Editing Game Log - Raphael (section)

==CHAPTER ONE: AND SO IT BEGINS==

*FROM THE GM:

The next cough wasn't has hard.  Spittle tasted a bit like apple.  Delusions maybe..  Setting the pups down he pushes to scoot them.  Thinking if now is his time at least the puppies might survive.  But the little beasts just sat looking at him strangely.  
After a bit he picked up the pups, slips them away and continues onward.  Suddenly no goal in mind, no rhyme or reason, he starts whistling a little mechanic's song.  

Off far in the distance he sees other scavengers.  A small group.  Dangerous to be in a group.  Groups spread contagion and that means death.,  Solitude... well... means dying alone.    They probably have scavenged everything up that way.  Pickings in town were getting thin.    Moving on made sense.   If they saw him they might decide to scavenge him. 

After a time the breathing was easier.    The pickings had been grim but at least the scavengers were not hunting him.  Coming to Indigenous Peoples Park, what was once Christopher Columbus Park, he sees trees, water, and empty spaces.  As good of a resting place as any.

As he enters the park he sees an area unseen from the street.  A large collection of cars and bikes and bodies.  The sick and the dead.
Walking among them he sees cuts from Hell's Angels,  Outlaws, Mongols, and other small cubs.   It was clearly a gun fight of epic proportions.  Green Knights, a military based gang seems to have been in it to their necks, odd them not being 1%ers.  There seems to be a few firefighter and police bike groups.  

After looking it seems like this was once a camp.  Isolated, of lawfully oriented bikers.   Then a large group of usual enemies in the 1%s came and tried to take over.  It didn't go well.  Sick dead and wounded dead seem mixed together.  

Not new either.  This happened awhile ago, but clearly after the rule of law ended.  

Still, no one is here now, and this is a lot of stuff no scavengers found until he arrived.  All things considered, it was a good place to camp.

*Daniel Eric Van Campen Sr.

I look around one more time, and listen carefully, for scavengers or predators, then unshoulder my pack and let the poodles out of their 'travel pouches'. “Puppies...” I wait for them to all look at me; “Stay close.” I tell them. “No eating!” I say a bit sharply. “Ok. Go potty.” I say to set them loose to take care of their business. I stand and put the pack back on and look around.

As I move about the area, the poodles will (usually) stay within 15-20 away (at most) from me. I move a few feet then stop to look over the motorcycles, noting the Dirt Bike and Enduro models; any with racks on the back or handlebars will make me take more note. I move a few feet more, looking over things on the ground, on bodies, in bags or boxes. I keep checking on the poodles often. Though I had some food and water, it was very little and far from enough if I intended on getting far away from the city... and I wasn't ready to start hunting the coyotes, feral dogs and cats or newly freed domesticated pets roaming the city... but a javelina would get me to fire an arrow or maybe squeeze off a round, if I thought it safe enough from scavengers of all kinds.

Having already owned, purchased or collected over 90 percent of what I thought I might need before now, and a few scrounging trips in the last few days, there was little I needed; food and clean water always being the exception. And luxuries. And this place looked like it might have some of the luxuries, and specialty items, I was after; cigarettes, weed, alcohol and medications... not for recreation though; pain killers, antibiotics, anti-diareaha, etc. Maybe some more ammo and a throw-away handgun, and of course, let there be some food and or water.

I gave the poodles a couple of minutes in the same general area to 'go potty' while I surveyed the area for what was scavenge-able, and surveyed the lay of the land and the path or paths through the maze of motorized metal and rubber. Then I began moving deeper in, hopefully away from the bodies, to a better place to make an actual camp site, but still surveying the surroundings for supplies and keeping the poodles close with verbal commands or snaps of my fingers.

I was thankful for the cooler temperatures of the winter months here because it slowed the decomp of the bodies and the smell hadn't gotten overpowering yet... but it wasn't far off. Despite that, I was still unwilling to camp too close to dead bodies... maybe I could get upwind of the smell.

*Michael James Watson

After a couple hours of checking there seems to be a huge amount of random supplies. The Green Knights seem to have had a well armed encampment before they got sick.

The 1%ers seemed both armed and sick when they came in. Having set aside gang grievances they came to pillage and bit off more then they could chew.

