Note: The inspiration for this story was taken from my other story, The Wastelandic Dream. The main character from WD, Rem, will be the main protagonist of this story, with only a few changes to his character. Instead of having been an NCR Veteran Ranger he'll start off as a Desert Ranger before the Ranger Unification Treaty occurs. Why? I'm just suddenly more inspired to do it this way.
This story will incorporate aspects from the game Wasteland, which is considered to be the predecessor to the Fallout series. Such aspects include the existence of what was known as Ranger Center, which was a prison before the bombs dropped. Military engineers occupied it after the bombs fell and expelled the inmates. That foundation eventually became Ranger Center, the place where Desert Rangers were born and trained. I hope you enjoy!
Finally, I do not own the Fallout universe. I also do not own some of the musical tracks mentioned in the story.
Additional Note: When I embarked upon this story, I was in the midst of experimenting with various writing styles, and after receiving a compliment on a piece of work, I was convinced that maybe the paragraphs in my story should be thorough and full. After thirteen chapters of writing this story that way, I received a constructive review from Mo Eazy, which can still be seen in the reviews for this story, and he suggested that this style of writing was actually messy. It made perfect sense, actually, so I reverted to a more fluid style of writing that, well, is better overall. What I'm trying to say is that the first thirteen chapters are written in a way I believe is indeed messier and difficult to read, but the chapters after that are much, much better in terms of readability. Bear with me, is what I'm asking, I suppose! Either way, I plan on remastering the first thirteen chapters eventually. Haven't gotten around to it just yet. Finally, thank you for taking the time to read this!
Mojave Wasteland
September 4th 8:56 pm
2264
"Ow, fuck! Dad this ain't no lil scrape! Hurry yer ass up!" Tears welled up and once they overflowed past the eyelids, they trailed down the young man's cheek in generous amounts. He was holding his right leg with both hands, blood trailing out through two wounds on either side of it. God damn it, he had to think, never imagining that a radscorpions pincers could cause damage like this. He'd always been preoccupied with the poison in their tails, but this made him realize that he had been foolish trying to fight the thing with a shovel. "Dad!" This time, the father responded, clearly irritated. "Shut yer trap, Rem! I'm goin' fast as I can!" Moments later, the middle aged man emerged from the bathroom of the establishment, holding a first aid kit in both hands. The way he walked belied his prior statement, because from what Rem could see, he was simply strutting. "Yer lucky it didn't catch ya wit' its tail, son," he said in a condescending tone.
"It woulda got ya once it had ya hooked with its pincer," he added. Rem thought back on it and knew the exact same thing. He'd been out there taking a piss when he heard something skittering towards him. Realizing that he didn't have his 357. revolver with him at the time, he tried his best to improvise by grabbing a nearby shovel, not bothering to yell for help, figuring he could handle it himself. After swinging multiple times and smacking the shovel against its hard exoskeleton, the father noticed something was wrong. At about the same time he came out armed with his lever action shotgun, Rem's leg was caught in the radscorpion's pincers because he'd been so preoccupied trying to parry the tail. But before it could stick its stationary target full of poison, Rem's father came close and blew its tail clean off. With another shotgun blast, the thing was down for the count, but its pincer was shut tightly.
Rem cringed thinking back on how his father used that very same shovel to pry the claws open. "Now sit still, and take yer hands off there." Rem kept holding onto his leg for a few seconds but finally, he let go. "Is it bad?" The father shook his head in response, noting that there wasn't too much blood coming out of there. "Nope," he said simply, before he started pulling the fabric of his jeans up along the leg. "Got ya a few inches above yer ankle," he said, mostly to himself, because he was noting that if the radscorpion had pinched the ankle the bone would likely be visible in the aftermath. "Lil deep but it aint nothin' a stimpak won't fix. Gonna have to clean it up though." Rem immediately got scared, knowing that cleaning the wound usually meant whiskey, and whiskey hurt so much. "We got some med-x in there right dad?" The father went silent for a moment, opening the first aid kit, but he knew the answer before it was open. "Nope. 'Sides, I ain't too keen on pumpin' ya full'a med-x every time you get a lil scrape." When his father belittled the injury, it made him angry, and he yelled, "Dad, you ain't the one bleedin' out - " he was cut off by a sharp slap, right over his cheek, and when he whipped back to look at his father with his eyes wide, there was a finger pointing right at his face. "You watch yer mouth, boy. I told ya what would happen if ya raised yer voice at me." Rem's lower lip trembled, but his father threatened, "An' you better not start cryin', ya hear?" When there was no response, he asked with more intensity, "Ya hear?" Rem nodded.
