Chapter Two: The Circle
The group rode through the street of Riverside Drive and to Nick's left, houses had been torn asunder for whatever spare building material they could provide, leaving empty lots that had been tilled into crop fields, tribesmen dutifully attending to rows of corn and razor grain hoping for a good harvest. The street had mostly been cleared of debris and vehicles, all having been stacked along the row of houses that stood as the first line of defense for the camp, leading to a driveway that was blocked with a powered gate coming up, guarded heavily by Khan sentries. With the driveway entrance as the center point, the 'wall' was made up of several homes down along this side of the street.
Hiding within these defensive houses, Nick knew khans laid in wait, no doubt armed to the teeth. It had been months since the last raider attack, so everything was calm and relaxed. The vehicles and salvaged junk made for good defensive positions, each house acting as a makeshift bunker and live-in shelter meaning they were always manned.
The gate was opened in short order following the sound of motorized humming, and they trotted in to ride past a garage just behind, commissioned into a machine gun nest. Behind that was what had been dubbed East Camp, the backyard fences of the all the houses behind the defensive line had been ripped down, allowing for more living space (what little there was) with multiple tents of different sizes, shapes and colors lining this side of the river bank. Shanty wigwams and longhouses had been cobbled together from the houses they'd demolished on the sand barge ahead.
All the tents were for members and a surge in new prospects, a result of heavy recruiting over the last decade it seemed. Actually for as long as he could remember, and it was the same for the other Khan encampments around Bullhead. Nick had heard rumblings that there were plans for the 'Homeland', but that's all Nick could gather from the talk of his clansmen.
Children who were born into the clan weren't technically prospects, but were required to pass a certain rite of passage when they were considered ready. Which included himself.
Connecting East Camp to the Main Camp (the Sand Barge), all of the previous fencing had been fashioned into a decent enough footbridge for anybody not on horseback in order to cross the river. And since Nick was, Alban galloped through the water easily, not even reaching the horse's stomach, as did everyone else who lived on the sand barge. The smell of savory gecko meat cooking on an open flame drifted in the wind to catch his nose, causing his stomach to groan loudly. 'I haven't eaten since leaving the camp this morning, I've been out there for a while.' So riding up to his ger, which was really Fergus', he was about to dismount when his name was called, "Petty," it was Naddok, supposedly the man wasn't finished with him yet, he thought gnashing his teeth lightly.
Whipping the reins got Alban moving again, falling behind Naddok and Bren's horses in short order to sidle up beside Fergus, matching his speed; He smiled later seeing that while he had been called back, that Chance and the others who had split to go to their gers, were routed back this way as well, having to follow the group through the main encampment. Arriving at the main ger, the tent where the Elder lived, and occasionally held for tribe meetings. He was a kind man, Nick thought he was a little fruity, but kind hearted. He'd always entertain the younglings with stories, but sometimes the Elder on his weaker days would be shut in, or whenever he was experiencing one of his visions, now that Nick thought about it. It was then that Naddok would show up.
The subject was iffy, depending on who you talked too. Nick had been skeptical of those, like most, but he couldn't say he didn't enjoy some of the stories, some of them he'd claimed were to happen in lands across the wastes, and other stories of things that had happened in the past. His favorite stories were the ones involving the Vault Dweller and his son, the Chosen One. His interest didn't earn him many friends for obvious reasons, but he didn't care, his status of bastard had done enough damage there already.
There was a gathering of children, ranging from his age to Bren and Chance's and older, standing outside the large tent. A few adults keeping them all organized and under control. Naddok dismounted and spoke to one of them, "These were the children playing beyond the camp. The Elder's looked them over, what do you think?"
"Send them home, I'm sure they're good to go," Naddok replied, and the man ordered his fellows to begin disbanding the children. Before Naddok turned away, the man had one more piece of info.
"Boss, Papa Khan's runner has arrived as well."
"Excellent," he was surprised, but he couldn't argue with the timing, it was about time they got an update, "I'd imagine he's already inside," he asked, thumbing towards the tent. When the man nodded, "Good, dismissed."
'Wonder what that was all about,' Nick thought, as he listened in, dismounting with the rest of the group. A runner from up north? Did that mean they were being called for a war party? Before he could think more on it, Naddok then stepped into the tent, followed by Bren and his gang, himself, then Fergus. Inside, Nick saw the runner first standing in the middle of the ger while flanked by two other khans with faces he'd never seen before. All from the northern tribes, he assumed.
The one in the center saluted his arm across his chest, "Papa Khan sends his regards." Stepping forward the northern khan clasped his hand tightly in Naddok's in respect. "We have much to discuss."
"Of course, though," he said, waving his hand towards the weary Elder, Nick now noticing the exhausted man at the end of the tent and bundled up as if fighting a fever. Two of the stay-wives attending to him dutifully. "This. . . may be of some concern to Papa Khan. A vision from the Elder," he soon relayed the story to everyone present, and while Nick faintly heard the story, his attention had been stolen by the Elder, his dim eyes half open. Nick knew the Elder was blind, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the man could see him. . . or maybe he was just staring through him.
A hand fell on his shoulder and it startled the boy back into the present. Glancing back Fergus was giving him a strange look, then pointed ahead. Naddok was leading the children closer to the Elder, and so he did the same. Each step the feeling grew stronger, 'the hell is wrong with me?' Some blind old man was literally psyching him out, what did that say about him?
