Episode 1: VP Territory
The small engine motorcycle hummed more than roared, with the well shielded air intake and exhaust. It could still attract them but it moved fast enough to leave them well behind, and Charlotte made a point to make camp a solid distance from her vehicle. She was on the empty side of the highway, it was Northbound, but she traveled South, as the Southbound side was full of long forgotten gridlocked cars.
The sound of another engine prompted her to check her mirrors, and she caught sight of a sizable pickup truck roaring down the road, right on her tail. There was nowhere to pull off and she didn't want to abandon her bike, so she hit the throttle as hard as she could and shifted into her fifth and final gear. The little two-fifty was no match for a V8 Hemi, and the truck was gaining too fast. She had no choice but to hope that they drove right on by; not everyone would harass you if you traveled alone, just most of them.
As the truck approached, a bullhorn came across to her loud and clear.
"Pull over immediately, or we will open fire."
She cursed, and checked her mirror. Sure enough, there were three men standing in the truck bed, and aiming assault rifles over the top of the cab as they both sped down I95. She started to reduce her speed and eventually came to a stop on the side of the road, her mind working as fast as it could. Even now, she could hear the moans, attracted by the even louder truck. She turned to look at it as the three men in the back got out and faced opposite directions. They each raised their rifles and fired with deadly precision at any mob in sight. Meanwhile, the driver got down from the cab and approached her. All of them were in full riot gear, and armed with assault rifles and visible side arms. The man from the cab pointed at her head as he looked at a cell phone, swiping the screen with his thumb.
"No helmet?"
"Gonna give me a ticket?" she asked dryly, her voice just barely higher than normal.
The man barked a laugh and pointed his rifle at her. "Hands on head, don't move," he called over his shoulder to the others, "She's not logged."
She did as she was asked, cursing under her breath and praying that they only robbed her. A fifth man, who had been in the passenger seat came forward, his rifle hanging by the single-point strap and frisked her where she sat on her bike. Everywhere he felt an object in her pockets he reached in and took it. She took only a moment to be surprised at the lack of groping.
The man stepped back with her cigarette case, pistol, lighter and flashlight in his hands. He dumped the flashlight, tossed the pistol to the lead man(who took the support hand off of his rifle to catch it) and opened the cigarette case. "Filth," he muttered, taking out each coffin nail and dumping them into a pile on the ground. When he got to the joints he paused to sniff them, "Cannabis," he announced, and dropped them with the others. He came forward, ignoring Charlie's glare, and ripped the bag off of her tank unceremoniously. He took it over to the back of the truck and started rifling through the contents. She didn't dare turn around to watch him, but she could hear him toss some items into the truck and eventually drop the bag carelessly to the ground.
"We need that?" the passenger asked, Charlotte couldn't see what he indicated at.
"No. What do you think of the bike?"
There was a pause, and the passenger answered, "Honda. Good engine, probably. Real quiet, did you hear?"
"I did. Off the bike, ma'am."
She swung a leg over, and let the bike fall hard to the ground without the kickstand. The driver whistled and two of the other men stopped shooting to come forward and lift it off the ground and wheel it toward the truck. Charlie was turned now and could see as they, with the help of the passenger, lifted it into the bed. She gritted her teeth, but said nothing as the driver snapped his gloved fingers in her face to get her attention.
When she looked at him, he lifted a cell phone and took a picture of her face. He tapped on the screen with one hand as he started what sounded like a rote speech, "You have been logged by the Vice Patrol as a Class B addict, found in possession two separate substances that have been determined to be detrimental to the continuing culture of mankind."
"What?" She finally cut in, incredulous.
"Do not interrupt me again," he chided without malice or, apparently, even much interest. He put his phone away now and pulled her pistol out of his pocket. He dropped the cylinder, and emptied the bullets into his hand. As he slowly dropped three bullets onto the ground, the passenger came back with her bottle of lighter fluid, and poured it onto the pile of cigarettes.
"You will not receive another warning to give up such vices. If you are caught again with drugs, alcohol, pornography, or any other subversive material you will be executed on site. I hope that you understand because you will not be told again. Have a nice day," he dropped her pistol on the ground and put the other three bullets in his pocket as he walked back to the truck. The passenger flicked Charlie's lighter and tossed it in the puddle, which went up in flame immediately, before turning without a word and following his leader back to the truck. The truck started with a roar and pulled a two point turn to rip down the highway the other direction.
Charlie took a shocked step after the truck and screamed at them, "What the fuck?!" She said again, quietly, "What the actual fuck?" but didn't have time to wonder, as she could hear more moans approaching, attracted by the light of the fire and all of the sounds from her encounter.
Charlotte scooped up the three bullets the man had so graciously gifted her, along with her pistol, and jogged up the street to pick up her bag and whatever the bastards had left. She saw her bat was still attached to the side, so she shoved her gun and bullets into her jacket pocket and picked it up. She held the bag under her arm, and the baseball bat in her right hand as she started walking down the road. A mob got too close ans she swung her bat at it.
