Authors Note: I wrote this a long time ago and I think it came from the darker corners of my head, so if you don't think you think you have a stomach, don't read this. Some parts are graphic. Sorry for any mistakes I've made.
The Highwayman
The moon was high and the air was crisp and cold. There wasn't a light nor a sound for miles around. Not the whistle of wind, or the call of a voice.
A lone man sat in the light of his fire on the side of the long, untraveled highway. He sat warming his hands and watched intently on the road empty of travelers. His fingers were numb and his ears were cold but he was attentive and on guard. He waited. And listened. Listened for the tell tale sound of Brahmin's heavy foot falls and the humans' lighter ones that accompany them.
The night was still fairly young, the sun falling not much more than two hours ago. The man waited, his black eyes glistening in the firelight.
He shifted his position, kicking up some dust and sand around him. He had a worn and beaten back pack beside him that held a revolver, matches, some food and a small razor edged knife. He never took his eyes off the stretch of road.
There! Barely audible, just barely, he could hear the sounds of falling boots on the torn and ruined cement. As it drew nearer, he could also start to hear the sound of clunking cargo on the back of the Caravan Brahmin.
The mans heart beat increased anxiously as he awaited the coming traveling traders. He squinted, trying to see the beings through the darkness. It wasn't a dark night, the moon illuminating everything in an eerie light which granted easier visibility.
They came closer and now he could see who it is. Perfect, he thought to himself, just who I needed.
As they neared, the leader of the three figures called out to him in a feminine voice,
"Can we help you?" she asked cautiously.
"Yes, in fact, I am in need of assistance," he replied. His back was to the fire so he figured he must have been silhouetted against the orange glow. The leader cocked an eyebrow.
"Please, come sit, travelers. You must be tired," he said silkily. They did, but not with their guards down. There were three of them, armed with pistols and submachine guns hooked to their belts. The woman, the leader, was in leather combat armor and had a bandanna tied back over her hair. The others were obviously mercenaries hired to protect the Caravan.
"Do you have a name?" the leader asked.
"Most know me just as The Highwayman. But you three look trustworthy enough…. My name is Jacob. I don't suppose you three have names?" he said, never breaking the perfect, hypnotic silky tone.
"My name's Jane. These two are my mercenaries and friends, George and Rita. Best fighters you can find," Jane replied, cocking a thumb at the two silent people. One had a cloth face mask covering her mouth. George the, other one, had metal armor with wicked spikes protruding from the shoulders.
"They look like they've seen some combat in their time," Jacob remarked, "Jane…. That name sounds familiar…." She quickly shook her head.
"It can't. The three of us just arrived in the Mojave three days ago," she said. Jacob nodded slowly. He was starting to put Jane on edge. "So you needed help?" she asked quickly.
"Ah yes. I needed some water and if you could spare some protection and let me travel with you that would be the best favor I could ask," Jacob said, every word carefully said and with a sort of hypnotic quality. Jane bit her lip and thought about it.
"We can give you the water for a few Caps…. But I'll have to think about letting you come along with us," Jane said slowly. She really didn't like this.
"Thank you for considering," Jacob said with a sad smile, "I've seen rough times lately and frankly I think the trails ahead may be too dangerous for myself who doesn't have very advanced combat skills."
Jane bit her lip and thought for a moment. She took a sip from the water canteen strapped around her shoulder.
"Alright. Fine. You can come along. But if you cause even the first sign of trouble, George will put a bullet between your eyes before you can blink," she finished.
Jacob nodded and brushed the pitch black hair out of his eyes. Those eyes have seen too much in the short thirty four years of his life. Too much for his own good.
George sat a little away from the three of them. He didn't trust Jacob for a second. He's a bad one, that guy, he thought, a death omen.
The travelers laid out three tattered blankets and a fourth one for Jacob and quickly settled beside the dieing fire.
Long after the three of them were a sleep, George sat outside the ring of light the fire cast, staring out into the Mojave atomic wasteland. He didn't like Jane's decision. He didn't like it one bit.
The next day they continued on their travels, stopping briefly at some points to trade with a few individuals. The hot desert sun beat down on the back of their necks as they hiked along the bomb ravaged roads. The world is so quiet after the apocalypse. To quiet, like a heavy snowfall.
Jacob spent a lot of the time getting to know Jane. He learned she'd grown up in Nipton and spent her days helping her dad keep his shop until he was killed in a Legion raid. Her mother died from cancer when she was seventeen and just old enough to start her caravan. Once she started it, she decided to leave the Mojave for a while and travel to the West Coast Wasteland. There she met George and Rita in a small coastal town called Half Bay. She traveled through WCW for a while, being one of the merchants around there, prospecting for goods in the San Francisco ruins. But there was too much conflict between the Enclave, NCR, and a small group of freedom fighters called the Underground that it became near impossible to travel safely. When she returned to the Mojave, she found out that things aren't much better off with warring forces of the Legion and NCR, with death tolls rising each day.