Drawing up to the Elders bed side, the blind man turned his head just barely. His hand reaching out, expectantly, the entire limb shaking with his troubled lungs.
Nobody was quite sure what to do, but Naddok signaled that all was fine. He and Fergus hadn't been present for the screening, and as for the newcomers, they simply gathered around, interested in witnessing what they'd only heard stories of before.
Chance was the first to step up, kneeling down at the man's side and gently taking his hand in his own.
The Elder smiled, "What is your name, Child?"
"Chance," he replied evenly.
"Chance," the man repeated, as if mulling it over. Despite his eyes being dull, they somehow seemed to brighten, "Yes, you are a kind boy Chance. A peaceful soul, who's fury is well in control and knows his limits. You will grow to be a fine warrior with your temperament, and never doubt your path." He then let go of Chance's hand, and the boy got up as he felt that must've been all there was. He wasn't going to question it, just let the man do his thing.
Bren was next, introducing himself when they locked hands. "Ah, son of the tribe leader, a strong warrior in the making, raised a fine young man. Learn well, and if you continue to make your way, you'd lead the Khans to rule all of the Bullhead territories and be terror across the Mojave for your enemies. Don't take that for a certainty, as all things shift as the paths of men cross. Listen to your heart, and it will see you there, and beyond." A smirk crossed Bren's face with the idea, while his younger clone sneered.
Jessup and McMurphy were next to replace him, uttering their names as each took one outstretched palm, "You two, close is your friendship, brothers in bond. Your loyalties may be tested but you find solace in your closest friends to see you through the entirety of your lives. Don't shake those bonds, for they give us strength in our darkest hours."
Then it was his turn.
The entire time Nick listened he felt himself becoming nauseous, shaking his head to rid himself of the sickly feeling, he took slow steady breaths to calm himself down. God, this man unnerved him for some reason today, like he was being chased down by a Cazador that was about to swarm him.
The Elder was waiting, and when Nick's hand rested in the other's, the Elder gazed at him for what felt like an eternity, "A hard life lies before you child, and whether you live or die will come to depend on your will alone. Enduring is your strength, adaption is your skill set. Your will shall carry you through your days, should you succeed, but you will learn there is more to it all in time. And at the end of your road, your Will prevailing, shall you find the peace you've longed for in your heart. . . What is your name child," he finished with a waning smiling.
"My name's Nick sir," he said, his eyes shifting to the side he knew Naddok to be standing behind him, not caring what the Tribe leader thought.
"Ha ha ha," he laughed lightly, though it threw him into a soft coughing fit. When the Elder caught his breath, he 'looked' to Naddok, then back to stare at Nick, "Defiant this one, his will is like fire, but I know your name boy," The man let go of his hand has well, and shifted to peek once again at Naddok, "I have determined Naddok, I think I know whom the vision depicts." Nick stood up and took a seat next to Chance and the others.
"Are you sure," Naddok stepped forward, sounding a little more eager than he intended too. When Bren received his screening, Naddok had been hanging on every word. It sounded like he'd be the boy from the vision. None of the other children were kept back, and Bren's was the closest fit. But then to hear it out of the Elder, if this whole thing was true, then he had some preparations that needed to be made. "Absolutely sure?"
"I'm positive, Naddok," the man reassured, "His path is clear, should he follow his heart."
The eyes of the children quirked in confusion, but Naddok cut in before any questions could be raised. "Alright, everyone's dismissed, Elder, we'll talk about this soon, for now you should rest." Everyone did so, the last being Nick and Fergus, as Naddok faced the northern trio once more, "My son and his friends located a weapons cache deeper in the territory. I was going to accompany some of my men with a wagon and help load up, care to join us? We can talk along the way."
"A strike of good fortune, eh? Certainly," the Northern nodded.
If it wasn't for Fergus behind him shoving him from the ger, Nick just might have been able to shout off his opinion on what he thought was bullshit. Though due to Fergus' intervention, he had to bite his tongue in the end. All he could really do was go to his tent and try to cool off, ignoring the worried look of Chance as he passed him in his haste.
Today was an absolute shit show.
Stepping to the side, Fergus allowed his brother and his following to pass under the tent flap. He stood there, watching his brother climb back onto his horse with a heavy frown. With everyone gone, Fergus was about to leave and try to smooth things over with the boy, "Fergus," said man turned, facing towards the Elder tucked in his bedroll across the tent, the man beckoning him closer. 'What could this be', he thought with trepidation. Stepping closer, the khan spoke, his voice gravely serious, "I must speak to you. . . in confidence," he lifted his hand, flicking it in a soft shooing motion. His aides nodded, not that he could see it, but left at his will.
Fergus could only stare in curious awe, and as he distinguished the concern written all over the Elder's wrinkled face, a sinking feeling made itself known, starting to wonder if he would come to regret this conversation.
(Elsewhere, Sometime Later)
Nick was sitting cross-legged in his tent inspecting the 9mm Chance had given him, currently disassembled and laid out on a drag cloth in front of him. Getting to know how his weapon functioned was a skill and discipline instilled in him by Fergus, and while most children were taught, he himself loved it. He sat near the center by the fire pit, but it was cold and lifeless. Reserved for those colder Mojave nights. To his right was his sleeping cot, his pack placed at the head of his bedding. His rifle hung by its sling on a notch in the wood close by. Opposite his cot was Fergus', his own kit and belongings scattered around his adobe. Most nights, Nick slept here on his own, it looked like Fergus would be here on this one.