Hearing a playful yip from the pups he looks to see them sitting with a small girl. 10, maybe 9, petting them and taking their affectionate licks. She is wearing camo pants and top, a tac vest, Riot helmet, pouches full of ammo clips. She has a double barreled coach gun, 12 gauge, strapped to her back, which is to him.

She looks up, sees him, and stands up turning quickly. Long ragged brown hair frames her face. She extends a stainless .38, holding it with two hands.

"You ain't a asshole roller, are you? These your friends? The Asshole Rollers had pit bulls and killer dogs. My daddy shot all the rollers. Even as sick as he was. I got the good food over by the trike with the trailer. You and the pups can have some just don't make me shoot you. Daddy said folks are usually polite but they are more polite if I aim his backup gun at them."

*Daniel Eric Van Campen Sr.

I hold my hands up in front of me, palms outward, giving the 'I Surrender' gesture. I smile at her warmly but I do not approach.

"Yes, the little poodles are my friends. The gray one is named Fudge. The short chubby white one is named Berkeley, but he prefers to be called Berk-Berk. And the other white one is named Swirly but I call him Kuzco because he looks like a miniature llama."

I look around briefly, and listen carefully, to determine if there are others about.

"And your daddy is right, most people are more polite when a gun is pointed at them." I chuckled softly. "I'm not going to hurt you and I'm not going to take more than my fair share. But if you feel more comfortable keeping the gun pointed at me you just go right ahead. I guess your daddy's not around anymore." I look around again, briefly. "You can call me Rafael, like the Ninja Turtle. What should I call you?"

*Michael James Watson

"I'll keep my true name to myself. Daddy called me Slugger. He had me shooting this at the rollers. I hit one below the belt buckle and daddy and uncle buck laughed.. you aren't a roller. Come on."

She move quickly among the ruins of camp and to the back of the camp where some tarps make a low tent.

A black and white cat sits on a pile of tire in front of the low entrance. It notes the dogs but they don't seem to want to chase it.

*Daniel Eric Van Campen Sr.

"Ok, Slugger. It's smart to keep your true name secret. And my true name isn't Raphael, either."

I follow her through the camp, making a note of all the paths in and out, and checking for defensible areas. And even though the poodles don't seem too interested in the cat at the moment, I still tell them, "Puppies... Behave. No Cats!"

I peek under the tarps and look around at the supplies. I start making mental notes of supplies I want to scavenge and where I saw them.
"How long have you been here? In this camp. And how long have you been alone?" I ask, thinking about her chances of survival alone in this newly post-apocalyptic world. I certainly wasn't looking to adopt and care for a child, but I definitely didn't feel right about leaving her here alone once I am ready to depart.

*Michael James Watson

As he looks into one area of the tarps he sees a withered sick man. He looks up, nods as Slugger steps up.

"Uncle Buck? I brought someone.. Not a roller.. He has some small dogs."

He smiles at her, then to Raph. "Slugger, you go get the keys to the trike. "

He waits till she runs off. "She's a survivor. Never got sick for a minute. No signs of the disease in her system. I was trying to get her to Crystal Palace. Colorado. There is a Disease emergency center there. We came here to say good by and all hell broke loose. Take her there. They will know what to do. Riverstone Bank, near it. There are three keys to gold reserves on my keychain. If she gets there its all yours.. Secret.. "

He goes through a fit of coughing.

"She...won't leave me a gun...That 45... Take her and go."

*Daniel Eric Van Campen Sr.

A deep sigh of resignation escapes my lips as I nod my head, knowing what I must do.
"I'll get her there. You have my word, Buck. There's enough daylight left for us to get out of the city and to relative safety, so we will be leaving soon."

Another deep sigh, this one of resolve.

"I don't know what your religious beliefs are, but before this is over, I'm sure I'm going to have to send more than one Soul to it's Maker, so let me save yours from Suicide Damnation." A slight pause "I'm going to need a little time to scrounge up a few additional things and finish prepping the trike. Take that time to say your goodbyes to Slugger. I'll be back soon to take care of business before we leave."

I take a moment to look around the inside of the tarp shelter for luxury items; cigarettes, alcohol and weed... If they can be found in this camp, then they would most likely be hidden in here... Or close by.

I wait for Slugger to return with the keys before checking out the trike for it's preloaded supplies, then I gather up whatever else we might need and pack it in the trike trailer. I strap my pack to the back of the trike, leaving room for Slugger. I clip the dog carrying 'pouches' to the handlebars. I strap the 30.06 to the handlebars as well. I strap my two swords to the sides of the trike. I leave the .45 in it's holster on my right thigh.

