forbidden (illicitus) wrote in the_colony, @ 2010-07-16 06:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | thomas galloway, ~ series: archive |
Tom: Weeks 11-17
Characters: Scott Crosse, Andrew Kirke, Tom Galloway (& Rollo)
Location: On the road
Summary: Continued from here, the guys meet Scott for the first time and check him out.
Date: Some time in week 12.
Rating: PG-13 for mild adult language.
It wasn’t hard to find Scott on the waves the next day, and from there he gave the other man directions to the Winco just off the interstate. It would be a good 30 minute wait for him to get to town, which gave them time enough to scope out the area and make sure there wasn’t anyone watching them. Most of the cars were abandoned shells, parts stolen off of them and windows broken in order to get inside. It was all very surreal. He’d seen stuff like that in Vegas, but seeing it even out here in a smaller area made him leery.
Tom was satisfied at the location and had positioned their ride for a quick getaway if it became necessary. Once everything had been checked out there was nothing more to do but wait. He set his carbine on the hood of a burned out SUV he’d chosen as his firing position if things went to shit. The engine block would do a good job of stopping bullets and the vehicle itself would do a nice job of blocking the view of any would be shooters.
Rollo was securely leashed at his side, Tom didn’t want the dog rushing out to lick the stranger to death. Even if the guy was on the level he might get the wrong idea at a the lab-mix charging out after him.
The prospect of actually getting in contact with human beings was beyond exciting for Scott. He’d been alone for a while now, and with the exception of a few run-ins with some bad little crowds, he’d managed to maintain almost perfect isolation, though, not willingly. Scott was a social creature, which was easy to tell based on his profession alone. He liked people, loved helping them, so his conversation with “Captain Kirke” had been a godsend in his little world. Of course, he wasn’t naive to the reality that this could be a setup. Scott wasn’t going to lie on a radio, he put everything on the life at face value with no gimmicks in hopes that others would just view him as an honest man from the get-go, and this honesty thing was a big risk he continuously took, including now.
He had been sleeping in the rig when the CB radio went off, it took him a few moments to shake the slumber from his body, but he answered his new friend and agreed to meet up. His own map was a bit off, but he could see the general location they were looking at. The ambulance itself was down to half a tank, so there would be plenty of fuel to get part of the way there. He would abandon his leverage off of the roadway and walk the two miles to the meeting spot.
Had this been a trap, well, he’d make them find his rig.
The walk wasn’t a difficult one for Scott, and eventually he would reach the parking lot, completely exposed to the elements and any surprises that may be waiting amidst the broken cars and trash that littered the pavement. He was wearing the same thing he’d been wearing since he’d left New York: shorts underneath his turnout pants which were black with yellow reflection bands around the ankles, knees and sides, along with his FDNY shirt. Along his shoulder, he had three canteens; one full, two empty, hoping to pick up some more water if any had been available nearby, and a black backpack that was slung over the other shoulder (filled with a few basic medical supplies, but, most importantly, a sterile OBGYN kit. Had to prove he had this stuff, right?). “Hello?”
Drew smiled in greeting, raising a hand and waving. “Bloodbox man!”
Spinning towards the sound of the now-familiar voice, Scott was able to put a face to Mr. Kirke. “Cap’n,” he said softly, though loud enough to pass over the distance between the two of them. From the radio talks, it was obvious there was a southern accent, but it seemed to come out more when radio waves weren’t scrambling the sound bits a part. He did his best to stand there and look helpless (even though he was), because there was still that fleeting thought of ‘ambush’ in the back of his mind. Both hands were lifted so he could offer Kirke a visual that he had no weapons in hand. “Nice to see you. I appreciate you invitin’ me out.”
“‘course,” Drew answered, nodding. He waited until the man was closer before holding his hand out in the familiar bump. “Call me Drew. This is Tom,” he indicated the other man with a knock of his head backward.
Tom had kept the man in his gunsights for most of the time since he’d been visible, with occasional looks around the area to make sure he really was on his own. If this was a trap, it was a damned good one since he couldn’t spot anyone else. Satisfied, he raised the weapon to point skyward and flicked the safety to the ‘on’ position. “Mornin’,” he relaxed somewhat, but his expression was still a watchful one.
Rollo whined at his side and he looked at his dog. “How are you with dogs? Rollo here is dyin’ for a new face to lick.”
Trap or no trap, it was difficult for Scott to remember to be cautious. Captain Drew seemed like a nice enough guy, and they had already established some rapport. The man with the gun, however, well, he was one to draw that cautious attitude back. Still trying to remain polite, he reached out for Drew’s hand and gave it a firm bump. “Pleasure to meet you, Drew,” he said, giving a nod over to the man with the gun, “Tom.” Letting his arm drop down to hang on one of the canteens, he looked over to the dog and smiled while offering his own name, “I’m Scott. And I could go for some furry companionship!”
