Author's Note: This story is the result of two nights without sleep, a chocolate cake, a bag of pistachios, guessing someone's wi-fi password, and somewhat of an epiphany. I don't even know why I chose the symbols I did. I also didn't give the Lone Wanderer a name. I wasn't being lazy with this; he just didn't really need a name. Please leave your creative/interesting/rude comment on my story in a review, if you would please be so kind. I try to respond to each review I get so feel free to ask questions.
Merci!
Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout. There's a copy of the game in my possession, but I don't think that's the same.
"…Mary, Tom, Agnes, and almost Ellen, but I turned hero and helped her."
A young, brown-haired man of nineteen holds up two more fingers on his left hand. Already, his right hand is held open in front of him. He is keeping count of the people gone after James's leaving.
Seven fingers, so far.
The young man and his father walk briskly toward Rivet City, to see Madison Li, to restart Project Purity, to save all of humanity.
James, walking on the right of the nineteen-year-old, turns away from the other's hands to gaze at the concrete path they both follow. Cracks are spread like spider webs through the road, a net of lines cut deep into the cement. James punts a tin can into the river that flows alongside him and his son and watches the fallow water ripple.
"I found Freddie and Susie dead in the Wastes, and Andy killed Beatrice. He took your place when you left."
The younger man says the last the last few words tersely. His father's abandoning him is still a sore subject. He raises the rest of the fingers on his left hand.
Ten fingers now.
"Officers Hannon and Wolf were cornered by radroaches, and kind of…you know. I had to kill Officer Mack; he was beating and interrogating Amata and fired at me the moment he saw my head."
James stiffens and twists his head sideways to gaze at the river. He continues the tally of people in his mind rather than look at the gloved digits that his son holds up now, continuing the sum on his right hand.
Three more fingers. Thirteen in total.
"I think Floyd went the same way as Hannon and Wolf."
A mirelurk on the opposite side of the murky river paddles toward the pair. As it nears the shore, its small, triangular face bursts into a gory explosion of entrails accompanied by a bang and the creature crumples back into the water, motionless. James winces and turns away. His son stands behind him and smiles, shotgun in one hand and holding four fingers straight on the other. Fourth mirelurk today.
James stares at the first finger. Floyd adds one; fourteen thus far.
The two journey on once more, James watching his son reload his shotgun and struggling to put the tally of people out of his mind.
"The Overseer ordered Jonas killed, and someone followed those orders. So I killed the Overseer."
The young man's cobalt blue eyes flash angrily at the memory and he finishes reloading the shotgun with a snap. The sound resonates on the wreckage of buildings nearby and echoes how James feels at the moment.
He wants to break down and have a furious fit of anger. He wants to scream curses at the world, take the pistol from his pocket, and go find a horde Super Mutant to slaughter. He wants, for a split second, divided by thirty and then separated into thousands, to take the pistol and shoot himself.
But instead he gives the thing nearest to his foot, a rib cage of an unfortunate skeleton from the war, a vicious kick towards the river. It flies for a good fifteen seconds, give or take, and finally drops midway across the water. Ripples drift outwards in all directions.
All of it, every person killed, every life destroyed, it is all James's fault, as far as he's concerned. He had left to save everyone, and it had resulted in killing fourteen of his neighbors and friends.
He shakes his head to himself. Fifteen, sixteen; he'd forgotten to add Jonas and the Overseer.
Maybe it should be seventeen. He feels as though the guilt is going to kill him in a minute.
The whole outcome of this is not unlike the kicking of the rib cage and the ripples. James is the rib cage, taking a short, dangerous trip to somewhere (in this case, it would be the bottom of the river) and his damage done to others are the ripples and splash. The initial impact done to his son when he left would be the splash, big and explosive and somewhat painful. The ripples would be sudden deaths that circled out, becoming larger and more significant until they finally splashed against the shore.
James wonders who's death will be the final wave.
He shudders. Yes, it is seventeen; this is all ruinous to him and murdering his mind.
"How many miles do we have left to get to Rivet City?"
James snaps out of his thoughts and holds his Pip-Boy in front of him. Rivet City is already marked on the map; his Pip-Boy is not as sturdy as his son's but is more advanced and shows a larger map. He looks at the small green text that shows the distance from his location to his marker.
"Take a guess."
The young man purses his lips in thought and looks out down the river, trying to find the large boat. He's like his father; good with numbers and calculating and such. "Three and a half miles?"
A smile ghosts James's lips. "Close. Just three." he says, raising three of his grimy fingers.
Three more fingers. Three more people. Seventeen right now.
Three miles, two mirelurks, and one mad Brahmin later…
Madison acts surprised and the younger man of the two acts suspicious.
James acts guilty and rushed, and everyone else acts excited.
They all depart from Rivet City almost immediatly after arriving, eager to restart Project Purity.
They are all tremendously nervous and walk energetically to the Jefferson memorial. None of the scientists notice the Deathclaw that stalks behind boulders ahead of them on the path.
None of them are prepared when it launches itself, lethally fast and possessing the critical element of surprise.
One of them is standing in precisely the wrong place when sprints, claws out and in front.
And one of them dies.
Anna is grieved over and the crew of scientists' spirit loses momentum. As Garza hauls Anna's cooling body to the river, James cannot help but glimpse at her hands, pallid and inert, fingers arched as if trying to grasp the situation, literally. Her thumb is bloodied and ripped, warped and at an unusual angle from the struggle with the monstrous Deathclaw.
James inhales sharply. One more finger. Eighteen.
The group, minus one, resume their journey to the Jefferson memorial. They take smaller, slower steps with no enthusiasm.
Twenty minutes, one complaint, and six radroaches later…
It is Madison's idea that James's son goes in. And James uses that idea, because he is a doctor, a scientist, a man of logic. He orders his son to go in and secure the area, ignoring the fact that no caring father would do such a thing.
But this is a project and there's no room for emotions to get in the way. It only disrupts the train of thought.
Sometimes it makes someone abandon the train of thought, making it crash and burn with no engineer. Its similar to what happened to Project Purity.
James's son is not back by sundown.
He is not back by nighttime.
He is not back by sunrise.
He doesn't come back.
James waits faithfully by the door, because he knows it will creak open any minute.
Any minute does not arrive, and neither does the young man.
James can still remember when his son was a month old and staring up at him from the brand new crib, a neonatal copy of his father and grabbing at his hair and hand.
He remembers how fascinated his son was when he grabbed hold of James's ring finger, the gleaming band around it reflecting the lights of the vault.
James looks at his hand and the lackluster ring dirtied by nineteen years of wear. If he could only have one finger, that would be the one he would keep.
One finger.
Nineteen, in entirety. His son was nineteen years old.
Was.
James decides that nineteen is where the ripples of his restarting Project Purity splash ashore. He walks with a detached gaze to Rivet City, up the stairs, onto the balcony, to the edge, and pulls a Mister Lopez and flings himself off the boat.
It takes him two hundred and sixteen seconds to drown. He counts the seconds of the drop on his fingers as he falls, but he only reaches eighteen before the water steals his consciousness away.
Yes, I know, it was a bit weird. I think that I only wrote this to pass the time. I didn't edit, because I am a lazy slacker, and if you point out any mistakes I will have already probably noticed them. But please feel free to criticize me to your heart's content; it shows that you actually read it.
And if you're looking for a good Fallout 3 story, I know of a few. Just go ahead and ask!
Thank you, and have a nice day!