Rural Fiannia
Ogden's Pass Community Compound
0250
Kerry-Ann stumbled awake from a momentary lapse into sleep. Through a tightly wrapped scarf, knit by herself last autumn at the Community Christian Center, her eyes homed in on a bouncing pair of headlights meandering into town.
“Uhm, Big Harp?” she questioned over a walkie talkie, “are we expecting visitors so late in the evening?”
“This is Big Harp,” a gruff voice replied, it was her father and he was probably trying to finish whittling that Aurarian wood horse he had been working on since last community night watch, “I know it’s you Kerry-Ann, but state your dang call sign and location!”
“Oh! Sorry pop, I mean Big Harp . . This is Little Lyre at the South Gate, I have eyes on a truck approaching!” Kerry-Ann exclaimed. Silence reigned for a long minute until suddenly the town’s emergency sirens began blaring, lights behind Kerry-Ann flashing on rapidly but one at a time from every house.
“Weapons hot, Little Lyre, the Mayor has given permission to fire a warning shot. .” her father instructed, his concerned tone bleeding through the radio. The small town of ‘Ogden's Pass', population 352, occupied the northernmost point of Vestefjor State, the lost westernmost extension of both Sylvania and Pohjanmaa's respective empires.
Kerry-Ann locked back her rifle and slid he bolt forward, pressing her body into the cold metal of the south gate wall. She hesitated for a moment, this was unprecedented or at least unheard of since her father's father's war.
"We've got back up on the way, but you gotta make him stop honey . ." her father reminded over the radio. Kerry-Ann took a deep breath and exhaled just as deeply, taking another long moment to pick a spot in front of the approaching truck and place her finger on the trigger.
The young lady nightwatch guard fired, kicking up gravel into the truck's grill and windshield some 200 meters away. "CLAN KINNEGAN'S UP" a teen two years her junior shouted from her right flank, the boy's father and three brothers rushing to her left half-dressed but rifles in hand.
Yielding, the truck screeched to a halt that cast more dust into the air that obscured the vehicle into a haze until its hazard lights began flashing off and on in sequence. Behind that truck however a half dozen other headlights suddenly went on, and each subsequent truck pulled off either right or left in a fish bone pattern . . .
Ogden's Pass Community Compound
0250
Kerry-Ann stumbled awake from a momentary lapse into sleep. Through a tightly wrapped scarf, knit by herself last autumn at the Community Christian Center, her eyes homed in on a bouncing pair of headlights meandering into town.
“Uhm, Big Harp?” she questioned over a walkie talkie, “are we expecting visitors so late in the evening?”
“This is Big Harp,” a gruff voice replied, it was her father and he was probably trying to finish whittling that Aurarian wood horse he had been working on since last community night watch, “I know it’s you Kerry-Ann, but state your dang call sign and location!”
“Oh! Sorry pop, I mean Big Harp . . This is Little Lyre at the South Gate, I have eyes on a truck approaching!” Kerry-Ann exclaimed. Silence reigned for a long minute until suddenly the town’s emergency sirens began blaring, lights behind Kerry-Ann flashing on rapidly but one at a time from every house.
“Weapons hot, Little Lyre, the Mayor has given permission to fire a warning shot. .” her father instructed, his concerned tone bleeding through the radio. The small town of ‘Ogden's Pass', population 352, occupied the northernmost point of Vestefjor State, the lost westernmost extension of both Sylvania and Pohjanmaa's respective empires.
Kerry-Ann locked back her rifle and slid he bolt forward, pressing her body into the cold metal of the south gate wall. She hesitated for a moment, this was unprecedented or at least unheard of since her father's father's war.
"We've got back up on the way, but you gotta make him stop honey . ." her father reminded over the radio. Kerry-Ann took a deep breath and exhaled just as deeply, taking another long moment to pick a spot in front of the approaching truck and place her finger on the trigger.
The young lady nightwatch guard fired, kicking up gravel into the truck's grill and windshield some 200 meters away. "CLAN KINNEGAN'S UP" a teen two years her junior shouted from her right flank, the boy's father and three brothers rushing to her left half-dressed but rifles in hand.
Yielding, the truck screeched to a halt that cast more dust into the air that obscured the vehicle into a haze until its hazard lights began flashing off and on in sequence. Behind that truck however a half dozen other headlights suddenly went on, and each subsequent truck pulled off either right or left in a fish bone pattern . . .