Chapter 1
Prologue
The old battered door of the tavern slammed open with a bang that roused even the most inebriated of the clientele.
The barkeep – an older man with wizened skin and black hair greying at the temples – squinted desperately to see the newcomer in the dazzling light.
A thick cloak with it's heavy hood kept that information from him. The new arrival shut the door with less force as they'd opened it before striding unconcernedly to the bar.
He'd seen many walks over the years – from trembling novices to experienced raiders seeking oblivion in his booze – but this one was different. Whoever it was walked through the mingled crowd of lowlifes and scum with no hesitation at all.
Each step was deliberate, almost thoughtfully placed before the other.
The hood still stopped any identification but he guessed this was a woman from the graceful hip sway that the cloak could not hide.
"What can I get ya?" he asked shortly after the hooded woman reached his bar.
"Water. Pure," was the terse reply from a softer voice that confirmed his suspicions of this new arrival being female.
"Take a seat."
A fistful of caps landed on the scoured wooden top of the bar just as he handed over the battered plastic bottle containing the best water he had.
She'd barely taken a sip when the tavern front opened again, flooding the dark and gloom with blinding light of day.
"I... I need to hire someone!"
The barkeep frowned. "What do you mean, lad?"
The young lanky boy with frizzy red hair and freckles with dirt caked clothes stepped forward nervously.
"It's my dad. He's gotten taken by raiders! I need someone to save him! I got caps!"
A couple of lowlifes the barkeep knew from prior bad experiences stood up from the far corner.
He was about to give the boy a quiet warning - knowing as he did that they'd sooner kill the lad in a quiet spot outside and take his caps rather than take on a raider group - when the newcomer stood up.
"We'll talk outside, boy," she said quietly before knocking back the water.
The hooded woman tossed the barkeep the now empty bottle before turning on her heel and heading for the kid.
He watched as the other and more obviously dangerous pair followed in their wake.
"Just once I'd like to be wrong," he mumbled.
"What is your name?"
"John!" the young man half-squeaked as the hooded figure pushed him out the door.
"Well, John, you've made a very big mistake. You should never announce the contents of your pockets to anyone. An unforgiving lesson but I can correct this for you. Hide behind that junk. Do not move until I say so."
"But my dad-"
"Later. Right now I need to deal with this. Go."
John quickly hurried over the distant pile of scrap metal the hooded woman had directed him to, just diving behind it when the tavern door opened and two mercs emerged.
"Where's the boy?" one of the pair asked.
The hooded woman stood resolutely in front of the heavily armed men with no fear. "I'm afraid you've picked the wrong fight. I suggest moving on."
"Ha! Do you hear this- ekkk!"
The woman moved so fast that neither man could react as the sharpened blade sliced first through the talking man's throat before lodging itself in the other's forehead.
Both fell to the ground, blood pouring out and soaking into the soil, changing it from the sandy gold colour into a dark red where they lay slumped over.
The hooded woman removed her knife as jutted out from the second man's skull before wiping the blade clean of blood on his shirt.
"You can come out," she shouted over as she went through the men's pockets. Finding a sizeable number of caps within meant this wasn't a wasted endeavor after all.
"Holy... " John stuttered before puking his guts up a short distance away. Once he finished retching, the young man glanced sheepishly at the hooded woman who arrived to his side.
"Sorry. Never... never seen anyone die before. At least not like that."
"Your father was clearly a good man and clever if he's kept that from you in the wastes. Now, tell me about what happened to him."
John motioned her to follow him to a nearby hill over which you could see the ruins of New York.
"They took him in there," he whispered.
Even from this distance, you could make out the horrible screams and howls of the tortured souls that still lived in that pit.
The woman pulled down her hood, revealing shoulder length blonde hair hapazardly tied back with a strip of leather. John thought she was pretty looking although she had a wicked looking scar that ran through the eyebrow and over her right eye that matched her left with it's piercing blue colour.
"John, I can't guarantee that he'll live or even that he lives right now."
"I know. But you can at least try.. right? I have caps..."
"Keep them. Where is your homestead?"
"Just over that hill!"
"Take me there. I'll need more information about your father before I go."
"Sure!" John hurried a few steps forward before he stalled and turned back to face her. "I didn't catch your name."
"No one. I'm no one, John."
His father was returned alive and well a few weeks later with a few hundred caps weighing down his pockets.
He arrived home alone but told his family of the woman who'd saved him and how they'd fought their way out from the hell that was post apocalyptic New York.
The caps was his share from that ordeal.
Well, a little more than his fair share in all honesty but the woman, this "no one", had insisted.
She was heading north, to the Commonwealth. His father said she had an accent and a way of talking he recognized. John had been spellbound as his father spoke of the Capital wasteland and the hardy folks who survived there.
"She was one of them?" he'd asked breathlessly.
"No. I think she was there though. She had that Commonwealth look about her but spoke like a Capital wastelander."
"Did she say anything else?"
His father had smiled. "She wanted me to keep you safe. Said you were a good kid. Said we need more good people out here. Gotta take care of each other."
"Oh," he'd murmured back with a faint red blush.
Months later John realized why she'd never said who she was. It was the day that the men in heavy metal suits with the strange insignia had arrived to his small home and asked so many questions that he'd struggled to keep track of them all.
"There's been no one," his father had answered carefully to them.
"The Brotherhood of Steel will pay handsomely for any information in this case. If you remember anything find us. We will be in the area for another two days."
After they'd left, John had approached his father who sat quietly watching the sun set.
"They were looking for her."
"I know."
"You lied."
His father sighed. "No. I didn't. I told them there'd been no one. Not my problem if they don't press."
John sank down on the seat beside him. "I wonder if she found what she was looking for. I hope she's safe at least."
"... Did she find her Jericho..." came the mumbled reply.
"Huh?"
His father's gaze was locked on the distant horizon. "Nothing, John. Nothing."
"Sir..."
Maxson glanced over his shoulder at the breathless Danse.
"Paladin. What news from the scouts?"
"No sign, Arthur."
Maxson returned his heavy stare back to the flickering terminal screen.
"Continue the search. She'll make for the Commonwealth. I know it."
Danse nodded. "She's on foot and still eluding us. I mean if we haven't found her by now, our chances of locating her at all are slim."
"Have you anything more to add, Paladin?"
"... no."
"Then get back to the search. Return if you have news."
"But-"
"GET OUT!" Maxson roared without turning away from the terminal he was pouring through.
He registered Danse's leaving only by the noise of the door opening and closing followed by the brief gust of cold air that hit his back.