As the whiskey was poured onto the wound in small increments, Rem yelped and then clenched his teeth to stop himself from getting any louder. Instead, he resorted to grunting long grunts of pain to aleviate some of the stress. Then he grabbed the edges of the table and squeezed tightly. "Atta boy," his father encouraged, "This ain't so bad. Hell, I'm already done cleanin' it." After that, the father started wrapping tight bandages around the wound, and the blood immediately soaked the fabric. "Last part, son," he said, still trying to encourage, drawing out the last stimpak they had from the first aid kit. When Rem felt the needle penetrating the flesh near the wound, he clenched his teeth again, but it didn't hurt anywhere near as much as the whiskey had. The liquid was emptied into his body and when it was removed, his father nodded, "That'll do it." He sterilized the needle with the whiskey and put it back in the first aid kid. Hypos were too valuable to throw away. As he did, Rem muttered, out of discipline more so than out of appreciation, "Thanks dad." His father nodded and as if to reward Rem for the discipline he showed, he answered, "Yer welcome, son."
The boy watched his father walk away. Then he did his best to stand and furthermore, he trudged. His father turned his head to the side when he heard the limping, knowing that his son shouldn't be moving but what the hell, if he wanted to act tough, he'd let him. Plus, he wouldn't punish his son for being a real trooper. "What in the hell were ya even doin' takin' a piss outside, Rem?" he absently asked. Rem winced when he stepped, "Jus' wanted to go outside, dad." His father laughed, shaking his head as he put the first aid kit away. Rem stepped into the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, where he turned the water on and started washing his hands. The small town nearby had been courteous enough to offer a place to stay, which included running water, while his father dealt with some problems they'd been having lately. The establishment was in the outskirts of town, which was really stupid because if there was something happening, it'd take his father eight to ten minutes to arrive.
After Rem limped back out to the living room of the cabin, he sat down on chair and started taking off his pants, careful not to hurt himself more. His father walked by, looking casual, but he was definitely watching that his son didn't do anything stupid. By the time he sat down, right next to a record player that was left behind by the person that used to live there, Rem had taken off his pants and was wearing only his tighty whities. His father glanced at him with his head tilted up, and then looked away. Rem knew what that was about, "Don't wanna get my jeans dirtier than they already are." He said it casually, like he was just saying it for whatever reason and not because he knew that his father was wondering what he was doing. His father didn't give a response. Instead, he turned his head to the side and saw a little box on the floor, next to the record player. "Hm, take a look at this, Rem," he commented, reaching into the box and pulling out a few vinyl records. "What they got?" Rem asked, as he looked at the blood on his pants leg and the tears the pincers had made.
""Dean Martin, Bert Weedon," he responded, looking through the black vinyl records. "Kay Kyser," then there was a pause, "Hmm, Ella Fitzgerald. Peggy Lee." Rem smiled just the same way his father did. They looked so much alike. Rem Sr. was a tall, skinny man with blond hair that had started graying and with bright blue eyes. He carried a very rugged, authoritative mien along with him everywhere he walked. His son was a spitting image with a short mop of blond hair, styled the same way as his father's hair, the same bright blue eyes that only looked different in the sense that they were never relaxed, and he was skinny, too, but it looked like he would eventually be just as tall as his father if not taller. "Peggy Lee," Rem Jr. commented, "Man." He sighed as though he were regretting something, "Wudda loved being Johnny." Rem Sr. immediately started chuckling, pretty loudly. Oh, how proud he was of his boy. Rem was looking away towards one of the windows with his arms folded behind his head as his father fidgeted with the machine. Eventually, the song he had just referenced came on. Johnny Guitar, with its beautiful, somber tone. "That's the one," Rem Jr. said, nodding in approval. His father smiled wider, thinking of how proud he was of his child.
