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Wolves

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Usually, Party Poison had the definition of a lead foot, but tonight called for stealth. Due to the recent acid rain storms, the BL/ind water treatment plant in Zone Seven had been taken down to a skeleton crew. That meant that, with the storm front rolling on, this was the perfect time to hit the plant.

Beside the Trans-Am, a dozen other dustrunner vehicles also crept along, like a pack of wolves on a hunt. Party Poison had never seen the real thing, but he had heard about them. And though they talked a big game, dustrunner "wolves" were less brave than they seemed.

None of them would hit a BL/ind station fully manned, except maybe Party Poison if he was really really pissed off. But tonight, with the plant barely staffed, and probably one crew for each SCARECROW present, there was nothing to keep the from stealing that water.

Water was like gold in the desert; there wasn't enough of it by far for even half the crews that ran in the dustlanes. The cities were oases, but for those who lived outside their confines, survival depended on whatever liquid gold they could steal. And tonight, loaded up with every drum and bucket and barrel they owned or could borrow, the wolves were circling.