A NEW FALLOUT 4 STORY

Journals From The Outpost:

Angry Red & The Dead Boy

~ 1 ~

THE SKY SHONE BRIGHT like a polished tungsten heatshield. To the north the telltale lemon-lime stain of a passing rad-storm was pushed along by a rancid but merciful southerly. On days like this you could almost wish for such a storm to turn back round and shower it's cool, rad-packed droplets all over you - and just hope someone back in the O.Z. might have a spare Radaway on offer. It was mid-July and another screaming hot day in the Commonwealth.

Red was teaching The Boy to shoot mole rats in the culvert. LT Mac was scanning the hills with the monocular thingy he had salvaged from the old Valley Hospital a few days ago. He was searching for anything we might have missed during our last sweep. The rest of us were sprawled out in the shade atop a rocky outcrop, which gave out onto a spectacular view of the Wild Dog Plains. Long, rolling pastures of undulating bullgrass raked up against sudden projections of black granite. The plains were pitted with swamp ponds and the telltale yellow barrels of nuclear waste, and were cut through by the long and shattered spine of a pre-war superhighway. Sergeant Rawler, Trejo, Boomer, Chopshop, Zaff and me. Six full-grown men confined to the modest circle of shade one lonely bramble-willow could offer, waiting for the midday sun to burn its way out behind the jagged ranges in the west.

LT Mac stalked back under the thorny fronds and sank to his knees, pulling out his canteen and drinking from it the way a Brahmin calf might suckle the last of its mother's milk - both heads included. If I had not finished my own water an hour ago I would have joined him. Out here you could drink a full canteen of water for every hour of the long, hot day and still not quench your thirst.

Red was leaning over The Boy, intimately tutoring him on the finer points of sniping. Even with the Sting-wing scars running down one side of her face she was a good looking woman. Any sort of attention from a woman would have been a thrill for the sixteen year old trooper no matter what the circumstances. But from a woman like Red it was almost too much. At first you might think the redheaded Corporal was doing it for her own selfish gratification. Maybe to pass the time, maybe to make herself feel good, to see those doting eyes look up into hers like a love-sick puppy. In reality it was even worse. Each and every reassuring compliment she gave, each tender and considered touch she applied to the young trooper's posture as he handled her hunting rifle, she did at the expense of Sergeant Wes Rawler, her ex, sitting nearby.

'Always on the out-breath,' Red crooned into The Boy's ear. 'Blow long and slow like this, fshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Like an old kickball after you've poked your switchblade in it. And once you've got that ugly momma in your sights take your shot.'

The hunting rifle kicked. The bell silencer at the end of the barrel spat like a viper. The Boy swiped the sweat from his eyes and stood up to get a better look at what he'd done. Red sat next to him grinning.

'Not too bad, Boy!' she praised him. 'You winged her. It's kinda hard to tell, cause mole rats don't feel much. But I reckon she'll have trouble chomping on the legs of any Pack Brahmin for a while to come.'

The Boy shook his head and handed the silenced hunting rifle with its makeshift wireframe stock back to its owner. His face was beaming, his cheeks almost as red as the Corporal's hair. 'How do you do it from that distance, Corp? I can clip one after missing three in a row but you always get the shot. Clean kill, first time, every time. How?'

Corporal Abigail 'Red' Lanyon grinned and put the rifle stock up to her chin. She took aim crouched as she was, bracing her lead elbow on her knee. She exhaled loudly to remind The Boy of her instructions and pulled the trigger. The rifle sneezed. The Boy let out a loud whoop, jumped up, spun about and threw his hat down at his feet before sitting back down again.

'Every goddam time!' he cried in awe.

Red just grinned. 'I thought I'd put her out of her misery for you.'

LT Mac picked at something in his ear. 'Red? Now that all those mole rats down there have gone scat, could you maybe save some of that ammunition for the men we're hunting?'

'Yeah, Red. Best not teach The Boy bad habits.' Sergeant Rawler glared at them from the other side of the bramble-willow. He was cleaning the dust from his combat rifle. His cool, grey eyes went from appraising his rifle one moment to staring exit-wounds through the back of The Boy's head the next. 'Won't be so sharp when they're shooting back at us and you got no rounds left in your clip.'

Red stared at Rawler for a long time. Her grin never once wavered. Whatever he'd done to piss her off he was going to pay for it for a long while yet. 'How many in their gang did you say, LT?'

