Cordon Sanitaire: Play-by-Post RP IC Thread

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Paronomasia12

Master Knight
Cordon Sanitaire

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Credit tilton

'...And so this Great Pestilence, this pernicious corruption in the air, brought the death of peoples and humbled the Realm of Man.'


East of Paris - Night, Wednesday 22 February, 2068

Edward brought his Ford Focus to a stop. The gate and eight-foot high Hesco walls crowned by barbed wire concertinas formed an ominous black shadow in front of him. The gate was flanked by two high platforms whose armed guards leered over the scene.
Another guard, this one masked and armed with a FAMAS, approached the driver's side window and peered in, shining his torch in Edward's face. All of the guards were Gendarmerie.

“Evening,” said Edward in French.

“Thumb,” came the muffled reply of the guard, who held out a brick sized machine with a slot in its side.

Edward placed his thumb into that slot and felt a sharp sting as it took some of his blood. It was a tense fifty seconds as the machine tested his blood for antigens, antigens that would indicate whether he was infected. Edward tried some small talk but the Gendarme was obviously deaf.

A green light blinked on. And the Gendarme lifted up his mask, “Hello sir, do you have papers?” which Edward handed over.

“Ah, an Englishman? Not here to cause trouble are you?” asked the guard in English.

“No sir. Just here to help,” you froggy bastard.

Handing back Edward's papers, “You may enter,” said the Gendarme, switching back to French. The gate slide open by an unseen command.

Edward put the car into gear and drove in. Behind the gate was the carpark and building of a former supermarket, now turned into a frontier outpost and overnight stop for travellers along the A4, the main autoroute out to the east of Paris.
Most of the parking spaces were under prefab shacks but there were a few left clear. Most of those had Gendarmerie vehicles on them, but there was one space that was free. Once parked, Edward sat for awhile, going over some recent notes in his journal. Putting the journal in the pockets of his fatigue trousers, he got out, got his bags and M4 from out of the boot, and then locked the car. It was unlikely anyone would be stupid enough to steal out of the vehicles but it was better to be safe than sorry. Walking towards the entrance to the former supermarket, he was intercepted by a random Spaniard.

Five minutes later, Edward finally wandered inside. The interior of the former supermarket was divided into sections, but the bar was the only one that interested him at that moment.

He stopped and took a while to inspect the bulletin board. News on local criminal activity, some job offers and news on the Mors Plague. Typical stuff really.

On entering the bar, Edward took a sweeping glance around. The bar was still heaving with people. Some random heavy metal was playing on a music player. The crowd contained some Gendarmerie, lots of civilians but-

“Eddie! The **** you been all day?”

He turned and saw a short, blustering sort of chap come strolling towards him with a drink in his hand. “Hello, Pete. I was at Disneyland. Some idiots thought it was a themepark or something. You?”

“We've had a ****ter of a day, mate,” Pete said, leading Edward through the crowd towards the bar, “George, that stupid ****, got himself shot in the leg.”

“How the hell did that happen?” asked Edward, thinking about what to drink.

“We were inspecting a couple of abandoned houses. Some old sod and his family were hold up there. Probably thought we were looters or something.”

“Where's – a shot of whiskey please, love – Where's George now?”

“Took a point two two so I took him to the infirmary. And he's fuming, Eddie, absolutely fuming,” said Pete, shaking his head but with a slight smirk, “He'll live. Unscathed through so much, then taken out by some old geezer.”

“So what about that old boy and his family?”

“Oh, I shot him. It wasn't callous, mate. He was a guy wielding a loaded gun,” reasoned Pete on seeing Edward's face, “The family I left alone but told to come here. Don't know if they followed my advice. Looked Muhammedan or something.”

The barmaid finally came back with the whiskey, and they sat quietly for a while whilst Edward enjoyed his drink and wondered whether he should go find out what happened to the family. “Eddy? We have a problem,” broke in Pete.

“And what is that?"

“Georgie boy was supposed to run some stuff over to our boys near Metz. The other lads are too busy...”