But back to the task at hand, it helped calm him down, the process of field striping and cleaning a gun. It just cleared his mind. He liked the smell of the oil, the act of maintaining a weapon was a feeling he enjoyed, putting it back together in a polished model. Guns in general, there was just something about them. How a firearm put anybody on equal footing.
Men against mutants.
Women against their stronger male counterparts.
Even a child is no longer defenseless, with a gun in their hands. This 9mm had saved his life today, he thought of the ghoul clawing at him, the flashes, the ghoul falling away from him. Never felt that gun snap in his hands during the heat of the moment.
Reassembling the 9mm, he picked up the cloth to give it one final wipe down. He sighed to himself, dropping his head into his hands. He'd cleaned that rifle as soon as he got back first, not that it needed it. It'd been cleaned the week before, and a few rounds through the barrel wasn't enough to warrant a session. More like it was his distraction from his anger.
Standing up, he walked over to his pack and set the pistol by his rifle. Looking down at his bag he stared at it for a moment before snatching it, setting it before him as he sat on his cot and checked through his inventory; bags of jerky, water, what little herbal ointment he had. . . he paused, sighting the one thing he grabbed from the tunnel and had yet to really mess with, bulge from another pouch. Nick unfastened the top pocket, easily finding the Pipboy inside, taking it in his hand. It obviously worked, but currently he had no means of keeping it tight to his forearm. . . unless. . .
Grabbing the burlap from around his discarded jacket, Nick wrapped the cloth around his left forearm, grabbing the Pipboy after. With a bit of patience, and a few curses, he managed to get the clasp to lock around his wrist, the burlap underneath holding the device snug. Swinging his arm to test his work, he looked it over again, quite satisfied. But it was uncomfortable really, and that wouldn't do. The burlap would get his arm sweating but that wasn't a big issue. It also looked a little bulky on him, but he figured after a few years he'd grow into it.
Sitting back down, he flipped his way through the menus, eventually finding the holotape he found on the dead scavenger, still inserted within the personal computer. Selecting the place holder in the menu, it brought up all the saved data on the tape. It looked like the man had downloaded some of the of the entries from the terminal. His own entries were included, the last entry was many years ago, long before the Khans. It was dated for 2078.
Looking at the entries from the terminal, it belonged to Mr. Constance, a Chinese operative meant to lead strikes with their families after the bombs fell. When no bombs fell however, and with such a strong police presence he'd abandoned the post, only to return later with his friend's and families. After awhile, the remaining authorities in Bullhead had formed their own force in the chaos to seize power.
And that meant going after groups like Mr. Constance's. Their weapons made them a target, and while the men made their stand, the families locked themselves in with the Auxiliary power, a mini nuclear reactor which explained how the geckos and ghouls came to be. There wasn't anything of interest left on the tape, so he cleared the data to wipe the tape.
"What do you have there," Fergus said, startling Nick who hadn't noticed him enter, the man pointing at the attachment around his arm, "You find that in the tunnel?"
Nick stood up and began scratching the back of his neck nervously, "Yeah, I picked it up before we got chased out."
"That slide action too," he commented, eyes roving over to where he saw it laying beside his rifle, "don't think I didn't see it." He could still see a bit of the tension the boy suppressed. The disregard for his claim in the discovery today wouldn't be forgotten, another addition to the list of small betrayals that marked his short life. And it was partly his fault. Instead he'd guide the boy to familiar ground. Neutral topics.
Nick smiled at the mention of the small pistol, "Chance gave that to me, early present, he'd said." Nick picked up the handgun, handing it off to Fergus when he came to a stop in front of his cot. "It's sturdy for a small gun, compact. I don't like that there's no safety on it, though. One eight and one seven round mag."
Fergus looked down the sights one-handed, the handle small, but still comfortable in his large grip. Fully loaded the gun held no sway, light as a feather. It would be a good fit for the boy, Fergus knew. He'd have to thank Chance at some point as well. "I like it; fits well in the hand and it's solid. Good fit for you." The boy was handed back his weapon, and as the child looked at it, Fergus could hear the boy sigh, "Listen, about today," he tried, placing his hand on Nick's shoulder, an attempt to be comforting. He didn't have children of his own, so this wasn't something he'd ever done.
Actually, his father wasn't exactly that way either. Seemed to run in the family.
Nick chose that moment to turn from Fergus in order to replace his pistol, "There's nothing really to talk about." It was also his way of avoiding the conversation, he'd had this monologue with himself far too many times, and the sooner he could convince himself of his own words the better. He told himself nothing was going to change, so he should just stop giving a shit too. Nick was going to end this topic here, dropping down fully onto his cot, "It's over and done with. . . complaining about it now would be pointless. So please, don't."
Hands setting on his hips, Fergus could only shake his head. Walking over to his own cot, Fergus fumbled through until he found his eating utensils. Walking over to the entrance to make his leave, he stopped just short, thinking. Turning back to Nick, "Hey."
"Yeah," he asked, giving Fergus his attention, but not quite turning over.
"I have to take stock of the armaments when the wagon returns," Fergus held back his smile, noticing he had peaked the young boy's interest when the child perked up. "We'll fill our stomachs, and then you can help me." He turned half way, "If you want, it'd be a shame to handle all those guns by myself." He couldn't hold his smile back any longer and had to turn away from the child, mention a firearm or work on a firearm, and the boy had the focus of a precision laser rifle. It was his weakness. He stepped out, the seed planted.
