Watch Dog
By Veronica Stroh
Jean Louise was a runt of a girl. She was small, light, and seemed to be a child whose most immediate concern in life was the possibility of being swept away by the slightest of breezes. Charon had only know the girl for two days, so he was still not used to how out of place she was in his world.
Together, the two of them were sitting across from one another, separated by a small fire burning weakly in an old metal bin. Charon, a man of indeterminable age and foul faces, was a ghoul from Underworld. He was perched on top of an old road block, slowly nursing a bottle of whiskey, something he did out of habit and fondness for the sharp sting of alcohol. Jean Louise was eating a can of warm beans, sitting cross-legged on a patch of dry cement and staring at the fire with her enormous, watery eyes. Every time she glanced up to look into Charon's face, she went as white as a ghost and then looked away as if his rotted and scarred skin was contagious through eye contact.
Charon had never been a curious guy. He had long since grown used to the oddities of the Capital Wasteland and took every unusual thing he saw with a shrug or a roll of the eyes. However, he had never quite seen a girl like Jean Louise. Tiny, feeble, petrified of nearly anything that moved, and twitchier than a rabid dog, Charon was just besides himself wondering why a little girl like her was wandering around alone. He was, for the first time in a long time, curious.
Even more importantly, he was getting impatient of waiting for her to warm up to him. No, he wasn't talkative. No, he didn't have the friendliest face in the world. No, he wasn't kind or particularly sensitive. Still, he'd been with the girl for a few days and he did feel a little bad for her. The poor thing didn't seem to have a friend in the world, and he was technically her body guard. He figured he should let her know she was safe with him.
He took a sip of his liquor and wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. Jean Louise went rigid as he leaned forward and suddenly asked, "how old are you?" Charon's deep, raspy voice came out in a loud bark and Jean Louise was so startled she dropped her can of beans on the ground with a wet splatter and a loud clank.
Two days ago little Jean Louise strolled into Underworld with her shaky knees, and handed Ahzrukhal two thousand caps to take Charon's contract off his hands. Word spread in less than sixty seconds that big, mean old Charon had gone from bouncer to babysitter. He fell into step behind the girl on their way out of Underworld, the hoarse giggles of every ghoul in the museum following them out the door.
He and Jean Louise had said hardly a sentence or two to one another since leaving Underworld. The only words exchanged directly had been, "is my contract safe?" "Y-yessir." "What's your name?" "Jean Louise, sir." "I'm Charon."
After recovering from the shock of being spoken to, Jean Louise looked back and forth from him to the ground with her saucer plate eyes and answered with a squeak, "I'm thirteen."She had the high, giggly voice of a young girl, and sounded like nails on a chalk board. She also sounded like she was from somewhere down south, which Charon found strange.
Somehow, however, her answer was reassuring. She was so tiny and short he had suspected she might have been nine or ten.
Charon raised a brow at her and she positively quivered in her oversize denim coat. She had been terrified of him from the start, but that hadn't stopped her from giving away all her findings in order to buy his contract. Charon had seen the whole con play out before him. Ahzrukhal had sweet-talked the naive girl into paying for a contract worth five hundred caps. Of course, the girl got all her caps back anyways, because as soon as she was his new boss, Charon had turned around and blew Ahzrukhal's head right off and took back the money for her.
Suddenly a thought occurred to the Ghoul. In hindsight, Charon figured he probably should have warned her, or done it when she wasn't looking. After Ahzrukhal's head was nothing but bits of squishy flesh on the floor, Jean Louise had been horrified of Charon, and he had been too stupid to put one and one together.
For the last forty-eight hours, the two of them had wandered around D.C. From hearing her conversations with fellow wastelanders, Charon knew Jean Louise was looking for her father, and had so obviously come straight out of a vault. The way she looked at things, her posture, her way of speaking to people (but not her accent), it all showed him just how clueless and unaware she was, and Charon figured she would have been the type to die on day one out of the vault. Apparently, however, she had been on her own for at least a week before she found Underworld. Although she was grimy from her time in the wasteland, she seemed impeccably clean in comparison to most of the fine folks he was accustomed to.
