Chapter One: The Prophecy
High above, a raven glided alone over the barren expanse of the desert. As far as the eye could see to the East of the Colorado River, the Rocky Mountains spread across the desolate terrain. To the West in a small patch of what used to be Arizona crossed over into old Nevada. But below the soaring raven, of what used to be the suburbs and simple structures of Bullhead City, is where a new legend begins. Its webbed streets snuggled into the bend of the Colorado like a spider's abode in a door frame. They would've been something back in the day, a town devoted only to small little housings and apartment buildings, though two-hundred years of nuclear fallout had taken its toll. Despite being spared the direct brunt of the climax of the Great War, not even the relatively untouched Mojave could withstand the rigors of time. So while buildings and structures stood as giants; concrete, and metal. The nice aesthetics of civilization withered away. Paint chipped and dried, buildings lost their color in two centuries of rusting and bleaching. Telephone poles and street signs, billboards and traffic lights, cars scattered in a jumbled mess, a perfect pattern of disarray within the city limits. It was a pattern only entertained by chance. The infinite possibility hidden in Life. Though not all things in Life, however, are left to its own devices.
The raven tucked its wings, diving straight for the city, for a crow. The raven opened its wings, reducing its speed and startling her target with tiny talons flared. The unaware bird squawked in sudden surprise, and she took the opportunity to snatch the plump rodent from the feet of her quarry.
For all the things that had changed after the Great War, one thing remained the same; Man's behavior and their capacity for war. The abuses for power and eagerness to manipulate those 'beneath' their station. Who felt the ends always justifies the means.
When the vaults opened their steel-ton doors, some sought to make the new landscape their home, despite the bitter sweetness of their survival. Building settlements, farming crops and caring for livestock. Honest living. People who wished to bring humanity back from the brink and hold firm to those old world philosophies. Good, decent, hard-working folk.
And there would always be others perfectly willing to take it all at gunpoint.
They were the scourge that would plague the Wasteland from the West coast to the East coast like a cancer. They had many names among their groups, but the one to stick was Raiders. Many groups would rise and fall, but only the toughest would be remembered in this dark new era of human history. The Vipers, the Jackals, and Slither Kin were just a few. But the Great Khans?
It is the last that will leave its mark. A nomadic raider tribe, whose hierarchy functioned much like the old motorcycle-clubs from before the Great War. Little is known of the workings of mice and men and the plans laid before one's feet. Other legends like the Vault Dweller of Vault 13, his grandchild, and legends yet to be. . . their actions of bravery often go unnoticed, their great deeds passing only by word of mouth to expand their fame, but their effects felt in the regions they roam. The Great Khans have been credited many bloody notches on the flow of time, but will also be credited for the origins in creating their very own legends at least; The Witness, to help orchestrate the violent course of change.
Because war. War never changes. A hard lesson, to those who survive. Hard times breed stronger men, and strong men bring better times. Will this Witness learn from history, his experiences. . . or is history doomed to repeat once more?
(June 5th, 2268)
(2:31 pm)
On the bend of the Colorado River, Bullhead City's entirety was mostly suburban development with the occasional multistory building here or there. Within the bend of the river itself though, a sand barge crested above the water. Spires of smoke drifted high into the clear blue, carried by a breeze that made the heat more comfortable. The smokes' origins were from the many tents that formed 'streets' along the sand barge, even more on the bank to its eastern side. These tents, or Gers, as their occupants called them were the homes of the Great Khans, or one of a few tribes that held the moniker at least. Things had changed since the days of the New Khans.
Descending down the billowing pillars to its smoldering origins led to fire pits, set up in order to spit roast the rewards of their daily hunts. Today's meal, an assortment of Gecko and chunks of Bighorner sat skewered, sizzling over the open flames, licking the flesh and charring with its lashes. They sat, like all the others pits, unattended. In fact, it seemed as if not a single person was around.
Suddenly, from the east side of the sand barge, rode two Khans on horseback, both men covered head to toe in stitched clothes and tanned studded leathers. The Great Khan logo proudly emblazoned on the backs of their vest, helmets masking their identities. The men crossed the waist high water easily on horseback and onto the sandy island, immediately breaking for the center of the encampment.
The largest tent of the camp, it easily could fit fifty people to sleep inside, was their destination. As the men approached, the horses reared back as if a little disturbed, like a change in the wind. Swiftly disembarking their horses, height was one of the only things you could discern from the men as they strode over to the tent; One at five foot, ten and the other a much more impressive six foot two inches.
The tallest spotted a rodent-carrying raven flying overhead, then lost sight as the shorter clansmen cast open the flap to gain entry. Inside, clansmen stood crowded and the two men pushed their way to the center. Through the crowd, some of the clans women were crouched around an Elder of the Khans, tending to the aged man. Pale sickly skin, his breath came in short heavy gasps, his gray beard was scraggly and long, dull green eyes unseeing to the outside world, yet darting this way and that. A warrior in his prime, before blindness struck him.
But it wasn't without benefit.
This elder had. . . a power, something none of them could explain. He called it the 'Sight', glimpses he could see into the past, the present, or even the future. An effect of the cause too his blindness, an explosion from a gamma grenade from a raid gone wrong when he was much younger, when the targets had turned out to be roving Enclave soldiers, fleeing from the NCR after their defeat.
