Death in old Marcos Hills

ANOTHER WASTELAND PATROL

Our intrepid Wasteland Marshals are after a trio of bandits who have been robbing water purification stills on the edges of the San Joaquin settlement. Enlisting the help of  a couple local scroungers, the lawmen tracked them to old town of Marcos Hills.

Surveying the tumble of bleached, jagged ruins, one hunter spit and shook his head. “Bad place. Dead place.”

Marshal Royce frowned. “They in there?”

The scroungers nodded, pointing at a tall, three floor pile of rubble. “There. Top floor if they got a lick of sense between ’em.”

Royce lifted his his rifle and chambered a round. “Well then that’s where we’re going.”   

***

The water thieves took shelter in the three-story building on the left, trusting no one in their right mind would risk following after. They figured they could hold up for the night high on the top floor, safe from whatever mutant madness roamed these ruins, then be on their merry at daybreak.

Unfortunately for them, Wasteland Marshals aren’t in their right mind. So it was on.

The Marshal and one deputy take cover in the shell of the old store right in front of them. Two floors, it’s gives decent field of fire for the right and center of the area. And for the alley below. Meanwhile, the third deputy leads the Scoungers to the left, picking their way toward the bandit’s lair.

The bandits spot one of the scroungers and open fire. One bandit goes down, a scrounger is pinned, but his partner and the deputy manage to sneak closer.

However, the sound of gunfire draws some unwanted attention: Ragers – a pack of ’em. Even worse,  they are accompanied by what the locals call a ‘Linterna del Diablo’ or “Devil’s Lantern” – an rare breed of insane psyker mutant whose eyes glow with eerie power and who levitates when using its unnatural abilities. Plus there’s a Mack – huge brute rager known to have torn men in half with its bare hands.  They come from the alley on the right, effectively separating the Marshal from the rest of his posse. It was two separate battles now, against two separate enemies.

Marshal Royce watched the Ragers boil out of the alley like a pack of rabid dogs, howling, growling, scrambling, heading their way. He turned toward his deputy. “Thought this was going too easy.”

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Marcos Hills
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Harsh, swift, permanent: Wasteland Law.
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Two local scroungers. Some folks call ’em STALKERS.
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No wonder no one lives here.
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Someone’s at the door – and it’s not the Jehovah’s Witnesses.
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The culprits.
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Rack that bang fast, deputy!
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“Here they come!”
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