Rolling over Nick stared at the closed flap a moment longer, a smile twitching at the edge of his lips. Who was he kidding, he had some great people. They weren't many, but he wouldn't trade them for a Fat Man and a life supply of mini-nukes. He just had to stick it out a little longer, then maybe he could stay with one of the northern tribes or something.
His lips broke into an all-out smile, "Thanks Uncle," he whispered to himself, before he took to his feet and left the tent, grabbing his own eating utensils along the way.
(The Next Morning)
Close to the southern end of the Barge, Nick sat casually, leaning back on his arms with legs straight out in front. Behind him was the camp, and before him was the Colorado River. Moments before he would ride on to the larger northern encampment at the Hancock Glade, Fergus had awoken him early just to tell him not to leave the Barge today.
Not. To leave. The Barge.
That, of course, meant no hunting, scavenging or exploring Bullhead. The stuff Nick would usually fill his day with.
His mind drifted to last night, cataloging the weapons under his uncle's supervision. Fergus' way of telling him he's sorry, he guessed, but it was nice all the same. Even if he wouldn't get credit, he could still handle the fresh assortment. It was pretty impressive and he hoped sometime he could get his hands on one of them for his own.
So far though, he was just biding his time. He was bored, and there wasn't much he could think of to do.
Coming to a stand, he began meandering up the bank, watching the water as it flowed evenly down it's course. Looking further up the Colorado River, wide as it was, Nick casually watched the opposite bank, looking into the land of Nevada. He wasn't looking for anything. His whole life he'd never seen anything across the river.
Fergus had told him this morning to stay within the limits of the Barge. Nick smiled, kicking a small stone into the calm river flow of the Colorado.
Like he'd do that. Unless Fergus came looking for him, he could always sneak back into the encampment like he'd never left. He thought about finding Chance, but that means he'd probably end up with Bren and the other two. And Nick honestly didn't want to deal with them, not after yesterday. He knew it was over and done with, but it still sucked to have credit stolen from you.
"Hey, Out Cast!"
The call brought the boy to a halt mid-step. Sure enough, a group of five Khans his age were jogging up to him from the encampment, laughing and shoving each other along the way. The one whom called out to him was a kid Nick particularly hated. While the guys he was with last night were a nuisance at best, this kid loved to start fights for no reason. And he was usually the target, with his status and all.
The boy was his height and size roughly, with light brown shaggy hair and a roundish face. His bent nose from a past fight, brown eyes were dull, which Nick attributed as a sign of his intelligence. His state of dress was standard with a brown tee, faded blue pants and sneakers and a Great Khan Vest without the top rocker, same as the other kids' vests.
"Michael, I ain't in the mood." Nick scoffed, turning his attention back to the river bed to continue his walk.
"Don't have time for you good pals?" Michael asked with devious smirk, keeping pace with him, "We all know you'd have been gone the moment the sun rose if you had something better to be doing, Out Cast."
"Yeah, Petty, we heard Fergus has you on house arrest," one of his friends tossed in.
"Makes sense though, after how he botched yesterday, huh?" Another jabbed, sharing a chuckle with the group.
Nick came to a stop for a second time, and his shoulders tightened, "You normally like talking about things you know nothing about?"
"Not what the word around the camp is, Outcast."
"Oh yeah, and how many of those piss ants where there. Can ya' answer that?" Nick barked, turning to face the boy and the two squared off.
Michael smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest, coming to stand off the the side of the two, almost like an unofficial referee. As he glanced between the too, his smile grew a little wider, "Well, well fellas. Looks like we may have a bout. Baines?"
Baines, the curly headed boy with black hair, was the one Nick was squaring off with, "Yeah, I'm game, if this little bitch is."
Nick grit his teeth. . . and he looked between everyone surrounding him, the Micheal who was awaiting his answer. They wanted to bait him, he knew that plain and simple, did he really want to take the bait again? He could just walk away, he didn't need to do this. . .
"Ya know what," Nick said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "I don't need this,' he sneered, so he turned and started walking away.
Baines and Michael shared a look, and once Michael nodded, Baines started jogging up to his target. "You ain't friggin' leaving that easy, Bastard," he said, grabbing Nick by the cloth of his shoulder.
That was when Nick spun around on his heel and clocked Baines in the mouth. As the boy hit the sand on his back holding his mouth, he unscrewed his eyes just in time to catch sight of boot tread before his lights went out.
(Meanwhile)
"So what are you thinking," Chance asked, keeping his stride even with his best friend.
Bren glanced at him, then straightened his gaze, "Just some things on my mind."
Chance smiled, "Ya' know, usually when some asks what's on your mind, the friendly thing to do is give some kind of hint," he said, pushing Bren softly to the side.
Sighing, Bren's head sank briefly before he answered, "Honestly, it's about Petty. . . I mean, we went looking for him because we wanted him in the know, ya know" he asked, eyebrow raised as he checked to see Chance's reaction, but the teen remained neutral, "Anyway, I wasn't expecting for yesterday to go the way it did. I'm all for razzing the little shit, but. . .,"
"I hear you bro," Chance replied, scratching the back of his nape, when he realized that Bren had stopped a few paces behind him. Turning, he saw Bren staring to the outskirts of the camp. Chance followed his line of sight to a group of younger boys ganging up on a solitary child. "Is that. . ." Once he recognized who the lone child was, Bren was already marching off in their direction. "Ah shit."