"You're thirteen?" Charon clarified, shaking his head. "You don't look thirteen, you look like a five-year-old."
Jean Louise bit her lip nervously. "Wellin' I guess I don't age well."
Charon hadn't asked the girl anything since they left Underworld. Nothing but her name. All he knew was she was from a vault, looking for her father. She was also way in over her head. She also spoke funny, although he wasn't quite sure why or how she had picked up such a an accent from within a vault full of northern-bred men and women.
"What the hell are you doing out here anyways?" He barked at her in his growling voice. "You're smaller than a rad roach and you're so clean some raider could spot the shine off your hair a mile away."
She was small and petite, and wore a tattered pair of blue jeans with the hem line rolled thrice on each leg, brown leather boots with the soles falling off, and a huge denim jacket that fell past her knees. On her back was a duffel bag, and on her belt, an old magnum she had yet to shoot straight. Her eyes were huge, round, and bluish-gray. Her hair was a yellow blond, and was mangled and knotted into two French-braided pigtails. Charon thought she was an odd-looking child all together.
For the short time they had spent together, he had seen her shoot the magnum and nearly kill herself in the process, missing her target, somehow, a full one hundred and eighty degrees. Yet, while she was a fool to watch with a gun, he had also seen her hack a computer terminal in less than ten seconds as well as repair a broken Mister Gutsy as if she had been born to do it.
We all have our talents, Charon thought absentmindedly.
"I'm lookin' for my dad," she said shyly, staring into the fire. This was the first time she had actually spoken to Charon about it directly. "He ran 'way from our vault and the Overseer was gonna kill me so I hadda go after him."
Charon gave her an impressed look. "And you managed to survive a full week until you found me?"
Jean Louise spared him several seconds more eye contact than usual, and he noticed her shoulders were starting to relax. Hopefully she was beginning to realize he would not blast her head off like he had done to his previous employer.
"Well," she said after a moment, "I almost was killed by a bunch of raiders 'fore I found Megaton. But I managed to outrun 'um. After that I just stayed close to people, I traveled with merchants, and always traveled at night when I was alone, so no one could see me well." She smiled a little at a sudden thought which came to her. "When I found Galaxy Radio, Three-Dog sent me to fix his signal antennae, and that's how I found Underworld."
The ghoul almost felt a shiver go down his spine, thinking of a little girl like her wandering around the Mall, which was full to bursting point of super mutants, blocked off by slavers on one end, and nothing but feral-infested subways in every direction. He also imagined her stumbling into a dark museum full of ghouls. Unlike most ghouls, Charon didn't resent smoothskins for their fortunate lack of a severe need to see a dermatologist, but he did understand why other ghouls hated regular people, and he also understood why smoothskins were freaked out by ghouls.
For a girl like Jean Louise to waltz into Underworld like she did without soiling herself, Charon was definitely impressed. "What made a kid like you wander into a place like that?" He asked her.
She suddenly flashed him a grin he had never seen before. In fact it occurred to him then that until this point the girl had been nothing but terrified expressions and wobbly knees. He was relieved she was capable of being happy. "Willow was real nice to me," she said, referring to the Underworld sentry, a sassy ghoul named Willow who often flirted unsuccessfully with Charon whenever she let loose at the Ninth Circle. "So were all the other Ghouls. In fact I started thinkin' ghouls ended up bein' nicer than regular people."
Charon scoffed to himself and took a swig from his whiskey bottle.
She continued as he swallowed the fiery drink. "You scared me right good though."
"Really?" He glanced down at her with a raised eye brow. "Then why'd you hire me?"
She looked at him as if he were crazy. "Why?" She squeaked, almost laughing, "well for starters I'mma thirteen-year-old girl in way over her head!"
