Fallout: Songs of the South

by Dr3kr @fallout.ssfic on Instagram

Act I: Brahmin Herders and Career Soldiers

Chapter 1: A Rifle's Song

2293: Northeastern Oklahoma Wasteland, dubbed The Dust Bowl by locals

The boy's breath came in hushed gasps. He saw his mother fall down, blood slowly pooling around her.

Maybe she was just hurt? He thought. She can't be dead...

His father had told him to hide behind the meat freezer, and the dark haired boy was quick to do as he was told. His father had worn his grim, serious face when telling the boy, Aegus Thomson, to hide. That face was reserved for when he was being disciplined or when the family was in danger, and the paddle hadn't come.

Now Aegus could hear talking in voices he didn't recognize. Then he heard his father's, loud and clear, "I'm givin ya one chance ya filthy mutts, get back and leave this property before I blow ya heads off!"

This was met with laughter, until the sound of a .308 hunting rifle split the night. The laughter died immediately, and soon the rapid pop pop of handmade weapons were heard, occasionally interrupted by the loud rifle the boys father had owned for years. Slowly less and less gunfire sounded, and the boy began to relax, knowing his father would handle this just like all the times before.

The gunfire stopped. Something was wrong. Aegus heard a groan, and then a chuckle. Sounds of a kick being launched at someone lying on the ground could be heard, followed by another groan. The boy heard a knife slip into flesh, and back out. The boy looked to where his father kept his knife to find that it was still resting neatly on the table next to the Brahmin skull. Maybe he grabbed one of the assailant's knives?

Silence.

"Pa?" The boy called out.

Footsteps approached the ramshackle hut, and whoever was inside was knocking things off shelves, looking for something. Aegus called out again, the rummaging stopped, and the man in the house walked towards the freezer. Aegus could see the muzzle of his father's rifle poke around the corner. He poked his head out, and his eyes followed the barrel of the gun up to the hands, bloody hands, of its wielder. He wore old rags stitch together not unlike the boy's clothes, but over the rags were random plates of metal welded and fastened to the cloth like armor. The man's face was concealed by a burlap sack with hoses running from it, with two hold where eyes should be.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" spoke the man. "You'll fetch a nice price at Hogan's. Everyone always wants a kid these days..."

The man laughed and reached for Aegus, while at the same time a loud noise, as if a trumpet was blown fast and sharp, was heard. A red flash lit up the house, and the man lurched forward and fell flat on his face. A scorch mark lay directly between his shoulder blades.

Aegus screamed as more of the trumpets sounded, red light flashed with each note. The boy had seen rad storms and had gotten very sick after one particularly bad one, but those always glowed green and never directly struck with such accuracy. He thought the world was ending.

The other raiders outside fired back with their weapons, the pitiful handmade things could barely be heard over the trumpets. Soon all was quiet once more, and heavy metallic footsteps began searching all around outside the house. A few softer pairs of feet came inside, yet still they walked with the sound of someone wearing heavier armor than homemade metal and cloth armor.

"There's the raider scum you bagged, Deadeye. Wonder what he was doing in the corner," one of the voices inside was saying.

"Let's check it out," replied the voice that must be Deadeye's. The two made their way towards Aegus, and he tried to hide in the shadows as much as possible. An all clear was sounded outside by a voice through a speaker, and headlamps clicked on all about, lighting the house. The lights flashed in Aegus' eyes and he whimpered and shielded himself. Strong but kind hands grabbed him out from between the wall and the freezer, and he was asked his name.

"Cmon kid what's your name? You have got one don't you?" the man with the first voice said.

"Relax, Colson. The kid's scared as hell. Let him calm a bit," said the man who must be Deadeye. He knelt down to level his face with Aegus'.

"My name is Jackson Hart," he began, "but these guys call me Deadeye because I can shoot a bottle cap off of a fence post from a hundred yards. I see your father out there was a good shot too. One bullet, and one raider dead. He didn't miss a shot."

"Is my pa okay?" Aegus asked. Both the older men tightened their lips. The man named Colson walked back outside.

"Look, your parents fought bravely, but there were too many raiders for even your dad to take out. He did a good job protecting you, because his rifle was so loud it alerted us and we came here. I'm sorry we didn't get here fast enough, but we got rid of all the bad men who wanted to harm you," Hart explained to the boy.

"So that means ma is gone too?"

"I'm sorry kid. I know how it feels to lose someone close too."

"Where will I go? Don't make me go to Crazy Sophie's house with all the other orphans!"

"Well I'd say that you're in charge of your own life now. Where do you wanna go?"

"I want to fight like you. I don't want other kids to lose their parents too," Aegus began the sentence firmly, but his voice trailed as he stifled a sob.

"That's a pretty adult thing to say, kid," Hart responded. "Tell me how old are you? What name do they call you?"

"My names Aegus Thomson, and I'm ten years old. The oldest boy this side of Old 51!"

"Well Aegus, I can take you with me and we can see about making you a fighter. How's that sound?"

Aegus smiled and nodded. By now his eyes had adjusted to the glare of the headlamps and he could faintly make out Hart's facial features. Sharp angles and a well groomed beard marked his face, and on the chest plate of his armor was a symbol of wings circled around three gears, with a sword in the middle. The Brotherhood of Steel had come to save him, and Aegus planned on returning the favor.

by Dr3kr @fallout.ssfic on Instagram