Bren had quickly closed the distance when the group had managed to pin the Nick, all of which were liberally delivering kicks to any part of his unprotected huddled form. One of the boys turned and saw Bren advancing, already to close for him to do anything and Bren felt with great satisfaction as the boy began to shrink in fear. Bren sucker punched the boy out of his way, grabbing another by the collar of his shirt and practically tossing him away.
"Shit, it's Bren!" It was then that the others noticed his presence, and before anymore damage could be done they tried to scatter, but not before one more felt the anger of the Chieftain's son.
Bren breathed a little heavy as he watched the few left standing fleeing back into camp, then looked down at the pitiful form of Petty. Bending down, he hoisted the boy up, "Get off of me," he growled, shaking himself from Bren's hold.
"The hell happened, Petty?" Bren asked, expectantly.
The boy wiped some blood from chin that leaked from a busted lip with his sleeve,"What do you think, they jumped me. That shithead Michael," he cursed between spitting blood. Then a body hit the ground in front of them.
It was Michael that was forced to his knees in front of the pair, when the voice of a third spoke behind him, "Caught the little punk before he could get too far," Chance threatened, and with a cautious glance back, he could tell he was in for a world of hurt if he tried to flee again.
Bren dropped into a squat and locked eyes with Michael, but didn't say anything at first. He just laced his fingers together and kept staring back into the eyes of the culprit who assaulted his younger clansman. Once the boy began to fidget beneath his steady gaze, Bren spoke up and the boy flinched a little, "I never took you for a coward Michael, so how 'bout you explain yourself?"
Michael just dug his grave deeper, "Why the fuck do you care? He's a bastard anyways, so what if we-" Bren blinked when a boot collided with the side of Michael's head, putting him to sleep face down in the sand. Bren looked up to him, with
Nick righted his stance, and when he noticed the stare he was getting from Bren, a thought hit him, "What? You were actually listening?" He scoffed, "You might want to be fed bullshit, but I was done hearing him," he quickly began rummaging through the three unconscious boys' pockets, pulling bottle caps and counting them out in his hands, "And quite frankly, I feel like I deserve repayment." The bottle caps totaled twenty-seven in all. It wasn't much, but it was more than what he had previously, which was zilch.
Pushing himself up from his squat, Bren huffed at the young boy's brashness, but wasn't going to say anything to stop him. These boys should be lucky all they're losing is bottle caps and some of their ego. "I need to talk to you."
"What if I don't feel like talking," he said snidely.
"We did have a reason for looking for you yesterday," Bren continued, unfazed.
"The fuck did you just hear me say?"
"You're going on a raid." That actually managed to draw the young boy into silence for a moment.
"What," Nick asked, dumbfounded. Bren didn't respond, and so the boy sneered, "What? Raid?"
Bren shrugged his shoulders, "The chief is planning a raid with the Northerners," he stepped closer, " warriors. . . prospects," Bren stood right in front of his younger clansmen.
"There isn't much we can talk about freely. But we got some details you might be interested in," Chance said as he stepped up over Michael, and stopped next to the other boys.
"Like that we'll be leaving in a few days. We want you to follow us to the camp in the Hancock Glades, look around and see it for yourself. Maybe pick up some things."
Nick's eyes shifted between the two older boys, uncertain of what he should do. Fergus had said not to leave, but honestly he had already been thinking about ditching the camp before Michael had reared his ugly mug. This only meant he'd be doing exactly what he didn't want. This raid, though. . .
"Fine." Nick conceded, turning away with his hands coming to a rest at his hips.
"Great," Chance clapped his hands together, "lets get going then, we'll need to round up our gear, it'll take us an hour to get there on foot."
Nick raised a puzzled brow, yet a straight faced Bren told him that it wasn't a joke. They really were going to huff it.
'Awesome,' he thought, 'can't really take Alban if the point is to sneak out.' Didn't think of that.
(Elsewhere)
Naddok was sitting inside his tent; a rather spacious abode crafted of a fine collection of Bighorner leather. It was fitting for his position as Chief. The leather was great against the elements, like heavy wind and sand storms or the rare instances of rain, it also offered an excellent break from the blazing sun of the Mojave. Numerous trinkets and spoils were decorated around him, all of which he acquired through trade, exploration or conquest. But more precisely he was at his desk. An old-world bureau that was almost mint, if it weren't for a few watermarks stained into the wood. He had a guest, but honestly his mind was slightly adrift and he was only half listening. He was more concerned about what the man before him could be pulling his tribe into. . .
Across from him was the Northerner, London, that Papa Khan had sent for them, pacing as probed and prodded him on the conditions and affairs of the tribe. "So, it's been what, five, six years since your last face to face with a runner?"
"Give or take," and the questions were getting to be annoying.
"And since then, you've established several farms, outpost camps," he glanced down at the report Naddok had handed to him prior, "and even caravans pass through here to buy and sell goods. Impressive, I'll admit, but rather tame."
Naddok's fist tightened, but kept his mouth shut.
"These farmers produce for you Corn, Razor Grain, Xander Root, Carrots, Potato, and even Mutfruit. They tend Bighorner, Brahmin, hmm, Radchickens. All excess you can't store or eat, you sell. And your hunting and scavenging parties supply your meat and trading needs."