Taking off the backpack and dropping the canteens, he squatted down to his knees and offered a friendly, gathering wave towards the dog. “Had one as a kid, a bloodhound. Boy she howled all day long at the ‘coons and rabbits,” he said, having no problem being friendly to all and trying to ease out of the ice-breaking stage.
“Good to know.” Tom put the carbine back on the SUV hood and reached down to let a whining Rollo off his leash. The dog raced over to where Scott knelt waiting and proceeded to try and lick his new friend to death, tail wagging furiously.
“Sorry for the welcome, but you can’t be too cautious these days.” Tom observed as the dog happily interacted with the newcomer. “He’s harmless, I tried training him as a guard dog but all he wants to do is make friends. Worse traits you could have in a dog I suppose.”
“Some dogs just don’t ‘ave it in ‘em to be heartless killers,” Scott commented softly while letting the dog have its fun, letting his hands roam through the fur and playfully pet the dog. It was, perhaps, the most fun he’d had in quite some time. How fortunate it must be to have this creature with you at all times. “You know, even in the worst of times, the dog is the greatest hero, saving man every time.” A few more pats and laughs with the dog and Scott would stand upright to re-address the actual humans.
“Oh! I brought stuff for you guys!” Leaning back down, he scooping up the backpack and unzipped it, handing it over to the tougher looking fellow since he understood that earning his trust would be a bit more difficult than strengthening Drew’s. “There’s some aspirin, but don’t use it for headaches, it’s for chest pain, heart attack stuff, blood thinner and all. And there’s some bandages and gauze and alcohol wipes, and a bottle of iodine, but, careful with that, some people have unknown allergies to it, so, just dab a little on at a time and wait’n’see. And this is for that pregnant lady you said you had,” he said, reaching in and pulling out a box. “Don’t open it ‘til she’s popping the kid out. Its sterile, every tool in here is sterile, so you don’t want to dirty that up.”
Drew watched in awe and surprise as Scott unpacked the gear and explained what everything was. When he finally finished Drew shook his head, his brow knitted in concern. “Hey, we don’t wanna just take your stuff. We don’t work like that. And hell, I’d be anxious to use it without doing something wrong.”
Tom looked over at Drew as Rollo made his way back, tail still wagging back and forth. He reached down to scratch the dog behind his ears, mildly annoyed that Drew had blabbed about specific members of their group. Petting his dog let him collect his thoughts and cool down a bit so he wouldn’t say something he might regret later.
“We appreciate the supplies, Scott. If you want some food or water in return we could spare a little.” The stash they’d found the other day would still leave them with plenty even if they gave the man a few days worth. “NYFD huh?” He gestured to the turnout pants and t-shirt. “How long were you on the force?”
“Water would be great, thank you.” Scott folded his arms across his chest, more out of nervous habit than anything else. “There’s enough food out in the wilderness to get by and plenty of ways to make fires, thankfully,” he said with a hearty laugh, which may have seemed out of place, but he had a momentary memory slip through his mind of hunting.
“With New York? Only two months. It was a temporary assignment when the sickness was getting real bad... I’m from Kentucky.” A little smile and shrug was offered. “Otherwise, been working there for about three years now? What about you two? You mentioned Vegas, earlier, Drew, but did you guys come from another state?”
“It was kind of a mixed bag,” Drew answered. “Least, that’s what I came to understand.”
“Missouri for me originally, but I’m retired army so I’ve been all over the place. Last ten years or so was mostly down in Georgia, Fort Benning, when we weren’t deployed to one godforsaken sandbox or another. Rollo here’s a proud former inmate of the Vegas pound, I got him when he was a pup about a year ago.”
“Much respect, Sir,” a polite nod of gratitude was given to the now-known army vet. Uniform jobs had all sorts of unspoken respect and even some obligations; even if Scott wasn’t military, and Tom wasn’t fire, it really was an obligation to look out for the other. “Now, I don’t mean to speed any process or come off rude, but are you folks opening gates to outsiders? I’ve been wandering for a while, but it seems there’s more gangs than plain ol’ settlements. Not sure how much longer it’ll be before I get outnumbered, you know?”
At this, Drew looked over at Tom. He knew the man was only a few weeks older to the survivor’s group than he was, but with Alice and Jed out of sorts, Tom had stepped in to fill the space they left open. He didn’t necessarily claim to be in charge, but Drew had already made it apparent with the older man how he felt about the medic.
Tom rubbed his jaw and thought it over. He might have stepped in to try and keep everything from collapsing, but adding a new member to the group without consulting the others might be going too far. Scott seemed harmless enough, but that’s what people had thought about Jared too.