Removing their helmets, the men bent down to kneel with the Elder, their facial features close in resemblance. Brothers, an Irish and German mix, the shorter of the two men with dark cropped hair and light brown eyes, tanned skin from many hours out in the Mojave sun and clean shaven skin stretched over a strong angular jaw. The taller brother differed not only in that he was younger, but also that his features were slightly softer in the cheeks and jaw, not as gaunt and narrow, his hair was lighter with evidence it was starting to recede in the front from his widow's peak, scruff covering his entire jaw and bits of his neck coppery.
"Elder," the eldest of the two started, taking the blind man's frail hand in his own, gently as to not harm the appendage. They arrived as fast as their horses could carry them, after a runner had found them at their main village. Visions from the Elder were rare, and often vague, sometimes not even having to deal with them, detailing events that were to come. The only problem was the timeline. . .or who was even involved.
Fergus was quick to dismiss everyone except for the tribe-wives, whom looked after the Elder. He wondered what it would be this time, Fergus often had his doubts, but they were never enough to convince him he shouldn't heed the Elders counsel.
"Naddok," he managed with a slow, strained, raspy voice, "I-I see. . . A great two-headed Bear, its form dwarfing the tallest of the Rockies, claws sinking into all it can reach. One head fixed upon its conquests with snarling teeth, the other hungry for the horizon. . . Far below, a young boy stands witness to the destruction beside me. . . and in his eyes I can see his course. . ," he inhaled deeply, suddenly with eyes wide, startling some of the maidens listening too closely. "T-this boy. . . He will depart all he knows, driven, by an outside force. His journey will. . . will be a long one, and he shall know no home for many a year, he will know m-many an ambition. . . with plenty of failure in between. A hard life." As he continued, his breathing became more labored, showing the mental drain on the old timer, yet he pushed on, "He will attain skill that puts him above his peers, find loyal comrades, and suffer many hard lessons. His journey will g-grant him wisdoms known only to a lucky few."
Coughing hard, the man freed his hand from Naddok to cup his open maw, interrupting his vision. Once he removed his hand, glistening the palm was the crimson of his blood. The images flashing through his mind's eye blurred as he lost some focus; the images were too fast to make out everything, he could only understand bits and pieces. "Elder, you should rest," this came from the younger brother speaking up for the first time.
"No Fergus, not yet I'm afraid," the Elder paused to collect himself, one of the women cleaned his palm with a scrap rag, but as he continued it was clear the strain was beginning to take its toll. "And upon his return, a warrior . . .grown before my eyes, through his trials and tests. . . h-he will come too determine the fate of the Khan peoples across the Mojave. The Bear above retreats, stung, by a Bull from the eastern lands. The Bull sizes up seeking too gore the Bear, its hoof hovering high, shadowing us within its looming presence. . . The Bull lunges and the hoof descends, the Warrior's eyes shine ready. . . He is ready."
As the Elder fell into unconsciousness the tribe-wives fell into a bit of a panic, but Naddok's gaze remained glued to that of the Elder, his face pensive. . . This couldn't be true, one of their own, a boy no less, deciding the course of multiple tribes that squabble amongst themselves at the best of times? Even then, who was this child he spoke of? Some of the man's visions had come true, in a sense. And sometimes, he spoke of things happening in places he'd never heard of, doing no more good than an incredible work of fiction for the children.
Naddok's attention was stolen when Fergus set his hand to rest on his little brother's shoulder, sighing, he let his frustrations known, "What do you make of this Fergus?" he asked, standing to his full height.
"You want my honest opinion?" he asked with a small smile, his hand dropping back to his side. Naddok rolled his eyes, and Fergus spoke his mind while leading them both out of the tent, "Honestly, everything he's said goes against everything I know. This whole. . . "Sight" thing he calls it. It's beyond me." Fergus stopped just outside the tent, sure his brother would like to keep this between them and the tribe-wives for now. . . he'd have to go back in and have a chat with the ladies after.
"And that's how I feel-"
"But," Fergus put his hand up to halt his brother, "when it's concerned the tribe, he hasn't been far off. Minor detail or two, and I know that you've realized that yourself."
Naddok palmed his face, then started walking into the camp which was full of life compared to the deserted encampment they had arrived too. Hunting parties were already assembling and packing for the trek they'd take, not to mention the groups still out. Others attended to menial tasks and chores assigned earlier in the week, with rotations happening weekly. The youngest ones were playing 'Mole Rat', their version of hide-and-seek. Too young to pull their own weight yet, the idea was to let them enjoy what childhood they can. But when not at play, they were expected to contribute to the well being of the tribe by helping the tribe-wives, whatever tasks or chores that entails.
The adolescent ones fought amongst themselves in mock bouts of 'Super mutant' which was basically King of the Hill. They also liked Capture the Flag, among other games. The only requirement being full-contact. Being adolescent, or at least ten years old, you were old enough to pull triggers on animals, and in desperate times, at enemies, therefore receiving your patch after the rite. But until then, they would assist the hunters and gatherers when requested, gaining experience in the meantime.
And he noticed his son wasn't among any of them. He wasn't following that boy again, was he?
Naddok shook his head, things were back to normal, as it should be. "I guess I'm just afraid of what it could all mean, for us, the rest of the tribes north. Things are tough enough with the NCR, they're expanding."
