Author's Note: This is a one-shot, non-canon short. This is based in the world of Fallout, however these are original characters so please do not go taking this as a dedication to the game.
Only found out after looking up Rose of Sharon Cassidy that she is actually a water merchant, never actually had her as a companion each game. I wanted to create a 'water driver' character. So what a coincidence xD!
The dry, desolate wasteland that was Old York had long been levelled and abandoned since the fallout. Dust storms frequented the area and with the additions of the predator-class creatures, making the crossing was often near impossible for a small group of people. Vossler often took the high ground as a pathway, allowing him to see the ground below of anything hostile.
The radiation twisted life into horrendous and monstrous beings. Plants that were exposed grew tendrils that could capture moving prey, release neuro-toxic spores that shutdown the body from the inside. The once docile animals became aggressive, bloodthirsty even, to anything that was edible. Predators grew more dangerous, some had managed to mutate their skin to reflect light – rendering them invisible. Others grew carapaces like diamond armour backed with rock beneath. Some grew external bones, other had spines protruding from their backs, and occasionally a bone-horn that could ram through steel like needle through jelly even claws could rend through flesh like a sharpened scalpel.
For humans, change did not come as something of mercy - those that succumbed to the radiation became warped, their bodies became corrupt and spewed virulent mutations that spread like water to a sponge, leaving irradiated, green-glowing boils in their wake. While their minds slowly decayed to the poisoning, they still maintained consciousness of themselves but often teetered on the brink of madness and animality – killing anything that would threaten them with no control, no provocation.
The landscape was now a hunting ground, a monster, alive almost. Moreover, if he did not find shelter soon – he would be its next meal for it and its inhabitants. Sand coarsed his throat and he mentally cursed himself for not taking a mask off one of the dead bandits he had killed earlier. Every breath was like being face-first in the sand and Vossler was forced to use his duster as a shield against the onslaught of the sandstorms ahead.
Vossler took out a bottle of light brown liquid, shielding it with his coat, drank a small amount and checked the life system hooked into his arm. From the crackling sound that sounded when he pressed it against him heart.
His radiation levels had risen.
"Dammit!" he cursed under his breath and smacked the bottle sending it into the cracks below. Sand buffeted against his coat and sliced at his face. It was near impossible for him to find a source of pure, clean water, no matter how much he filtered it – it was never clean. He calmed himself and sighed.
It was near impossible for anyone.
The storm seemed to had died down and he could feel it getting weaker in front of him. He immediately stopped before he would have fallen into the ravine that stood out in front of him. The sandstorm had left him standing on the edge of the cliff.
From the ridge where he stood, a small precipice of rock that overlooked the town below, Vossler could hear the gunfire from the crevice opposite to him, small flashes of light blinked from a distance and the voices of people shouting echoed. The storm had died out for a moment behind. He immediately began to run toward that direction, soon enough reaching a small road that ran along the cliff face and a group of people heavily immersed in gunfire. Quickly taking a spot next to a boulder, Vossler unstrapped the rifle on his back and lay prone. Draping his duster over him and his rifle, he quickly wiped the scope lenses, taking off his glasses he placed it next to him – one of its lenses shattered long ago.
He blinked a few times as the copper glare of the evening sun blasted through the scope, there was a caravan unit being attacked by a small group of raiding bandits. Quickly marking his targets, all he could do was take pot shots at the closer bandits while adjusting his scope for the further ones. He managed to thin out the bandit numbers before going down to the road to help the caravan drivers at a closer range.
As he approached the site, several of the drivers raised their weapons at him. Putting his hands up, palm-facing them in a peaceful gesture he looked around at the bodies strung about the road. The bandits were clad in leather attire, masks and old biker helmets – they were searched and salvaged with anything useable from ammo, cloths, money, weapons or even pieces of broken equipment that were on their person.
A girl whom he saw had managed to take down a few of the bandits with well-placed shots came up to him.
She wore a cowboy hat that covered brown, matted hair. Dressed in a simple shirt and dusty jeans, a revolver holstered at her thigh, her hazel eyes examined him as he approached.
"Howdy, thanks for the help just now", the girl smiled, "We really needed it."
"No problem" Vossler replied, still wary of the barrels being pointed in his direction. "As long as you guys don't have any with me.". She was confused for a second until she turned to look at the general direction of where he was gazing.
"Hey! Is this how you treat the person who just saved our hides?"
Some lowered their weapons; others hesitated before returning them to their holsters.
She turned back to him. "Now with that outta the way," She extended her hand, "The name's Azaelus Hill, folks call me "Hill" or "Hazel", nice to meet ya!"
Vossler extended his and they shook. "That's a pretty name, Azaelus. Vossler Craven, people call me."
"Craven….Craven" she repeated to herself, "Sounds familiar…" Vossler quickly scanned his surroundings as a few snakes slithered away from underneath his feet.
"I think it'd be best if we spoke on the move," he suggested "We are still out in the open..."
"Yeah, yer right", she seemed to have noticed as well. "Pack up and get ready, everyone! We will be moving again soon!"
He watched as Azaelus directed the drivers; splitting them into groups, those armed were to defend the caravan against another attack, if needed. While others were to stay inside and check equipment, some herded the odd creatures behind. Vossler took seat in the back of one of the vans, hanging his legs over the edge of the wooden steps. Fascinated by the peculiar creatures, he was informed by a driver that they were called "Brahmins", he perplexed but intrigued at their appearance. They were a radiated-mutation version of their bovine cousins; Brahmins looked much like a normal cow except their blood red fur and two heads. But what was oddest of them all was their biological ability to turn irradiated sources of food being digested into clean, radiation-free milk.
Azaelus took up a seat next to Vossler when the caravan unit began to move at a steady pace.
