. : O N T O P OF M U S H R O O M C L O U D S : .
.: C H A P T E R O N E :.
Wake Up Call
H I S thoughts were twisting and meshing together, strewn across his mind in layers of confusion, apprehension, and misunderstanding. Jericho was lost; there was no place for him to go, and certainly there was no place safe enough to call home.
He was kneeling below a high cliff in the middle of the wastes, attempting to sneak pass a small group of scavengers; they could've easily mistaken him for a raider if he was seen. He silently took out the only rifle he had on him, an old, worn-down Chinese Assault rifle. He knew it would only take a few shots to kill the scavengers, but he didn't have the repair skills needed to prevent his rifle from jamming up afterward; so he kept still and waded in the bushes behind the large rock.
The scavengers were talking amongst themselves, telling stories, all fictional, about how they thought America used to be before the nuclear war; Jericho listened intently, hoping their chatter would soon slew into drunken nonsense, and, eventually, sleep. However, the scavengers didn't show any signs of exhaustion. He sighed and pulled the collar on his armor and leaned his gun and back against the rock, hoping not to be heard.
Laughter rose from the campfire; he knew he was safe. Perhaps, Jericho thought, it would be best to confront them. He shook the thought immediately; he didn't want to risk death. Jericho was an ex-raider; therefore, he often thought quickly on his feet. He could usually barter his way out of anything, but most of the time he was sly, able to slither his way passed unsuspecting victims. He often found the simplest and effective ways to stay out of trouble, and so far things had worked out for him. He wasn't going to screw it up this time.
He pulled out a Nuka-Cola, popped off the cap as quiet as he could, and put it in his pocket. He chugged the soda down as fast as he could, allowing the burning sensation to tear through his throat; it kept him awake.
The scavengers continued to talk for hours, and Jericho felt himself drift into hysteria; but he couldn't allow his anger to get the best of him, so he shook the bubbling wrath from his thoughts. As nighttime went calmly, he heard the crickets begin to chirp, looked up at the stars, and felt himself drifting into sleep, but before he fell into slumber he took his armor off, without a sound, and set it by his rifle.
His eyes shut and, as he heard the soft muttering of the scavengers, his mind wandered, and soon he was fast asleep.
" W A K E Y, wakey," Jericho heard the taunting voice enter his ears.
He tried to open his eyes but the sun impaired his sight; he winced at the hot sun, and when his vision cleared he saw three shadow figures leaning over him.
"Well good morning, sunshine," one mocked, "What have we here?"
He felt a sharp pain shoot through his arm; someone was stepping on his hand. He soon felt a similar pain in his other arm and then his legs.
"What the fu—" Jericho muttered; but his cursing was cut off by the butt of his own rifle.
He let out a yelp as he felt cold metal swipe against his nose and cheek. He then felt the tension on his limbs ceased; they pushed him up, all three, and forced him on his legs. The pain was too excruciating, and soon, Jericho fell to his knees. He fought long and hard—and, at this point, he could make out the shadow figures as raiders: two boys and a girl—but they, all together, were too strong for him. The two men managed to pull his arms back, while the woman held his own rifle to his forehead. Blood trickled down Jericho's nose and onto the ground as he dropped his head, admitting defeat.
"Well, well. You's quite the fighter, ain't he boys?" The girl mocked.
"Ha, ha. Old man, he thought he could take us?" One male replied.
Jericho scoffed and spit at his feet, "I ain't old!"
"Watchit, old timer!" The other replied; he extended his leg and kicked Jericho hard in his genitals.
Jericho fell to the floor in agony, as the two men released him. He heard the three laugh as he tried to scramble away, but again, the butt of his rifle met his back. He fell to the ground.
The raiders had looted his stuff while he was asleep: his rifle, the leather armor, the food, cigarettes, booze, soda, and even his only knife. He had nothing left, nothing to use against them.
"Alright, that's enough horseplay. You's two know Hatchet'll kill us if we take too long. Just grab the prisoner and let's get outta here," the woman commanded.
The men obeyed quickly, lifting Jericho up from the dirt. Jericho let aloud uncontrollable laughter as the two got him on his feet.
"What so funny, old timer?" a raider asked.
"Prisoner? I thought raiders didn' take prisoners. Whataya gettin' weaker by the decades?" Jericho laughed; he could feel the pain shoot through his body as he chuckled.
One male punched him across the face and cursed, "Watchit, scumbag. We need a prisoner an' your it; you should consider yourself lucky to be kept alive."
