasn't the only thing though, found one of our own with 'em." Ren says, working her jaw from side to side and pacing the floor like a wild animal.
No one asks who, because there's only one person who could really get Ren's hackles up. Whatever Ren was about to say ends when she makes eye contact with a wiry teenage boy at the head of the table. Her expression softens some, and she steps over to run a hand through his hair. A dark-haired woman sitting nearby watches this interaction and smiles faintly. "He's been holding up well today, came downstairs all on his own" She says, eliciting a weary smile from the boy. Dark circles hollow his eyes. He is rail thin, clothes hanging off him like a doll.
Ren looks at the boy, swallowing down some of her anger as she does. "You were right," she says, and the boy smiles fondly at the praise. "Followed the birds, spotted her by a campfire just like you described. White hair, thin." She looks around at the others. "The convoy has a healer." She raises her voice, no longer just speaking to the boy but to her gang. "They're armed, make no mistake of that. But they're loaded for bear for a long journey. That many vehicles? A supply truck? A gas truck? That could be months of food," she looks at a member of her gang pointedly, "medicine," then another, "ammunition."
"How many are there?" Another of Ren's gang asks.
"Thirty, but they have a couple of kids too. Not all of them look like fighters." Ren explains, circling the table. "We can do the same thing we do to other gangs we hit. Take out the fighters and give the ones who surrender a new chance."
"We should talk to 'em." Ren's scarred second asserts, and such an open challenge brings the room quiet. Ren rounds on her lieutenant, getting in his face.
"Lenny," Ren says through her teeth, "you wanna' roll up on an armed convoy and ask to borrow their healer? Maybe drop Mikey in front of them? See how they react?" She motions to the sickly boy at the head of the table. Lenny bristles and glances to his son, then back to Ren.
"You're gonna get us killed with this shit." Lenny says. "This ain't about the healer, it's about Rue." That's enough to get Ren to push back in her own way. She doesn't move, doesn't do so much as look at Lenny, but the way her pupils narrow down to pinpoints is indicative of what she's doing inside of him. Lenny winces as a prickling pain begins in his knuckles and then spreads down the back of his hands to his wrists. His bones ache, then throb, and he tries to hide his growing discomfort. Everyone in the room, likewise, is trying to hide their own of a different stripe. Finally, as the pain becomes too intense to hide, Lenny gasps and throws his hands up in defeat. "Just stop!"
Ren relaxes, and the pain flowing unseen through Lenny's bones subsides. Tension begins to bleed out of the room, and she steps away from her Lieutenant satisfied. "We do what we always do. Disable the drivers, kill anyone who fights back, and give the survivors a choice. We try and save as many of the vehicles as we can, take everything." No one looks Ren in the eye, but everyone agrees that her word is law. Wringing his hands, Lenny moves over to his son's side, gently helping him out of his chair.
"C'mon, let's get you t'bed," he says, trying not to let his anger bleed through in his tone. Mikey doesn't deserve that.
The redhead with the tattoo of an eye on his hand comes up to Ren as the rest of the room begins to disperse as well, giving her a knowing look before stepping out onto the front porch. Ren follows, reluctantly. "It's really her?" He asks, and Ren isn't sure which her he means at first. But the look in his eyes eventually confirms it.
"Saw her plain as day." Ren says in a whisper, leaning against the porch railing. "Didn't think she'd show her fuckin' face out here again after she bailed on us." The redhead nods, concealing his worry behind a placid expression. When he looks at Ren his pupils occasionally catch a gleam of light like cat's. "Gonna make an example of her. Everyone's been second-guessin' me since she left. Fuckin'—fuckin' bullshit."
The redhead leans against the railing beside her. "You think it's because of Rue?" He asks, and she knows what he's getting at, deflects it with a withering stare and no response. "Still, we don't know much about them. If they have powers… if—"
"Mikey will let us know." Ren says confidently. "He was right about the healer, he was right about the convoy. We…" Doubt tangles her words in her mouth, but pride makes he swallow them. "Mikey isn't going to make it to fall. Without him we're as good as dead." Her companion nods, sighing as he folds his arms and leans over the railing, looking down at the dead flowers in a shattered clay pot below. "We just have to be smart, use Mikey as a compass, follow them parallel. Let Mikey find the best place to hit them. We can do this." Ren says. "I know we can."
"I believe you." He replies, though it's with a weariness of argument rather than true faith. "Just—" he glances at her, eyes gleaming in the dark. "Think about it. If we get in over our heads. Okay?"
Ren looks away. The night conceals her small nod. But they both know when she relents.
"Get some sleep, Jonas." Ren says as she pushes away from the railing.
"You too."
