[color=00aeef]FRIEDA RICHTER[/color] -- entering Salem

First, it had been Highway 28.  Then, 114.  Ancient signs said she was heading southeast to Salem, MA, and she hoped for the best.  It had been nearly 7 days since she crashed in the terrible rad storm she had neither predicted, nor plotted correctly.

She would be the first to reflect on the irony of one of the Enclave's best pilots being waylaid by a mere bout of bad weather.  Frieda would also, for a moment, allow herself the luxury of admitting a lesser pilot would be dead, whereas she merely stepped out of the wreckage with scratches.  She had become a little sloppy, as of late.  The loss of her brother made for a terrible distraction.  He had been one of the best at what he did, too, and yet the wasteland had won.

It would score another point from her, and soon, if she didn't find some water, work, and some more goddamn cigarettes.

She plodded on.  She wouldn't let the wasteland claim her without a fight.

The general lack of population was confusing, to her.  Frieda had been in the field several times but always had some inaccurate idea that the wasteland was just flooded with tribals and mutants.  That had not been the case on her journey from the southern border of what had been New Hampshire, into Massachusetts.  She passed a handful of homesteads, but none of the residents would give her the time of day, let alone the chance to earn some caps or trade.  The rest of the buildings were in shambles, or just simply unoccupied.

Signs beckoning travellers to ancient tourist attractions in Salem began to pop up more frequently as she walked along.  Frieda could only imagine that she were coming up to the place, and soon.  Her skin felt greasy and dirty, not having had any real bath since she broke ranks, and the heaviness of how much she had taken for granted was starting to weigh on her, too.  She shifted her knapsack uncomfortably, one of its straps snagging on a piece of armour she relieved from a corpse off the side of the road.

[i]Disgusting.  It's all disgusting.[/i]

She sniffed.  [i]Homesickness?  This won't do.  You'll survive this.  You trained your whole life, for this.[/i]

In her brooding, she nearly missed the turnoff to enter Salem, almost tripping over the low, ruined fence outside the Museum of Witchcraft.  She looked down the road and was impressed to see some signs of life: various figures moving between and around the buildings down the way.  Glancing back to the south, the rear end of a caravan was shrinking into the scenery.  Perhaps there was some hope, after all.

Frieda walked down the road, sand and gravel crunching underneath her boots.  She noticed a woman sitting on the beach, drinking a soda and humming to herself.  She raised an eyebrow but continued on.  [i]I'd rather avoid what looks like the village idiot.[/i]  She passed the diner, but paid it little mind, though she noticed a tall man with dark hair and a moustache walk towards its entrance.  She'd try the diner later, if the rest of the place seemed empty.

Frieda rounded the corner, and passed the ruined church to enter a town square, proper.  She thought she saw someone at the back of the church, too, but on second glance, no one was there.

The town square was quaint, if anything.  Ramshackle, and abandoned, trading stands stood proudly in the sun.  It looked as though some giant child had placed them there as part of a play-village setting.  Once the cute thought had passed, she sighed, heavily.  A breeze echoed her, stirring up dust and debris at her feet, to blow down the pathway.

A figure in a touque was retreating past the back of the church -- but more importantly, they were chugging on a cigarette.  Frieda's mouth practically started to water at the sight of it.  [i]I'm sure I've got something I could trade for a single smoke.[/i]  "Hey!" she called, thrusting her left hand into the air and waving.  "Hey, excuse me!  Hold up!"

The figure she called to seemed not to hear a word she said.  What did surprise her was what she had thought was an old tree turned around, instead.  

[i]Worse.  A goddamn greenskin![/i]  Frieda's right hand dropped like a flash to her plasma pistol, popped it from her belt, and squeezed off a single round to land in the dirt next to the creature's feet by way of warning shot.  "I don't know how you got into town without anyone noticing, but I'm giving you this single chance to get the hell out of here, before my next [i]two[/i] shots take out your knees.  Do I make myself clear?"