“I know what we must do.” Josiah repeated with a louder tone, sensing that he was losing the ear of some among the gathered crowd. Josiah felt a familiar anger welling up within him however he quickly suppressed it. Many of the folk of Havenwood were weary, while others were too content with themselves or uncaring about the community as a whole. He understood of course, but did not concur with nor condone such attitudes. There was the individual of course, but individualism was not what Havenwood stood for. Certainly it was not what was needed.
”We must prepare ourselves.” A pause and stray mumbling among those who listened.
”We will continue to shore up our defenses here. We will continue to gather food and supplies and salvage weapons and equipment to defend Havenwood. And we must continue to foster relations between us and the other good people of the region. The towns and trading posts. Rafeton was not the only place that could be relied us on to call us friends.”“Which means that nothing will be done about Rafeton and more of our kind will die without any worry among those who oppress us! All you have for us is to tell us to sit here and do the same damned things we have been doing for years now?” shouted the same green-skinned woman. “Hoarding away scraps and waiting for the day Republic gunships begin strafing the forest while the Blackwatch pick us off like fleeing hares? Not doing more to secure a position for ourselves?”
”What would you have us do then?” Josiah demanded over the once again growing cacophony.
“We can’t face the Republic directly, but there are other ways to fight them! Poison their water supply, burn the fields around their precious city, and harass their soldiers for every step they take into the wastes! Just as a start!”
”Such rash, foolish actions have been brought up before and my answer then is the same as now.”“We are all sick of this, Josiah! Your message of peace is running its course to the end! The New Republic and the Blackwatch would see us all killed and everything we’ve
all built here destroyed. I saw we fight! We fight for what is ours!”
”No!” Josiah’s hand came down a third time on the railing, the hardest strike of the three, but his cry was drowned in the wash of agreement behind the mutant females’ words as fists were raised and blades and gun barrels were waved about in the air. Those who had distanced themselves from the assembly were taking more notice now, a growing agitation filled the room.
A single shot rang out followed by several yelps of surprise and near total silence after. One of the volunteer guards up on the scaffolding had fired his revolver into the air to silence the uproar.
”I will condone no courses of aggression against the New Republic of Sevara,” Josiah barked,
”we can - and will - defend ourselves but there will be no war. If you all wish to contribute - to make a difference - then you all know what the collective needs are. As a matter of fact another expedition is being organized as I speak now. Rather than rabble rousing here in the mine make yourselves useful. I have lead you for years and you have all trusted me this long. You must continue to trust me, to believe that what I do I do for us all and that I am considering much that it seems that many among you are not. I will get Havenwood through this long, dark tunnel in which we find ourselves - I just need time and support. From all of you. And make no mistake; if I hear so much as another fleeting rumor about action against the New Republic I will launch a full investigation and any who decide it their place to apply consequential effort at Havenwood’s expense will be disciplined. Heed my words.”And with this final scathing promise Josiah turned away from the gathered citizens of Havenwood and clomped off towards his personal quarters, the rusted metal girders beneath his thin boots rattling in tune with his departure.
Pete heard it first. The unmistakable buzzing roar of dune racer engines, at least a dozen of them if not more. At first no one thought anything of it, vehicles of all sorts regularly come to Sully’s Rest. From rusted out racers to rebuilt high-end sports cars salvaged from a metro lockup. The sounds drew closer, and it quickly became clear that the racers were not coming from any one direction but all around. Stella looked over her shoulder from where she stood at the frier, Tony the repairman stepped out from his shop with a curious look on his face, and up atop the wall Pete impulsively brought his old rifle up at the ready - the young watchman next to him following in suit sensing a dreadful aurora that hung in the air.
“Is it those damned Striders again?” someone down at the Dine-Out yelled in an annoyed tone.
“Sounds like it.” Pete called down, his right index finger tapping lightly against the trigger. The watchman saw a motion to his right, whipping his head around to see a single dune racer bike come zooming out between two small croppings of rock, speeding across the sands towards Sully’ Rest. The figure aback it wore the telltale dirty mismatched set of a jump suit and ragged wastelander clothing that marked the Striders. At first Pete thought the rider was coming in for a stop and relaxed somewhat, however as they drew closer and did not make a turn towards the gate his angst just as quickly returned.
“What’s he doing?”
Pete’s mouth parted though he had no reply for the man at his side, watching as the rider pulled up just twenty feet from the corner of the wall. Pete saw their left hand come up suddenly and a flash of metal in the sun. As the word “Down!” tore from between his lips there was a
burst of automatic gunfire. Pete stumbled to his right as his fellow watchman fell back and hurtled down onto the sands below crashing into the ground just inside the gate. There were shouts of panic as a group of customers near the store lay eyes on the fallen watchman, blood pooling across his still chest. Stella stood frozen behind the counter, eyes wide and mouth agape at the sudden gunning down of the man. The roar of engines now surrounded the entire trading post as more automatic gunfire could be heard, another of the watchmen tumbled down from his post atop the small inn - riddled with bullet holes.
“Pete, the gate!” someone screamed.
Pete reached for the red button on the grimy panel nearby, slapping his palm against it and taking cover as the heavy gate swung shut with a harsh grinding of rusty gears and cable. Pete raised his head up again only to be forced to duck back low by another drive-by that peppered splinters onto his head and shoulders. Down below Tony rushed back inside his garage while Stella and other patrons and visitors alike dove for cover. Bullets began tearing through the tin walls and ricocheting all around as Sully’s Rest came under a surprise assault.
“The Striders are attacking us!”