"How about instead of the scrutiny, we get down to why you're really here."
London had something of a snide grin on his face. Though, Naddok would only 'play' for so long, and he was beginning to sense he was standing in the middle of a minefield. So, he got to relaying his message from Papa Khan, "The Khan is ready to get his riders on the warpath. Between us and your men, he believes we can put up a real fight against the NCR," he stopped in front of Naddok's desk, "How much man-power do you think could ride?"
Naddok wrung his hands at the desk as he gave it a thought, "Depends. Things like need and notice are important."
"Two days," he said smoothly, "and we'll need everyone you can spare. Expect it to be a long term trip, so supplies and munitions will be crucial."
"Long term," Naddok said, finally stepping from his desk and rounding it to confront the man. "Papa Khan knows I don't like playing games. So you tell me what he's really planning." Naddok leveled an even stare into the messenger's eyes.
"He mentioned something like that. Fine," he then slackened up, more casual. "We want to get the other Vegas Tribes to help us. Papa Khan has managed to arrange a meeting with all their leadership and our numbers are a show of force. We want to try and leverage as much confidence as we can."
"So I gather that 'long term,' means after we've got their support." It was quite the move, he had to admit. The Boot Riders could be negotiated with, he was certain. But the Sawneys, a bunch of cannibals, and the Slither Kin that were slavers and drug users were another story. Though if it could be done. . . maybe they could poke the bear and win.
"Correct. Now, how many can you spare?"
"A hundred riders," Naddok conceded, nodding his head, "that's all I can guarantee without checking with the other camps."
"Excellent." London bowed, ready to take his leave, "Papa Khan will be pleased, and we'll see you in Vegas in a few days." London turned and walked from the ger, his two Northern guards following him out.
Naddok was about to take his seat back at the desk when his brother made his entrance, "Yes, Fergus?"
"I just saw the Northerners leaving," he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "I take it you've come to a decision."
"Now's a good time as any," Naddok sighed to himself, then started walking towards Fergus. "Come, time to muster the men."
"Right behind you."
Naddok stepped from his tent into the biggest of his three established camps, The Hancock Glade. It was just a large blank patch of dirt and soil that had been undeveloped once the bombs fell so many years ago, then his people arrived. It was here that the first camp was set up by the Great Khans upon their arrival into Bullhead. It wasn't long after their tents were pitched that the Khans set out in establishing a stranglehold on the city. Raider gangs were the first to come to heel, and after they had razed a few of the bigger groups in their own camps and hideouts they came across as a precedent, the rest soon fell in line and joined the Khans. A few remained, groups a three or five, but they were smart enough to avoid any Khan held areas.
Their numbers swelled, and that required food to sustain such a large group of ruffians. Food was one such resource that couldn't always be stolen or taken by force, not enough for over a hundred mouths. So Naddok made a move, one outside their norm as Khans. He enlisted help.
Let it never be said that they weren't fair to non-members and helpful outsiders here in Bullhead. Several farms had managed to scrap by a living here, and with their raider troubles gone, most were more than willing to give the Khans food in return for protection. A very symbiotic relationship. Naddok even sent idle prospects on rotation to provide extra hands to tend the crops and stand guard; the farms grew bigger, livestock and hunting gains were traded and soon enough, their food troubles were solved in a matter of five months. Even traders started making regular runs years ago, stopping by the camps with Khan escorts through Bullhead for their efforts.
Naddok had made real settlements, no, towns, out of these camps. It was that kind of leadership that earned him the respect of his tribe as their leader. Even if that meant he received slight distrust from members of the north. Some of his Northern kin thought they'd gone soft, forgotten their ways. That man, London, was poking fun at it all. Scrutinizing decisions that made his Khans stronger, not Papa Khans. They'd soon see how 'soft' his war band was.
But that didn't stop the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind, and not a day went by that Naddok didn't worry, that all of this progress, it'd all be lost.
(An Hour Later)
Sighing, Nick stopped and looked to his right, down a narrow gap between houses to check his progress, and he could see the end of Colorado Boulevard. He'd been following Chance and Bren for half an hour, so he knew they were close, about another ten minutes or so. There was a large clearing there, the larger camp for the Khans main force. Naddok and Fergus would spend a lot of time there to keep things in line and it'd been a few months since he'd himself been there, now that he thought about it.
Nick sidled up to Chance and kept pace with the taller boy, "So how does Bren know a raid is being worked out?" It hadn't even been a day yet, but those Northerners seemed pretty determined, especially that messenger. But that didn't strike him as enough for Bren to bite on, "How sure is he?"
Chance briefly glanced down, "He told me his old man and that messenger talked about it briefly yesterday while securing those weapons we all found. And I wouldn't be surprised if it's already been decided. Naddok has been preparing for something like this for awhile. Lot of the older guys have been talking about it ever since the Northerners' got here."
"So he isn't positive, and the same goes for me. Awesome," Nick groaned.
It was here that Bren called back, "I know what I'm talking about," and when the Nick looked, he noticed Bren was standing by a patch in a wall covered by a few wooden pallets and burlap covers.
"What's this?"
Bren and Chance started moving the pallets to open a hole through the wall, "In here is another tunnel, kind of like the one we found yesterday. Except this one runs into the Glade at one of the guard houses. My dad had this dug in case of emergencies."
"Okay, but why aren't we just using the main gate?" God, Nick hated tunnels.
