Our group prepares to camp for the night, under the watchful eyes of a Deathclaw. What could possibly lead to a better rest than being watched by that creature all night?
As morning light comes around, the team disbands their camp and sets off once again for the town. Finally with boots on pavement, they make swift time down the hill to the open fields. Mostly dusty, with the occasional speck of yellow and green showing how life goes on in the wasteland. Broken radioactive waste barrels also dot the landscape seemingly at random, showing how death is just around every corner. Luckily enough most of it is far away from the roadside.
You pass a couple of farm houses in various states of disrepair, all from before the war. Trucks and cars can be found every few miles, usually with skeletons in the drivers seat. By noon you pass through what was once the small town of Harrison. It's even smaller now that half the houses are knocked over, and you manage to walk through it without anything trying to kill you. Except the sun, which continues to beat down on you mercilessly. Walking off the black pavement helps slightly, but makes the walk harder in return. Your flasks make the journey livable, but you should probably stock up on pure water when you hit the settlement.
Once your map says you are getting closer, things get greener. A couple of farm houses-post war this time- can be found next to fields producing enough to live on. Looks like nobody is home though. Even the bramin pens are empty. Something must have happened to drive them from their homes. Recently too, given how well maintained the fields are.
As the sun begins to set, you finally approach your destination. Obviously, this is a true post-war settlement. A bold junk fence constructed of tin, broken grain silos, cars, airplane parts, bits of wood, recycled chain link, and god knows what else. Friendly white-painted letters denote this location as "TRIPLE TRIDENT", on a sheet of plywood near the yellow school bus acting as a gate.. Guard posts are placed intermediately throughout, with a couple of men in cowboy hats with duck-taped hunting rifles manning their post.
From behind the gate, a voice offers a friendly greeting. "Freeze!" it says. The guards appear to be on high alert, but haven't gone so far as to actually point their pieces your way. "State your business, strangers. We're expecting trouble. You don't look like the trouble we're expecting, but we don't need any more trouble anyway. You don't look like the farmers, herders, or tribals that have been running here to safety."