Fallout: Mac's Mad Dogs
by Metal Harbinger
Chapter 1: Beware of the Dogs
Roach was bored.
You wouldn't like him when he was bored.
When he was bored he had a tendency to start shooting at random. Anything around him be it human, mutant, ghoul or animal. No one was safe, not even his fellow raiders.
It would only be a matter of time before he was staring down the sights of his battered old varmint rifle, ready to squeeze the trigger upon the first sign of movement. So far there had been nothing, not even a measly radroach.
He desperately needed a release and he would only have it when someone's brain matter was splattered all over the nearest crumbling wall.
The thought guided him over to the now rust-colored splotch on the exterior wall of a long abandoned restaurant, the only remaining trace of Twitch – that new kid who couldn't shoot or fight if his life depended on it.
Remembering his most recent kill was almost euphoric for the grubby madman: the squeeze of the weathered trigger, the gunshot's echo throughout the desolate stretch of crumbling concrete tombs, the explosion of crimson mist as the lone bullet found its fleshy target, the warmth of his gun afterward...it left the raider giggling like a little girl and salivating like one of those flea bitten mongrels who ripped apart the fresh carcasses they happened across during their excursions, that is unless Chomper got to them first – explaining why the kid's body was nowhere to be found.
Roach sighed quietly before taking the time to inspect his varmint rifle, figuring it would distract him from the drab landscape around him. It had been a gift from the scavenger who raised him and was the same gun he had killed the man with. It was practically his right arm and he trusted it with his life. Everything remained in fine working order, all he needed for his next kill.
"Damn it. Looks like we're in for another boring day," a voice grumbled next to him, belonging to Toothpick, the closest thing he had to a best friend in the ragtag group, and his likely next target if something else didn't enter his cross hairs soon enough.
The taller man gripped his baseball bat in white knuckled fury, the dried chunks of his most recent kill still hanging from the protruding nails. Much like Roach, he was another sickly fiend who needed a still breathing body to suck the life out of in order for his day to be complete. Unlike his friend, he preferred to get up close and bludgeon his victims so that he could listen to their pathetic screams of mercy before he split their skull wide open.
It would truly be a shame if he were forced to put a bullet in the man's skull, remembering how he had saved him from more than one bounty hunter in the past. Those feelings were likely to vanish as his bullet tore through the man's flesh – no wait; he noticed something from the corner of his eye.
"Shh, do you see that?" he hissed collapsing to a knee behind a triangular-shaped piece of rock.
Toothpick did not reply right away, instead straining his eyes to see what had caught his friend's attention.
It was roughly midday and much of the dull gray sky was darkened by the towering pillars of smoke and dust from the crumbling structures surrounding them. Nearly every inch of the ground below was covered in rubble, its drabness matching the sky above, broken only by the occasional car wreck. The combination of jagged rock and twisted metal would have provided ideal camouflage for anybody from a homeless drifter seeking shelter to another one of those bothersome bounty hunters.
Then again, he knew Roach was just coming down from a Jet high to cope with not having killed anything over the past two days and had to wonder whether his friend was just seeing things.
And then he heard movement, a pair of footsteps crossing the broken road. Their pace was slow and deliberate, telling him the owner was someone in their right state of mind, unlike those feral ghouls that ran full speed all the time. They were also light enough to be human, not like the thunderous footfalls of those super mutants that could be heard from over a mile away. The clinking of metal armor followed and it was through a cloud of dust that a vaguely human shape took form.
"Well, look what we got here," Roach smirked as he made out the figure's decaying skin, "Another one of those 'shufflers.'"
This one wasn't clad in the tattered rags of a feral, but in a set of gunmetal gray combat armor that had some bright red design on the front, the head of a dog with its teeth bared.
Oh well, feral or not, what mattered was that it was about to die.
"Fresh meat," Roach hissed to his friend, barely able to contain his excitement as he raised his rifle and stared down its sights.
"Heh heh, keep that shuffler's head in one piece. I need a new ball to practice with," Toothpick snickered while taking a practice swing with his spiked bat.
"That 'shuffler' is my friend," a new voice spoke up from behind the two raiders, causing both men to nearly jump out of their skin. A wet slice followed and a split second later Toothpick's head was separated from his shoulders.
Roach whirled around in time to make out a translucent outline, but before he could even think of raising his rifle everything would go black, compliments of a .308 round obliterating the back of his skull.
XXXXXX
Cyke was almost drooling in anticipation as he gazed upon the frightened young woman huddled on the couch before him.
