#Lukas Herriman

[goalhofer]

2021-22 Utah Grizzlies Roster

Wingers

#6 Zac Robbins (Northfield Township, Illinois)

#8 Quinn Ryan (Branchville, New Jersey)

#10 Matthew Boucher (Los Angeles, California) A

#12 Brian Bowen (Littleton, Massachusetts)

#21 Tyler Penner (Winnipeg, Manitoba)

#22 Neil Robinson (Pointe-Claire, Quebec)

#24 Christian Simeone (Milton, Massachusetts)

#27 Taylor Crunk (San Jacinto, California)

#61 Gehrett Sargis (Bremen Township, Illinois) C

Centers

#20 Benjamin Tardif (Notre-Dame-De-l’Île-Perrot, Quebec)

#26 Mason Mannek (Herriman, Utah)

#28 Luka Burzan (Surrey, British Columbia)

#29 Brandon Cutler (Spruce Grove, Alberta)

Defensemen

#4 Joey Colatarci (Ft. Myers, Florida)

#5 Connor McDonald (Westerville, Ohio)

#7 Austin Crossley (Ft. St. John, British Columbia)

#15 Miles Gendron (Oakville, Ontario) A

#19 Jordon Stone (Parker, Colorado)

#23 Kyle Pouncy (Kamloops, British Columbia)

#24 Justin Duncan (Prince George, British Columbia)

#40 Andrew Nielsen (Red Deer, Alberta)

Goalies

#39 Garrett Metcalf (Salt Lake City, Utah)

#42 Peyton Jones (Langhorne Borough, Pennsylvania)

#50 Trent Miner (Souris, Manitoba)

[thebardanon]

DAY 9

Gambia sat across from Abbot in the back of the van. A painted scout lay between them. Gambia touched the holes that had bled away the young man’s life. “Not very accurate.” he signed. Abbot nodded. 

“We need to find the others.”

Again Abbot nodded. “We need to not get shot doing so.” Abbot began to feel like a bobblehead. “We need to get them all buried too.” Abbot reached out and patted his new friend’s shoulder. “The girl can use sign language.” he wrote before climbing into the driver’s seat. Gambia nodded this time, “Their camp is about a mile west, you can take the next drive and you’ll find a path that’s easier to drive on. An old farm road maybe.” The turnoff was the former driveway of a small burned farmhouse. Abbot continued on, keeping slow with the rough road. The Painted camp was made of several small tents, a few were canvas survival tarps, the rest roughly made hide. The camp was abandoned. “They must have left on patrols. There’s no telling where they could be, Lets wait here.” “Okay,” Abbot agreed. removing the dead body from his van and grabbing a fold out shovel from the door. “Where?” Gambia looked around, finally, he pointed a few yards westward, The patrols would come from east and south, west would be closest to home. The two took turns digging and burying the body. Gambia laid a stone he found over the grave and drew the symbol that had been painted on the scout. A turtle.

Annette listened as the leader of Eve, Cody, and Boulder Whiteowl,  the taller Native-American leader of the Painted made plans and outfitted the men of Eve. They figured it was an inevitable fight, but couldn’t decide if meeting the Texans would be better than just letting them roll into the town.   “If we move forward we can catch them from surprise, use some of the burned out houses for cover, and move along the ditches where they’re still deep.” Cody had a point, the scout said the Texans had made an encampment at the parallel intersection. They’d not be prepared to be attacked. “The ruined buildings are rare and fragile, not good for sheltering anything. The bullets will tear through those walls like clothing. It will be safer to form a defense here.” Boulder also had a good point. The Rangers will attack hard and fast, but they don’t know the town or the area. Lukas, his face swollen from his brawl the night before kept his eye on Ann several times. But more than that, he watched his wrist. Ann could feel the tension. While the cowboy and the indian argued, the Rangers could mobilize and be on them at any moment.   Finally, Ann stepped forward. “What’re the odds they don’t attack? Eve’s a trading town that sees fair traffic, why wouldn’t they just annex the town?” A hush fell over the factions. “Because they done told us to leave once.” Lukas was glaring at Ann. “Because they have closed border, and they’re just creeping along trying to find holes, and this open land is just a shit load of holes.” “They came through about four months ago,” Cody added “They claimed that they were uniting all of former Texas. We informed them that this wasn’t part of Texas, but Oklahoma.” “And the bastards burned the town.” “Eva that is, the original town.” Cody continued. “We’re just what’s left. Figured they’d move on. Land’s wide. They’d have no reason to come back.” Ann shook her head at the naivete. “Then there’s really only one option. Y’all got to leave.” A chorus of shouts filled the room. “Even if we did, where would we go? We can’t go to the Painted.” Cody said after the room quieted down. “We can’t just refugee into Elkhart or Black Mesa.” “What about Trinidad?” Colorado was smiling. “Trinidad Colorado, They sent lots’a folks up to Wyoming to chase down more Bison. Ended up making a new town out of the old capitol Cheyenne. They need farmers and the like.” Bolder nodded. “They’re also part of Black Mesa’s Ranch union, and under the protection of Painted Country.” Cody looked at Francis and then at Lukas. “How far is it?” “On foot? Two and a half days if we make poor time and carry all the luggage. If you  have some cars it can be made in a few hours.” Colorado did the math in his head. “You can rest near Black Mesa too, so you don’t have to camp in the wilderness.” Cody sighed. “Alright. Painted, Traders, Step out. Time for a large town hall. Prepare for defense just in case.” He directed the last statement to Bolder who shook his hand and stepped out. Ann watched as the town set to work and herself went to the hog trailer and checked her gun and ammunition that she kept when Abbot decided to race after the scout rescue. She loaded and laid the gun to the side when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She spun around right hand already half pulled the knife from her side. Lukas stood there, he looked a mess. Bruised and swollen, Ann was almost disappointed she didn’t actually break his ribs. “Listen,” he said. His voice was less gruff. “I want you to take Kenya to Black Mesa.” Ann stared at him “What?”