“And I suppose you want yours truly to do the job instead,” Edward asked, getting a grin and vigorous nod in return.

“Fine, whatever. I'll do it.” Edward sighed, “My tank is almost empty. Any petrol about?”

“Thanks, mate. Sure, we had some trucks come in earlier. Here's some coupons,” replied Pete, handing enough fuel coupons for half a tank over, “The stuff you will need to take will be ready for you tomorrow. No rush though.”

“Wonderful, can you piss off so I can enjoy my drink in peace?”

“Sure, sure. Thanks again. Go have a proper gander at George before you leave, it's actually hilarious. He's always been such a mopey git, this just makes it so much funnier. Night, Ed!”

“Night, Pete, you prick.”

Edward spent the next half an hour nursing another drink, eating some horrible French food and checking over his maps. It was only 180 odd miles but with all the blockages, abandoned roads, criminal gangs, refugees and local enforcement folks, it would probably take two or three days. He definitely wasn't going to do it alone, though. Maybe he could try and find some soul who needed a lift or wanted to earn something. He'd go search tomorrow, though. Something more important was needed.

Downing what was left in his glass, he paid the barmaid with jewellery and went off to the sleeping quarters.
 
https://www.google.co.uk/maps/place/Super+U+Couilly-Pont-aux-Dames/@48.8705969,2.8696946,680m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!3m4!1s0x0000000000000000:0x43d4bc3612f8c335!8m2!3d48.8727742!4d2.8701702?hl=en
Walter sat in the bar with his ears open, making pleasant conversation with one of the policemen who was off-duty, and a tad tipsy.
"You Gendarmes aren't afforded the respect you deserve nowadays. Believe me, I know the kind of vitriol that's thrown around, even many soldiers don't seem to understand why a police officer's job is so important."

"Ahh, Sir, it has been some time I have spoken to an American with such respect for the trade of internal security. Especially here in France. Tell me, why is someone so gifted with words so far from home in a dingy place like this?" The Frenchman replied.

"Well I guess you could say I'm coming over here as a matter of state for the North American Federation. Our relations with mainland Europe have been deteriorating ever since we lost so many diplomats in the outbreak of the plague. DC was hit pretty hard I'm sure you know. I suppose the reformed department of state saw fit to use military men as envoys. We know the value of peace as we know the value of war. In fact I'm heading to Paris to see if there is anyone I could get into contact with regarding military cooperation. My last stop was in Germany, for the same purpose."

"A sheep in wolf's clothing eh? An intelligent means of travel in these troubled areas."

"Well, more like a wolf in a politician's clothing." Walter smiled back. "I heard something interesting about this outpost though. I've been informed that there is a McDonald's restaurant around here. I haven't tasted that greasy guilty pleasure in years."

The policeman hushed his tone down and covered the side of his mouth.
"Well yes, but we try to keep the food side on the down-low, making outsiders believe it is only a lookout position. You see it is also the Gendarmerie's guilty pleasure. We make the sandwiches with the abandoned kitchen. Come now, take your drink, I'll show you!" The Policeman beckoned and the two stood, jovially taking a stroll to McD's.

In the midst of quiet night, the repurposed McDonald's Restaurant-turned lookout post suddenly caught ablaze into a raging inferno a short 150 meters South-East of the walled-off shopping center. The Gendarmerie received distress calls from one of their own, and the unmistakable report of several three round rifle bursts followed by the high pitched pops of a different gun.

Immediately the Policemen went to high alert, some rushing to their cruisers, and the rest beginning to move on foot the short distance to the burning building.
 
The water was freezing cold and made her shiver uncontrollably, but after days of walking, Cassandra was more than glad to wash the sweat, dust and grime off. Too bad she was out of soap. Still, it was refreshing. Clambering back to the river bank, she got dressed and started the lengthy process of braiding her hair while the sun was still up, letting its rays warm her. All too soon, the shadows grew longer and she sighed - it was time to find shelter for the night. Gathering her meagre belongings, she left Grand Morin behind and walked the hundred meters through the bush and trees to reach the Rue Berthault. None of the run-down buildings had any lights on them, so she turned north, hoping for the best.