"Maybe someone should have put a leash on you and kept you in that vault then," Charon teased in his gruff voice.
Surprisingly, she giggled back. "I wouldn' be alive then, now would I?"
Charon leaned back and ran a mangled hand through his mop of red hair. "Why were they trying to kill you?"
"Oh, I don' know," she said with a shrug, her smile fading, "but it was somethin' to do with my old man. He ran 'way and they wanted me gone, too."
Charon frowned and leaned forward, one elbow resting on his knee. When she looked up at him with her wide eyes, she was surprised to see that the orange glow from the fire made him look almost friendly. The shadows hid some of his more terrifying features, and his face was relaxed, almost tired-looking.
"Your dad just up and left you? What about your mom?"
"Dead," she said calmly, although Charon saw the twitch in her face when it was mentioned. "When I was born."
"Any siblings?"
Jean Louise tightened her jaw and didn't say anything, so Charon quickly continued.
"Why did your dad leave you alone then?"
She sighed and crossed her arms. "No clue," she said after a moment, "he left me a voice 'cording that said things needed to be taken care of in the outside world, and that I should stay put in the vault. Well I knew right 'way I had to go after him, but I didn' know I wouldn' never be able to come back."
"I don't see why you can't let the whole thing cool off. Seems to me the vaulties just didn't want anyone leaving, I'm sure they'd let you return." He tilted back again for another slug of whiskey. At that moment, a grave look passed over the teenager's face and Charon gave her a curious look. He asked, wiping his chin, "am I wrong?"
"Sure are," she mumbled. "When I found out my dad left, my friend Amata was helpin' me 'scape. Her dad was the Overseer of the vault and she found out he and the guards were gonna kill me. So she helped me 'scape, but when I was gettin' to the exit, I found Amata bein' beaten by her dad and a guard to try and get her to tell them where I was, but she didn't say 'nothing.
"So I don't really know what happened. I sorta snapped and used the gun she gave me to shoot them both. I got the guard in the shoulder, but her dad..."
Charon saw tears swell in the eyes of the young girl and he sighed. "You shot too high, didn't you?"
She buried her face into her hands and started to sob. "It was an accident! I just wanted them to stop hurtin' her!"
Hesitantly, Charon reached out a gnarled hand and placed it on her tiny shoulder. He squeezed and she shivered.
"If you can't go back to the vault then to be honest with you, kid," Charon looked away almost nervously and used his free hand to rub the back of his neck. "To be honest you're going to have to get used to seeing people die. That's how the wasteland works."
She sniffed and raised her head to wipe her eyes. "All I want is to find my dad," she said softly. "And once I find him, everything'll be ok."
Charon frowned, for he never believed things would be "OK." He never believed things would be alright with Ahzrukhal, and things certainly wouldn't be alright for a little girl. He sighed his terrible, raspy sigh and removed his hand from her shoulder.
"You got talent, kid, for picking locks and fixing things, and I ain't never seen a girl so good at computers." When she looked up at him he almost smiled. "You just keep working on those talents, and maybe learn how to handle a gun so you can kill any ferals or mutants, and I'll..." He paused, and then reached back over and pulled her into a tight, one-armed hug. "You just keep safe and I'll make sure you won't ever need to kill another person again."
She closed her eyes and let her muscles relax. Charon smelled of something unusual, but it wasn't unpleasant. "How're you gonna do that?" She asked.
"I have my ways," Charon said. "I've been in the business of killing people for a long time. It's not something I mind doing."
Surprised, she raised her head and looked up at him. "I'm not asking you to kill for me!" She exclaimed, horrified.
Before he could say a word, she was on her feet, with her hands securely on her hips, staring at him slack-jawed. Charon tightened his lips and stared at her, startled. For some reason he couldn't put into words, she suddenly looked older. The denim coat didn't look so huge on her tiny frame.
