80
Julia lined up his head in her crosshairs. Just a solitary raider, maybe an 80, not worth the cost of the bullet. She was going to kill him, as there was never a time she didn't feel like killing something, but she shouldered her gun, a massive sniper rifle built to tear through the hull of a tank. She opted for her hunting shotgun, a weapon she kept for close kills. She liked the visceral thrill of the scattershot tearing through flesh and bone, she loved the splatter of blood on her coat and face.
Her first shot grazed his head, a calculated shot that a more seasoned warrior might recognize, but the 80 took the bait and charged with tire iron at the ready. She feigned another wild shot just so she could see him grin as he ran at her. He was almost on top of her when she leveled the gun with calm precision and blew his face inwards. She smiled slowly as the droplets of warm blood cooled on her face.
She dug through the rags and strips of old tire the 80 had been wearing for armor, searching gingerly for drugs. She taught her girls caution with a made-up story about a Daughter who accidentally pricked herself on a junkie's psycho needle and died of an autoimmune deficiency disease. Although the story was made-up she had actually seen many people die that way. She'd personally started a clean needle initiative, one of her proudest accomplishments. She didn't have to worry about shit like that in Legion turf, though, for a variety of reasons.
She came away with two syringes of Med-X, which she considered a good score for a single raider. Avata followed the sound of the shotgun, more out of curiosity than concern.
"Just a raider. I think it's an 80," Julia gave a swift kick to the headless corpse.
"I don't think we're far enough north for the 80s," Avata scanned the landscape hungrily, "Think there are more?"
Julia furrowed her brow. "I'm pretty sure we're near Elko. Near enough." They'd been traveling more than six weeks, on a contract from the Malpais Legate to harass settlements. They were to pave the way for Caesar's glorious Nevada campaign, but Julia was skeptical that would ever come to pass. Looking around she couldn't understand the appeal. She supposed megalomania allowed a man to find beauty in whatever wasn't his. "Near enough for the 80s."
It had been a rough road. It turned out that there was very little in the northern Nevada wasteland, and they were beginning to run out of resources. The vast plane between Elko and Ouroboros was a hellish purgatory. Julia was beginning to harbor paranoid delusions that the contract was some plot on her life. The legate was a brutal man but he lacked for subtlety, if he was going to try and kill them he'd make it a brutal one-man campaign of unabashed warfare. Perhaps she angered the goddess somehow? Had the goddess finally realized, and in bitterness lashed out by sending Julia and her squad on a suicide mission? Maybe the goddess had used her powers to figure out which among her flock was the wolf. A monster. A creature twisted by hate and malice and an unsatisfiable bloodlust.
Julia was being ridiculous, of course. Obviously the goddess knew which among her Daughters was the most hateful, most vicious, most unstoppably cruel and murderous. The most cunning and unscrupulous. The most brutal and cunning Daughter was the goddess' personal lieutenant. Julia Aram of the Twisted Hairs. There was no one better.
"We've secured camp, commander," Marceline approached Julia and Avata, "We're about seven miles from Elko, according to Tiegan," Marce smiled maliciously, "We found a weapons cache," she held up a red and blue Interstate 80 sign and her smile grew wider and darker. The three of them returned to camp, to rest before the real fighting began in earnest tomorrow.