Road 47
Will Crowe shivered slightly as he gazed at the rusty and battered road sign in front of him. It wasn't the weather however; in fact it was a very calm, yet cloudy, June morning. The road ahead of Will was the infamous Road 47: Bandit Country. This dusty stretch of pre-war pavement was most likely the worst place to be in all of Maine, especially now, at the height of trading season. Caravans from the Jersey, Boston, Philadelphian, and Capitol Wastelands came through here from about mid-March to late August en route to trading posts in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Quebec. This also made Road 47 prime hunting zones for bandits, Vault gangs, and the occasional waste beast. However dangerous it was though, it was the only road for miles that connected onto I-95 and Canadian Highway 2.
Will called to his companion, a man known only as Jean-Luc, to come over from their camp. Jean-Luc was not very special. He was of about average height, lean, yet stronger than most people in the Acadian Wasteland. He had been a national park police trainer in Quebec before the Great War, but had been in Portland during the War, and had been able to gain entry into Vault 73. Jean-Luc was also very intelligent, as was Will. His training as a park police officer gave him experience with a variety of weapons, but he was an expert with his .44 Magnum, despite the lack of ammunition.
"Last chance, Luc. You want to head on into New Brunswick, or head back to Portland and catch a caravan to Quebec?"
"And just 'ow would I do zat? I could not bear to leave you here out in ze wasteland all alone wizout my charm and humor to keep you company?"
"You know what Luc? Shut up!" Will said jokingly. He turned back to the Road. "Well'p, here goes nothing." And with that, they set foot on the infamous Road 47.
For a few hours, the two walked onwards in silence, not wanting to risk alerting anyone (or thing) nearby. There were a few empty gas stations and houses on the road, mostly boarded up. A few were open, and Will and Jean-Luc decided to risk scavenging one of the gas stations, a pre-war Irving.
There were three dead bandits in the station, Vault 74 from their jumpsuits. They had apparently been scavenging the station when they were jumped on whatever that—thing—was in the corner. Luckily, it was dead.
"Three .44 rounds, a clip of 10 mm, and ten .308 calibre." said Will, after they had searched the three bandits. "Add to that four bottles of purified water, a caravan lunch, and about 30 caps and we got a pretty good haul outta this wreck."
"Oui, but I still don't like zis place. We had better skedaddle, as you americains say it." Jean-Luc said.
"No, we'd better stay here for tonight. You see those clouds? Its gonna be raining in about 20 minutes…. You still have that flint?"
They stayed in the Irving overnight, after burying the bodies and starting a fire. Will, at one point, remarked that he thought he had heard a car drive by, but dismissed it as a trick of the wind and thunder. A couple of traders knocked on the door about 0100. Unhesitating, Jean-Luc let them in.
"I just couldn't leave zem out in ze rain, now could I?"
Will just laughed and asked the traders where they were coming from. They replied that they were both from Rhode Isle. One of them, a man named Kyle, said that Rhode Isle had gone to hell. UCSR (Union of Connecticut Socialist Republics) troops were in the process of annexing the Rhode as a new "colony" of sorts. Kyle and his partner, Leonard, had just gotten out as Providence was falling. They had hooked up with a caravan from New Boston and found their way here. Kyle said they were trying to get to Prince Edward Island. When asked why, they simply replied "That's where we thought to go."
The traders left in the morning, wishing Will and Jean-Luc good luck on the Road. After a couple more hours of packing up and checking every corner of the Irving, they headed out onto the Road again.
Will and Jean-Luc continued on the Road for another few hours, stopping to rest every other hour in another gas station or house. They passed a couple of caravans, traded a few things (stuff they picked up here or there), and received two stimpaks, five .44 rounds, another clip of 10mm, a silencer for the magnum, and a scope for Will's hunting rifle. They trudged on until 1400 hours. Then, it started going downhill for them.
"Get down, Luc!" Will hissed to Jean-Luc, who complied immediately. Below them, perhaps 350 yards, was a deathclaw, the scourge of the Acadian Wasteland.
"How the hell did that thing get out here?!" Will asked Jean-Luc.
"It probably knows about ze frequency of caravans along zis road, so it tried to snatch a snack."
"Okay, but still! The last caravan for three miles was three miles ago! Why is it just sitting down there, instead of hiding up here?"
"Perhaps it is injured? Whatever ze case, I don't want to be any closer to it than absolutely necessary!"
Will agreed wholeheartedly, and the two men silently crawled away. After getting back onto the Road however, the two took off running as fast as they could, sacrificing stealth for speed.
After 20 minutes of running, Jean-Luc spotted something in the distance, which looked like a mob of people. The mob soon materialized into a group of bandits, the rest of Vault 74 in the area.
"Sonofa…. Luc, get that magnum loaded. I have a feeling that we're gonna need it any minute now." He pulled out his hunting rifle, sighted in the scope, and started scouting targets.
ZIP! Will ducked quickly behind his cover.
"Shit! That was WAY too close! Luc, hurry up over there! I have three of them advancing!
"I'm going as fast as I can! You'll just 'ave to 'hold zem off longer!"