After few hours, Cassandra was ready to give up, she had just reached the end of Rue Ronsard, having canvassed the entire neighbourhood, and nobody was willing to put her up for the night. She debated with herself whether to rough it near the river or if she should try her luck further down the road, in near darkness, when a orange hue to the south caught her attention. Something big was burning. And where there was fire, there usually were casualties. And treating casualties was a good chance for her to earn the good will of the locals. So she turned around and headed back towards the main road.
 
Walter watched from the tall grass and low shrub vegetation by the train track, as the Military Police approached the halfway point between the blazing restaurant and the market bar. They were about to enter the field. The cruisers slowly accompanied those on foot, acting as mobile cover.

Walter opened his channel.
"This is Lead, Radio Check, over."
"Lead, this is Foxtrot, Lima Charlie, over."
"Lead, go for Sierra, over."
"This is Lead, Iron is Hot, over."
"This is Foxtrot, Wilco Out."
"This is Sierra, Wilco Out."
"Squads be advised, Lead will exfiltrate target area southeast along train track. Lead will rally behind axis of advance in five mikes, over."
"Foxtrot Copy Out" "Sierra Copy Out."
"Lead Out."

In the dark, twenty men began filing out of the brush on the southwest side of the hesco walls, just across the train tracks. The military police were not stupid, and left their walls manned enough to spot intruders, but silenced rifles cut down the two who watched over this flank. Many hours on the wall had left them complacent, and mere moments of lapsing hyper-vigilance contributed to silent deaths.

The two squads advanced to the hescos, flattening concertina wire with their packs as Foxtrot Squad entered the base, climbing over each other. Sierra laid improvised ladders against the hescos and set up their automatic rifles and a Belt fed machine gun, using the hescos as cover, with good enough timing to catch the Gendarmerie in a coverless beaten zone. The signal was given and instantly an ear-ringing racous of popping rifle and chugging MG fire laid into the police and their vehicles, some tracers seen ricocheting off the vehicles and the dirt, clear was the sound of the bullets whip-cracking downrange.

Bulletproof glass and thin armour steel not fit to bear the punishment of a roaring M240 was steadily worn away and penetrated, the half of those not cut down immediately were gradually falling as the glass wore away, and steel fragments found their way through the swiss-cheesed frame of the cruisers. The furthest vehicle suddenly leapt to life and rushed towards the burning building for safety and drew even more fire, tires squealed and burst off under fire, and steel rims dug into the dirt to propel the limping, screaming engine just close enough for the driver to bail and try to drag a wounded comrade with him behind the smoldering ruin.

A rifleman was assigned to watch that position and keep any who would return fire suppressed. Those who remained were gradually able to return some fire as Sierra's own fire died down in a moment of reload and dwindling ammunition. But this was short-lived. Foxtrot got behind the vehicles with clear lanes of enfilade fire between the cruisers.

Those in the field were slaughtered to a man, it seemed. Sierra crested the barriers and moved to secure the beaten zone, while Foxtrot turned its attention to the buildings just beside them. Walter climbed the wall behind his men minutes later, and considered that he perhaps should have taken some of the men from both elements and formed a five-man blocking force on the north side of the compound to stop stragglers. He wondered if and how many had already gotten out. At least he had the entrances to the market covered now. Maybe after all this slaughter he could see if his intel was correct.
 
It was the fire that started it. Woken with a start by calls to stand to, Edward gathered his things and rushed outside. The outpost was waking from its slumber.
He ran to his car and threw everything onto the front passenger seat. Looking up, he saw Pete approaching with a duffel bag on his back and a jerrycan in each hand.

'Ed! Take these,' Pete shouted, putting the two jerrycans into the boot once it was opened by Edward. Swinging the duffel bag off his shoulders, he handed it to Edward, ' Take this as well. It's that stuff you need to courier. For now, follow the SOPs, get to the ERV.'