"So, where yer from Mr. Craven?", she asked with sudden curiosity. She unholstered her revolver and began to inspect its parts.
"…down near the South-East", he replied.
"O? Yer from the city?" she asked, reloading her revolver slowly. The bullets made a slight screech as they slid past rusted metal, finishing in a satisfying clink as it held in place.
"Uh…no actually, I don't remember," he said cautiously. "Not the city but one of the towns around there." He was aware of the city folk reputation, the first to abandon the outer towns to their fate, the first to receive aid when the Fallout occurred and priority, to themselves. Most of who became the bandits that roamed the Mojave Wastelands now.
"Oh…okay" she nodded as got up from the steps and went back into the caravan rummaging through its contents. Vossler decided to take the time to clean his attire as the sandstorm had left him but a trench coat speckled with light-brown sand.
"Here catch!" she said suddenly. She threw at him a small leather-skin water sack, which he caught. Upon recognising it, he immediately popped the lid and downed the liquid like a drunkard. He did not recognise the taste until the refreshing drink had left his throat. "Wow, you sure are thirsty!" Hazel laughed.
"Is this…water?" Vossler asked, his eyebrows rose in astonishment. Vossler examined the skin sack and fingered its texture; there was an odd stretchiness akin to that of rubber but had the toughness of usual leather. He poured a few drops onto his hand before putting it down, gazing at that was which 'spring water'.
"Yep, clean, pure, fresh spring water," she smiled. "Courtesy of the new Cassidy Caravan!"
"Wait, but you're not a merchant…or at least not dressed like one…"
"We're a branch of 'em, ever since Cass got back after that adventure with that messenger, she was loaded and she managed to get it up again, we managed to make our lives as 'water-drivers' since then".
Cass…? Rose of Sharon Cassidy, I presume. He thought.
Suddenly, as the entire unit grinded to a halt Azaelus peeked out from the side and inquired about the situation.
They had decided to take a break. The Brahmin were getting restless and most of the crewmen had either to attend to their wounds or renourish themselves. They set up a temporary camp off the road and gathered around a makeshift fire. Discussion and laughter soon filled the air, with the sounds of Sunset Sarsaparilla fizzing to accompany the gulping silence.
Vossler sat next to the caravan closest to the fire; watching as the flames that danced threatened to burn everything that it would consume in its wake, licking at the closest morsel that would give it more to take in its vanity. It reminded him of the very same fires that consumed the once beautiful plains that were now the Mojave Wastelands, nuclear fires that brought radiation and death to those who could not escape its grasp. Or were unfortunate, to have been unable to gain a place in the mysterious 'vaults'.
Finishing off the Skewered Gecko meat he had been given earlier, he decided to keep the iron skewer at his side. Vossler took a stroll around the camp and found Azaelus feeding a reluctant Brahmin. The herd took no not6ice of him as he walked past, finding their next patch of grass their only concern.
"Stubborn lot, aren't they?" she said without turning to him. "We can't move them till they've had their fill and they won't move till they get what they want."
"They don't seem afraid if they are about to get eaten," he smirked, poking one of the bovines with the sharp end of the skewer. Their response was a weak flick of the tail to his hand which brushed off and continued poking. "… or killed for that matter."
She laughed. "Stupid or naïve, we will never know."
Ripping up a handful of grass, she prodded the rustled bunch on the bovine's nose that shied away and refused to eat it. She gave up and with a sigh, dropped the grass on the ground where it was immediately consumed by the reluctant cow. Azaelus covered her face with her palm.
"Remarkable creatures though… aren't they." Vossler said.
"That's true, next to fresh water," she replied, "This lot are the next best thing…"
She rubbed her arm and Vossler noticed a bandaged patch, it stood out well against the darkening skies above.
Vossler hesitated for a second. "What happened?"
"Got hit with a bullet, obviously. My arm was sticking out." Azaelus winced, "We were ambushed then you came along…"
"They didn't seem to try shooting you even though you were behind the caravan sheets"
"Of course they wouldn't, that's where the barrels are. And everyone needs as much water as they can get…"
"So, how did you become a driver…?
"Took after my Pa and my best friend…"
"But, aren't you worried the bandit raids would happen a lot of the time you go?"
"That's a fact everyone has to face, not just us drivers…", she quivered. "I've already lost my Pa and my best friend to bandit raids."
"Oh, I'm…so..sorry." he regretted bringing up the idea. "But you didn't look scared; you handled yourself pretty well…"
"I was scared. Everytime I go out there, I am afraid of losing one of the crew… or that some stray bullet will end me."
"Well, then you have your crewmen to help you," he smiled. "They didn't look too scared; they wouldn't mind helping you out…I presume."
"People are scared, Mr. Craven… good folk are getting killed defending their homes, caravan drives are being raided", Azaelus said wistfully, "The moment the government disappeared, people started gathering together and hurt others…"
"I know," he replied. He wiped the lens on his glasses, "and with the cults and radiation adding to the problem…"
"It's so hard to know what's going on when everyone is getting killed and no law to stop it," she sighed wistfully. "Things that should never happen to anyone…" There was a deep sadness in her eyes, reflecting but a girl who had their childhood taken too early. She patted the Brahmin on one of its heads, who let out contented moo, and smiled. "OK! Enough of this sad stuff, it's time to head home!"
And the caravan was once again off on its march back home.
They both sat silently as the caravan rolled along the dusty road, with the evening sun melting on the horizon ahead.
The arrival of night came with open vault of the stars, sprinkled across the sky like sequins on a velvet-navy dress.
Hope you enjoyed the story...or whatever it would be called. Please rate or review! :D
Have fun, have a good day!
~Everae~