"Well ain't you a pretty little one," the raider leader said reaching down and stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, its leathery surface moistened by her fresh tears, "You got me feelin' lucky today."
The woman's blue eyes widened in horror and she tried to shout at him, but her mouth was gagged and she could only manage a string of muffled grunts. Her wrists were bound together and she tried feebly to club away at him, only to eat a backhand for her efforts. The raider then grabbed her and pulled her close, letting his rancid breath wash over as he gazed upon her with his lone dark orb.
Despite the filth and fresh bruises covering her face she was still fairly attractive, displaying an almost youthful innocence in comparison to the usual battered, disease-riddled prostitutes he was used to dealing with.
She was the reward of their latest venture.
A merchant caravan had been passing through their territory and when the owner wouldn't hand over his goods a fight broke out. All in all the merchant's guards had put up a better fight than expected with the gang losing only two of their men at the battle's conclusion, but it was the raiders' savage ferocity that led to their eventual victory.
In addition to the nameless woman there had been another lady traveling with the convoy, but she had put up more of a fight, the struggle coming to an end after Tick had enough and stabbed her repeatedly before smearing her blood all over his body in the sick ritual that followed all of his kills. It was a shame for the gang leader because he liked a woman who fought back.
For now this young woman would have to do. There was no use in getting to know her name or anything else about her; she was just meat plain and simple. The entire gang would have their fun with her and then she would end up just like the others.
"You and I are gonna be having a lot of fun," he snickered taking her chin in his hand and looking deep into her eyes before pulling her close and running his tongue across her burning cheek, prompting another disgusted gag that was silenced by his hand clamping down on her throat.
"You can't fight it, child. Just sit back and relax," he whispered into her ear while running his hand down to unzip her jumpsuit.
"Boss, we've got company!" Tick excitedly called out, snapping the gang leader from his train of thought and causing him to growl in annoyance, worried his underling's sadistic timbre would scare away another potential target.
"Like running around with a damn siren strapped to your head," he told himself before shoving the woman aside and exiting his personal quarters. He made his way down the hall and then through the apartment building's main entrance, where he then ascended a hill of debris topped off by a wrecked station wagon, protected by a hastily erected wooden barrier topped off by barbed wire.
Tick was already there and lovingly stroking his Chinese-made assault rifle in anticipation of another kill, his exposed skin still covered in the crusted blood of his last victim. It wasn't long before he was joined by a tall man with his hair dyed an unnatural teal hue and styled in a Mohawk, a Ripper in his hand.
"Gonna be some fun after all," his second-in-command Sharps chuckled while revving up his Ripper, the gruesome weapon not having tasted blood in three days.
Cyke ignored his lieutenant's comment and stared intently at their new arrival, a man wearing a tan duster and matching cowboy hat that hid his face from view. Strangely enough he was strolling towards them in an almost casual fashion, seemingly without a care in the world. That was about to change.
"Hold it right there!" Cyke called out removing his .357 magnum revolver from its holster.
The lone traveler halted in mid-step and looked up to the raider, his short red hair now visible under his hat, a matching soul patch beneath his bottom lip. The man's bright blue eyes lit up and a smile crossed his features.
"Well howdy there, partner! What brings you out and about on this glorious day?" the man crooned in an amiable fashion, his tone borderline delusional.
"Cut the bullshit, cowboy! Y'know there's a fee for passing through here, don't cha?" Cyke called out brandishing his hand cannon menacingly.
The cowboy pursed his lips while scratching his chin, "Nope fine sir, I can't say that I have. Then again, I didn't see any signs 'round these parts saying I was gonna be having to pay a fee. That's something you oughta consider there for the future, friend."
"Well then I'll put it to you short and simple: Hand over everything you've got!" the one-eyed raider barked before firing a shot into the air that sent a few birds scattering.
The wanderer flinched at the gunshot before he collected his bearings and began to scan him thoroughly.
"Well, what's it gonna be 'partner?' We haven't got all day!" Cyke shouted impatiently, the voice inside his head telling him he should stop fucking around and get it over with, yet he found himself in the mood for messing around with this punk before he killed him.
"I'm afraid I ain't got much on me kind sir, just my guns, a few bottles of Scotch, and a mere fistful of caps. That's all I'm afraid," the cowboy replied holding his empty palms up.