"Ha, I guess things have changed since I've been in the business," Jericho replied after spitting out blood from his now split lip.
"That's enough outta you!" The raider raised his hand, but the young woman stopped him.
"Wait! Tug, I think I know this man," she realized then lunged forward, making her way to Jericho. "Come here, sweetheart."
She leaned forward, and so did her breasts; her hand gently grasped Jericho's face and turned it to the side.
"You know," Jericho answered, muttering his way through pursed lips, "I could get used to this."
"Ah yes indeed," she replied, "I do know you. You're Jericho. Yes, I would recognize your shameful face; you've been kicked from every raider group since you turned thirty."
She released his face, and he moved his jaw around before proceeding to talk, "Yeah, yeah. You got me. And hey, thirty isn't old," Jericho replied.
They laughed hysterically and the woman replied mockingly, "But that was five years ago."
"Well, thirty-five ain't old neither!" Jericho yelled.
He felt himself lunge at her, but Tug and the other male held her back.
"Ha, ha—wait'll Hatchet finds out we got ourselves an ex-raider for a prisoner. Ha! Jericho, a name well fit for your age! Well, Jericho, it seems you've had a bad morning, but don't worry, as soon as we get back to camp, you won't have to worry about bad days anymore!" The woman replied while laughing hysterically.
I T took several days to make it to camp, and Jericho gave them plenty of trouble along the way; at one point he had almost escaped, but they were able to catch him a couple miles from their pitched tents. He wouldn't have gotten far anyway without his rifle or his armor; eventually, around the third day Jericho had given up any hopes of escaping, and accepted his fate regardless; he had a good run.
Along the way, he learned the name of the motley crew that had jumped him; the woman's name was Dollface, and though she had an unusually pretty face for a raider, Jericho felt no empathy for the wretch, or any attractiveness toward her; and then there was Tug or Thug, he couldn't really tell; the annunciation was different from the male to the woman. Jericho recognized Tug because he always wore black sunglasses to cover up a rather large scar, and he also had a Mohawk, which was traditional among raiders. The last male was called Grinder; and he was the only blonde. He had messy hair and wore the raider armor, like all of them, but added a few interesting touches to his suit, including spiked shoulder pads, and metal combat boots. He was clearly the highest rank, if there was such a system among the raider community, and he was the strongest.
Dollface was the brains of the operation, and kept the boys out of mischief; Tug and Grinder took on the responsibility of watching Jericho throughout the duration of the trip, and if Jericho had kept still and quiet, it would've been an easy task. However, Tug was the first to grow tired of his antics, and when they found him, miles from their tents; Tug was the first to pummel poor Jericho into submission. They found Jericho to be much like a puppy; easily trained, they just had to beat him a few times.
Jericho had given up fighting whenever they reached the raider campsite; Grinder had him slung over his shoulders when they entered. The camp was grotesque; severed bodies hung on large poles, some pinned to beds and walls, and some hung limply on ceilings of giant, destroyed cement structures: all were signs of a raider encampment and a warning to trespassers. Limbs and heads were spread afar, lining the buildings like some sort of ghastly human wall that stretched on for miles and never seemed to end. All of this, Jericho knew from his previous life, was caution to wanderers and scavengers alike.
Now that Jericho had been out of the dismal business of contracting and killing, the camp seemed ill-fitting and macabre; it reminded him of the dark times he went through as a raider, and the many innocent lives he took. It wasn't like Jericho to admit that he had done wrong, nor was it normal for him to feel empathy toward his wronged actions, but the sight of the high-piled bodies and the stench of the decay in the air made him think otherwise. He had been a monster, and these people were monsters too. He shook all sympathetic thoughts out of his mind: this wasn't the place for such things, and thinking it would only get him killed. He convinced himself that he wasn't gonna die this way, and that's why he had left his previous engagements with Eulogy Jones; he wanted out of this life. It just wasn't fun anymore.
Jericho knew how to play the game; he had played it many times before. He wasn't going to crack for anyone, and, from this point forward, he held his own. He didn't want to die in this place, nor Evergreen Mills, nor Paradise Falls either.
Grinder threw him down on a pile of small, jagged rocks; his limbs scrapped against the gravel as he scrambled to get up, but Dollface pointed his gun in his face once more. Jericho frowned and sat up a bit, something Dollface allowed him to do; this gave him time to look around his new environment and hatch an idea or two. The four of them were standing outside of a large structure that could've easily been a mall back in the days before the mushroom cloud loomed over Washington DC. When Jericho looked forward, he saw Tug knocking on a large steel door; to the right were small red shanty houses full of raiders, and to the left was a large irradiated pond with a half-drowned boat sticking out of the north end. The stern had broken from the bow and was filling with water, and the bow was rustic and spray painted in racial slurs, soon to join the rest of the ship in submersion.