'Got it!' shouted Edward as he leapt into the driver's seat. Pete took up his Steyr AUG and proceeded shouting orders to some people who were standing around. Edward accelerated away, dodging the Gendarmerie rushing about, took the north-east gate at speed, and followed the Avenue Constant Coquelin north. He drove as fast as he dared. In the beam of his headlights, the road with its pot-holes, its ruts and ridges, rushed past under him.

At just over a kilometre, he took a left near a veterinary clinic. Slowing to a crawl and turning off his headlights, he parked in the overgrown driveway of an abandoned house he had recce'd earlier in the week. The ERV, the emergency rendezvous, was 400 yards further to the northeast, back across the Avenue.

Rushing round to the passenger door, he threw it open and heaved on his combat vest and the duffel bag. He crouched down near the car, his M4 up, allowing his eyes to get accustomed to the dim and making sure that there was nobody near coming to investigate. He could hear the distance cacophony and see the man-made sunset to the south. After making sure that all things were accounted for, he locked the car and, with his weapon slung across his chest, jogged back to the Avenue main road.
 
Eirik rejoiced in the feeling of the wind in his hair, and the crackling sound of the song "Revolution" by an old band called "Flogging Molly" in his blown-out old earplugs as he thundered down the side-road called Route de Montpichet.

He'd chosen, as he always did, to take this smaller side-road rather than the larger A4. Partially just because he preferred the solitude and the view. But also to avoid both the bandits that occasionally preyed on folk along the larger veins of travel, even this close to the big cities, -he swore it got worse every year- and because he wanted to avoid any "official" entanglements as much as any criminal ones. He wasn't sure how much there actually was in the way of officials in these parts. But he wasn't about to take any chances. He knew his appearance didn't exactly elicit much love from whoever tried to uphold law and order. Not that he had much to hide. But he preferred not to have to endure another pointless and time consuming strip-search if he could.

Hopefully it wouldn't be much longer now until he reached the old mall-compound the man in the run-down bar in Reims had mentioned. He was looking forward to a stiff drink, and hopefully a mattress to sleep on as well. He'd started noticing his body was getting older, and wasn't quite as ok with spending full days in the "saddle" anymore. Was only reasonable really. Having now spent years on the roads through Northern and Eastern Europe on his trusty old V-max couldn’t do wonders for the back. Nor would all the knocks he’d taken over those years for that matter.

As he passed the small hamlet of Montpichet and the landscape opened up he suddenly became aware of an ominous glow on the rapidly darkening sky. He yanked out his earplugs, and sure enough there it was in the distance. Gunfire. 
As he drove on, the fire turned into a towering inferno in the ever closing distance. The sounds of rifle fire came in bursts like the rapping of marching-drums, with the steady pace of what he assumed had to be an LMG of some description keeping the beat in the background.

«Horse’s pissing ****!» He thought as he came up to the intersection between his road and another, smaller one heading south-east, and got a proper view of the spectacle.
«Well, if the ****ing guy I was supposed to talk to WAS still there he’s either pissing dead, bleeding out in a ditch or run off to **** knows where now» …………. He turned on his heel and kicked a discarded tire left in the side of the road so hard his toes smacked into the backside of his steel-tipped boots and got bruised anyways, as he shouted «BREINNANDES SATANS HÆSTFETTSKIT!» ……

