Most of the town is already in the town square, blockaded in by the rest of the team--all with their faces covered, all with guns drawn, all silent except to cut off escape routes as people jostle into each other.
Photo is off on the front porch of the general store, camera in hand and eyes wide. She has a bandana over her face, but nothing else to obscure her identity.
Lucinda is bringing the last ones in--a couple farmhands, and elderly man who leans so heavily on his cane it’s a wonder he can move at all, and a farmer, who had fired off one round from his varmint rifle before Lucinda had tackled him to the floor, pinned him with a knee to the groin and a hand on his throat, dragged him back to his feet with a machete at his neck and marched him in front of his farmhands.
That makes everyone, as far as they can tell.
She sends Drummer out with scraps of pre-war clothing and her box of matches, directs her to the driest fields. In the middle of the crowd, someone yells, shushed by the people around her.
Lucinda hops up on top of a stack of boxes Runner and Tooth assembled into something like a platform.
“We’ll be running a lottery!” she calls out over the crowd. “Everyone over sixteen, to that side of the square,” she points to her left. “Everyone under sixteen, that way.” She points to her right.
People begin to sort out, but a handful of families linger in the middle, parents clinging to children. The boy with two brothers hugs both of them, casts a nervous glance up at Lucinda, doesn’t move even as the crowd around him thins.
“I have a baby!” the woman whose mother put up a fight calls. “She can’t live without me.”
“Hand her to him,” Lucinda picks someone at random, points at the boy---maybe twelve--who stands at the front of the under-sixteen side. “He’ll hold her until we’re done here.”
“But I don’t--” the woman starts, and the blood drains from her face as she meets Lucinda’s eyes, as Lucinda’s face fails to even twitch. She steps across the gap, and the boy comes up to her, holds out his arms. She arranges him, passes the baby down, presses her palm to the top of the baby’s head.
Next to the general store, Dredge’s baby sets up a wail. Another follows suit, and then a toddler begins to cry.
“Twist, how many adults do we have?” Lucinda calls to Twist, who pauses a moment, taps out her fingers.
“We have sixty, even, ma’am.”
“Burn, how many dice do you have?”
“Two, ma’am,” Burn replies.
“Count the adults into ten groups of six, and then bring the dice to me.”
“Yes ma’am,” goes the soft chorus, and with some shuffling, Dredge starts pointing people around. Drummer comes trotting back, a column of smoke rising from the fields in her direction, and she joins Dredge.
The crowd is silent, except for the crying babies.
Lucinda keeps her gun poised.
Burn brings the dice up, and Drummer counts out the groups--one, two, three, up to ten.
Lucinda rolls the dice, studies the numbers for a moment, looks to the groups of people huddled together, counts. Looks down at the dice again.
“Are your dice loaded, Burn?” she asks, voice low.
“All roll the same dice, doesn’t do me good to load the dice if everyone rolls the same,” Burn replies, fiddles with the fraying button cover of her heavy canvas jacket.
Lucinda looks back at the huddled townspeople, meets the old woman’s eyes.
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (36a/?)
Most of the town is already in the town square, blockaded in by the rest of the team--all with their faces covered, all with guns drawn, all silent except to cut off escape routes as people jostle into each other.
Photo is off on the front porch of the general store, camera in hand and eyes wide. She has a bandana over her face, but nothing else to obscure her identity.
Lucinda is bringing the last ones in--a couple farmhands, and elderly man who leans so heavily on his cane it’s a wonder he can move at all, and a farmer, who had fired off one round from his varmint rifle before Lucinda had tackled him to the floor, pinned him with a knee to the groin and a hand on his throat, dragged him back to his feet with a machete at his neck and marched him in front of his farmhands.
That makes everyone, as far as they can tell.
She sends Drummer out with scraps of pre-war clothing and her box of matches, directs her to the driest fields. In the middle of the crowd, someone yells, shushed by the people around her.
Lucinda hops up on top of a stack of boxes Runner and Tooth assembled into something like a platform.
“We’ll be running a lottery!” she calls out over the crowd. “Everyone over sixteen, to that side of the square,” she points to her left. “Everyone under sixteen, that way.” She points to her right.
People begin to sort out, but a handful of families linger in the middle, parents clinging to children. The boy with two brothers hugs both of them, casts a nervous glance up at Lucinda, doesn’t move even as the crowd around him thins.
“I have a baby!” the woman whose mother put up a fight calls. “She can’t live without me.”
“Hand her to him,” Lucinda picks someone at random, points at the boy---maybe twelve--who stands at the front of the under-sixteen side. “He’ll hold her until we’re done here.”
“But I don’t--” the woman starts, and the blood drains from her face as she meets Lucinda’s eyes, as Lucinda’s face fails to even twitch. She steps across the gap, and the boy comes up to her, holds out his arms. She arranges him, passes the baby down, presses her palm to the top of the baby’s head.
Next to the general store, Dredge’s baby sets up a wail. Another follows suit, and then a toddler begins to cry.
“Twist, how many adults do we have?” Lucinda calls to Twist, who pauses a moment, taps out her fingers.
“We have sixty, even, ma’am.”
“Burn, how many dice do you have?”
“Two, ma’am,” Burn replies.
“Count the adults into ten groups of six, and then bring the dice to me.”
“Yes ma’am,” goes the soft chorus, and with some shuffling, Dredge starts pointing people around. Drummer comes trotting back, a column of smoke rising from the fields in her direction, and she joins Dredge.
The crowd is silent, except for the crying babies.
Lucinda keeps her gun poised.
Burn brings the dice up, and Drummer counts out the groups--one, two, three, up to ten.
Lucinda rolls the dice, studies the numbers for a moment, looks to the groups of people huddled together, counts. Looks down at the dice again.
“Are your dice loaded, Burn?” she asks, voice low.
“All roll the same dice, doesn’t do me good to load the dice if everyone rolls the same,” Burn replies, fiddles with the fraying button cover of her heavy canvas jacket.
Lucinda looks back at the huddled townspeople, meets the old woman’s eyes.