First Impressions Written by Andrew Williams, February 2009 Based on the settings and events of Darkwind: War On Wheels (www.dark-wind.com) --- Peggy Rodriguez checked her watch. Time was less important nowadays than it had been before the apocalypse, but wearing a watch had become habit. It was just after midnight. In the distance, growing ever nearer, she could see the lights of the truckstop. Her father looked at her disapprovingly. "First impressions, Peggy. Always important." She blinked, and the image was gone. Another hallucination - she'd been seeing things for the last two days. The long walk, the radiation sickness and her ever growing thirst were probably all factors. The thick yellow gloop in the atmosphere back along the trail probably hadn't helped. She dreaded to think what it had done to her lungs, but if she didn't get to shelter it wouldn't even matter. She remembered her father in his suit, looking every inch the high flying businessman. She had only been a little girl then, and it had been some time before she was old enough to understand about job interviews. Daddy went off like a high flying businessman in order to get a job at a factory, where he'd eventually go to work and come home again dressed in slightly greasy overalls. But you couldn't go like that to interviews. Oh no. Because first impressions counted. Job interviews now were very different. Tailored suits were in the past and references were almost non-existent - you got a job in a gang because the gang leader liked the look of you. Peggy hoped Dewey had hired her for her skills rather than her physical attributes but with Dewey you just couldn't tell. He never said much more than he absolutely had to. She couldn't bear to think about how she'd tell him about this debacle - those awkward silences that she just had to fill, hating herself for the things she was saying just to fill that void. She took some comfort in the vast distance between them. It would be a long time before Dewey Swink found his way down here from Somerset. First impressions... when she'd left Gateway, her and her silent teammate were travelling in a Mercenary. Those cars were supposed to be tough, and fast enough to leave pursuers standing. On a racetrack, perhaps they were. The road from Gateway had been hideous. When five vehicles came up from behind and they gunned the accelerator, they'd had nowhere to go - the road was little more than a dark smudge amongst the dark rocks. One route seemed to disappear into yellow smog and the other headed up into the hills - with no time to stop and consider, she'd turned into the hills. That had probably been the first disaster. Even the Merc's offroad tyres couldn't cope with the terrain and had been severely damaged. One had blown entirely. They got away, perhaps because the enemy weren't stupid enough to follow. Her teammate, a second level negotiator yet to negotiate a single successful truce, walked on in silence. She didn't have a lot of choice - a round from their second encounter in an already crippled car had shattered her jaw. Peggy could see she was trying not to show the pain she was in and made no effort to reassure her. The approaching lights would do far more to reassure than any empty promises Peggy could offer. That second encounter had reduced their battered transport into scrap metal and left them with a long walk. Peggy heard a scittering noise to her right and checked her rifle was still on her shoulder. They'd already encountered one of the giant bugs - a lone opportunist hoping for easy meat and finding two desperate and heavily armed humans instead - but it seemed the creatures had learned their lesson. They did not approach. The two wanderers were suddenly lit up by a bright light. An amplified voice boomed out. "Halt! Who goes there?" "Peggy Rodriguez," she responded. "We represent the Bytten Squad, come down from Gateway." There was a moment's pause while the booming voice conferred with its fellows. "Alright, come on in. Welcome to Badlands." First impressions, mused Peggy. It would have been better to arrive in some style rather than as two weary beggars on the road, but that's the thing about first impressions. You can always create a second when you've got there. "Right," she croaked, her throat dry. "Which way to the bar? I think we need a drink."