@ikilledamanimeanwhat

[thebardanon]

Day 6

Francis nodded with Cody “Alright then, I’ll show you where I’ve set up shop.” she then looked to Cody “You’ll finish setting up the stall, alright?” Without waiting for a reply Francis waved over her shoulder and was walking off. 

A couple yards behind the stalls and shops the smell of metal filtered in the air. Two metal buildings stood out, they were large shops and one was clearly an outfitted as a metalworking shop. Two boys Ann had not seen were working a kiln and checking the gas. The other had a small dark-skinned boy sitting out front in a weathered and worn desk. 

“Francis you brinin’ new people around? who’re they?” His voice was deep, but the ill-fitting clothes and dirt covered hair only made it comical. “Auh, Isaiah, this is Ann, Ann meet, Isaiah, he’s taken to rebuilding a library and history of Eve.” The boy nodded, his eyes were dark and despite his young face, he seemed tired. “Nice to meet you, Ann. Listen The entire ground floor is mine, so if you’re helping Francis out, all is good, but don’t touch the books.” He opened the door to the building behind him showing the dimly light room. “It’s hard to get them nowadays so just let them be. If you need something I’ve got a catalog and we can look together. I support reading, but well...these are considered nonessential.” Ann agreed. “I’ll make sure to be careful, I’m just going to see if I can help with the looming and maybe some cloth repair. Thanks, Isaiah.”

The inside of the room was covered in books, all manner placed upon shelves, thin sheets covered the windows near the roof and a second ceiling of tarps draped between shelves only parting to allow the hanging cables with dim bulbs lighting the room. Along the back wall, a metal staircase lead to a large office loft. Where the fragile loom sat surrounded by cloth and a large basket of wool.

“I haven’t traded for more wool yet, I mean, there’s still a lot left and I’ve just been fixing or reusing fabrics.” Ann looked over the loom. “I’ll see what I can do.” The loom itself was not made for clothing. It was probably a prop and an inaccurate one at that. Most of the native people used hides and didn’t need such a loom design. This one was some hybrid of a classical European and a beading loom. After a few tries though, the threaded wool began to spin and the yarn was finally gathering. Most of the wool though was not ready to be spun, and Ann began stuffing it inside a large canvas bag for transport. 

The room was hot, although the air did move more easily in the loft, the heat also rose and stifled any breeze that might find its way. After spinning what she could on one end of the loom Ann did her best to prep it for a large shirt. There was not enough thread. Sighing she ended her craft and made her way back out of the library maze of the first floor. Isaiah was still there. She saw now that he had a large binder and was carefully writing the names of books being added and their sections. “So if they don’t think the books are essential, why are you keeping them around.” Isaiah looked at her pitifully. “It’s not books, it’s the fiction ones.” he corrected stiffly. “Of which I have very few in there. And as for the why?” A gleam in his eye seemed to erase the tiredness. “Because many of these fictions tell us things that the textbooks can’t. Because they take us to better places, and I don’t know what you’ve been through but these last five years have defiantly shown me we need to escape sometimes.” Ann only shrugged a shoulder as she passed him and made her way back towards the marketplace. Francis sat on a small stool, sewing a patch into a shirt. “Any luck with the loom?” Ann sat beside her, pulling a needle from a small pile of supplies set inside the crook of the stall. she began to thread and patch a pair of jeans. “It’s unconventional, but it functions. I’ve never seen one like it honestly but it works the same.” They sat sewing for a minute or so when Francis took a deep breath. “Ahey, I’m glad you knocked the hell outta Lukas.” She said softly her hands still moving through the fabric. “But I think you ought to avoid them. Lukas, he’s been through a special kind of hell. Kenya too.” Ann didn’t reply. She really couldn’t. Everyone seemed to agree that she’d made the wrong choice. Everyone but her. Ann finished the patch and patted Francis on the shoulder. “I’ve got to check on Abbot, I’ll be back after lunch.”