He took three quick, heavy breaths to calm himself down. Then sat down on the tire, rolled himself a cigarette and smoked it while watching the scene before him through the small Bushnell electronic low-light monocular he always kept on his person. It looked like the compound had been hit by a sizeable group of assailants. From the gunfire patterns he’d heard they seemed to have some degree of professional training as well. The prospect soured his mood even further. He hadn’t been this close in years! And now his trail was dead-pig****ing-cold once again. He had half a mind to barrel down the road, guns blazing and start shooting people. But he knew that’d just end up with him…..well, ending. The people who’d done this were people he definitely wanted to stay as far as ****ing possible away from. But he HAD to find out if anyone had gotten out alive. He pulled out his old European Tourist Administration roadmap-book and flipped to the Paris section. Where the hell would people logically run to from there? It looked like they’d been hit primarily from the South-West. Anyone who got out would’ve most likely fled to the north. There were several old residential areas that way. Considering how hard they’d been hit by the plague down here there’d probably be swathes of empty houses that way for people to take shelter and hide in. At the very least he could find a nice house to squat in for the night. He hadn’t taken a ****e on proper porcelain in weeks, and just that simple prospect heghtened his mood somewhat. In the morning he could ride around the area looking for stragglers on the move, or really anyone. Maybe the locals had seen something, or taken someone in?

He snuffed out his cigarette, carefully picking out the remaining tobacco from the stump, then putting it back in his pouch before mounting his bike again. He proceeded down to the roundabout that would let him continue northwards on the Rue de Crecý. It ran dangerously close to the battle, which by the sounds of it was now in the mopping-up stage. But he kept his lights off and switched to run the bike off of the Hydrogen-cell to make as little noise as possible. Then continued into the suburbs and the night with the sounds of occasional rifle shots dwindling in the background.
 
Edward stood at the Avenue and looked down it to his right. The gunfire, that which could be heard, was petering out now. But apart from that, it was eerily quiet. There was a chill in the air so he took a deep breath and allowed the cool air to bite his lungs.
Only fifty feet to his left was a junction with a smaller road continuing straight whilst the main road curved further west. He wanted to get off the through-roads as soon as possible. Even at this time of night he was worried about traffic, whether it was civilian or some law enforcement or military responding to the crisis at the market. The rendezvous he was supposed to go to was to the north in a cul-de-sac, a home housekept by a loyal local family bought off by medicine, food and some implicit favours by Edward's group.

He took that smaller road and then its first right, up an even narrower lane and across onto the cul-de-sac. He wasn't expecting many people to be up and about but he wasn't surprised when, halfway up, he saw someone come the opposite way. He thought of raising his weapon but decided better of it; it might be some local albeit well-laden. Hearts and mind and all that. So he instead stopped, raised his right hand in greeting and called in French.

'Hello there.'
 
The fire was getting intense and the wind brought sounds of gunfire and engines. Something big was definitely going on. Cassandra frowned as she left the cul-de-sac behind, she had no idea what she was walking into, and it hardly seemed like this was a natural thing - more likely that an attack of some sort was under way and she was a stranger in a strange land. Before she could make up her mind, whether to hide here among the darkened houses or continue on, she was snapped from her thoughts as a man appeared from the shadows, one hand up in greeting and called out in French.

"Hello there"

Cassandra tried to remember the little French that she spoke.

"Uuh, bonjour. Que... se passet? Passe? Flamme?" She waved one hand towards the pillar of smoke, coloured orange by the flames.
"Moi... infirmière... secours?"

She hoped that the man would understand. Her own rifle was still on her shoulder and the nearest cover was few meters away.
 
'Erm.'

Edward hadn't been able to tell that it was a woman in front of him, and the way she spoke marked her out as someone who wasn't even French. He would have asked her if he had understood correctly but decided this was no time for being pedantic. And she looked tense enough anyway, as would be expected of anyone, so Edward also kept his hands infront of himself.

'Yes, I just came from there,' he replied, pronouncing each word almost patronisingly slowly, 'Some bandits are attacking the Gendarmerie stationed over there, and I do not recommend going to investigate.'

He thought for a second before deciding that it couldn't hurt to be friendly. And meeting someone with medical know-how wasn't a bad thing.

'You are a health care… a nurse? I do not think you can help over there now, but should wait until morning before going. What is your name and where are you from? My name is Bellamy. Are you able to speak another language like English? It could help us.'
 
"Oh thank the goddess, yes, I speak English", Cassandra breathed out in relief.