The small engine motorcycle hummed more than roared, with the well shielded air intake and exhaust. It could still attract them but it moved fast enough to leave them well behind, and Charlotte made a point to make camp a solid distance from her vehicle. She was on the empty side of the highway, it was Northbound, but she traveled South, as the Southbound side was full of long forgotten gridlocked cars.
The sound of another engine prompted her to check her mirrors, and she caught sight of a sizable pickup truck roaring down the road, right on her tail. There was nowhere to pull off and she didn't want to abandon her bike, so she hit the throttle as hard as she could and shifted into her fifth and final gear. The little two-fifty was no match for a V8 Hemi, and the truck was gaining too fast. She had no choice but to hope that they drove right on by; not everyone would harass you if you traveled alone, just most of them.
As the truck approached, a bullhorn came across to her loud and clear.
"Pull over immediately, or we will open fire."
She cursed, and checked her mirror. Sure enough, there were three men standing in the truck bed, and aiming assault rifles over the top of the cab as they both sped down I95. She started to reduce her speed and eventually came to a stop on the side of the road, her mind working as fast as it could. Even now, she could hear the moans, attracted by the even louder truck. She turned to look at it as the three men in the back got out and faced opposite directions. They each raised their rifles and fired with deadly precision at any mob in sight. Meanwhile, the driver got down from the cab and approached her. All of them were in full riot gear, and armed with assault rifles and visible side arms. The man from the cab pointed at her head as he looked at a cell phone, swiping the screen with his thumb.
"No helmet?"
"Gonna give me a ticket?" she asked dryly, her voice just barely higher than normal.
The man barked a laugh and pointed his rifle at her. "Hands on head, don't move," he called over his shoulder to the others, "She's not logged."
She did as she was asked, cursing under her breath and praying that they only robbed her. A fifth man, who had been in the passenger seat came forward, his rifle hanging by the single-point strap and frisked her where she sat on her bike. Everywhere he felt an object in her pockets he reached in and took it. She took only a moment to be surprised at the lack of groping.
The man stepped back with her cigarette case, pistol, lighter and flashlight in his hands. He dumped the flashlight, tossed the pistol to the lead man(who took the support hand off of his rifle to catch it) and opened the cigarette case. "Filth," he muttered, taking out each coffin nail and dumping them into a pile on the ground. When he got to the joints he paused to sniff them, "Cannabis," he announced, and dropped them with the others. He came forward, ignoring Charlie's glare, and ripped the bag off of her tank unceremoniously. He took it over to the back of the truck and started rifling through the contents. She didn't dare turn around to watch him, but she could hear him toss some items into the truck and eventually drop the bag carelessly to the ground.
"We need that?" the passenger asked, Charlotte couldn't see what he indicated at.
"No. What do you think of the bike?"
There was a pause, and the passenger answered, "Honda. Good engine, probably. Real quiet, did you hear?"
"I did. Off the bike, ma'am."
She swung a leg over, and let the bike fall hard to the ground without the kickstand. The driver whistled and two of the other men stopped shooting to come forward and lift it off the ground and wheel it toward the truck. Charlie was turned now and could see as they, with the help of the passenger, lifted it into the bed. She gritted her teeth, but said nothing as the driver snapped his gloved fingers in her face to get her attention.
When she looked at him, he lifted a cell phone and took a picture of her face. He tapped on the screen with one hand as he started what sounded like a rote speech, "You have been logged by the Vice Patrol as a Class B addict, found in possession two separate substances that have been determined to be detrimental to the continuing culture of mankind."
"What?" She finally cut in, incredulous.
"Do not interrupt me again," he chided without malice or, apparently, even much interest. He put his phone away now and pulled her pistol out of his pocket. He dropped the cylinder, and emptied the bullets into his hand. As he slowly dropped three bullets onto the ground, the passenger came back with her bottle of lighter fluid, and poured it onto the pile of cigarettes.
"You will not receive another warning to give up such vices. If you are caught again with drugs, alcohol, pornography, or any other subversive material you will be executed on site. I hope that you understand because you will not be told again. Have a nice day," he dropped her pistol on the ground and put the other three bullets in his pocket as he walked back to the truck. The passenger flicked Charlie's lighter and tossed it in the puddle, which went up in flame immediately, before turning without a word and following his leader back to the truck. The truck started with a roar and pulled a two point turn to rip down the highway the other direction.
Charlie took a shocked step after the truck and screamed at them, "What the fuck?!" She said again, quietly, "What the actual fuck?" but didn't have time to wonder, as she could hear more moans approaching, attracted by the light of the fire and all of the sounds from her encounter.
Charlotte scooped up the three bullets the man had so graciously gifted her, along with her pistol, and jogged up the street to pick up her bag and whatever the bastards had left. She saw her bat was still attached to the side, so she shoved her gun and bullets into her jacket pocket and picked it up. She held the bag under her arm, and the baseball bat in her right hand as she started walking down the road. A mob got too close ans she swung her bat at it.