Jericho winced at the sight; it was rather pitiful. He jumped a bit upon hearing Tug rapping at the door once more, and this made Grinder and Dollface chuckle. Jericho sunk down into his shoulders; what was going to happen next?
The door opened slightly, allowing a sliver of light to beam through.
"Who is it?" A burly voice asked.
"It's us, you Knucklehead! Tell Hatchet we've returned with a mighty fine prisoner!" Tug answered rudely.
"Why don't you tell him yourself; he's right here," Knucklehead countered.
He opened the door with one hand while motioning Dollface and Grinder to join him; both nodded and pulled Jericho up and pushed him into the building.
He fell to his knees in the middle of the room; the light was dim, and the room could only hold a few occupants. It was more like an office, completed with a desk, a terminal, a bookshelf here and there, a lamp, and a couple doors that led to different chambers. On the other side of the desk was a tall, sturdy man with an eye-patch. He was wearing raider armor and a grimy helmet that made him look important; Jericho presumed that he was Hatchet.
"Well, what have we here, Dollface?" Hatchet asked.
Tug and Grinder pushed her forward and held on to Jericho, who glared deep into Hatchet's eyes. Dollface trotted forward, letting her hips sway to and fro; she stopped short of reaching the desk. Hatchet lit up a cigar and held it to his mouth; Jericho licked his lips on sight—he hadn't had a cigarette all day.
"Well, Hatch, we was scouring the wastes just like you's told us to do, and we came across this napping oaf," She explained and pointed to Jericho, "Turns out this man has some history with our kind. Says he's an ex-raider named Jericho."
"Jericho?" Hatchet said aloud; he was surprised.
The name had antiquity to it, and it rung in his ears upon hearing it.
"Ah yes, Jericho; I know you," He pointed to Jericho accusingly. "You are a legend in raider history; basically useless now, but in your prime you were feared and fearless."
"Ha, he still is, Hatch! He made our lives a living Hell, attemptin' to escape every opportunity he got," Tug chimed in.
"Yes, but even through all you trickery, Jericho, you were still outwitted by my rioters," Hatchet responded.
Jericho's eyes squinted upon hearing his name; he was too ashamed to talk, so he kept his eyes on Hatchet.
"Too proud to say something? That's fine; you won't be talking in a matter of days anyhow. I just have one question for you, and if you answer it, I'll let you ask any questions you would like, but if not I will do the personal honors of making sure your days spent here on my camp are a living Hell," Hatchet warned; Jericho was listening intently. The man proceeded to ask, "Is it true that you single-handedly slaughtered an entire village of men, woman, and children when you were just nineteen?"
Jericho screwed up his face, and the stress lines appeared on his forehead. The raiders were waiting for his response, and he suddenly felt the heavy weight of the silence. His head sunk down in embarrassment; he was ashamed of his past. Jericho wasn't the type of man who was full of good and forgiveness, especially back in his youth, but he wasn't a bad man either. He may have had a rustic exterior, but he only presented it to hold his own; he wasn't proud of his past, in fact, Jericho wasn't proud of anything and everything he did or had done. It was time to fess up, something he knew he would have to do eventually, but never wanted to. The time didn't feel right, but he had to.
"No," Jericho replied faintly; his eyes shot to the floor in dismay, "I only killed the men. The women and children were tortured and tormented, sure, but I had better intentions for them. In order to make bank, I gathered the women and children up like sheep and sold them into slavery to Eulogy Jones."
Jericho felt the weight of his actions dive deeper into his body; he recoiled from the pain. He wasn't relieved or proud of this confession, and the raiders could see this. They cheered and laughed after his admission, thinking of him as a true legend in the Wasteland: the true Evil Incarnate. But Jericho was ashamed and bewildered at their reactions. He held his head low and thought about all the innocence he had raped, plumaged, and killed. He had split up families to make money and burned villages for the fun of it, and now it felt like Karma was coming back to bite him in the ass.
"Jericho, you are a true legend then. The stories of you don't even measure up to the true damage you caused in Arlington. It's too bad you have to meet your end like this," Hatchet said.
A light bulb suddenly clicked in his head as he thought about Arlington; he had questions that needed to be answered, and as long as Hatchet lived up to his promise, he could get answers.