"My name is Cassandra, I'm from Sweden originally but now I'm just travelling around, helping those in need", she explained in a rapid-fire manner, in a heavily accented English.

"What is your name? Do you know who is attacking the police?"
 
'My name is Bellamy, Edward Bellamy. Englishman,' he replied, 'I have no idea who would attack the Gendarmerie but I know it's one sure-fire way to make enemies of them, and the Armée and the Police Nationale.'

He frowned as he stopped to listen to the surroundings and for what was happening far in the distance.

'Look, the French will be flooding the area soon and scouring the place for folk to, erm… “arrest”. Those attackers, who ever they are, will probably be roaming about as well. If you have nowhere to go, I know a place to hold up. There'll be others there, a family, nothing too serious. They're friendly and they'll probably have hot food and bedding if you want it,' Edward said, before tilting his head and continuing, 'And you say you're a nurse? Well my friends may need your help when… if they arrive later on. We'll be able to rustle up some payment for you for any help you can provide. And you can stay till the morning. You can leave before then if you want, obviously, I won't stop you. The French will probably have things back in control soon anyway, and things should calm down. Should, at least.'
 
Cassandra tilted her head as she thought it over, eventually nodding at the Englishman.

"Yes, thank you Edward, that is a good idea. I'm sure I could be of some help and it certainly would be nice to have a warm bed and a roof over my head. Lead the way", she answered him, one hand still carefully holding the sling for her rifle.
 
'Okay.'

And he continued his walk up the road, turned slightly to keep her in his periphery vision. He walked a bare hundred yards before he stopped and indicated for her to wait on the pavement. He then walked a little further up, and down the path of one of the houses to knock on the door. It was 20 or 30 seconds before it was answered. From behind the ajar door, which was held by the chain, a child cried as a youngish feminine voice spoke in French.

'Hello?'

'Hello, Julienne. How are things?' Edward asked.

'Things are like what happened last month, really bad,' the woman said, speaking the code phrase that she wasn't under duress.

'That is a shame, it was not much better during Christmas,' he said, using the correct response, 'My friend... who doesn't speak much French so we should probably speak English around her, my friend and I want to stay a little while. Likely only until sunrise. Is that alright?'

'Oh sure,' Julienne replied as she unchained the door. Julienne also holstered the handgun she had been holding, 'What is happening down there?'

'It's an attack of some kind. I don't know who or why, I got out before I found out.' Edward replied, 'Before I forget. Can you get Sylvestre to watch over my car? It's in that place I told him about.'

'Sure. And here's the key,' Julienne said, as she handed the key for an empty neighbouring house, 'I'll be there in a couple of minutes. Have to put the child to sleep again,' she rolled her eyes before closing the door. Edward turned and walked back to Cassandra.

'Not long,' he soothed, before walking to the next house. He peered through the windows before unlocking the house's front door. He took a quick look around the vestibule before exiting again and asking, 'All good. You still want in, Cassandra?'
 
Cassandra remained silent throughout the conversation that Edward had with the local woman. He seemed harmless enough but Cassandra had learned the hard way to not place too much trust on strangers, even when they appeared friendly. Having a roof over her head and the possibility of a warm meal, however, were very tempting...

"Yes, thank you", she said and stepped forward, before pausing to listen:

"Is that a motorcycle I hear?"
 
'You may be right. Alright, let's get concealed. We'll see what this is about before deciding what action needs taking,' Edward said, moving to take a knee behind the garden wall. It sounded like it was coming from the south so whoever it was may have had some part in the attack.
 
