<span style="font-weight: bold">Then</span><br/><br/>Mariel looks at the wreck of the train that pulls into the station. This one is a bit more intact than the last three. Great. Hale must have beefed up his security like she insisted he do months ago. Or maybe they just got lucky this time. Whatever. It's back to the grinder and welding torch again...<br/><br/>At least this group pays well. Not like those yokels out east who see an engineer and assume they'll work for free. There, it seems like all one needs to get by is a gun and a sociopathic attitude. At least here, they recognize talent and pay accordingly.<br/><br/>Well, almost. Some of the people in this organization don't seem to know a spanner from a brick. The way half of these machines were assembled, you'd think Hale was employing a bunch of mental patients working out their aggression with art therapy. Sure, the trains look menacing enough. But that's no deterrent for bandits. Her job is to make those embellishments actually have a purpose.<br/><br/>The people disembarking from the train look like the usual sort: scientists, laborers, and probably a dozen more engineers to argue with. But then two men disembark from the train and get immediately stopped by security, and her interest is suddenly piqued. They're roughly the same height and build, and probably around the same age. One is a bit rougher around the edges, with clothing that looks like a desert trapper or someone who spends most of his time in the wild. The other is dressed in street clothes, obviously from civilization somewhere. Both are conspicuously armed and both carry themselves like men who are accustomed to violence. They seem unfazed as the guards escort them away, leaving her to focus on her work instead.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Now</span><br/><br/>Bullet holes have riddled everything. Broken glass is everywhere. A few times she's had to duck to avoid hanging wires or shrapnel. But the worst part is the bodies. No one had the foresight to dump them on the tracks, and so the back cars are littered with bullet-riddled corpses. Some of them are passengers, which is explainable. Got to give those people a good Christian burial, after all. But the raiders? Why on earth would they waste their time burying a bunch of bloodthirsty savages?<br/><br/>Unless someone didn't want the other raiders to loot the corpses. Smart.<br/><br/>Oh well. They'll probably just burn them...<br/><br/>Suddenly, she notices something around one of the bandits' necks. Then she notices their weapons and parts of their armor. It doesn't take long for her to put two and two together.<br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“We help you, we're gonna need more than the two of us.”</span>As the words leave Tyler's lips, the door behind them swings open. The guards outside try to hold Mariel back, but she shoves her way past them and speaks to Hale directly:<span style="color: pink">“I know where these bandits are coming from!”</span><br/><br/>Tyler and Deckard turn to regard the woman. She's full-figured, but fit. Her tawny skin is darkened by engine grease and her work boots are untied. She is quite pretty, but the severity of her expression is almost off-putting. Hale clears his throat and waves for the guards to let her forward.<span style="color: orange">“Gentlemen, this is our chief engineer, Mariel Chamberland. Mariel, what were you talking about just now?”</span><br/><br/>Walking over to Hale's desk, she sets a pair of dog tags down in front of them.<span style="color: pink">“I found these on one of their bodies. Then I noticed the hardware they're packing and thought about where the train keeps getting hit. They're operating out of North Platte. Think about it: it gives them a clear line to the railroad and we wouldn't suspect them because the National Guard base was hit during the war. Everyone assumes that whole place is a dead zone.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler bobs his head in agreement.<span style="color: #336666">“That actually makes sense...”</span><br/><br/>Hale arches a brow and looks at Mariel.<span style="color: orange">“That's quite a hunch, Mariel...”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: pink">“If I'm wrong, then we go there and no one is around. But if I'm right...”</span><br/><br/>Deckard shrugs.<span style="color: #bf0040">“Fuck it. I'm game.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler, on the other hand, looks unsure.<span style="color: #336666">“Do you know the area?”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: pink">“I do.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“And do you have any combat experience?”</span>Tyler asks.<br/><br/><span style="color: pink">“I know how to use a gun, yes.”</span><br/><br/>Deckard shakes his head.<span style="color: #bf0040">“No offense, lady, but I'm in no mood to babysit after the train ride I just had. These bandits don't fuck around. You'll probably get yourself killed out there. Or worse, you'll get <span style="font-style: italic">me</span> killed.”</span><br/><br/>Tyler interjects.<span style="color: #336666">“He's got a point, Ms. Chamberland. I'd rather not be responsible for you getting hurt out there.”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: pink">“I can take care of myself.”</span><br/><br/>Hale waves his hands and shakes his head at the same time.<span style="color: orange">“All right, enough. There's no sense in arguing about this now anyway. Let's all get some rest, sleep on it, and come back to this fresh in the morning. Gentlemen, I'll have quarters made up for you. Grab a shower and a hot meal on us tonight. Mariel, I'll speak with you later.”</span>