The music played for a while and they both sat there, enjoying it. It was ridiculous how the apple hadn't fallen very far at all from the tree. In this case, it was as though the apple had fallen and had landed on a branch connected to the very same tree it spawned from. "Dad, how long you think we gonna be here?" As Rem Jr. sat there, sideways, the leg he had rested over the arm rest swayed back and forth. His father's eyes came open and he shrugged slowly, "I dunno, son. Somethin's gotta happen first, an' I was kinda hopin' them Raiders would come after us here since we're so apart from everyone else." His son answered confidently, "They're prolly scared, dad. I bet you anythin' they're sittin' aroun' somewhere watchin' the place right now an' they don't got the balls to do nuthin' about it." As a silence befell them, Rem Jr. studied how his father didn't show any response. His face remained the same as before, like nothing would surprise him. "Right, dad?" His father snapped back into place and answered, "Huh? Oh, yeah, that's right, son," he said, standing up. "Plus, any one of them bastards come close, boom. Won't know what hit 'em." Rem watched his father walk by him and after looking away, he heard the sound of someone pissing into the toilet.
He continued sitting there, thinking about it, but then he just let go of those thoughts and stretched out, yawning as he did. "Dad," he called. The sound of his father washing his hands came before an answer, "Hm?" It was like a grunt, but the two of them were used to communicating with each other. "You're sleepy ain't ya?" Rem Sr. grunted in response and dropped into his chair, which comfortably tilted back to let him lay there. "You get some sleep dad, I'll hold the fort." His father slowly turned to look at him, smiling. "You sure?" Rem Jr. nodded, "I'm sure dad. Get some sleep." In response, he pressed his lips together and nodded, reaching for his brown hat with large brims and placing it over his head to get the darkness he wanted.
The peace lasted about five minutes, and Rem Jr. was pacing towards the bathroom as silently as he could when he heard gunshots in the distance. First it was automatic fire and then semi automatic fire followed it. He whipped around, "Dad!" But by then, his father was already up and heading in the direction of one of the rooms, bolting. Rem paused, leaned up against the bathroom door frame and about a minute later, his father came out, dressed differently. The first noticeable thing about him was the bulky, black soldier helmet sitting on top of a black gas mask. His eyes were covered by a pair of green visors with built in low light optics, and on the side of the helmet there was a flashlight that could be turned on and off. That was the classic Desert Ranger helmet, and it was paired with a suit of black combat armor. The jeans he wore were khakis, good for camouflage in the desert. Finally, a brown, sturdy trench coat covered the armor and went further down to his ankles and was decorated by a plethora of battle scars. Bullet holes that had uselessly penetrated the coat to find the obstinate combat armor behind it and other bullet holes on the back flap that billowed with his father's movements. In his hand, he carried a lever action rifle. A Marlin 1894 and on his back, he carried his lever action shotgun, which was a Winchester 1887. Both of the things could remodel a man's face.
"Dad, I'm coming with!" As his father reached the door he answered, "No." It had been intention to bring him along at first but now that he was wounded, he'd slow him down more than he would have if he were healthy. "But dad!" His father yelled this time, "I said no! Get your revolver, turn out the lights, the music, and be ready in case anything comes your way." Instantly, he felt a sense of pride, thinking that he'd blast anyone that decided the place was helpless now that his father was gone. "Okay dad!" he said, and his father exited the door and slammed it closed behind him. As his father vacated the premises, a pair of eyes watched his movements, narrowing them as he did. "Tch tch tch," he said, dramatizing his sentiments that the Desert Ranger was making a huge mistake. "It's goin' down just as you said it would, Clipper." There were two of them there, hiding behind a rock in the desert, and as Rem Sr. turned his head to look around at the surroundings with the help of his low light optics, they hid behind the rock entirely. He narrowly missed them. "Of course. Next time, we're gonna get him. You wait and see. After that, we're going to get his little boy, too, and let Martha have her fun with him."
As Rem Sr. ran along the expanse of the Mojave Desert, he moved like he was a breeze, brushing along the ground delicately and leaving no trace that it had actually been a person that ran past there. In the distance, he could hear the gunshots, too, and eventually, he was close enough to see that some of the gunshots were coming from inside the windows. The townies were fighting back. When he arrived, he pressed up against a wall and looked around. There was nothing, and so he rounded the corner and continued moving deeper into the town, staying close to the wall, moving closer and closer to the source of the sound with every moment. He knew that he'd get the jump on whoever it was, even if they were aware that these people had acquired the help of a Desert Ranger.
