@worshxpme was discovered injured!
. Weeds tuft the cracks down the center of the rural highway, blacktop fragmented into ruined archipelagos. Hell on the suspension. There’s a scrape-pop as the front bumper hits rock and jerks all passengers forward.
. “Easy, easy, easy!” Philip gripes from the passenger seat. There’s a shriek and grind as the truck climbs the event horizon of the pothole, the mixed clamor of male voices cursing as the tire slips backward and the momentum finally stops. The Governor throws up his hands and glares daggers at his towheaded lieutenant, the man driving this beat up American-made beast. “Now look what ya did!”
. Gabe huffs. “It wasn’t me. I wanted to turn around.”
. “Everybody out,” Philip sighs. “Let’s see what we got.”
. What they ‘got’, it turned out, was a low tire and a warped fender. An annoyance, mainly– nothing unfixable. Philip sets his men to fixing the damn thing while he and a few others take to the nearby housing unit, hoping to turn a bad turn into a good one by piling more booty on top of the spoils they’d already taken away.
. By the time they’ve run through the second home on the block, they’ve noticed a general trend: the houses have been picked clean, and recently: wet muddy boot prints on the flooring denotes a single man, a big fucker with a drag to his gait like he’s got a pronounced limp-- perhaps from an injury?
. At the third, Philip knocks loudly and calls into the home:
“Yella! Anybody home?!”