"That's all I'm afraid!" Cyke called back in a high-pitched tone mocking the cowboy, eliciting more hushed snickers from his followers. "What did I tell you about cutting the bullshit, smart ass? Hand over everything now!"
Again the cowboy remained silent at first, nervously scratching the back of his head.
"Hmm, as a gambling man I'm willing to bet you ain't alone back there. Furthermore, I'm sure you'd be saying that you'd be 'willing to let me go' if I did give you everything I've got, but somehow I'm getting the feeling that you're just blowing hot air," the man said looking off to the side and kicking up some dust with his boot, only to turn back to them with a devilish smirk crossing his youthful features, "Good thing I didn't come alone."
With lightning quick reflexes the cowboy reached into his duster and pulled out a scoped .44 magnum, firing a round the sailed past Cyke's head and straight into Tick's face, the man's leather skull cap torn apart by the powerful round. In less than a split second Sharps would be dropping the Ripper as his shoulder was torn apart by another high-powered round, the revving blade falling onto his exposed knee cap and slicing it open, blood flying everywhere as he screamed helplessly.
"Get that motherfucker," Cyke screamed, squeezing the magnum's trigger three times in rapid succession, but his target had already pulled himself behind the charred remnants of a Corvega and was reaching for the lever-action rifle strapped to his back.
"Starting the party without us as always, Crockett?" another voice called out, followed by the unmistakable whir of a minigun.
"Oh shit," Cyke blurted out diving behind a large rock just in time to avoid the torrent of screaming metal fired in his direction.
He peeked his head out to find a towering mountain of muscle strolling towards him, a fair-skinned giant with short black hair cropped closely to his head and an ear-to-ear grin etched into his features as the minigun shuddered in his hands, methodically pressing forward and cutting down Lug, Smiley, Terra and Chomper in the process.
A loud 'zonk' soon called out over the chatter of gunfire and the gang leader looked over to see Sunder and Leaker turned to ash before his very eyes, compliments of a red laser beam knifing through the air. It was only when he managed to crawl over behind a crumbling wall and peer through a shattered window he finally caught sight of the culprit, just as he was reducing Bull to a pile of ash.
It was a figure in gunmetal gray power armor similar to the kind worn by those Brotherhood of Steel yahoos, the image of a red-faced dog with its teeth bared adorning the front. The genderless person was armed with a laser rifle and making short work of some other raiders foolish enough to cross its path, taking its place next to the bulky gunner as they shot everything up around them.
"Don't worry, Boss. I'll show these motherfuckers," a raspy voice called from behind him and he turned to find the gang's demo man Fuse reaching for a line of fragmentation grenades strapped to his chest. He was intent on taking out the power armored menace and pulled the pin on one of the grenades before cocking his arm backwards ready to chuck the entire line of explosives at the mysterious being.
Before the explosives could leave his grasp, the mad bomber was sent writhing to the ground in agony with his arm crippled by a .308 round.
Unfortunately for both of them, the now armed explosives fell only just a few feet away from Fuse's outstretched hand. Cyke saw this and was sent fleeing in wide-eyed horror, a deafening explosion following as he leaped back inside the apartment complex and it was only through sheer luck he wasn't crushed by the falling debris that sealed off the entrance behind him.
Back on the streets the raiders kept coming, but their opponent's well-coordinated counterattack had been effective at holding them off in spite of their numerical disadvantage. The minigun carrying behemoth was sending the miscreants through the grinder while the armored enigma was vaporizing any threat crossing its path, the ashes of his kills blackening the power armor's surface. Meanwhile, the cowboy's ace marksmanship had him dropping targets with single shot perfection until he was forced to reload.
The raiders had bit off more than they could chew.
"Party time's over!" the mini-gunner shouted before tearing two more hoodlums apart in a gory spectacle.
"What are you talkin' 'bout? This is just like shootin' radfish in a barrel. This party's just getting started!" Crockett called back before letting out a triumphant "Yee haw!"
"Well ain't no party complete without some fireworks!" the big man called back as he noticed three more raiders retreating into a former barber shop. Unclasping a grenade from his belt he pulled the pin and chucked it through the blown out display window and smirked as he waited for the explosion to follow.
Unknown to him there was a gas leak in the building where the thugs took cover, resulting in a much greater explosion that nearly brought the entire crumbling building down on the gunner and his comrades.
"Damn it, Rocky. Watch it with those things!" the armored warrior shouted to his friend, his voice filtered by the power helmet he wore.
The behemoth called Rocky only chuckled heartily, "Well it did the trick, didn't it?"
