Post by Brandon Cole on Mar 29, 2021 0:42:06 GMT -5
After several months keeping the peace in central California, the former Scouts of Rikers Island packed up shop and headed north to Oregon; little did they know they were leaving the proverbial frying pan and jumping into a new oven of intrigue....
Mt. Angel Abbey Church
As was his habit in the weeks since the Scouts' arrival in central Oregon, Brandon sat in one of the pews inside the Mt. Abbey Church, deep in thought. Slung over his shoulder was his AR-15; at his hip were both his Glock 19 and trench knife but no one noticed those things, not in the post-apocalyptic world they had inhabited for over seven years now.
Leaning on his elbows, he thought about the Scouts' travels up from central California to central Oregon; they hadn't left because of any latent hostility. Far from it; they had left the Free City of San Francisco's territory on amicable grounds but at heart, everyone knew they couldn't stay forever in one place.
Mt. Angel Abbey was different, Brandon thought. In many ways it actually reminded him of their former home back east in Rikers Island in terms of stability and pattern of living...the complete opposite of Rikers' Island, so much so that it felt unnerving to some of the newer Scouts who didn't know about the group's history back east. At least the gang's still here, he mused, smiling as he saw many of the old crew from before the Great Panic - Knoxville, England, Pontius, Pastrana, Roner, Street Bike Tommy, McGehey, Van Vugt - all of whom were now part oft he Scouts' LAV crews. All of them were vehicle commanders - including McGehey, which kinda scared him a little bit.
That'd been an adventure all its' own, he mused once more, from when they'd spent almost a year at the former Joint Base Ft. Worth; indeed, some of the survivors from that group were part of their group now...they taught us well and we taught them how to live once again.
Sitting up straight, he saw some more of the Scouts' enter the church, taking seats where they could. It was weird, this many of us here in a place of worship, he mused; if he had to hazard a guess, he figured less than a third of their group were big on religion, but seven-plus years of trying to survive in a world out to kill you could change one's opinion of that very quickly. And how could they claim to be good men and women when the survivors of the Abbey had far less training than they did and had survived just as long?
"Service start yet?" he heard someone ask. He glanced over; it was their leader, Tamara, who had asked. For a very brief moment Brandon registered shock on his face; he knew she was very spiritual but other than that, he didn't think she was religious at all. Knowing you have a son to watch over changes that in a hurry, he thought, as he made room for her, Sarah - Tam's twin sibling, with a pair of 3yo daughters to watch over - and several others. "Surprised to see you here, boss," Brandon asked. "Before you ask, perimeter's secure and we're continuing to monitor that radio traffic off to the west along the coast....
“The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut.” - ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Mt. Angel Abbey Church
As was his habit in the weeks since the Scouts' arrival in central Oregon, Brandon sat in one of the pews inside the Mt. Abbey Church, deep in thought. Slung over his shoulder was his AR-15; at his hip were both his Glock 19 and trench knife but no one noticed those things, not in the post-apocalyptic world they had inhabited for over seven years now.
Leaning on his elbows, he thought about the Scouts' travels up from central California to central Oregon; they hadn't left because of any latent hostility. Far from it; they had left the Free City of San Francisco's territory on amicable grounds but at heart, everyone knew they couldn't stay forever in one place.
Mt. Angel Abbey was different, Brandon thought. In many ways it actually reminded him of their former home back east in Rikers Island in terms of stability and pattern of living...the complete opposite of Rikers' Island, so much so that it felt unnerving to some of the newer Scouts who didn't know about the group's history back east. At least the gang's still here, he mused, smiling as he saw many of the old crew from before the Great Panic - Knoxville, England, Pontius, Pastrana, Roner, Street Bike Tommy, McGehey, Van Vugt - all of whom were now part oft he Scouts' LAV crews. All of them were vehicle commanders - including McGehey, which kinda scared him a little bit.
That'd been an adventure all its' own, he mused once more, from when they'd spent almost a year at the former Joint Base Ft. Worth; indeed, some of the survivors from that group were part of their group now...they taught us well and we taught them how to live once again.
Sitting up straight, he saw some more of the Scouts' enter the church, taking seats where they could. It was weird, this many of us here in a place of worship, he mused; if he had to hazard a guess, he figured less than a third of their group were big on religion, but seven-plus years of trying to survive in a world out to kill you could change one's opinion of that very quickly. And how could they claim to be good men and women when the survivors of the Abbey had far less training than they did and had survived just as long?
"Service start yet?" he heard someone ask. He glanced over; it was their leader, Tamara, who had asked. For a very brief moment Brandon registered shock on his face; he knew she was very spiritual but other than that, he didn't think she was religious at all. Knowing you have a son to watch over changes that in a hurry, he thought, as he made room for her, Sarah - Tam's twin sibling, with a pair of 3yo daughters to watch over - and several others. "Surprised to see you here, boss," Brandon asked. "Before you ask, perimeter's secure and we're continuing to monitor that radio traffic off to the west along the coast....
“The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut.” - ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King