Dark, I always loved it. Even when I was a little a girl years ago, I'd always be out and about, running around the streets of Megaton after the sun had gone down. But, that was a long time ago, I'm an adult. Actually, no, scratch that, I'd been grown up for a long time… ever since I saw what happened to my dad.
But that's a story for another time…
So here I was, crouched down with a pair of binocular glued to my eyes, on top of a hill, a few meters away from the three raiders I was watching drink themselves piss-drunk around their camp-fire.
I'd been following them for a few days, through the shattered town of Springvale and now all the way out here, to the desert. After my latest fuck-up –a botched hit- I'd have to pay a fee to see Tenpenny. Of course to pay a fee, I needed caps, and even if these raiders weren't (in all likelihood) rolling in it, I'd have to take it where I could get it. If it wasn't too heavy I could probably sell some of their guns too.
I pulled up the bandanna that had been comfortably dangling over my chest (it was securely tied around my neck) up to cover my mouth. I was probably going to kick up a lot of shit, figuratively and literally, when I took them down.
I spun the cylinder on my revolver and put it back on my belt and went back too watching through my binoculars.
A fourth raider emerged from one of the three tents that triangulated around the campfire. He was obviously and unsurprisingly drunk. He held another man, a scruffy wastelander, by the hair. The guy looked like he'd been to hell and back, blood ran down his face, and bruises decorated his shirtless chest. The raider put a gun to his head and fired; blood shot out of the front of his head as his body went limp and he collapsed on the sand with a with a cold and unforgiving thud.
That was it, I made my move. Snatching the 10mm SMG that had been lying in the sand next to me, I took off. The .44 revolver and binoculars on my belt made a slight bumping sound repeating in rhythm with the click-clack that came every few seconds when my boot made contact with the concrete that had long ago been covered in sand, turning the street into a desert.
I slowed up as I got closer to the group of four. Crouching and practically tip-toeing, I hid behind a rock. I'd killed about a million-and-a-half people in my time, but I still got the shakes every time I put my finger in the trigger guard and got ready to fire my first bullet.
I counted off in my head, trying to work up some courage.
1…
2…
3…
With the speed and savagery of a wild animal, I rolled out from the side and took aim with the SMG and held down the trigger. The left-most raider, a tall tanned man, shook violently as bullets tore into his stomach and chest as he collapsed to the ground, blood seeping from his wounds.
I gave an evil smirk behind my bandanna, I took a little satisfaction know all he saw was a series of flashes in the dark before he collapsed to the ground choking on his own blood.
I ducked back behind the rock and heard the other three drunken raiders slurring battle-cries and debating over who got what gun. As I poked my head from the side of the rock and fired a small burst of fire that kicked up dust and sand everywhere. Damn it, a miss.
One of them had rushed inside one of the tents-presumably to get a gun- while the other 2 stood near the fire, and started shooting at my rock. I braced myself against it as I heard the metal slam into the rock and then hit the sand.
After what seemed like an eternity I heard my cue, a subtle click and a raider cursing. I popped out for the third time and held down the trigger again. Again, the raider, another sunburnt male shook violently as the rounds tore into him. Finally his arms fell, sprawled above his head, and died.
I ducked back behind the rock, ejected the clip from the gun, and inserted my second (and final) one in. I popped back out again held the trigger and sent a large amount of lead toward the final raider standing outside the tents. She ran as my bullets sent sand flying and jumped inside one of the tents. I grinned devilishly as I unloaded on the tent. The 10mm bullets tore the raggedy, cloth-made tent to shreds. I heard a scream from the inside and ducked back behind cover, satisfied with my kill.
I threw the empty clip away in the sand, put the smg back on my belt, and took the .44 Revolver out. I leaned out from cover slightly and saw the final raider emerge from a tent holding a hunting rifle. It looked like he could barely hold it up. He couldn't have been a day over 16, short and skinny.
I looked at him through the sight on the gun. Everybody's gotta' go sometime. I pulled the trigger and saw his head explode as he slumped down to the ground.
A minute later I was all over their campsite, scooping up ammo and guns, sampling their alcohol, looking for caps, the usual. When all of a sudden I hear a high pitched wail coming from the one tent I hadn't been in yet. I stepped inside, gun drawn, and saw, to my amazement, a kid who couldn't have been a day over 7 years old.
Tears streamed down his face, he just kept crying and staring at me. Then, he quieted down and looked me right in the eyes. Like He could see my soul, and I could see his.
I knew I'd never be able to forget that kid's eyes. Never.