"The NCR will grow bolder every year, yet so does Papa Khan. It can't be helped," Fergus commented, well aware with the growing bouts between his people and the growing nation state. It'd been that way for years. All his life in-fact.
"But how long before the NCR turns its attention on Bullhead? If Papa Khan wants to keep raiding the NCR, it'll bring war to us all. Any word on his runner?"
"Only that he should be expected within the next few days. Could be as soon as tomorrow or next week."
"Damn it Fergus, I'm afraid this war won't be good for us." He confessed, no issue in confiding in his elder brother. The 'Great Bear' could only be one thing, and that was the NCR, the damn thing was printed on all their flags. As for the Bull, that was a new one and he didn't have a clue where to start other than that it would arrive from the east perhaps. All that aside, Change was supposedly coming in the winds, and it looked as though it may be the bloody kind. Even with these thoughts racking his brain, their feet carried them further from the main ger, his eyes searching for Bren, his son, but the teenage boy was nowhere to be seen, not even his immediate friends. Eventually coming to a stop, he asked, "Say Fergus, you haven't seen Bren have you?"
Fergus had made it a few more paces before stopping to glance around as well. He sighed, turning up to the croak of a raven, "Well. . ." he started, looking back at his brother, "I'll give you three guesses."
(Elsewhere)
Roaming in the rubble cluttered streets were a following of Gecko who'd broke from their main throng; medium-sized dark scaled creatures with their prized indigo hides shining in the afternoon sun, unaware of the predatory gaze scoping out their small congregation from a perch atop a roof of a faded red suburban home one hundred yards down the street. Protruding from the center of the roof was the brick chimney, a pair of pipes sitting at the top, a hungry raven dropping to latch onto it. Its beak dug in through the guts and yanked the innards of a rodent it had for food. Seemingly poking from the crook where brick met shingle, a small bundle of old brown burlap peeked, torn in strips and frayed at the edges that floated in the soft wind. A blind.
Only a small gap served to provide a clear view down the length of the broken road, leaving the heap of cloth as inconspicuous as possible. No human silhouette to draw any unwanted attention, a trick he'd learned from Fergus. The burlap shifted, the sun catching a flash from the lens of the half pair of binoculars. More of a monocular, now, but it worked.
A small hand emerged slowly from under the brown wrap to pull it down, revealing the head of a boy with a mop of brown hair, not startling the dark bird. With one squinted eye on the bird, he left it be and continued to survey his quarry through the magnification device. The reptiles were lazing about, most were sunbathing, a few curious others investigating their immediate positions. Looking for a juicy rad roach, no doubt. One glanced up in his direction, but he knew so long as he remained slow in his motions, he'd be practically invisible from this distance.
The gecko's head twitched in jerky motions, tilting left and right, swiveling side to side in its constant search of food, tongue flicking out to wipe over its right orange-tinted eye.
Its head suddenly perked to its left, frills flaring to attention, its snout pointing into the hole of a collapsed wall of one of the houses lining the street. A couple rusted cop cars and a toppled delivery truck were lined up in a perimeter around the gap. The noise grew louder, gaining the interest of the other geckos present, two more running over to join their kin.
The boy pulled away from the monocular, his stormy gray eyes gleaming with interest of his own. Even from here, he could hear the clattering echoes emanating from within the break in the wall. 'I wonder what that is,' he thought, returning to peek through the device.
Skittering out from the dark wound into the light of day came a Golden gecko, half a foot taller than the rest, and its hide color giving its namesake. Frills flared in warning, territorial of its abode.
Which was interesting, because as he was told, golden geckos needed a regular intake of toxic or radioactive material to become so, the color of their hide the by-product of such a diet, which made it sought after by tradesmen and leather workers. The hide was more resilient and as such, a more valuable trade or bargaining item than their common indigo cousins.
They were normally peaceful creatures, with the Golden Geckos being a little more aggressive, though the whole group would turn hostile once provoked. It would be nice if he could snag that gecko. Would get the others off his back for a while, and at least he'd be able to eat. Also, if there was one, then maybe there were more? He could tell Fergus, and then maybe. . .
'No,' the boy shook his head, setting the monocular down. 'I'm getting ahead of myself, no use in stringing myself along.'
Something knocked down some of the old metal trash cans in the backyard, followed by harsh whispers, of the house he was nested on, startling him with how close the noise had occurred, and with how far it carried. The Raven above him took flight, leaving behind the remains of its meal. Eyes widening, he ignored the distraction to turn back to the herd of geckos, but by the time his eyes were back on their position, they had all scurried back to the main aggregation.
Disappointment, it washed through his veins, a feeling he was accustomed too. Attaching the half-binocular to the strap across his chest, his eyes narrowed, cutting back to the edge of the roof as he yanked the burlap down like a scarf, picking himself up into a crouch, and stepping closer to get an overview of the fenced in backyard. Seeing that it was only his clansmen, four in fact, he stood too his full height of 5' 4''. He had on a dirty sleeveless army field jacket that hung lower than he liked, underneath he was wearing a black sun faded flannel shirt, his drab green cargo pants and brown hiker boots were a nice compliment to the uniform. Over his shoulder, a one strap backpack, three extra pockets stitched into the strap like a bandolier.