Bren chuckled nervously, and Nick didn't think it was natural for the older boy, "Yeah, I kinda wasn't allowed to leave the camp. Guess that makes us both rebels today, huh?" Nick cracked a small smile hearing that as the three shuffled into the exposed breach. "We need to get you some gear, and there's only two ways of doing that here. Either buy or trade for it, or we can go to the Circle."
"And the 'Circle,' is, what, exactly?"
Bren glanced back with a predatory grin, "You'll see soon enough."
And so their journey continued, carrying on through narrow passage in silence as Nick mulled over just what these two had in store for him. He felt the unease in his gut build with every step until finally they all came to a cellar, stocked with some spare munitions and non-spoiling food stuffs.
The click of a gun was enough to get Nick to flinch, "God dammit. Fuck, that scared me."
Bren and Chance paid him no mind as they walked to the end of the room, where a chair occupied by a lone guard stood watch, pistol raised and easily concealed in the darkness. The guard then lowered his gun hand into his lap as he eased the hammer back, "Ah, I was wondering how much longer you guys would be." He stood and shared a handshake with both boys, Nick watching curiously from the background. "Another fifteen and my shift had been over. Drew isn't as kind as me."
"Drew Barker," Chance scoffed, thinking of just how an encounter with him would go. Drew was the kind of guy that'd make you walk all the way back out and use the front entrance, just because. Skittish too, but that skittishness wasn't cowardice; combine that with good hearing and sharp eyes, he was probably one of the best guards in the camp. But he was an asshole, and a tough one that didn't take shit from anybody unless their name was Naddok or Fergus. "Yeah I'd rather not rile Drew up today," Chance said, shaking his head.
Nick watched the three speak as he scrutinized the new addition. It was hard to make out some details, but he was tall like Chance, but skinnier. His hair almost hung in front of his eyes and he had scruff under his nose, his chin and all were dark in color. He was shadowed better in the dark room than the rest of them, suggesting a darker skin tone.
"Who's 'Small Fry'?" he heard coming from the new guy. Then looked up to see all three were now looking at him.
Bren pointed back at him, "That's Petty, and we're taking him to the Circle. Mind unlocking the way, Austin?" Changing the topic before the smallest among them blew a gasket. He wouldn't of minded sticking around to talk, but he wanted to get things moving today.
'Austin' shrugged his shoulders, "Well shit, little guy looking for easy steals?" Turning, his stride carried him to a small set of stairs and a pair of storm doors at the far wall, the rest following behind. After stepping up onto the second step, he felt around the center until he snagged the padlock, then pulled a key from his pocket and started fiddling with the lock. "I heard there's been a kid tearing it up the last week or so, 'bout his age," he mentioned, nodded his head toward Nick, but staying focused on the padlock. "Marvin, or Melvin or something. A prospect that's been having a nice run. Think your boy can handle it?"
"One on One, I'd say so." Bren knew Petty wasn't a push over, he'd seen it before back at East Camp and the incident with Michael was a jumping more than any honest bout. Naddok and Fergus taught himself well, and they weren't the heads of the tribe for nothing. Fergus had been teaching Petty since the boy could walk, and most of his peers avoided a straight fight nowadays unless they had the numbers like Michael had.
"Damn right, Uncle didn't spend hours beating the shit out of me for nothing." Nick burst out, finally speaking since he was startled earlier. He was starting to get riled up at the thought of some hot shot he could knock down a peg or two. He knew there was no way any kid his age was going to hit him harder than Fergus had, which was why he turned out tougher and meaner than any others in his group back in his home camp.
Chance set a hand on Nick to simmer him down, "You'll get your chance soon enough." Chance figured the kid was ready, but here in the Glade, things were going to be different. Less. . . bias. Nick's age group weren't going to know of him like they did back in East Camp. It'd definitely be a change of pace, and the talent pool for younger fighter just got a lot bigger in this larger camp. If he performs well, he would be getting some extra gear.
Chance glanced over at Bren. The recognition Nick could earn would play in their favor, and that's what Chance figured his best friend was counting on.
Austin chuckled as the lock finally came undone, "Well he seems fiery, that's for sure." Shoving one of the double doors open, Austin stood aside and allowed them to pass, "I'll see you gents later, I'm sure." All three waved their goodbyes, while the door was closed behind them. Just before they were made their first steps, "I need to get those clowns to replace this fucking lock," Nick heard from the other side of the door.
The storm cellar door had let them out into the south east corner of the camp, where the only houses that had been built on the once large vacant plot. Nick could see from some of the windows the heavily armed khans standing watch in the re-purposed guard posts, protecting the settlement's main gate. Nick trailed behind the others, and Nick could now see the difference between the two camps. As he walked through the long rows of tents, he noticed there were many wooden shacks that had been constructed here as well. The amount of people he saw here, was mind-boggling; Men, women and the adolescents by the dozens were strolling the streets, attending to their personal affairs, running errands for the tribe, or just idling around getting drunk with friends and comrades. Numerous packs of children ran about at play with dogs trotting merrily alongside yipping and barking in delight. Nick stepped aside to make way as a troop of Khans lead their horses towards the gate. Makeshift eateries were set-up every few rows to service the many mouths to feed. Then again, nobody ever really went hungry, with so many hunters and scavengers out every day, he thought. "There has to be hundreds," he commented under his breath. This was just one line of living quarters. The place was literally buzzing with life and activity.
