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Naomi sat down, humming a little tune to herself. There was nothing mechanical in sight for her to tinker with or mess with.

"Hello!" Yelled Matthew to the man walking towards him, carrying a rifle.

Brown stared at the man. The newcomer didn't much sound like the voice from the radio message, but perhaps ...

"You him?" Brown rasped. It was the first thing he'd said in over a month.

"The man from the radio signal? No. I thought you would know." Said Matthew.

Brown shook his head. He muttered, "Lots of guests. No host." He jerked his head back at the church. "Visit if you want. Can't stay." He passed the newcomer, not breaking his stride. Without looking back, he rasped, "Night's coming. Providence is death."

"I'm sure this church is defensible. Especially with so many of us." Naomi said, standing up.

Tink eyed Aella suspiciously for a moment, before dispensing the obvious alias. "You can call me Tinker, or Tink. Whatever... Aella." She said standoffishly.

"Naomi." she said to Tink, waving. "I guess you like tinkering with things too, considering the nickname." she said with a smile.

"Er, Hi, Naomi." Tink said, absently wondering if the almond-eyed woman was Chinese, or something else. "Yeah, I guess so." She added after a moment.

"You alright?" Naomi asked, tilting her head with interest.

"I'm fine." Tink said more forcefully.

Naomi decided to not speak to her anymore, figuring it wasn't the best idea to talk to her at the moment.
She yawned and looked at her shotgun, inspecting it for any dents or kinks.

"How'd you get that name?" Aella asked, narrowing her eyes. "It's weird."

Tink didn't answer the question, but instead shot back "Aella is weirder!" She snapped. Her past was her own business.

As he walked, Brown's nerve faltered. As dangerous as Providence was, he knew little of the wasteland outside of it. The churchyard had been too exposed and crowded for his liking, but he absolutely hated the idea of wandering aimlessly. He decided to scavenge supplies and wait in a defensible position to see if this mysterious expedition panned out.

He crossed a bridge over Providence River and entered the federal courthouse. It had held up relatively well; like many federal courthouses, it was a thinly disguised fortress. He went right for the stairs, as virtually everything on the first level was decimated by decades of floods.

Brown quickly found some bobby pins in a secretary's desk and opened some doors which had been locked for almost a century. His spirits lifted when he found his favorite meal in a judge's desk: whiskey and some Fancy Lad Snack Cakes.

Brown took this feast and a well-preserved folding chair up to the roof. From this vantage point, he could just make out the group milling about the churchyard about three blocks away, especially the large blue mutant. Brown sat, started up some Dean Domino he had stored on his Pip-Boy, and watched the group as he dined.

"Faust." said Faust. "Like any of you give a [&@%!]."

"OK, I'll start." Aella gestured to Typhon. "Typhon named me when I was eight. He named himself, too."

"Aella and Typhon are Greek names," Typhon explained sheepishly. "A long lost civilization, and a fascinating one at that. The mythology says that Typhon is a dragon, and -"

"Aella is an Amazon warrior, bravest and fearless." Aella finished with a bored tone. It was clear she heard the tale often.

"Okay..." Tink said uncertainly.

"Now you," Aella persisted.

"My dad called me Tinker." The teen persisted cooly.

As the travelers were conversing, another person was approaching them silently, though he wasn't trying to hide. Callan spotted him first. That one had a different look in his eye than the rest; he had not made his way to the church in response to the signal. No, that one knew what he was coming for. Callan lifted the pistol and aimed for the man's head.

The man was close enough for everyone to see now. He was a ghoul. Tall, with stringy muscles and pointy features. What remained of his hair was black. The best way to describe him was cold. His eyes showed no emotion, only cold observation. All his movements were calculated and served a purpose, however small and insignificant it might be.

He stopped 10 meters before reaching the plaza where everyone else had gathered and scanned them all with his frigid eyes. He paid no attention to Callan's pistol.