His eyes scanned the arrivals, recognizing each, finally landing on the one that many of the older members called a mini clone of Naddok, a boy named Bren. The thing about him though, weren't just the similarities he shared with his father, but himself. It was enough to draw his anger sometimes, or his ire on more sedate days.
Bren stood at 5' 6'', and was fifteen years old, his status as Naddok's son ensured he was always well fed, and was benefited with broad shoulders, built strong, dressed in dark leather Khan vest and chaps, some metal plates falling down his thighs and arms as armor. His darker brown hair shaved close to the skull, a two inch mohawk running the length, a hair style favored by three of the four Khans. They're was one other deviation though, one he was proud of.
So while his gray eyes were on Bren, that boy's own 'baby blues' bore brown, leering back at him.
Jessup and McMurphy shared similar haircuts, a 5' 4'' Caucasian boy of fourteen and the other, a 5' 6'' African-American boy of fifteen respectively. Both dressed in similar Khan garments, it was a trait shared by everyone present. Jessup was directly below him with an embarrassed smile stretched across his face as he shrugged back at McMurphy, Jessup was the one who'd knocked down the ladder and frightened away the geckos. McMurphy only a few paces behind, an equally wide grin on his face, enjoying himself at his friend's expense.
The last teen was the tallest among them at 5' 7'', his name was Chance, also the only one smiling up at him. A sixteen year old with long blonde hair that reached the bottom of his neck and blue eyes, his features heavily arian; His size and brawny frame meant he was also the strongest out of all of them. Built like a Bighorn, the boy had been described as a Viking from hundreds of years ago before the Great War. Fergus said that they were warriors equal to the Mongols, in which the tribes got their inspiration. He was bare chested under the dark, gecko hide, khan vest he wore; most of the time choosing to go without a shirt due to the scorching heat. Other than that, he wore simple jean shorts, held up by a belt with a combat knife sheathed, and brown construction style boots.
Eyes darting back to Bren, and his ire rising, he spoke, "Can I help you?" Bren was something of a leader to this merry band of khans, his little gang. So, he pretty much spoke for the rest of them.
Bren crossed his arms over his chest, a small sneer maring his face, "You know everyone hightailed it back to the camp, right?"
"Yet, here you are. . . ," he said, not giving Bren a straight up answer, he turned to Chance, "How's it goin' Chance?"
"Good, little man. Thought we'd all go for a hunt. Then we heard that the Elder was having another vision, it's why everybody took off." The tall blonde responded, then pointed through the building, "Seeing anything interesting?"
"Why we sitting around here, come on we don't need him." Jessup cut in. They'd spent an hour going out of their way from their hunting grounds. They were getting closer to the city center. Which meant more wildlife, for sure, but Bullhead had other Khan tribes each with their own rules. They haven't been at each other's throats yet, but the unity was shaky at best. Naddok and Papa Khan had managed to keep them from killing each other, by keeping them focused on the NCR.
Not to mention raider gangs that managed to get by in the middle. And while they weren't likely to be encountered with such a high Khan presence, it wasn't impossible. Most raiders wouldn't think twice about wasting a fledgling group of khans for whatever they owned. Children be damned.
"Come on, you know what we're really doing."
"Chance," Bren interrupted, his voice a low monotone.
"What's the deal, you already agreed, enough already," Chance countered, "One day, he will be riding on a raid with us."
"Personally," McMurphy chose this the best time to throw in his two caps, "I've got no problem. Chance ain't wrong. Let Petty tag along," he conceded, a little venom lacing the word.
The boy atop the roof cringed, he hated that name. It was the name his father gave him, more of an everlasting insult than a name. His father found it in a dictionary one day, and for whatever reason, the word stuck with him.
Petty: Small and insignificant. He must've thought it was a perfect fit.
He preferred the name Nick, though unfortunately for him, not many recognized it as such. Fergus being one of the exceptions, but even he didn't use it often. Still, he couldn't stop the spiteful surge from coursing through him, venting in the one way he knew how, "Fuck you Mac! I don't need whatever crap your pushing. I got something better anyways."
McMurphy's smile twisted, pleased with the predictable rise he got just from a name drop.
Bren scoffed, drawing everyone's attention back to him, "I highly doubt that."
Nick's teeth were grinding as he tried to reel in his growing anger, this was standard fare shit, and he got dragged in each time. Not this time, "Fuck if I care, I got a Golden Gecko with a .243 round to its name." Walking back to the chimney, Nick grabbed the .243 scoped rifle he had nestled against its rough surface. Moving back to the edge, Nick carefully made the ten foot drop, hanging from the ledge and landing next to Jessup. He was a rather athletic child for eleven years old, he probably could've gotten up there without the ladder.
'Probably would've kept them from finding me too', he thought.
"Bullshit," Jessup said, not convinced, staring down his nose at the shorter boy. "Where would they get the rads for that?"
"I don't need you to believe me, and I don't care if you don't." he replied evenly. Turning his back to the group, Nick made his way to the front of the house, throwing his hand up to wave at Chance before disappearing around the corner.
The soft foot falls of four sets of feet sounding behind him let him know he wouldn't be going alone, "Might as well see if he's bullshitting or not," he heard McMurphy say, the comment barely drifting to his ears, making him smile. 'Just wait,' he thought in return.
