Post a Comment On: Fawcett Avenue Conscripts

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"Dark Future - The Game of Highway Warriors"

Mal Hawkins was a happy man. The president of the Kansas City Vintage Sports Car Club and Beer-Drinking Society was at the wheel of his 1965 Shelby GT350 with an open road ahead and his club-mates behind. They were just returning from a run into the deep countryside, well outside the Policed Zone, to pick up an old Dodge A100, a perfect parts hauler and tow vehicle for the club. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday in August, the weather was perfect and the tarmac smooth. Mal was thinking about a cold beer at the clubhouse when his radio crackled to life. It was the voice of Jack Johnson - tail-end Charlie in his vintage Datsun 510 racer. You can never be too careful outside the PeeZee and Jack had two of the sharpest eyes in the club.

"Mal, this is Jack. We got multiple contacts coming up from behind, looks like a black-and-white, another car and a couple donor-cycles."

Mal flicked on his throat mic. "Roger that, Jack. Group, toggle on and fire 'em up, we have company." None of the club were currently Sanctioned Ops but most were ex-military or private sector security and knew what they were doing. Retired guys who like to have some fun with cars outside the PeeZee. Heavily armed, too - you had to be, and the rules on self-defence were somewhat... lax out here.

The radio crackled again. A gravelly voice spoke through the static. "Hey fruitcakes. This is Sergeant Shiv of the Highway Just-us Department. And like we say, 'there's no justice, there just us.' Heh. Pull those heaps over and pay the toll. It's not alot - just yer worthless lives!"

The radio static was cut by screams and the sound of automatic gunfire...

See you at the usual place at the usual time...