Eirik had switched back to the petrol engine now that he'd put a fair bit of distance between himself and the mayhem at the mall-compound. Sure, the hydrogen fuel-cell was a longevitous creature. But he travelled a lot through what was more-or-less complete wilderness. With no procurable petrol for miles upon miles. And while he was in the relative vicinity of "civilisation", and most likely some way to procure petrol, he preferred to save it. Not like the engine was a particularly thirsty beast in any case.
He'd turned into a small residential area that looked like it was supposed to end in a rather secluded cul-de-sac. He knew from experience that these usually held more than a few abandoned houses that could be quite comfortable to squat in. He'd have to be careful not to trudge blindly straight into someone else's "hidey spot" though. The other rerason he'd chose this place was because it'd be a very likely place for someone from the mall to seek refuge. Or even have some sort of emergency hiding place/rendezvous point set up if they were the capable sort. He considered for a moment switching back to H-drive, but decided against it. Anyone laying up in any of these houses would have heard him coming since he turned off the main road. And he figured it was better to announce his presence like this and let them observe him from a safe distance to ascertain that he wasn't a threat, or at least not directly involved with whoever had been fighting back there, and give him the courtesy of a warning shot rather than riddling him with holes him on sight. Maybe he'd even be unusually lucky and they'd be the all-too-rare sort that actually asked questions instead of just hiding, running or taking panicked potshots.
As he slowly turned his bike into the last corner of the cul-de-sac he became aware of a brief flash of movement in an upstairs window, which indicated someone had just quickly snuffed out a lamp of some description. Well, at least they hadn't fired at him.... yet.
 
"Yes, it is a motorcycle for sure", Cassandra replied, as she swung her rifle out and took cover behind the waist-high stone wall surrounding the overgrown garden. She took careful aim down the street, from where the noise was coming.

Sure enough, after a few moments a black figure riding a beaten motorcycle emerged from the darkness, driving slowly into the cul-de-sac. Cassandra kept her silence, preferring Edward to make the first move.
 
Eirik caught another brief glimpse of movement in the dark. This time on the ground in front of one of the other houses. He slowed down his bike, loosened his Sig P-229 slightly in its shoulder-holster and prepared to drop off and take cover behind his bike if the need should arise. He also habitually noted three other cover spots he could dash to from there......... he slowed his bike to near walking pace, kept a sharp eye on the area where the movement had been, then slowly ground to a halt. He knew he'd probably be better off staying on his bike so he could punch the throtthe and speed off into the cover of darkness if someone opened fire. But he was tired. So damned tired. Not just from the rigors of travel. But he also felt a certain more permeating general weariness. The contact at the mall-compound had been his last thread to grasp for in his search. And now he was most likely a well-done crispy corpse. He'd lost the trail many times before. But now, this time just felt like the stick that broke the moose's back. He suddenly realised a part of him didn't even care anymore if these people put a bullet through his head. And in this new and sudden realisation he threw all caution aside, stepped off his bike, put his arms out to either side and did quite possibly the dumbest thing anyone could do in this day and age in such a situation. He shouted: "HEY! I know you're there! Saw'ya jump into cover coming up the drive! If you're gonna shoot me, get it over with! But I'd honestly prefer if we sat down and had a bite and a stiff drink together! What'd'ya say?"
 
'Oh for ****s sake,' Edward muttered, annoyed at the bikers attention-drawing bellowing.

After looking over to Cassandra to see if she was covering him, Edward rose up, lowering his weapon and leapt over the low-wall. He walked to the edge of the kerb, keeping well aside Cassandra's line of sight.

'Morning, biker. What's happening?'
 
Eirik quickly measured up the fellow who'd come out to greet him. Clearly not just some civilian. Equipment looked in good condition, rifle was well maintained, and he didn't look near as dirty as folks usually did. But didn't look proper military either. Even if he might've been at some point. Probably some sort of independent contractor or merc. He also noticed the pretty girl looking at him along the sights of her rifle from behind the brick wall.

He spoke in his strange mixed-accent of Norwegian with a mix of Gaelic lilting pronounciation he'd picked up from the Scottish and Irish fishermen from whom he'd begun learning English in his youth back at Herøy.
"Englishman eh? The ****'re you doing in these froggy parts of the world? And I was about to ask ya the same thing by the way. Know anything about that ****storm what went down back there?"

He pointed backwards across his shoulder with his thumb, toward the hue of the now probably dying fire where the mall had been.
 
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