"Well it's not going to help if we're the ones needing to be rescued in the end!" the armored warrior scolded before looking down to the electronic personal information processor mounted on his left wrist.
Again the gunner chuckled before pulling a cigar out of his side pouch and approaching a smoldering carcass that had been flung from the demolished building, kneeling down and using the burning body to light it much to the technician's disgust. He took a long drag and exhaled a thick plume of smoke.
"Quit being such a pussy and learn to live a little!" the big man boomed giving him a hard slap on the shoulder, still hard enough to send him wobbling in spite of the power armor covering him. With a shrug the big man hefted his heavy gun for the long trek ahead.
"Well we won't be living much longer if you don't watch it with those damned things!" the armored mercenary retorted, only to nearly lose his balance as another armored figure darted past him.
"Save your marital squabbles for later. We've got more raiders to kill!" their ghoul companion called out in his gravelly tone as he pushed hastily past the two men with his combat shotgun raised, "Mad Dogs forward!"
"Don't go hogging all the glory like you always do, old man," his teammate Crockett called out, the modern day cowboy's lever-action repeater clasped firmly in his hands as he chased after him.
The ghoul ignored his colleague's smart comment and led the quartet further along the war torn streets, darting back and forth behind whatever cover was available as more raiders fired upon them. There had been more raiders than they expected, yet their lack of proper training and discipline was causing them to fire wildly and sloppily upon the approaching Mad Dogs. Still, the situation could get out of hand if they gave these creeps too much time and he knew they had to find what they had come for and get out of there fast.
"Chip, are we getting any closer?" the ghoul called back to his power armored colleague.
The technician again looked down to his wrist mounted computer, "Their tracking device says they should be in that building over there," he called back pointing to an apartment building where the front of the building had collapsed, "but we've got all that debris blocking our path. We're gonna have to take the scenic route to get there!"
"Or we can make our own door," Rocky shouted back, patting the satchel dangling around his shoulder which had been packed to the brim with C-4.
"Are you fucking nuts? You'll take down the whole building! This is a search and rescue mission, remember?" an exasperated Chip called out just as a sniper's bullet struck dangerously close to his head, prompting him to duck for cover behind a dumpster before popping out to fire another barrage.
"And what did I tell you about not being such a fucking pussy?" Rocky laughed at his friend's plea and charged into the open with his minigun roaring, cutting down another foe that had been prepping a rocket launcher, followed by the woman who attempted to retrieve it.
Bolting over to the collapsed entrance he took a small chunk of C-4 out when he looked over and noticed a large crack in the wall. "Fire in the hole!" he shouted back slapping the chunk onto the wall and depressing the trigger, setting the countdown into motion as he dove for cover.
Ten seconds later another explosion resounded in the already chaotic battleground and sure enough, the mercenaries had a new entrance.
"C'mon in boys while the getting is good!" he shouted.
XXXXXX
Gunfire and screams filled the air all around Cyke as he peeked outside, watching in horror as his colleagues fell all around him, cut down by a squad of four men who probably had more guns and ammo than God himself.
The fight was lost and all he could do now was try to find a way out of there. It wasn't entirely hopeless though. He still had the girl and she could be his bargaining chip if they managed to get a fix on him. If these are supposed to be 'the good guys' then they wouldn't dare shoot if there was a civilian in the way.
The raider bolted back to his personal quarters just as a powerful explosion shook the building's foundation and sent him stumbling to his knees. Pushing himself back to his feet he made his way inside to find the young woman just as he had left her, frightened whimpers her only means of acknowledging his arrival.
"C'mon missy, you and me are going for a walk," Cyke said yanking her to her feet.
"You aren't going anywhere," a cool voice called out from behind.
Cyke whirled around just in time to see a figure suddenly materializing from thin air, a young man in gunmetal gray combat armor with a black beret atop his head, bearing the same vicious-looking dog's head that decorated the front of each soldier's armor.
"Let her go!" the man demanded.
Cyke noticed the service rifle in his hands and pulled the girl in front of him.
"Come any closer and the girl gets it," he shouted pointing his revolver over her shoulder.
The man did not reply and quietly assessed the situation, trying to find a way he could take him down without harming the girl.
"I'm warning you. Stay the fuck back or I'll paint this fucking wall with her fucking brains!" Cyke screamed violently shaking the woman back and forth.
A sudden pain registered in the raider's hand and before he knew it the .357 was sent clattering to the floor, a gaping hole through his right hand.