Jericho raised his head and met eye-to-eye with Hatchet.
"What exactly is my end?" Jericho asked.
"Ah yes, the questions. Well, Jericho, if you must know. My camp in under constant scrutiny and attack by all the devastations of the waste; the Muties, Ghoulies, other Raiders, Goodies, Enclave, and even the Brotherhood have had their fair share of skirmishes with us; but the most important enemy and ally we have is Eulogy Jones and the members of Paradise Falls. You have had your dealing with him, I see, from your lovely story and from the expression on your face… it says it all. You see, as long as we send him slaves to make profit, he supports us and many other raiders out in the wastes by fending off enemies. We have missed our current quota, and in return, Eulogy has generously offered to forget the whole situation if we send more slaves next quota. So, this is where you come in," Hatchet explained.
"You's gonna sell me inta slavery?" Jericho asked angrily; he felt a growl forming in his throat.
"Ironic, isn't it? You are gonna become the very thing you used to turn women and children into. Oh, I'm sorry, Jericho; the look on your face says it all. I wish things could be different, but this is the circle of life between raiders and slavers, and since you are too old to qualify for either, why don't you help us out and let us sell you into slavery? Regardless of your previous actions and your current ones, this is exactly what your fate is gonna be. Any more questions?"
"I'm being sent to Eulogy?" Jericho asked, hoping for confirmation from a question he already knew the answer to.
"Yes; again, so sorry, friend. This is brilliant though; we have more than doubled our quota by adding you to the bundle. You see, Eulogy has had some past dealings with you, you know this; but I recently found out that you yourself, Jericho, were once a slaver, for a brief period. Too brief if you ask Eulogy; apparently there is a contract out for you, and Eulogy wants his grubby hands on you; how fortunate for us. Jericho, you ditched this life and that one too soon; it's too bad really, I rather like you. However, Eulogy has plans for you, and I'm guessing you won't last long," Hatchet answered.
Jericho felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. The anger was rising in his chest, and he could feel the strain in his limbs as Tug and Grinder tightened their grip on him. Maybe, Jericho thought, there was a way to make this right. If he could hatch an escape plan, which he was already in the process of doing, he could make his previous mistakes right; and in doing so, he could save his own skin from Eulogy. Protection for protection, he thought; it was brilliant. It was selfish but it was also an act of heroism; and Jericho needed the good Karma in his life now. It could be a fresh start, a good step in the right direction: he could leave this wretched life behind.
"Now, unless you have another question, I want Dollface, Tug, and Grinder to take you to the jail cell," Hatchet spoke loud enough for all to hear.
"Wait, I do actually have one final question," Jericho replied; he had to find a way to get Hatchet talking again. If the man went into another elaborate spiel, Jericho could save time, hatch an escape plan, and find out the raider's plans in one foul swoop.
"What are you raiders gonna do during your downtime of no enslavement?" Jericho asked.
Tug stepped up, "Don't answer that boss."
"Oh shush. I always keep my word to answer any questions," he waved Tug away. "And besides, what is a dead man gonna do to foil our plans?"
Jericho smiled up at Tug and Grinder; he had gotten through to Hatchet, and he knew he had won. They both frowned and cursed under their breath.
"If you must know, Jericho, there is a settlement to the east of us called Megaton; it is a peaceful community full of supplies like food, water, booze, ammunition, weaponry, everything a person needs to survive. Also, there are plenty of people there to enslave. We have heard of this community through the GNR Radio; Three Dog, the bastard, says that it is a paradise, the perfect place for travellers and merchants alike. Eulogy has told us and many other raider settlements to stray from it because he claims that there is a Lone Wanderer currently staying there, and supposedly, this guy is a real Goodie. We've also heard that the town sheriff Lucas Simms has a mighty fine shot and a lengthy history with raiders, but we don't care what GNR or Eulogy says. It sounds like the perfect place to raid, and the perfect place to move our encampment to. We have plenty of ruffians and rioters to take down the 'peaceful' community; our only problem will be disarming the bomb that rests in the center of the town, but we have plenty of mechanics in our little town to figure it out. And if it doesn't work out, we always have this settlement to return to. Now, no more questions, Jericho; you've had your fill. You'll be dead or suffering a worse fate from Eulogy's hand while we take Megaton anyhow," Hatchet clarified.
Jericho smiled and let his head droop down once more; this was all too easy. Jericho now had plenty of information to dispose of these raiders, all he had to do was hatch a clever idea and get out of there: easy.