Once everything is done, I check on the poodles, put them in their carrying pouches and clip them in to the links on their body harnesses. Then I return to the tarp shelter.

*Michael James Watson

Daniel Eric Van Campen Sr. When he gets back he smells a strong sweet cigar smoke.

Looking in he sees buck has pulled himself up to sitting position. Three cigar boxes are next to him as well as a wood box of bottles.
"Wife always said these would kill me but she kept letting me buy them. Cohiba Behike Cigars; $500 each."

He pulls up a bottle, pulls the cap an tosses it away.

"These she liked; pappy van Winkle, family reserve. $5,000 a bottle.",

He smells the cigar..."I've 6 cigars in the top box," He pulls the box to his lap, and tosses the other toward Raph.

"I've got 12 bottles in this case. I am going to smoke these cigars and drink the whiskey then take care of family business. You take the trike and trailer, and anything else you want, but especially that box of Cohibas and that case over there of 16 bottles of Pappy. Under that blue tarp is a case of grenades. Take Slugger and handle that piece of family business for me and I'll handle the rest of my family business, thank you kindly."

"You are a blessing really. When it came time to handle family business i was going to have her sit her and drink with me till she passed out. Then I'd have shot her in the head. Now, whatever happens to her beyond today I am spared committing that crime against family. "
He fishes in the blankets and raises a grenade.

"I can't walk though, and that old .45 is just too far out of my reach. If you'll toss it to me I'll be grateful."

*Daniel Eric Van Campen Sr.

I catch the box of Cohibas tossed at me and put it under my left armpit for the time being and continue to listen to Buck. When he points to the case of whiskey meant for me, I place the box of cigars on top of it.

When he asks for the old .45, I reach over and pick it up, check to make sure it's loaded with one in the chamber, then I move in closer, crouching down to hand over the pistol, butt first.

"The safety's on. Don't get too drunk or you'll be too weak to take care of business."

Then I step over to the blue tarp Buck pointed at and pull it aside. I carefully open the case and inspect the grenades, visually; type, apparent age, condition, and how well they are packed. Closing the lid, I pick up the case up and place it on the ground next to the whiskey and cigars.

"Thanks for the supplies. If you happen to know the location of two full gas cans, a carton of smokes and a big bag of good weed, would you mind pointing me in the right direction. Pretty much all I need to complete my shopping list."

*Michael James Watson

He chuckles around a chug of pappy.

"Id check the outlaw bikers. My guess is they are all kinds of holding. They just picked the wrong crowd to hit. We tried cleaning up. Emptied tanks. There should be a couple barrels out in the bike pileup. I'd suggest stripping a few tires. I don't plan to go too soon. And i won't till after you go so Slugger won't freak out.. She's a good girl but has a temper."

*Daniel Eric Van Campen Sr.

"Outlaw bikers; strip some tires. Gas in barrels; pileup. Got it. And thanks." I pause a moment before continuing. "And thanks for the warning about her temper."

I bend down and pickup the case of whiskey and box of Cohibas and place them on top of the case of grenades. I pick it all up and head over to the trike and place some or all of it in the trailer, or on the trailer for later strapping down.

I check on the poodles, tell them they are good boys and give them each a dog treat from my pocket.

"Hey Slugger..." I say, but not too loud as I look about for her.

I tell the poodles to behave then look for two gas cans and a siphoning hose, then head into the pileup looking for the barrels.

*Michael James Watson

The poodles are sitting with the tuxedo cat. The 4 seem like old friends. While the dogs get their treat it licks its paw casually.
Searching the dead is a gristly business but it clears a lot of things. a good supply of pharmaceutical marijuana, a large quantity of gold coins, and his pick of firearms the others hadn't gotten to collecting before it was too late.

When he returns to the trike he finds the pups in a cage and slugger in the back seat. She seems bundled up in cold weather gear, including a leather Green Knight's Cut. A Green helmet sits on the seat ahead of her.

"Uncle Buck and I talked. He wants me to go with you. I fit in this seat. I put the pups and my cat in the carrier. I got the cat food and what buck calls my Go Bag."

*Daniel Eric Van Campen Sr.

While searching the bodies I also scavenge up as many packs and cartons of cigarettes as I can find, canned foods with the labels still on them, empty prescription bottles, liquor bottles (even if they're empty) and a half a dozen fully loaded handguns. I also snatch up an assault rifle with an extra clip and some extra rounds.