"Suck on this, Sheriff!" one of them yelled, firing automatic fire at one of the windows out of his submachine gun. The bullets peppered the wooden walls and shattered glass but there was no blood to be had. The other, his partner in crime, fired out of his 12mm pistol, randomly, just looking to get lucky. Another minute went by when the one with the submachine gun realized something. He grabbed his last clip and looked at his friend, "Mo. I'm running low on clips here. Where the hell is Clipper?" The other, who wore a mohawk, which was what his name had been derived from, turned to respond, "I don't know man. They're supposed to be here by now! What the fuck's taking them?" As he asked, he fired back at one of the townies. The one who was shooting at them from the safety of two windows just so happened to be the town sheriff. "Hey, come on. Let's go over this way, see if we can get the jump on him." Mo started running, dressed in raider clothing which consisted of iron plates covering his body here and there, and some brahmin leather pants. They ran right under the Sheriff's office and just as they did, they saw someone run right out. A female, who didn't seem to have noticed them. Mo raised a gun to fire at her and just as she realized they were there, he pulled the trigger. Once, it hit her in the chest and when he pulled the trigger again, he blasted another hole into the same area. She fell to the floor, her hand no longer reaching for her pistol.
"Hah! Did you see that bitch go down? She didn't even see it comin'! She was probably trying to get the drop on us, too!" The one with the submachine gun started turning towards the building again when another sound resonated through the town. A singular rifle round, and it tore right into the back of his skull and blew a juicy hole right out through the front of his face. When he fell to the floor, his partner heard the slap and he turned to see. "What the hell?" Another shot was fired and again, more brain cavity and more bone fragments littered their immediate surroundings as he fell to the floor, lifeless. The two of them were down, dead immediately, but they weren't Rem's primary worries. He ran right past them and moved towards the girl, who was on the floor with blood coming out of her mouth. Her legs were curling up and outstretching, eyes wide in surprise, trying to talk but only managing to whimper and cough. Damn it, she was going to die. Immediately, he reached out to her hair and started caressing, "It's almost over, darlin'," he soothed. She was young, no older than twenty five, and she was beautiful. These were the types that it was hardest to be with in their last moments. "Don't be scared. Where you're goin', there ain't no damn raiders. No damn guns, in the first place." As he spoke, she stared at him, still kicking out her legs. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped moving. Rem pressed his lips together under the helmet and shook his head. "Damn it," he uttered. "Sleep well, darlin'," he added, reaching up to her eyes and closing them.
When he stood up and turned around, he saw someone pop out from around a corner and as they pointed a gun at him, he ran and dove behind a wall. The sound of automatic fire blasting at the corner made him angry, because he knew who it had been. "Wesley, what the hell's wrong with ya? It's me! Hold yer fire!" The Sheriff responded, "Forgot my glasses! I'm sorry!" Rem grunted angrily and emerged from around the corner, walking towards Wesley, who was walking towards him, too. "Oh no . . . " he said, as he looked past the two dead raiders at the dead female. "God damn it, Brenda," he lamented, raspy, as he set his Ak-47 down and knelt beside her. Rem spoke with a regretful tone, "She shudda been locked up cozy in her room." He was shaking his head while the Sheriff stared at her lifeless face. As blood trailed down her cheek and dripped onto the floor, he breathed in and released. "Hector ain't gonna take this well. He just lost his son last week to these bastards." When he heard that, Rem gritted his teeth. He wished the raiders had all been there, so he could have handled the problem right now, but now it looked like he hadn't done much of anything to stop the killing. "That's two people they killed now," the Sheriff said, shaking his head. "She was probably out here looking for revenge."
