The thick clouds to the east of Zeke’s Hilltop Saloon and General Store were swollen with the angry red lightning of a rad storm about to burst free and lash the hard packed dirt and sun blasted asphalt of the wasteland the old codger called home. Zeke stood under his porch roof and watched the storm clouds roll north. They began to lightened up with red, green and yellow flashes.

The storm was about to break free soon but thankfully it was going to pass him by.

“I got lucky there”, he said.

He turned his attention to the west as the whine of motorcycle power plants came out of the desert. Two bikes were coming in fast from two different directions. Zeke recognized the rickety motorcycles and the grubby looking riders. He shook his head and put his hand on the big pistol on his hip.

“What do these two idiots want? I swear one of these days I’ll have to shoot them just to get a little peace and quiet.”

Continue reading “Storm Clouds Forming” →

Holler was watching Zeke’s eyes droop. The old codger was nearly asleep on his stool behind the long counter that also served as the store’s bar. Behind him on the wall were dozens of mismatched bottles all full of his patented wasteland whiskey. That wasn’t what Holler has his sights set on today though. He glanced over to where his brother and partner in crime was lurking in a corner of the store.

Hoot stood ready at the pile of unsorted goods Zeke had traded off a new group of settlers who came in last week. The group had arrived in an 18 wheeler pursued by not one but two motorcycle gangs. According to Zeke’s account the fight had been surprisingly short. The trailer of the battered 18 wheeler had a pop up turret equipped with a grenade launcher and many windows slits from those inside fired AV rifles.

Continue reading “Three Cars Enter! One Car Leaves!” →

Old Zeke left the relatively cool interior of The Hilltop Saloon and General Store and settled his weary body into a chair in the shade of the porch. He wouldn’t normally be outside this time of day, but he had heard survivors arriving in the dusty depression below. He didn’t dare step off the porch though. With the ozone layer mostly gone the Arizona sun blazed down far too hot for an old man.

The rad dust winds ain’t too bad today though, he noted, scratching his sun spotted mostly bare scalp. What little there was of his hair was dry and brittle and gray. A wisp of it came out and floated away on the wind.

Continue reading “Just Another Day In The Apocalyptic Wasteland” →