"Why, Mister Charon-" The ghoul stiffened in response to be called this, "-I don't suppose you know much 'bout me." She adjusted her weight and pointed a finger at him accusingly. "Let me tell you somethin', I ain't some weak, frail little girl who can't watch out for herself! I grew up in vault one-oh-one and hated it. I was the only kid in the vault who had the guts to explore it alone. Gosh, by the time I was just six I was crawlin' through the vents spyin' on the Overseer's secret meetin's and such. I was breakin' into restricted areas with that stupid boy Butch to hack the terminals and play pranks on everybody. My father was so furious at me one week 'cause I had gotten in trouble with the Overseer, but you know what, I felt happy when I caused em' all trouble!
"There's somethin' 'bout safety that just depresses me," she said, a faint glow in her grubby face. "I don't know if I just got poor perception but as soon as I got outta the vault I felt so free I didn't even know what to do with myself!"
Charon frowned, "there's more to the wasteland than being free," he said.
The girl flashed him a fabulous smile, full of coyness and spirit. Her massive eyes were watery in the firelight, and full of fearlessness. All of her previous emotions, the fear, the wobbly knees, was suddenly dust in the wind. "I know exactly what the wasteland's 'bout, Mister Charon," she replied arrogantly. "It's nothin' but scoundrels who try and take advantage of young girls who just want to survive. It's nothin but wretched people murderin' one another over nothin'. I've seen nothin' pretty in the wasteland since I got here, all I've seen is death and misery and crazy people, but you know what Mister Charon?"
She took a deep breath and looked out at the dark horizon, the lackluster stars glittering in her dish-plate eyes. There was nothing beautiful in the wasteland, but the wide space made her feel like she was finally home. "Mister Charon I sure do love it out here. I don't ever wantta go back to the vault and live my life like some rodent who can't get outta the hole he dug. All I want, is to find my dad and forget about the past."
For a moment, the two of them let silence pass between them, and Charon knew, as he watched her smiling to herself, that whoever this little runt kid was, she was going to do great things.
Finally, he broke the silence by standing up and cracking his neck. She stared up at him, hardly reaching the breastplate of his armor, and smiled.
"You sure are something," he said, and then without thinking he called her, "Scout."
She cocked her head to the side and gave him a funny look, like she hadn't heard what he had said.
Not realizing what he had said, Charon looked back, confused. "What?"
"My dad calls me that." She said a little shyly, smiling. "He calls me Scout all the time."
Charon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You mind if I call you it?"
"No sir," she said happily. "My dad says he started callin' me Scout after he read some book."
Yeah, Charon thought, that's exactly why I called you it. Funny world.
For a brief, almost translucent second, Charon smiled. It was hardly noticeable, but Scout saw it. It was strange, for his scowl made him seem like he was sneering, but she saw the genuine kindness in his opaque eyes. But it didn't last long.
Charon's smile vanished, and he returned to his morbid expression. "So you think you're ready to live out in the wasteland?"
"I sure am Mister Charon,' she said, and he saw that her epiphany had faded and she was back to her normal wide-eyed, petrified face. This time, however, Charon knew it wasn't because she was afraid of the world around her, but because she was born with a weird face. "If some big dumb guy like you can do it so can I."
Her words took him by surprise, for it had been a long time since somebody had called him a guy, and not a ghoul. Charon realized in the moment that this girl was the best thing that had ever happened to cross his path, and he would do everything he could to help her survive.
"Alright then Scout, if you want to live in D.C..."
He would definitely watch over her and make sure her heart stayed as pure as the vault had made it. He would help her keep her childhood alive for a little while longer, before it was completely gone.
"You've got to learn how to handle a weapon..."
He was hers now, by contract and by fate.
"And you've got to learn how to kill."
He would be her watch dog.
A/N
Ok so while I was writing this I fell in love with this duo for some reason. Expect to see another story in the future featuring them. And also, the To Kill A Mockingbird reference was something I added in due to the fact I have been reading the book while writing this, and I couldn't help myself. I thought making the LW a child instead of a teenager/adult made it a bit more original.