"The NCR helps keep the roads clear, but I expected the Legion to be snuffed out by the time I came back. I guess not…." She said as they walked along. Rita and George kept their distance from the two of them as Jacob and Jane got to know each other. They had been walking almost all day and were nearing there destination, Nipton.
"So we're going back to your home, huh?" Jacob had remarked.
"Yep," Jane said with a sad smile.
"Are you going to be all right?" Jacob asked tentatively. She looked at him with a sort of wonder. He looked strangely out of place in the golden glow of the late afternoon glow. His black hair, his bright, black eyes and black trench coat.
"Yes," Jane replied with a shaky voice. They stopped walking and looked at each other. Jacob had a strange small smile on his face. Again that sort of hypnotic quality….
"Who are you Jacob? I mean who are you really? There's something about you that's just…." She paused to think, "Different. Odd. Inhuman." He kept smiling.
"I'm a man. I've seen to much in my time. I'm a wanderer. But your right there is something different about me." Jane realized he wasn't just hypnotic, he was rather seducing. She quickly forced these thoughts out of her head. Her questions completely unanswered, they continued walking.
They decided to make camp about a quarter mile away from Nipton and go into town in the morning. Jacob quickly made a small fire and they all ate a meal of hunted Brahmin and re-hydrated with what water they had. They were asleep quickly.
Jane awoke with a start and looked around. The sun was almost up, and there was that blue-ish color that there was right before light. The air was cool but readying for the heat. She sat up. Jacob was missing. S-. She thought to herself and grabbed her 357. Magnum and strapped it to her waist. She got up and walked. She didn't have to go but a hundred meters from camp to see Jacob standing there waiting for the sun. For the first time he actually looked like he belonged in the scene. His arms were folded and he looked out to the desert to where the sun will rise.
She walked towards and before she even got thirty feet to him he said 'Good morning' without even turning around.
"Mornin," she replied once she reached him. She felt a little uneasy being with him without George and Rita's watchful eyes on them.
"Nice isn't? The few minutes before the day. Nights last words…." He said in the eerie silky way he speaks.
"Yeah," she replied bluntly, becoming extremely alert. He turned to her and their eyes met. She was a few inches shorter than him. She hadn't put her on bandanna and her long, auburn hair fell over her shoulders and eyes. She stared at his hard face and with an immense curiosity and at the same time a sort of alien feeling she couldn't place….
"Your afraid," he said. She was slightly startled and realized she was in fact slightly afraid.
"Yeah a little," she replied a little nervously.
"Why?" he asked softly and brushed the loose strands of hair from her eyes. She was screaming to herself inside. What the hell is going on? She was saying, but not aloud.
"Why are you afraid?" he asked again. He gently ran is curled fingers down her neck. It felt like seven different voices were screaming inside of her, a whirlwind of insanity. Before she knew what she was doing, she closed her eyes, and leaned to kiss him. He kissed her back, him holding her tight against him. She felt his unearthly warmth, like she was lying out in the sun. She pressed against him and turned her head. She felt like she was drowning in warmth. The screaming was ten times louder, consuming her entire being. Jacob slowly and subtly reached to the pocket of his long, black coat. Jane was oblivious to the knife he produced.
When he slid the knife, deep into her stomach, he felt her gasp in breath and her eyes widen with shock. He pulled away and held her gently as he slowly put the razor sharp edge deeper into the center of her stomach. Her eyes still wide he put her body down against the cool sand. Grinning sadly to himself he shut her still open eyelids. He kissed her forehead and stood up. He made a prayer for her passing soul and walked away. Her body lay lifeless on the cool sand as the first few beams of sun stained the sky red.
George watched all this from a distance. He saw them kissing and then him killing her mercilessly with a knife in her stomach. He felt like puking. He'd known Jane for years… and suddenly she was just gone. Killed by this man she barely knew. Rage quickly coursed through Georges veins that replaced his grief. He wanted revenge. That bastard will die, long and painfully. He'll pay for it.
With these raging ideas running in his head, George turned on his heels and ran back to camp where Rita was tending to the Brahmin.
"We have to get to Nipton. We have to warn the townspeople," George said rapidly.
"What happened?"
"Jacob killed Jane." Her face was lit with shock. She quickly grabbed her Hunting Rifle and checked the load.
"Where's the money?" George asked frantically, digging through the supplies.
"It's in the small black box."
George grabbed it and shoved it at Rita.
"Hide it he hissed," he hissed. She took and took off running. A few moments later she returned. When she was back, they both started running towards Nipton in a break neck speed.
Jacob walked slowly back to the camp, only to find Rita and George had disappeared. He quickly snatched up his beaten backpack and slung it over his shoulder after snatching the revolver and its holster from inside. As he walked, he strapped the holster to his waist and pulled his trench coat over it. He advanced slowly to Nipton, where death surely awaits. But of course, not for him.