In the front yard, Nick pulled his pack off to dig inside the first top flap, one of two, and pulled a journal out and a pen, flipping it open. The first page, a hand drawn map of their section of Bullhead. They were on the corner of Rio Grande Road and Way, the golden gecko was further east down Rio Grande Way. He could still see the destroyed wall, though without his device, the distance looked much greater down on the ground.
A hundred yards in the wasteland might as well be a mile.
Turning back to the group, "Well if you all are serious," he started to gather their attention, pointing to the building down the street. "That there is where I saw the lizard. Just don't screw this up on me." Looking at his map, he determined the throng had thinned out, the majority having left down Del Norte, stragglers bringing up the rear at the opening of the street. They'd circle around again in a month or so, a large almost migratory route that took them down Harbor Drive and past Clear Water Drive, beyond what he's explored.
Bren and the other's had gone to their horses, tied to the decrepit frame of an old dim green Chryslus. Distracted with their bags, Nick moved to the garage door just as he heard Bren ask, "So where's your horse, didn't get it killed did you?"
McMurphy and Jessup's chuckles followed. But, instead of rising to the jab, the youngest chose to bend down, slipping his fingers underneath the large sliding door. He was sure the rattling of the door raising vertically on its tracks drew their attention. Inside, his horse neighed, blowing air through its lips in surprise, steadily stepping to its side. Stepping gingerly into the carport, Nick raised his hands high to comfortingly rest atop the horse's muzzle. "There, there boy."
Horses were the most common method of travel for Khans; dependable, rugged, and capable of traversing large distances, horses were definitely worth twice their weight in caps. They were a khan's most valuable possession.
His horse was Alban, a Pinto with a black body and white splotches, black mane and a white blaze down his face.
Spinning on his heel with a smart ass grin, "Alban is doing fine," he saw Bren wasn't pleased, backpack in one hand 12 gauge in the other. Jessup was reloading his revolver, a .38 caliber, polymer handle, his own bag resting at his feet. McMurphy didn't seem to care, adjusting his own pack over his shoulder, a black pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants.
Chance only shook his head, blonde locks softly waving with him, with an aluminum bat resting over his shoulder; he knew well enough this would continue, regardless of how much he tried to stop it. He decided long ago the best he could do was keep things from going overboard. Otherwise, he wasn't doing jack. Reaching into the dirty blue satchel hanging off him, he found the wrap of dog jerky he'd brought.
"Bring your horses in here, safer that way."
They didn't argue, and the horses were shut within the safety of the garage. Actually, the trek over to the wall was permeated in silence while they crept close, not that it bothered anybody. This was a hunt after all, but he took comfort in the quiet. Finally grouped around the entrance, they peered into where the sun managed to light up the first few feet.
"In here," Jessup asked incredulously, no longer as enthusiastic as moments before, " Bullshit, there's no way a Golden gecko lives here."
Nick cocked his head towards Jessup in minor disdain, pulling ahead of his companions to enter the two-hundred year old dwelling. He ignored Chance's uttering for him to use caution, he didn't walk a hundred yards just for Jessup to get skittish.
The closer he got the more intense the musky scent wafting from within got. Well, it definitely smelt like a Gecko's lair. So with his rifle shouldered and at the ready, he took the lead.
Inside, his eyes began to adjust to the low light, allowing him to make out the furniture in the living room he stepped in. The chairs were chewed up and the couch which was turned over was as well, some had been teething these for a few years. Behind the couch, sitting against the wall was a skeleton dressed in ragged scraps, about chest level above the corpse, the appearance of buckshot and faded blood spatter painted the wall. A coffee table was cracked in two, with table clutter and old magazines filling the gap. The floor creaked softly with every step, and to his left was the rest of the living room and his right, an open walkway into the kitchen. A dining table leaned against a kitchen counter that was littered with empty food cans, chairs scattered across the open room, and slumped against that table was a grungy skeleton, bullet holes left behind in the wooden table, old blood staining the tile floor. But it was here he made a discovery. Not only had the wall collapsed, but the kitchen floor had sunk into the earth, leaving a ramp down, and conveniently, a metal door knocked off its hinges to reveal a dark narrow tunnel.
"Great. . . dark, spooky, tight spaces," Nick drawled, sarcastically, letting his arms droop a little from his firing stance. "Fantastic." He didn't have a flashlight, and as much as he didn't want too, it looked like this time he was going to have to rely on one of the others.
The sudden illumination of the space around him got him to turn up, arm rising to shield his eyes from the cringing blindness.
Bren descended the sloped floor, pointing the beam into Nick's face as he passed. He was followed by Jessup and McMurphy, then Chance who gestured for Nick to get moving.
"So," Bren started, he passed the light to Jessup in favor of his pump shotgun, (couldn't blame him), "What's the odds this turns out a bullshit run?"
"Lower odds than one of you fucks saying 'bullshit' again," Nick growled lowly from near back of the bus, he lurched forward when Chance gave him a 'light' shove, "Not you man, you're at least halfway decent! God damn."
The tunnel continued for about 30 feet, Jessup shining the light on a couple skeletons lining the way. Finally, the tunnel opened into one large room, and as the beam flashed from one spot to another, the various contents came into sight; the beam roamed over more skeletons and ammo boxes scattered across the floor while some ruined tables were tossed onto their sides as makeshift barricades. Bullet holes, by the dozens dotted the cement walls and splintered tables. "Hey, shine the light on that wall," Bren said, and as Jessup did, everyone saw the crates lined up against it with more tables with components, more ammo boxes and tools, there was even a desk with an active terminal.