Jean-Luc went back to working on the makeshift incendiary device he had created out of a car engine and some gunpowder. Meanwhile, Will continued popping up from cover to fire on the charging bandits, weaving from car to car.
"And… done! Will, get back! It's going to go!"
Will vaulted over the car behind him and started sprinting, with Jean-Luc right on his heels. They both dove behind a truck that must've been lying on the Road since the Great War, over 100 years. The 18 men facing them continued advancing towards the pair… right into Jean-Luc's rigged fireball. Three men were instantly vaporized, screaming like condemned souls. The other fifteen took cover wherever they could, but some still suffered horrible burns.
Jean-Luc and Will started moving towards the smoke, looking for survivors. A man popped up and aimed at Will, but was dropped quickly by Jean-Luc.
"Whew! Thanks, Luc. I think that's all of them. Check over there, will you?"
Jean-Luc started moving to where Will had motioned, a spot farther away from the epicenter of the firebomb. He started combing the ash, looking for something, or someone, when he felt a hand. Jean-Luc pulled the hand up, with the man attached to it following. The man came to, saw Jean-Luc and punched him in the face, stunning him. Jean-Luc was knocked over, fumbled for his magnum, and was rewarded for his effort with another punch to the face. The two men grappled for an advantage, one gaining it, and then losing it to the other. Finally, both men sat on the ground, pointing their sidearms at one another, too afraid to move, to blink, to breathe. Will heard this commotion and headed over to see what was happening, just in time to see Jean-Luc fall over, a knife in his chest. The other man looked at Jean-Luc, and then Will. Upon seeing the look of hatred in his eyes, took off running.
The look on Will's face quickly shifted from one of horror to one of pure anger. He tossed away his firearms, pulled out his dagger, and started running towards the bandit. When he caught up to the bandit, he simply tapped him on the shoulder and smacked the side of his head with the hilt of his dagger.
When the man came to again, he immediately wished he hadn't. In front of him, tending to Jean-Luc was Will, still holding his dagger. Will looked over at the man and walked towards him.
"I see you're awake. Care to explain why you tried to kill my friend?"
The man gulped nervously and started to crawl away.
"That isn't a straight answer. Come now; explain your act of terror to me."
The man continued crawling. Finally, Will lost his patience. He ran towards the man and pulled him to his feet.
"TELL ME! You good for nothing, lowlife, son of a bitch, who doesn't deserve to live! You have almost killed my friend, and if you don't tell me why, I. Will. Kill. You. Slowly."
Will threw the man to the ground and sunk his dagger into his left calf. The man screamed in pain and continued trying to escape. Will kicked him in his head and stabbed him again, this time in the right arm. This torture continued for almost ten minutes, until finally, the man could not move anymore. Will turned him over and asked him one last time.
"Why did you try to kill my friend?"
The man coughed once, then started chuckling. "He was in my way."
Will sat back, listening to the man laughing. How dare he laugh at my friend's situation!, Will thought. He stood up, turned around, then screamed and dug the dagger tip into the man's chest.
"HOW DARE YOU! YOU! BASTARD!" Will screamed each word in time with each stab. Suddenly, Jean-Luc was behind Will, pulling him off the man.
"'E's dead Will! Ze man is dead! Please, stop it! Stop it, before you 'urt yourself!"
Will keeled over, breathing heavily. He looked over at Jean-Luc and knocked him over, looking for where the bleeding was.
"Luc! Why did you get up! You could die now from the bleeding!" He pawed away at Jean-Luc's bandages.
Jean-Luc stopped him. "Will, zis is not my blood. I stopped bleeding hours ago! Zis is all your blood! Ze man clipped you with your own knife!" Jean-Luc started wrapping bandages around Will's arm. The two men helped each other up and started stumbling along. Eventually, they both collapsed onto the dusty concrete.
The last thing either of them remembered was a peculiar swerving white light in the sky and a loud whine in the air.
When Will awoke, he was in a hospital of sorts. It was in an outdoor tent, one with large Red Crossed painted on the sides and top. He looked around for Jean-Luc and sighed with relief when he saw him in a bed across the tent from his. A man wearing surgical scrubs walked in to check on the two.
"Excuse me sir," Will asked in a shaky voice. "Where are we? What in the hell happened?"
"I'll give the short version, since you really should go back to resting. You guys were in a firefight with some nasty-looking people. You killed 'em all, but they almost killed you and your friend Jean-Luc over there. We spotted you on our way in and carried you back here."
"And where is here, exactly?"
"You, my friend, are in the Fredericton Memorial Hospital, New Brunswick. You're in Canada."
Will laughed softly. He looked over to Jean-Luc, who had just woken up. "Did you hear that, Luc? We made it!"
Jean-Luc looked back at Will. "I actually had started to think we wouldn't. Imagine it, an americain and a stubborn old Quebecois, both working togezzer. All to get to one godforsaken place zat we both believed was a dream."
"Definitely." Will agreed. "So, now I have a question for you. Where do we want to go next? Your home? Prince Edward Island? We have short lives here in the Wasteland. We had better make the most of the time we have."