>>6316587>>6316591>>6316630>>APC.>>Salvage Mission.The only reason for any civilians to be caught outside of the settlement are either bandits, fleeing refugees, or civilian auxiliaries the likes of Harper Park.
When Colonel Estevez assumed martial law over the survivors, he had declared that any remaining civilians were to make all due haste towards their impromptu settlement in the unflooded hab-blocks and ‘burbs of Northampton. Looting was forbidden – every man, woman and child would receive their fair share, with more only accorded to exceptional service. Plundering the ruins of their neighbors and friends was something only thugs and bandits would do. And the colonel did not suffer barbarism lightly.
Hence, a standing order – any man, woman or child caught in the ruins of Newport News, Hampton or Norfolk are automatically assumed to be looters or bandits. Whereupon they will be given a single chance to surrender and be taken into custody. The logic is simple – a true refugee would be glad to be rescued and processed in the settlement. A bandit would not.
The failure to submit and surrender will henceforth be interpreted as a bandit action. And bandits have ‘shoot on sight’ orders.
“Which is to say that we use a transponder.” Harper fiddles with his comm relay, broadcasting a squelch of noise frequencies. “Just so that we don’t get held up, shot or shelled by the fine folks of the National Guard.”
You nod, accepting the frequency as it routes into your modem. “Has that happened before?”
“Rarely. But I’m careful about where I do my salvage runs. I make it a point to deploy within radio distance of a 2nd Battalion detachment, <span class="mu-i">just</span> in case I need backup. God knows there’s no shortage of bandits, cyberpsychos, or <span class="mu-i">worse</span> things crawling in the ruins.”
The image of the flesh-wearing android flashes past your eyes. A shudder crawls down your back that has nothing to do with the chill of the November air. Eager to change the subject, you gesture out over the walls of the settlement.
“So where is it we’re going today?”
Harper reaches into his jacket to fish out a weathered, paper map. He spreads it out across the picnic table, revealing a map of Norfolk and the Hampton Crossroads. It’s been extensively ear and dog-marked, with scribbles in red, blue and black pencil denoting areas of conflict, flooded zones, and the passages of geo-magnetic storms.
“Here.” He points to a residential area just after Huntington Heights, short of the tip of Newport News. “Residential Hab-Block. Nearly three kilometers’ worth of government-subsidized housing for folks living either on welfare or under the poverty line.”
(cont.)