And towards the back yet another wall had collapsed, leading into an underground cavern shrouded in darkness.
The major sticking point however, were that these bodies, whoever they were, still had their armaments.
"Holy shit," and the ammo boxes, as Jessup and McMurphy were quick to dive into, did in fact contain more ammunition. "Fuck man, look at all this shit!"
Bren pulled out a spare flashlight, and he, Nick and Chance started piling up the assorted weapons on the floor; four MP5's, a MAC-10, and two AK-47 rifles. It was an impressive haul. As Bren and Chance turned to search around the tables, Nick decided to busy himself with the powered terminal.
Tapping a random key spurred the machine into action, lines of code running down and across the black screen before disappearing beyond the bottom. Setting his rifle against the desk, he took a seat in the green plastic chair to make himself more comfortable.
[Robco Systems]
[Welcome, Mr. Constance]
'Huh,' the computer wasn't password protected. Guess somebody thought it'd never be found. 'What do we have here, Mister Constance.' Pressing the enter key queued up the archives, though honestly, it wasn't much.
[GENERATOR COMMANDS]
[DELETED]
[DELETED]
[DELETED]
[DELETED]
[2077]
[2078]
[SORRY MATE]
Before Nick could delve into the only available entries, the sound of wood breaking brought him back into the room. Turning, Chance was using a crowbar he'd grabbed off the table to wrench open one of the stacked crates, Bren standing by to provide light. With a forceful thrust, he successfully peeled back the lid and the plank of wood clattered loudly as it hit cement.
"Wow," Chance said, a little loss for words. That coming from the large boy was enough to pull everyone to his side to peer within.
More AK-47's, ten rifles in total.
"'Wow' is god damn right," said McMurphy, picking one up to appraise the weapon, turning it over in his hands. After, he passed it to Jessup, who handled it with awe. "There ain't a speck of rust on that fuckin' thing!"
"We hit the fuckin' mother load," Nick commented after, "You think there's more in the others?"
"There's only one way to-," Bren started, then stopped, craning his neck as if he heard something, ". . .Anybody else hear that?"
"Hear what? Bro, I don't hear nothing-," the *Click* *Click* *Click* that echoed from the cavern made Jessup clamp shut, and everyone turned back to the cavern.
*Click*
*Click* *Click*
Hissing! Approaching far too quickly from cavern, making everyone's hairs stand on end!
"Fuck," yelled Bren swiveling quick, shotgun ready. When the gecko crested a moment later, golden in color, Bren unloaded a flash of buckshot into its scaly snout killing it on the spot, its body recoiling back down into the darkness in a bloody heap. The blast thundered unbearably, everyone's ears ringing as an effect.
When the sound of dead weight rolled to a halt, not even the potential tinnitus could drown out the hissing that began resounding from the deep dark crevice.
As everyone else drew their weapons, Nick quickly scurried back over to the terminal. Accessing the Generator Commands, then punched in Main Power, the screen flashed back in an error code he couldn't even fathom the meaning of, backing out and tried the command to start up the Auxiliary Power.
Another thundering blast, followed by some smaller, but no less unbearable pops from handguns. When the lights above them started flickering to life, Nick grabbed his rifle and dashed back to make his stand among the other four. The room lit up bright, actually causing a brief moment of discomfort. The lights continued into the underground cave, lighting up the three golden geckos rushing to defend their territory.
Taking a knee, Nick scoped in on the gecko in between. As soon as the crosshairs touched the kill zone, he didn't hesitate. Bolt, re-bolt, breathe, he took aim again. This time the furthest, and when the crosshair landed on the creature's cranium, he squeezed the trigger. Two shots in five seconds.
Bren walked a few paces down the 'ramp', taking his time as he shouldered his rifle, showing no concern for the advancing lone gecko.
One final blast ended its life. Smoke hung in the air, and nobody's ears had stopped ringing yet, and nobody was quite ready to speak either.
Despite all this, Nick was now grinning like a loon. "Hell yeah," this place was a huge find, big enough he didn't care if the others took credit in it, so long as he wasn't forgotten. The gecko hide and meat were trivial now. Those guns, the ammo, the salvage. . . that stuff was worth a small fortune.
"Ha ha ha, damn!" Jessup yelled, his blood pumping something fierce. That was more than he was expecting out of this trip. Hell, this whole 'underground tunnel to a hidden armory' deal was more than he was expecting! McMurphy chuckled, patting his friend on the shoulder as they both descended down the slope and helped haul up the fresh carcasses one by one.
"Told you guys! I told you this wasn't no bullshit run," Nick cheered, still ecstatic.
McMurphy tossed a hand in the air, calling back half-heartedly, "Yeah, yeah, Kid. You were right."
"A cave, and yet there's another door. How big did they need it. . . I'm going to take a look," said Bren, already making his way down and allowing his friends to pass with the first kill, reloading his shotgun along the way.
"Hey, whoa, I'm goin' too," Nick said immediately, only for Chance to grab him by the shoulder stopping him short. "What," he asked, simultaneously being disarmed, Chance slinging the rifle over his own shoulder. Chance pulled out the 9mm he had tucked and then a spare clip, slapping them both into Nick's open palm. "Oh," it was a Smith and Wesson, MP9 Shield.
