Sworded Affair

Chapter 145 : The Porcelain Throne

Emma got up at exactly ten minutes before noon, feeling refreshed and ready to take on the world. She'd had nothing to do since the previous afternoon, having exhausted her crafting supplies and without any enemies to fight. Her scuffle with Saint didn't count; a bit of wrestling in the garden wasn't sufficient to gain EXP, not when they were both holding back so much. Sure, Emma could have headed beyond the walls to go find some demons, but she was already anticipating plenty of combat to come, so instead she took the time to do what she hadn't been able to since the apocalypse started: sleep in.

She'd always had her mind on one goal or another up to this point, so taking sixteen hours to lie in bed and do absolutely nothing proved a most enjoyable experience. Truth be told, she'd woken up a while ago, but decided to remain in bed until she had to go. There was nothing to pack, all of that had been done the day before, and her commute was short; just a quick trip through the walls and a short walk to the motor pool. Emma didn't bother commandeering a bird this time; she'd already seen what she wanted from the sky, and was happy enough to let people see her in turn. She wasn't expecting much excitement until the trip got underway, but predictably, the fates didn't quite agree with her.

A small crowd had gathered in the next building over, including several familiar faces Emma recognised from her brief stints in the medical tent. One man was being carried away in a stretcher; half a dozen others looked worse for wear but were at least capable of walking themselves alongside the medics. Having a bad feeling about this, Emma made her way over, her armoured form attracting attention by mere virtue of her presence. All the way, she looked for signs of battle or sabotage, only to find nothing out of the ordinary besides some men who looked very poorly indeed.

One of the assistant mechanics from Emma's last excursion waved her over, recognising her.

"Do you want the bad news or the worse news?" He began by way of greeting.

"Surprise me," Emma deadpanned, already knowing she wouldn't like either answer.

"So, today was meant to be a big supply run. Grabbing lots of things, but one of the big ticket items is petrol to keep our fleet running. We were already running a bit low, and dipped into our reserve this morning, only to find some of the tanks went bad."

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"Petrol can expire?" Emma frowned, connecting the dots.

"Yeah. Usually takes months, but if the tanks weren't sealed, and there were gaps left over? It goes bad. So, you're not getting as many vehicles as originally planned. We can't risk sending them out, not finding enough petrol and having to abandon them in the field. Hopefully, a half-sized convoy is enough, and can bring back more fuel for a later trip to get the rest of what the town needs."

Emma nodded along, unsure whether this was the bad or worse news, because in truth it mattered little to her, when she only needed a single vehicle to bring her to Woodstock; everything else was just a bonus.

"Now for the worse news," the mechanic continued, answering Emma's unspoken question. "The troops gathered up this morning for a proper English Breakfast. It's tradition, before heading out to the field, a hearty meal with all the trimmings. Now, we're still not sure if it was the sausages, the bacon or the black pudding, but something was a bit off."

"All the soldiers are out of action?"

"Not all, thankfully," the mechanic clarified. "One fire team is predominantly vegetarian, so they escaped the worst of it. Again, you'll be running much lighter than usual; one technical with a heavy machine gun, two riflemen on and a driver as the escort. Six civvie vans with just a driver each, maximising space to bring back as much loot as they can. That's the most we can spare, given the fuel constraints in play."

"What kind of demons are we expecting to face?" Emma asked; the most relevant question she could think of that didn't denigrate the competence of everyone involved, which wouldn't play well with the crowd.

"Everyone will be back home by sunset, so just the small ones. A full military patrol already went ahead on the same route, three days ago, to clear out any big ones."

"If that's what we're facing, I can guarantee everyone's safety on the way to Woodstock," Emma offered. "I'm getting off there, so I'd recommend they take the same route back if they want to avoid any surprises."

"That's the plan," the mechanic agreed, relief clear in his voice. "Thanks for tagging along again, I heard the last trip was a doozy. I'll leave you to it then."

There wasn't much to be said after that, as the mechanic returned his attention to the vehicles heading out. Emma recognised a familiar converted pickup truck, the only difference being the presence of two riflemen on the back, leaving no space for her. It was followed by six Ford Transits, their insides hollowed out to maximise carrying capacity, leaving only the driver's seat intact.

"I'll get my own ride, thanks," Emma murmured, having no intention to be thrown about in the boot; there wasn't even anything to grab ahold of, this time around.

Emma turned her head skyward, happy to repeat what worked before, with caveats. Instead of grabbing the first bird she saw, Emma waited until a pigeon was available before activating Oversoul and claiming its body for herself. She'd come to value the increased endurance, after testing a variety of birds, and decided this was the best option for what could be a prolonged excursion. Settling down on the roof of the pickup truck, Emma waited for the convoy to set out.