Rem heard foot steps and he immediately turned around and aimed. Three people rounded the corner, they all had likely come out because the gun fire had stopped for a while now, which meant it was over. Two men and a woman, all of them thirty or older with the woman being the eldest. "Oh god, Brenda!" she yelled, immediately stricken with tears as Rem lowered his weapon. The other two stopped right behind her as the older woman knelt down beside Brenda, taking her into her arms. "Brenda!" she yelled, "Tell me it isn't you!" Rem's eyes narrowed when he heard the grief in her voice, and immediately, he turned and looked towards the raiders. It was never easy to listen to someone grieve the way she was grieving. Amidst the cries, the Sheriff spoke, "Brandon. Go get Hector." One of them men glanced at Brenda and then at Wesley. He breathed out and nodded, "Alright." Clearly, it was hard for him to accept the responsibility of bringing Hector out here.
Rem stood by for a couple of moments and then spoke, "Wesley, I'm gonna go take a look around. Bastards might still be hidin' somewhere." Inwardly, he felt guilty even being here anymore, because he hadn't managed to save the girl. His rational side, however, told him it wasn't his fault. Wesley nodded to him and with that, he turned around and went to do some recon. Everywhere he went, he didn't find a thing, and there wasn't anything to be seen in the surrounding wasteland, either. Looked like these two had been sent here alone and there had never been any intention of backing them up, which was odd. But then again, Raiders were so high on chems most of the time that it was impossible to derive patterns and intentions from them going on the things they did.
To make the townies feel at ease he told them he'd stick around the whole night to make sure they'd be more prepared should anything happen. So, when he finally arrived, it was sunrise. He started unlocking the door and when he did, a voice shouted from inside. "I don't take kindly to Raiders! Now you better identify yerself in less than three seconds or I'm blowin' a hole right through the door!" Rem Sr. yelled back, "Shut up! It's yer dad!" There was silence and when he pushed the door open, he found his son sitting on a chair a few feet ahead from the door with dark rings under his eyes, clearly from not sleeping. "What happened, dad?" He asked, sounding more awake than he looked. "Them bastards killed Brenda." As he walked inside, he did so slowly, setting his rifle down on a table and undoing the rope that held his shotgun to his back. After taking it off, he set it down beside the rifle. "Did they get away?" His father shook his head, "I got 'em but there was oly two of 'em there. Their friends are still out there." Rem Jr. smiled, "Well, two for one, dad. Those bastards paid." When Rem Sr. heard that, he paused and looked at his son.
"What is it dad?" All he heard was an exasperated sigh coming from the mask as he began removing it. Once it was off, he set it down beside his weapons and started walking towards the younger of the two. "Doesn't work like that, son." He was speaking softly, which was something Rem Jr. knew all too well. He spoke like this when he was trying to teach him a verbal lesson. "Think about it," he added, kneeling down next to the chair and putting his hand on his head, ruffling those blonde strands of hair up. "Those two raiders was a worthless, sad, rotten pair of vermin that can't have nothin' unless they steal it and Brenda was a beautiful young woman with a heart of gold. Not ten of those raider assholes would make up for what happened to her last night." Hearing that, Rem looked down and then back up at his father's calm, blue eyes. "You understand?" He definitely did understand. The way his father put it wasn't eloquent but damn did it drive the point home, even to a fourteen year old. "I understand, father," he responded. Rem Sr. knew that when his son used father instead of dad, he was trying to make sure he was believed. Like the time he was imploring his mother to believe he hadn't broken her favorite vase. He'd been telling the truth, actually, because Rem Sr. had been the one who'd broken it.
"Atta boy. I'ma get some sleep, son. You do the same, ya hear?" As Rem watched his father walk away, he stood up and started putting his jeans back on, but before his father went into his room, he called to him again, "Dad, you're gonna kill 'em all, right?" The father paused and looked at his son, "Yes, son, but that ain't gonna bring Brenda back, ain't it." The younger stared at him, and after a few moments, he watched him disappear into his bedroom, and so he continued putting his pants on. The blood on the pants leg had been washed off mostly, but the stain was still there. Once they were on, he trudged towards his room and lied down. It didn't take him long at all to fall asleep even though it was light out. Staying awake all night just to be alert took a lot out of you. Especially him, since he wasn't used to it. The last thing he thought about as he was going to sleep was Brenda, who he'd met when his father and he arrived in town a day earlier. She was beautiful, and she was also nice. She had just lost her little brother but even though she was sad about it, she didn't treat anyone else badly. His father was right. Those worthless raiders weren't worth her life even at the hundred thousand mark, or any mark, for that matter.