When Nipton game into view, Jacob could already see people at the start of the small cluster of buildings. When he neared closer, he could see they were armed with whatever they could find; broken off planks of wood, metal pipes, pathetic old rifles, small side arms, and cleavers. Jacob was almost pleased. The fist shot rang out. The bullet whizzed by his head, maybe a foot away. Jacob smiled again and kept walking. The man who had shot didn't have a very precise aim. Another shot went off as he neared closer still. This one struck him square in the chest. There was a puff of light brown sand that seemed to appear from nowhere in front of his chest where the bullet had gone through. The ball of lead continued on its way through his back with another spray of sand appearing out of thin air as it exited his back. There was completely no wound, not a scratch. Jacob kept advancing on the group.
When he was thirty feet away, he drew his pistol so fast it looked like his hand hadn't moved and the pistol just appeared there. He cocked back the hammer.
Before the man he was aiming at could even register he had a gun pointed at him, a bullet tore through his skull in the dead center of his forehead. He thumbed back the hammer and took another man just as quickly through his throat. The two dozen other men who had been there as well quickly scattered and fell back into the town.
Jacob followed them, still walking leisurely, a wicked grin on his face. He entered the town that had one main street and a street that you could take a right on in the half way through the main street. He walked along.
The men who had fled had gone into building for cover or taken cover elsewhere. Jacob made one misjudgment though; most of them were in fact wielding fire arms. It didn't make much of difference.
One man poked his head around the corner of a building. In a blink of an eye, he lay sprawled on the ground; his head was an unidentifiable pile of shattered bones, cartilage and internal organs. Blood flowed from what was left of the neck. Two shots sounded, one passed harmlessly through Jacob's stomach, the other one shot past his left ear. Barely looking, he shot at the two men who'd fired simultaneously, each shot hitting a vital organ.
A man tried to sneak up behind with a metal pipe. In mid-swing, Jacob whipped around, grabbed the mans wrist and shoved it behind his back and pulled it up. He than gripped the man in a headlock with one arm while the other put the end of the guns barrel against the back of the mans head, and pulled the trigger; shattering his skull. He let the corpse fall to the ground and reloaded. Shoving all the bullets into the cylinder took about a second. Dropping the hammer, Jacob scanned for more of the men. He saw a man on a roof with a 305. Sniper Rifle just as he shot at Jacob. He easily sidestepped the snipers shot and returned fire. The mans rag doll of a body flew from the roof to the ground below. Jacob cocked the hammer again.
Eight men emerged from two buildings on either side of him, four from one, four from another. They charged at him, wielding pool sticks, wooden planks, sawed-off pipes and other weapons of the sort. Their advance was rapid and Jacob started to back up. Shooting from his hip, he fanned the hammer with one hand and rapidly pulled the trigger with another; bringing five men down then having to reload. He quickly shells into the slots, but the three remaining took advantage of this and charged at him. They swung their makeshift weapons at him. Jacobs's knife was in his hand in a moment. He blocked his assailants attacks, sidestepped rolled and evaded almost every attempt to do damage. Slicing one mans hand off in a swift motion, he sent him to the ground, writhing and screaming in agony. The other two kept at him, and he swept ones legs at from under him. Jacob drove his knife deep into his heart in midair as he fell to the ground. The other swung his sledgehammer at Jacob. He easily sidestepped, grabbed the mans shoulders and drove his knife into his back.
Quickly wiping the blood off the blade, he looked around for the remaining men. They were taking off running as far as they could from the town. Jacob quickly snatched up his revolver, loaded the last few slugs into the cylinder and fired them, taking each man down with a shot to the back of the head.
Barely breathing hard, Jacob looked around him. The scene was almost sickening. Blood flooded the streets and fragments of human parts lay in seemingly random place. Then something caught his attention in the corner of his eye. He turned slowly to see a lone figure standing at the opposite end of the road. George. Jacob walked slowly towards him, filling any empty slots with new shells in his revolver, without taking his black eyes off George even for a moment.
"I didn't trust you even for a moment," George said through gritted teeth. His eyes were like blue fires fueled by hatred.
"Wise of you," Jacob replied in a calm tone, emotion showing no sign in his voice.
"Your going to pay for what you've done," George said rage flaring in his voice.
"Can't you see George?" Jacob said, "I cannot die. I am not like you. I cannot be taken by a mere bullet." Just as he finished his word sentence, Rita charged at him from an unseen place, gripping a machete in her hands. Jacob ended her in her tracks with a bullet to the heart.
"I am not human." He said with finality. So quick he looked like a pitch black blur, he flew at George and held him with ferocity against the ground. "Where is it?" Jacob hissed with such insanity in his eyes that made George want to crawl into somewhere dark and hide from this thing that help him to the ground with such inhuman strength. "Where is it?" he hissed again.
George swallowed hard.
"The money you fool, where is it?"
"Rita h-hid it! Under a bush next a rock. You'd never see unless you were l-looking for it,"
The man in black smiled coldly. He drew his pistol and placed it the barrel under Georges chin. He pulled the trigger.
Standing up, he wiped the blood from his hands. Sighing, he walked slowly down the main street of the ghost town. His job was done.