The Lieutenant sighed. He knew all too well where this was heading. 'Nine, maybe ten, Red.' He crawled back out into the hammering sunlight to scan the dusty hills again.

Red nodded at that, her green eyes locked on Rawler. She touched the scar down the right side of her face. 'I got twenty-five left in the can, six in the rifle. I estimate two shots per bad guy on a bad day. That gives me six or seven to play with and four extra for whatever the hell else we blunder into while we're out here. If you lot can't handle the rest then we're all done for anyways.'

LT shook his head. 'I know we're lucky to have you, Red. You leavin' that gunner crew and all and bestowing us with your award-winning marksmanship. The Minute Men could not ask for a better shooter. But could you maybe find it in your cold markswoman's heart to save a little of that ammunition for me, Corporal? Please? At least to show The Boy a little common sense.'

'Of course, LT!'

'Good girl. Now who's turn is it to get the water?'

The squad looked to me then. I couldn't argue with it. Since Luke 'The Boy' Granville joined us three months ago - after poor Voss took one in the neck - I'd been sailing fair weather outside their endless flack and pestering administration of meaningless duties. It was nice to not be the new recruit for once. I guess the shit-kicking had to swing back round at some point.

'I can see you've chosen the worst possible time for me to fill up the canteens,' I admonished them all. 'You could have asked me back at the creek, or even near the old relay station. But no, you ask me now. Out here. In Mole Rat city.'

'Quit your whinging, Munday!' The Boy piped up in a particularly deprecating voice. 'The mole rats have all been scared off by Corporal Red's and my very fine shooting. At least for a minute or two. That's plenty time for you to traipse down there and - GO GET OUR WATER!'

He must have expected an enthusiastic reaction from the rest of the squad because he sat there howling with laughter for a long time, slapping his leg and having a good ol' time of it. When it finally sank in no one was laughing with him, but instead were giving him silent looks of disapproval, he got spooked.

'What?' he squeaked. His station had just dropped out beneath him like the boots of a hanged man.

'Is that how you speak to your betters?' I asked with a melodramatic air. I even tsk-tsked to belabour the point. 'Kids these days? You can't take 'em anywhere.' I said this even though Granville was only three years my junior.

'What!' The Boy shrieked again.

'Double watch for you tonight,' Red muttered, still with that grin on her cheeks.

The Boy shot her a hurt look. 'No way! Why?'

'You heard the corporal, Boy.' It was the first time Rawler had agreed with something Red had said since their unspoken breakup a week ago. He even got a smile and wink for it. 'Double watch for mouthing off to your superior.'

I grinned. It was nice to know the gang were there for me - even though this sort of hazing was customary.

'But he's a trooper,' The Boy cried in outrage. 'I'm a trooper. He's no higher up than me - or Boomer, or Zaff, or Trejo, or even Chopshop!'

'You're nothing unless we say you are, Granville.' LT Mac grunted over his shoulder, using The Boy's name probably for the first time since he'd marched with us. 'One of these unlucky lads is gonna make Corporal in a week or so, so mind your manners.'

Luke 'The Boy' Granville gaped at the Lieutenant in shock. 'Well if I'd known that…'

'You could make it up to me?' I confided in him, as if to give him a smattering of leeway. 'Trooper Granville.'

'How?'

The others were laughing already as I put my canteen into his hands. 'Go get our water.'

A near murderous gleam passed across Granville's eyes. He shook his head and stared at the ground and muttered bitterly to himself. He stomped around the group snatching up everyone's canteen until the collection was hanging off him like he was some walking Christmas Tree from an Old World poster.

'Get me some of that nice cool water out of the sun, will ya?' Boomer asked in a playful tone.

'Oh yeah me too,' Red chirped in. 'Some nice icy shady water!'

'Better keep that Old Timer double-barrelled shotgun we gave you handy in case those moley rats come back,' Chop Shop rasped in amusement. 'I don't wanna have to go and stitch your arms and legs back on. It's too hot for an old man like me to deal with polytrauma. Not today.'

'Oh man!' Granville groaned and turned his back on us. Around him the slipshod tutu of canteens bounced and clonked and clunked as he stomped down the hill, kicking at stones as he went.

Everybody was still laughing when LT Mac suddenly hissed and stuck a fist in the air. Something was up.

That clear-cut singular action soured the mood in a nanosecond. There was no need to tell any of us to shut up. He dropped to his belly, combat rifle up. Eyes bright with fear.

Death was out there somewhere and LT Mac was the only one who had seen it.