“Aint’ up to us alone,” he said at last, “but we can certainly put in a good word. You being a trained medical responder will go a long way. Thing is,” here it was time to put everything on the table, “we had a plant in our ranks when we were back in Vegas. Lost a lot of supplies and our doctor got killed. The person responsible was taken out into the desert and got a bullet between the eyes. People are a bit skittish about strangers right now, you understand. We’ll talk to the rest of the group and if they agree, you’re in.”
Scott nodded, a little defeated internally, but, he really did understand. This wasn’t like joining a 16” softball league. This was a life or death situation, a practically post-apocalyptic, orderless world. People were out to survive and guards were up and built tough. If he had to wait a few days while the group mulled it over, then he would. “Take as much time you folks need. I’m just a few miles up road right now, and you know which channel to find me on the CB.” As if a second though (and perhaps, another little push for having a great word put in for himself), “almost forgot...” Digging into one of the pockets on his pants, he pulled out a baggy of hemostatic patches and some neosporin, holding it out to Drew. “I’m no surgeon, and no idea how your buddy’s doing with that gun wound, but if its not too big and still bleeding, use this. Make sure to wear gloves. Think of it as the strongest super glue you’ve ever known, it’ll seal the wound and promote natural healing. Neosporin’s for infection control.”
“I don’t think he’s bleeding anymore,” Drew said as he took them, still feeling a bit anxious to just take things from anyone. It felt too much like taking advantage of hospitality, and he didn’t want Scott or anyone to feel that way about them. “We’ll be sure to keep them handy, though. In case it gets worse.” He paused a moment, looking over at Tom briefly but still speaking to Scott. “The camp’s gonna be moving toward our next spot soon, and they’ll be coming through this way. Maybe we could all meet in-transit?”
Tom had nodded at the question. “I don’t think you’ll have a long wait, Scott, but I’d rather give the others a head’s up and a chance to have their say instead of just bringing you in and tellin’ folks how it’s gonna be. Unless somebody has a good reason not to have you join us you could be with the group by suppertime. I’ll need your full name and whereabouts in Kentucky you were from before you went to New York, but I doubt anybody’ll have something bad to say about you.” Everyone was a stranger these days unless you had the one in a million lucky break that Drew had gotten with his woman finding him.
What was the point in hoarding and hauling supplies if no one was going to use them? He smiled at Drew and nodded, “Yeah, that sounds like it’d work. Gives your crew a chance to think. Like I said, I’m just a few miles up. A bit off road right now, but there’s a gas station just up the road, so I’ll hang around there if you want.” Gaze shifted from Drew to Tom, listening to what the vet had to say, nodding in understanding. “I got my IDs and everything if you want a look,” he offered, once again reaching around into one of the pockets and pulling out his wallet. A little flick of the wrist and the leather flap would open, a state license with his picture and name of Scott D. Cross printed on it. “Can’t keep that, but I promise I am who I say I am,” he said with a grin, handing the wallet over. “Lived in Lexington, KY for a large chunk of my life. Not much to do there, but plenty of farmers getting injured, so work was plentiful.”
Tom peered at the license and committed the information to memory. “Thanks, appreciate it.” So far Scott was doing everything right. Hopefully the others wouldn’t have a problem with bringing him in, he’d argue strongly for them to allow the paramedic to join up if it came to that.
He eyed the younger man’s canteens. “I’ve got a jug of water with us, you can go ahead and fill up the empties you’ve got with you before you go. We’ll be in touch soon.”
Even as Tom said it, Drew went back to get said jug and bring it out for the medic.
Nodding, Scott followed over with Drew and gladly filled up his two empty canteens. “Thanks, only had two of these guys left, and it hasn’t rained lately, so I was starting to get worried.” Even with worry, there was still a smile on Scott’s face. Things seemed to be moving for the better, and that’s the way Scott wanted things go. “Do you guys need anything else? I’ve got some dry food and fresh meat if you’d like. Rice really goes a long way!” What he’d do for a cold brew and a greasy cheeseburger instead, though. “Thanks for arranging this, Drew, I owe you one, regardless of the outcome. If you’re bored, I’ll be on the radio later tonight. Its been mostly dead air anyways.”
Drew grinned instantly. “We’ll play tic-tac-toe or something,” he joked, this time extending his hand out for an open-palmed handshake. “We’ve got supplies enough for now, but thanks for the offer. Maybe we can share it when you join the crew.”
Tom had slung his carbine over his shoulder in the interim, and held Rollo’s leash in his left hand while he offered his right to Scott as well once he’d finished shaking Drew’s hand. “See you soon Scott, take care of yourself out there.”