"Grabbed it off one of the bodies, didn't seem like he needed it anymore," he chuckled, reaching over and ruffling the shorter boy's hair, pushing off a little to get him moving, "Happy early Twelfth, Nick. Now get, he's not waiting. I'll hold onto this for ya," he said, shrugging with his rifled shoulder.
Nick smiled down at the little gift. Granted, he would've lifted it sooner or later, it wasn't the gift he was thankful for. Smiling brightly, he sent Chance a mock salute, "Thanks Chance, you're the best!"
Watching Nick enter through the doorway to catch up with Bren, Jessup scoffed as he passed Chance, he and McMurphy making their second trip for another body.
As Nick soon found, the door led to another tunnel, the beaming orb of light ahead showing Bren's progress down the earthen channel. Once he was just a few feet behind, Nick spoke up, "I'd imagine this leads to the generator."
"I'd say you're right, the wires along the walls give it away," he said, then flashing the beam to the left, then to the right. A fork in the tunnel, one path lit with overhanging ceiling lights, the other a deep, dense, depressing black awaited at the edge of Bren's beam, daring anyone curious enough to enter its depths. "Shit. . . well, I can't in good conscience send you down there. That way looks like it leads to the generator. I saw you messing around on that terminal, thought you were going to run out on us." He said, a mocking smile stretching his lips, then turned back, trying to peer into the sea of shadow.
"Auxiliary actually, Main power must be that way, wouldn't start up." Nick replied, he too staring into the pit. He knew already Bren wasn't going to leave it alone. They were the same in that regard. He just felt like putting it out there, to get some kind of reaction. Always good to hear someone's intentions.
"I'll go down here, see if I can pop the lights on," he said, shouldering his shotgun, the pump resting against his forearm so that he could hold his flashlight. "If you hear shooting, don't think twice. Make for the exit. But, with any luck, it'll just be a chewed up generator." He walked on, his black silhouette in the middle of the ball of light vanished around a corner.
Nick looked at the 9mm in his hand. Then down the tunnel he ran taking note of few bloody hand prints, bringing him to a dead end and one final door, 'Main Power' it read, which didn't make any sense. 'The shit,', clutching the doorknob, he pushed open the door and inside, a silent fusion generator, a light bleeping next to an open socket.. Just feet away, the remains of a few months old rotting body of a scavenger, his hand outstretched for the fusion core discarded next to him.
Dropping to a crouch, Nick looked over the body, old scratches and bite wounds, one particularly nasty bite on the cadaver's neck, probably what killed him.
Its other arm, it had a device on the wrist, like a bracer, but some kind of technology he hadn't seen before. In its clenched fist laying across the chest was a one of those small orange rectangular holotapes, reaching down Nick plucked the tape from its death grip. Setting it onto the floor beside him, Nick picked up the limp appendage and felt around for a release for the bracelet. Finding the clasp allowed him to easily undo it and get a better look.
On the corner of the device it read Pipboy-3000, a slot atop was popped open, like the holotape could be inserted. Other than that, the screen remained black. Giving the device a quick flick along the various dials brought it to life. Placing it onto his forearm, he tried to clasp it tightly, only to find his arm wasn't quite big enough to do so. Instead, he picked the holotape up an pressed it into to tape tray for it to play.
The unmistakable sound of muffled screams and growls, in between the fast and repetitive bangs beating off the metal door played in the background, the only noise that came in clear was that of labored breathing, when its owner, a man, began to speak; his voice growing weaker with every word uttered, his strength clearly waning.
"Found this place, a fucking treasure trove. Guns, and lots of bullets. Couldn't believe them fucking Khans been sitting on this shit and never even knew!
Guess the joke was on me though, secondary generator powered up quickly, main generator was offline, weird that the lights were wired the way they were. Went to check it out, and the door was locked.
Was easy picking it open, problem was the fuckin' feral ghouls.
They got the jump on me, so I ran for the Main Power, shut myself in. But not before I managed to trip on a fusion core running outta the room.
One chomped my neck pretty good to get it. It's getting hard just to keep my eyes open, breathing is painful.
I'm going to try and wait 'em out, use the core to get power and hopefully get to the surface.
But honestly, I don't think I'm getting out of here. Outta this room.
If this is to be my last moments, played on tape. . . and if somebody manages to find this. . . if you ever run into a Frieda. Freida Van Graff, give her this tape.
Or at the very least. . . tell her 'J.D. says she can do better.'"
Nick stood stock still, for the first time today a real sense of fear racing through him. His eyes suddenly widened, 'Bren!' he yelled in his head, and as if the universe was against him, he heard the drum of buckshot again in it's irregular beat from elsewhere in the underground tunnel.
Hopping to his feet, the boy grabbed the fusion core, the small battery heavier than it appeared. It slid into its place in the generator, and the rest of the connected power grid fired up as the machine hummed to life. Throwing the newly acquired Pipboy into his pack, Nick raced through the door and down the hall again, listening as Bren continued to touch off the trigger, getting closer. As he was rounding the corner, Bren collided solidly against him, sending them both to the floor in a heap.