Abbot had fixed two more ATVs that morning and was being recruited for a tractor job about half an hour north of Eve when Ann returned. He shook the farmer’s hand and looked to her expectantly. “I hate this place, and I think I caused it.” she said leaning against the trailer. Abbot only gave a quiet smirk in reply before looking west down the 412. Ann followed his gaze. 

Horses.

HMU if you want in the tags.

Tags @ikilledamanimeanwhat

[thebardanon]

Day 4

The dusty hills and low vegetation seemed more visible to Ann after the last lanterns were doused and Eve fell into darkness. She watched small things, creatures that thrived in darkness and shadows. Rabbits and foxes appeared and vanished in the sparse brushes and thin grasses. Watching the wildlife was calming. The armadillos walking through the intersection of the highway unafraid of being seen by the slumbering population. 

Ann might have fallen asleep herself as the cold desert night air blanketed her world. If not for a sudden and sharp crack. Muted, it came from inside one of the buildings. Ann adjusted. Northeast was the market, only a few people had shacks for living there, including Cody. Southeast and Southwest were reserved for traveling folk. Traders and Strangers, like her and Abbot. Northeast, Residential. Another crack. Ann watched across the road, trying to judge by the sound which of the small shacks was being damaged.

All at once a young woman tumbled out of one of the homes. She was a darker girl Ann didn’t recognize. A jar flew from the home hitting the dejected girl in the back as she rose, knocking her back into the dirt. Ann leaped from the van rolling onto the hard ground as she stood into a run her right hand felt her hip. Knife. She didn’t draw it. Left hip. Nothing. She ran between two houses and caught the second jar on her left shoulder. 

The young man who leaned on the door was an older boy, possibly Ann’s own age. His hair had grown out where able, but a burned scar had scalped him on the right side. It was a familiar scar on a stranger’s face. Ann weighed her options. She was still a stranger and didn’t know what had led to the fight. No one else had left their homes. 

“What do think you’re doing?” Ann ignored him. The other girl had stood, she’d picked up the two jars, neither broken and began to walk towards the house. “Where’re you-” Ann started but stopped. The abused woman stared at her, straightening herself and shaking her head. “I got him.” was all she said. The boy was drunk, standing only by the mercy of the ramshackle door jamb. The woman walked up to him, he leaned back as if to let her pass only to bring his fist and punch her in her unguarded face. She fell back. The jars shattered. Ann was on him in an instant. Right hook, duck, stomach, shoulder, nose. He fell, Ann pounced, tackling him into the back of the small room. Wheezing his eyes focused on her in a glare that might have scared her not many years earlier. Now it only made her angrier. Her hand went to her right pocket. 

A gentle hand grabbed her armed shoulder, she paused before relenting. Abbot looked down at the young man who’s vision began to wander. Abbot too let his eyes wander. The house was a little more than a shed, sleeping bags in one corner, trash in another, a crate of jars. It was the jars Kenya had offered him the evening before, and it was Kenya who was leaning on the door now. 

Ann never took her eyes off the boy on the ground, even as she walked out the door and made her way to the van. Abbot bent over and pulled the young man up and steadied him on the wall. Broken nose, not severe. The still semi-drunk shoved off Abbot and fell back to the ground. Abbot left him and turned to 

Kenya. She was staring towards the departing Ann, only to turn her eyes onto Abbot. “You can leave now.” She whispered, voice shaken. “And I’ll appreciate it, if the two of you didn’t do this again.” Abbot stopped in the door. He was already a head taller than the young woman, who seemed even more like a child with the bruising he hadn’t noticed earlier showing on her darkened skin. He shrugged and tried to make an apologetic expression when signing “Sorry” seemed to have no effect. per usual.

The door shut tight behind him, and he again realized when his boots crunched the broken glass. He’d not fully realized she had been cut, her hand on her side. He wanted to make sure she cleaned the wound but too much had already happened.

He’d followed Ann, having heard her hit the ground. He only wished she hadn’t been in such a sprint. Though it was odd, he was the only one who seemed roused by the commotion. The sound of snoring filtered between some of the shacks and sheds. Ann was in the passenger seat. Her face was red, but not from the sun.

“He’s not hurt.” She spat as Abbot leaned against the door, he said nothing. “Is she?” Abbot shook his head before signing. “She doesn’t like you. We’ve been banned.” Ann looked at him stupidly. “Well fine, banned? From where? That kid couldn’t say two words and she just took his fist..ugh.” Abbot only stared impassively. “Should we leave?” he wrote with his fingers, slowly. “No, forget them. Whole town should’ve heard that, damn. Not our problem now.” Abbot nodded as he walked to the back of the van and pulled himself to the roof. The night continued.

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