Simlog #37, recorded by Babsie, Tyrell Office
“It’s early morning. I got a call of The Working Girls, Roger. My friends from the Kid’s Corner. They wanna check out that illegal trailer park at that Willow Run Golf complex. I post you the coordinates.”
“We meet at Roadblocks and I’m checking my stuff. I hope it’s just a false alarm and we just find some fuckin’ rapists and beat the shit outa them. Those are the guys that raped Nebraska. Have to go!”
After the routine of heaving down her scooter she’s driving through a foggy Seattle. The streets at the time are almost empty. The morning rush hour is over, the nightcrawlers haven’t made it out of their beds, most shops on the lanes through Tourist Ville are almost empty. Some junkie whores try to sell early for getting off their monkey, but aren’t too lucky at this time. The fog is thick and the air is stinking of the smoke of bad heating systems or broken exhaust pipes. The light is dim and the sun can’t make it through the thick layers of clouds. At least it isn’t raining.
The spam zones of Tourist Ville are putting up their invites, their gratis drinks and their discount prices for lap dances, until she flips up her tiny firewall to block most of them out. It’s a nasty day, but her nice new Bundeswehr parka is keeping her warm and dry, just her knees start to get wet and cold after a while.
Finally she’s curving into the backyard of Roadblocks and hammers on the roller shutter. Zoé is opening it. “Hey, Babs, we’re almost ready.” Nebraska is proving that she’s capable to handle that motorcycle chain and hitting like mad on one of the concrete piers that keep that cracked ceiling of that garage above. “See?!”, she flashes to the sceptical looking male in his end teens. “I’m fucking good at that!” In the background she spots the cars she found yesterday and an old Americar is on the hoist, in a very bright fire-red with a lot of chrome on it. Must be one of the 2050ths oldtimers which still had those fins that nobody wants anymore today.
Zoé is introducing her. “Babsie, this is Fog, he’s cool. Over there the silent one that’s the one that fucked little Nebraska tonight.” “Nebraska?!” “Yeah, we tried that new drrr…” “Please, spare me stories about how much fun you had using, okay?” She sounds hurt, fearful and a bit upset. “I’m clean!” “Yeah, sorry, Babs. I know. It was just so awesome. We have new friends. Fog over there who’s teaching Nebraska to beat up her violators is magic, you know?” The two girls started to lean at the wall, Babsie offered a nic. “I stopped smoking. Bad for the complexion.” “Okaaay. And that one over there? That’s making out with Wily?” “That’s Zach. He’s a technomancer.” “A what?!” “Com’on I introduce you, he’s cool.” “Hey Zach! This is Babsie. Another one of our gang.” “Wily, you look like shit. What happened to you?” “Had a good time, Babs”, she’s smiling like a cat and an empty goldfish bowl.
“So. Are we ready?” Babsie is a bit nervous and she can see the traces of massive drug abuse in the faces of her friends, in the dark lines under their eyes and the blank looks. “Where’d you go?” “Mad Woman”, Wily cheers. “Oh”, Babsie nods. “I understand.” “Yeah, it was so great!” She closes her eyes and gulps. “Yeah, right. So, how we do it?”
Wily lays out the plan. “We drive in from west, over the old entry and ruin of the club house. Then we follow this road”, she shows it on her commlink, “and there are the shitheads that raped Nebraska.” “We’ll snuff their pity asses!”, Nebraska emphasizes. “I’d like to get paid by my employers. It would be nice if I could give them something. A little who done it. But are you sure those two snuffed Fairy Fay and Annie?” “Sure”, Nebraska crosses her arms. “Yeah, they have done it. Alone for that thing they did to Nebraska, they had it coming their way”, Wily approves. “I guess we first take a look, do we?” Babsie is looking into all faces.
“Yeah, sure”, Nebraska waves off and hits the floor with her new toy, the motor cycle chain. “But if they snuffed Fairy Fay, they’re toast”, Wily says.
They drive off the yard with their electric scooters. All but Babsie riding two on one ride. The nearer they come to that wasted golf course the more rebellious her stomach becomes. She’s whispering: “I have a fucking bad feeling about this, Roger. And if that are really some bad ass motherfuckers, will they kill half of us before we can run?”
The bikes are riding silent over the wet and muddy grounds of the field. Everyone is fighting with their ride to keep them going on the ground but Fog and Zoé. Their electric Yamaha Growler is built for such underground and Fog is looking like a good rider. The fog is dampening the few sounds the bikes make, so they finally arrive.
They stop at a distance where the fog is still providing cover to take a look. “It’s the second on the left, the blue one”, Nebraska whispers. There are some trees and bushes between them and the camp; a couple of trailers around something in the middle. It is silent like on a graveyard, left behind other trailers, where kids were sitting or silently playing to blow up frogs with straws. One of the cheap games left to play for those kids.
In the wasted waters around that halve island there are rusty wrecks of cars. An electric golf cart that has been taken over by something green from out of the waters, something like a tentacle monster from a movie that is trying to pull it down into his underworld dungeon.
These big blue plastic barrels are swimming all around, which people use to transport things in today, together with a dump of wastes that the people in those camp had thrown away. The one called Zach takes the initiative. “Wily and Zoé stay at the rides. We don’t want someone to nick them. You give alarm if something happens, okay?”
Then the group starts silently to move in. The fog slowly thins out and a zombie-like creature is standing at the entrance. The guy what slept with Nebraska, and whose name she didn’t get yet is starting to move out to the left. “I try to get them from the back”, he says. “Stop.” Zach is telling everyone to hold. “I can see thirty-six signals in that camp. It’s commlinks. Very bright.” Then everybody is moving.
Babsie is keeping herself a little bit behind. Her knees are shaking. But she doesn’t want anybody to notice. After they managed to hid behind a tree and some bushes, the one called Zach slips over a palette on the ground that was covered by grass and plants, falls down and the big wooden thing crashes down on a piece of corrugated iron sheet, which starts noising like kingdom come, not unlike the thunder of a lightning. Everybody freezes and the living corpse at the entrance looks up and starts screaming: “Charlie is coming!”
Someone is firing a bolt. She can hear the crossbow firing, a low ‘thumb’ of the bolt in the chest of that man. Very skinny up to the bones. Clothed in rags with low lying eyes in deep black holes of his skull. He is just staring at the bolt, when Fog starts to run, Nebraska starts running just a second later. “Indians! There are indians!”, the man screams.
“Fuck”, someone says. Two other walking corps guys come around corners to see what’s happening. She’s holding her crossbow up and the red dot of her laser pointer is dancing over the corpses. But she can’t pull the trigger. Fog hits the guy with his fists, a weapon is flying through the air, just into the path of Nebraska.
It’s all so silent. Shots are fired and she can’t see if anybody is hit, but she ducks down, aims. Her hands are shaking.