A look of horror crossed the one-eyed man's face and he released the girl staggering backwards through another nearby doorway and snapping a tripwire. Less than a split second later the raider was sent flying forward by the rotting upper half of a Brahmin carcass colliding with his back, shattering both his spine and rib cage in addition to liquefying his internal organs.
"That's the second time I've saved your ass today. I'd say you owe me a drink," the sniper smirked while walking up behind her boss, smoke billowing from the barrel of her silenced sniper rifle.
"Did I look like I was in any danger?" Jason MacGregor replied cocking an eyebrow to his tactical sniper, a well-built woman with olive skin and shoulder-length black hair pulled back in a ponytail who wore the sleeker recon armor as opposed to the heavier combat armor favored by most of his men, excluding Chip and Crockett.
A frightened whimper distracted them from their conversation and they returned their attention to the hostage, the young woman cowering in the nearby corner. "We'll have to worry about that later."
Jason slung the rifle over his shoulder and cautiously approached the young lady, who appeared to be in her late teens to early twenties with ginger-colored hair obscuring a delicate-looking face that was now marred by bruises and filth.
"Hi there," he spoke in his most soothing tone possible while kneeling towards her with his empty hands outstretched to show her he meant no harm.
"We're not here to hurt you. We're going to get you out of here. My name is Jason, but you can call me 'Mac' and this here is my friend Haley," he said motioning to the sniper behind him while slowly inching towards the woman, "Please, we just want to help you."
He waited for the woman to stop whimpering and she stared at him silently, still unaware of what he had planned.
"I need you to listen to me. I'm going to cut you free. All I ask is that you don't move so that I don't end up cutting you by accident," the young man spoke as he reached for the holster strapped around his shin and gripped the handle of the combat knife held within, "Alright? I just need you to cooperate with me."
He slowly removed the blade and reached out towards the woman. Gently grabbing her by the arm he held her in place and began to saw through the rope binding her wrists, the woman wincing between every slice. It took some careful work, but he finally snapped her binds and reached up to remove the gag over her mouth.
Once again the woman retreated into the corner and her head sunk back into her arms as she held herself close, more faint whimpers following.
"We want to help you. My friends and I are looking for some people that should have passed through here. We can take you some place safe, get you some food, some fresh clothes, and a place to sleep. We'll make sure none of those freaks can bother you ever again," Mac spoke offering a hand to her.
Still there was no reply, more muffled whimpers.
"Boss, you'd better come check this out," the gravelly voice of his ghoul companion called out from down the hall.
Mac pulled out a bottle of purified water and looked over his shoulder to Haley, "Haley, you'd better stay and keep her company. We're not leaving her behind."
The tactical sniper nodded and accepted the bottle as she knelt down beside the woman while Mac rose to his feet and made his way down the hall where Rocky, Chip and Crockett were now joined by Brink, an old ghoul who served as the group's second-in-command.
"I think we just figured out what happened to the caravan, but I'm warning you it ain't pretty," the ghoul said easing the door open with his boot.
Judging by the looks of his other teammates he wasn't kidding either.
Taking a deep breath the squad leader made his way inside and immediately found himself wishing he hadn't.
Suspended from the rafters before him were five corpses, four men and a woman. All of the men had been used for target practice, their bodies riddled with various calibers of bullets, while the woman was stripped down to her underwear and had been stabbed repeatedly.
Mac opened his mouth to speak, yet nothing came out when he saw they weren't the only ones. The entire room was full of corpses in various stages of decay, some of their genders indeterminable from all the damage sustained over time, their lives extinguished through gunshots, stabbings, strangling and other brutal methods of torture. All that remained were charred, withering shells strung up like ghoulish party decorations as a testament to the cruelty of their captors.
Unbeknownst to him Brink had made his way back into the room and sighed heavily, "I've been around for a long damn time and this shit still never fails to shock the hell outta me," he muttered staring over to a ratty old mattress with a headless corpse chained to it.
Mac didn't reply as his gaze fell upon an abandoned baby carriage covered from top to bottom in blood. A discarded teddy bear rested on the cracked tiling next to it. What had become of the unfortunate soul he had no idea, nor did he want to know as his heart was left aching and his mind was sent back in time.
"It's just like Providence all over again," he thought to himself until the ghoul's touch brought him back to reality.
"Kid, are you alright?" Brink asked placing a hand on his shoulder.
Mac blinked his eyes rapidly before shaking his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, "Yeah...yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine."