Once the grizzly work is done and I have gathered all of my supplies together I take them back to the trike and deposit them on the ground. I take a jug of water and the remnants of a bottle of hand sanitizer and I clean myself up.

"Good job getting things ready for me, Slugger." I say while still cleaning up. "Thank you. You're a good kid."

Once the cleanup is done I check the gas tank and fill it if necessary, then strap the extra filled gas cans to the trailer, then I begin packing away all of the supplies. Some of the gold coins get put into a zippered fanny pack which I strap around my middle, the rest of the gold coins and majority of medical grade marijuana goes into my backpack as well as two cartons of smokes.

I take my hunting rifle from the handlebars of the trike and strap it to my backpack and then make sure the backpack is tightly secured to the back of the trike behind Slugger. I then take the assault rifle and put it across the handlebars where the hunting rifle was. The throw-away handguns gets wedged or lightly strapped strapped into convenient places around the trike.

I put on my army field jacket and then take 4 grenade from the case and put two in each side pocket. I take a bag of weed and some rolling papers and put them in the right breast pocket of my field jacket, and a pack of smokes and Bic lighter in the left breast pocket.

I fill the liquor bottles with water and other liquids until they look like the alcohol they are supposed to be. I then take a cardboard box and cut the tape off of it but do not cross fold the flaps so that it will stay closed; the intent is for the box to fly open at some point. I then fill the box with the canned foods, packs and cartons of cigarettes, prescription bottles and the filled liquor bottles.

I finish strapping down the supplies on the trailer, making sure everything is nice and secure. Then I take the cardboard box that I just filled and put it on top of everything else on the trailer and tie it down with its own separate rope with a slip knot for easy release, leaving a long piece of rope leading up to the trike which I loosely secure next to Slugger.

"Don't pull this rope unless I tell you to" I say to Slugger.

Lastly I pull out the bag of weed and break up a tiny amount, then I pull out a cigarette and knock a little tobacco out of the end and pack it with the cleaned weed. Then I light up and enjoy. I only used a small amount of weed so that I would not get stoned but just enough to take the edge off. Once I finish my smoke I drop it to the ground and snuff it with my boot.

"Ok, Slugger, it's time to leave." I say, then look over the trike and trailer one last time, check on the animals one last time, and then put on the green helmet sitting on the seat. Then I place myself on the trike and start it up. I rev the engine once, put it in gear and say "Hold on to yer butts!", then navigate my way out of the camp and towards the streets.

My intent is to NOT travel on the interstate and instead use the highways and byways to avoid all the major cities. Thankfully I am familiar with the western United States, and more thankfully I have an older road atlas in my backpack that still shows most of the dirt roads and access roads that don't show up on more current road atlases.

As I navigate the clogged streets of Tucson, heading towards Oracle Road, aka Highway 77, I keep my head on a swivel for threats and dangers of all sorts; human, animal, obstacles, terrain and environmental. Once on Highway 77 northbound, I stay ultra-wary until we are out past Oro Valley and Catalina, the northern most parts of the Tucson greater area, then I increase speed and relax just a bit and settle in for a long ride.

Between cities and towns, I keep my eyes open for snipers and likely areas (blind corners) for ambushes in the places I would sit to pick off travelers or block the road... (this is a game, as well as others, I would play in my mind while traveling the roadways of the Western U.S. as a child and adult, passenger and driver. I was, and will always be, a Gamer; always pretending / role playing in my head, but sometimes it's playing 'what if...?'.) I have traveled the Highways and Interstates of the Western U.S. for most of my life, both business and pleasure related; travel and driving seemed to be in my destiny... if I believed in such crap.

While traveling northerly on Hwy 77, then Hwy 60 & 61 once we get past Globe, headed towards Hwy 191, as we approach and pass through the smaller cities and towns along the way, I slow down for safety reasons and my wariness increases; again, head on a swivel.

I stop after about two to three hours of travel, if dark has not fallen first... but NOT anywhere in or near a city or town; the more wild and removed from civilization the better.

However far that gets us depends on any obstacles or delays we might encounter along the way and the relative road and weather conditions. After three hours, surely the poodle-boys and possibly Slugger, will need a break to pee, at the very least... and maybe it would be about time to find a place to camp for the night anyway.