Growls and shrieks echoed behind them, Bren glanced back, Nick registering the fear that flashed on his face. Quickly pushing himself up with a fist full of jacket, Bren hauled up the younger khan below him, "GET! UP!" he yelled, not waiting for the boy to follow.
Another shriek, and Nick turned to see several ghouls bounding around into view, "Oh shit!" Bolting in the only way that led to freedom, he ran as fast as his legs could stride. Unfortunately, one of ghouls managed to out leg him, it pounced forward, it's leathery fingers tripping him up at the ankle. Nick just barely caught himself from smashing his face into the ground. Whirling around, he scrambled back on his hands and heels, but the ghoul was faster, practically throwing itself on top of him!
Nick leaned back, planting his heels as best he could in the feral's gut then pushed it off to keep a safe distance. His hands searched for the grip at his waist, as the ghoul tried again, snarling down at him with its arms stretching, wishing to dig its fingertips into flesh. Finally slipping the 9mm from his waist, he started squeezing the trigger three times and the ghoul fell limp in a disfigured, groaning mass.
More ghouls were on their way, another two almost about to overtake him, when a blast sent the feral recoiling back to slump against the wall. Chance lunged forward and clobbered the other across the head with his bat, he back-pedaled and spun on his heel, reaching his sturdy hand down for Nick's hand, yanking him to his feet roughly, and bringing the two face to face, Chance quickly looked him over. Bren, who'd doubled-back just in time, had shown up with the others, weapons at the ready.
Back on his feet, Nick ran down the hall, followed by Chance, Jessup, McMurphy, then Bren who occasionally fired to keep the ghouls from swarming them. Their mad dash carried them back up the makeshift ramp and into the storeroom. Nick stopped, but the others hadn't stopped there, their goal instead to get the hell out of the building. Nick put a few rounds out to cover Bren's retreat until he was up the ramp as well, and the two continued, the ghouls undeterred.
Through the kitchen and there was their exit, light shining in like a beacon of deliverance. Breaking through its blinding shell back onto the street, they hit the ground as bursting cracks filled the air. Behind them, the pursuing ferals were turned into mince meat, automatic weapons firing into the gap, riddling the forms of the ghouls with lead.
When the bullet storm ceased, a ghoul could be heard gurgling on it own blood, but was otherwise no longer a threat. Spinning around showed that to be true, Nick seeing a pile of massacred ghouls lining the yard from the gap. From his back, he heard the tell-tale noise of someone dismounting their horse, and looking that way, it was his leader. His entourage consisted of a small party of ten men on horseback, one of whom he knew as Fergus. Chance, Jessup and McMurphy standing with them, small standing beside such tall creatures.
Naddok was, of course, looking at him with something akin to disappointment, and his stomach sank. Gritting his teeth, Nick turned his head away from the older man in defiance, standing to his feet like Bren beside him. He told himself this shit was pointless.
As the clan leader walked up to Bren, the other boy started walking up to Fergus.
"So what happened," Naddok began, looking at his son expectantly. "would you like to explain why you were all down there, getting chased by ferals?"
"Yeah, well. . . there's this tunnel. It leads to a room with supplies. Weapons, ammo, some parts and stuff."
"And you were poking your heads in there to begin with, why?" Bren glanced at Nick's back, but Naddok caught the flicker easily enough. "So Petty lured you down there."
Bren could see Nick's form come to a still for a passing moment, before finally reaching Fergus. Nick chose to ignore it, he'd have to this time, instead, he turned to address his leader. "I was hunting a Golden Gecko. They just followed me."
"So you are to blame for risking my son's life?"
Nick flinched, "What? They chose to follow-"
"Enough, did you lead them in there?" Naddok cut him off.
"Well, yeah. But they didn't-"
"I said enough," he said, this time firm in his tone. A tone that warned of consequences to come for his next outburst. "You. Lead them. That is all."
Nick turned away from the man after that, his head low, fists tightened until his knuckles were drained white, his blood boiling in seething anger. Without even trying, he managed to stumble right back into the same bullshit again. And the worst of it all, was that no matter how angry he got, it could never stamp out the disappointment and sadness that gnawed at his chest.
"Hey Pop, we weren't in any real danger. We're all fine, not a scratch, plus all the stuff. It wasn't so bad," Bren tried, in a rare display of sympathy for the boy.
Naddok rounded back on his son, eyes narrowed in warning to Bren as well, "I'd advise you to use better judgment in the future." Not giving his son a chance to respond, he turned to his men and closed the distance to his steed, mounting the horse, he gauged the sun in the clear blue sky. "We'll gather your horses, then ride to camp. We have much to talk about. Higgins, Samuel, Spencer, stay here and get things organized. I'll send more people with a wagon, and be careful."
And just like that it was over. Nick sighed, this day turned into a shit show, and it started so well, eyes cutting back to Bren in brief jealousy. Fergus leaned down, offering his arm to hoist the young boy up, but had to snap his fingers in front of the boy's face to awaken him from his daze, a frown of his own now, catching a glimpse of the distraught look the boy tried to hide so very often.
Shaking his head back into the present, Nick took the hand and climbed onto the horse to sit behind Fergus. From there, the group continued talking amongst themselves, all except Nick, a sad frown maring his face. 'It's going to be a long ride,' he thought, before another struck him.
"Ah shit! My rifle!"