"Bullshit," the ghoul replied tightening his grip, "I've known you for 17 years. Believe me, I know when something is wrong with you."
"Please, I'd rather not talk about it," Mac said shaking himself free from his mentor's grasp, "Let's just go back home. We're gonna need to tell Linus about what happened to Adler and his crew."
"Well we're gonna have to do something about them first," Brink said motioning to the dangling corpses, "We can't just leave them here like this. They deserve better."
Mac forced himself to look at the bodies again before nodding curtly to his companion, "Yeah, you're right. Tell the others to see if they can find some shovels," he ordered before making his way out of the room and bolting past his colleagues, focusing solely on the exit ahead.
"Mac, wait up! There might be more of those freaks out there!" Crockett called out but he ignored his friend and made his way outside.
The stench of death still hung heavy in the air and he could hear the cawing of crows coming from nearby, yet he pushed forth and pulled himself atop the crumpled wreck of a station wagon to survey the aftermath of the Mad Dogs' assault.
The broken pavement was littered with dead bodies and their mangled husks were already being picked at by the gathering crows. Aside from the cawing and ripping of flesh and bone all was quiet and Mac basked in the silence as he gazed upon the morbid sight.
He felt no remorse for the bloodshed that had just been carried out against those bastards. They were raiders who preyed upon the innocent. Whenever they fell they were getting what they deserved. The fact that they were no longer around to hurt anybody else made up for what had otherwise been a failed search and rescue mission as far as he was concerned.
"Don't forget the woman," he reminded himself.
At least one innocent had been found alive in this cluster fuck, so there was a small silver lining right there.
The hurried footfalls coming from behind distracted Mac from his thoughts and he had been around long enough to recognize the distinct light clanking of the repeater to know that it was Crockett approaching him.
"Mac, c'mon you can't be standing out here in the open like this. Who knows when any more of those creeps will come slitherin' out of the woodwork," the cowboy said drawing the aforementioned repeater and carefully scanning the area for any more threats.
"It was just like Providence all over again in there," Mac grunted.
Crockett was stopped dead in his tracks and stared warily towards his best friend. Everything around him fell deathly silent as his mind was taken aback and the normally jovial scout felt his mouth open and close in repeated motion before he managed to make a sound.
"It was hard," he blurted out before taking a deep breath, "I was there too. Never gets easier."
Mac continued staring forward into the broken shell of the once great city that stood before him, left to wonder how many similar gruesome acts were being carried out elsewhere beyond their reach, an every day occurrence in the lawless wasteland.
The two stood in silence until they heard a metallic scraping along a concrete surface and turned to find Brink standing with a shovel in hand.
"Found us some shovels. C'mon, we'd better get these folks buried before it gets dark out," the ghoul said trying to peer through the layer of dust and smoke above them.
Both men looked to each other and nodded in unison.
"Right, and while we're at it let's scavenge those raiders for anything useful," Mac ordered.
"Not like we'll find much of anything useful from a bunch of mangy raiders, but it's worth a shot," Crockett nodded before walking off to help Brink.
Mac remained behind for a few quiet moments before prying his eyes away from the aftermath and was about to make his way back into the apartment building just before something caught his eye.
"Is this for real?" he asked himself as he approached the battered wreckage of a Highwayman.
There on the dashboard sat a snow globe – an honest to God snow globe!
He had to make sure he was not hallucinating and he shot his hand out and scooped it up. Surely enough it was actually there and he ran a thumb over its glass surface, still left in tact after sitting out in the open for who knows long – and through a firefight of all times without a scratch. Through the small path carved in the layers of dust he was able to make out the miniature city skyline, along with the bronze statue of a woman holding a torch high above her head and the words "I LOVE NY" stenciled in red along the base, with 'love' represented by a heart.
It had been years since he had seen one up close and now here he found it smack dab in the middle of a war zone miraculously left untouched.
He gave it a shake and stared in child-like wonder as the artificial snow swirled around inside, a tiny glimpse into what the world must have been like before the bombs fell. For a brief moment all was well in the world and a brief smile crossed his features.
"No way I'm leaving you out here," he whispered and placed the snow globe in his side pack before making his way back into the apartment building to help his comrades bury the fallen caravan party.
XXXXX
Author's Note: This is my new "Fallout" story and hopefully one that I can stay committed too and bring some staying power for also. As of right now "From the Unknown" is on hiatus, but I will plan on doing what I can to keep it going.
As always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/