Eventually his path lead him to a small break between the row of jumbled tents and shacks. Here, a crowd that was formed in a circle with jeers and shouts filled the air. Quick glances at most of the attendee's and Nick saw they were around their age, but there were adults too, and Nick could hear betting being called from them even at this thirty foot distance.
Just before they were to breach the crowd, Bren turned and stopped the trio, "Alright Petty, time to show 'em what you're made of."
Nick took a steady breath and nodded, taking the fore and snaking his way to the front. Once there, he finally got to see just what the 'Circle' was. At the center, two teens were slugging it out as they danced about at circle of turned over dirt, the color difference distinguishing what was in bounds and what was not.
There was a third person, a woman, acting as a proctor for the two fighters. A brunette with her long hair held back in a ponytail, she had a red bandana tied snugly around her neck that looked uncomfortable. She also wasn't wearing traditional khan leathers; instead choosing to wear a dirty white t-shirt tucked into loose tan fatigue pants, and even those were tucked into her brown boots. Something seemed odd about her for sure, she stood out from the other adults he'd seen. Something in her stance, the way she held herself was different from the run-of the-mill khan around the camp. Confident, like a tree with deep roots.
Nick turned back to the fight when a furious right hand made that sweet smacking sound, ending the scuffle with one of the boy's flat on his ass. Curses and boo's were tossed around by those who'd misplaced their bets when the woman casually walked up to the downed contestant and nudged him with his foot and when there was no response, called the fight. Wordlessly, she took the winner's arm and held it high.
"Is that Martin?" Nick asked aloud, if it was then he didn't seem that tough.
"Nope, that's just Devon. Martin hasn't been here yet." A boy to his right told him, and Nick nodded. The proctor handed Devon two blades, one a machete and the other looked like a custom short blade about the same length. With a few test swings with the machete, they boy appeared to be satisfied with his win. Once he departed the arena, the Proctor took the center and glanced around the crowd. The boy glanced at Nick, "You new? Never seen you around before, and most kids end up here eventually."
"You could say that. I'm from East Camp, along the river bank."
"I figured you for a newbie. So, this is you first time at The Circle, then too."
"We were hoping to find the kid some new gear today." Chance said, and the boy turned to see both the taller blonde, and his more than recognizable companion.
"Shit, you know the Chief's son?"
Nick shrugged his shoulders, leaving that line of questioning alone. When he noticed another boy enter the circle, handing the proctor a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun for her to inspect. "Is that the entry fee? Something you own?"
"Exactly," Bren added, "the challenging bid has to be equal in value to the first bid."
"So," Chance placed a hand down on Nick's shoulder, "You want in or not? That 9mm would make a nice bid. And don't give me that look, I know it was a gift but I got faith in you."
Nick grimaced, but Chance didn't seemed to mind it, and it was the only thing he had that he could bid. He didn't really want to wager his rifle, unless it was something really good and he felt the odds were in his favor. Still, it was a gift, and he'd feel shitty afterwards if he ended up losing it to some cocky asshole.
Sighing to himself, he once again handed off his rifle to Chance, and stepping from the throng he suddenly felt all eyes on him. Pulling the pistol from his waistband, he held it out for the proctor to take, totally unaware of the woman's sudden discomfort. The woman almost stuttered in hesitation, shaky gray eyes staring at the boy in wonder from behind dark aviator shades.
She snatched the handgun from his hands in a flash of motion and checked it over; dumping the magazine, racking the slide clear of the chambered round, testing the safety and firing pin. Almost the exact same process with his opponents sawed-off. After her inspection was complete, she turned right around to place both items on a table by a chalkboard.
"Alex," said the boy across from him, and Nick watched as a man beside the proctor wrote it down on the board, before looking expectantly at him.
"Nick," he replied, his heart picking up pace just the slightest. With both their names on the board, the man began to strut across the Circle with a bucket and a notepad, allowing bets to be placed.
"I hope you're ready to lose that nice piece you got, runt." Nick just smiled at Alex's lame attempt to psyche him out. "The fuck are you smiling about, runt? You retarded or something?"
"I hope you're ready to be disappointed." Alex's face morphed into a nasty sneer, his hands balling into fists by his sides. Two can play at this game, Nick laughed to himself. "I bet you have that double barrel because you can't shoot worth shit. Probably shouldn't of wagered it."
Before anything more could be said between the two, the man had finished his rounds and the woman proctor took the space in the middle with hand held high. She glanced to her right at Alex, "I'm ready."
Then she looked at him, his heart beat picking up more, as he bounced and shook out his arms, "Ready," he said.
The woman slashed her hand to the earth and sand, then quickly jumped from the combat zone. Her agility had actually surprised him, and if he weren't still conscious of his current situation, he wouldn't have noticed that Alex had closed the distance rather quickly, and was launching a left hand his way. Leaning back, Nick safely dodged the jab, and was ready for the follow-up kick, cushioning the blow as he caught it in his stomach. "Fast," he grunted, then lifted the leg and forced the boy off balance, causing Alex to land on his back.
When Nick had the momentary advantage, he tried to capitalize by trying to bury his foot underneath the boy's chin, but failed when the kid used the momentum of his fall to continue the roll out of danger and back onto his feet. Nick didn't hesitate and tried a two punch combo, Alex parrying the first but eating the second. Alex tried a wild haymaker, creating some distance as Nick stepped back away from it.
Wiping the blood from his lip, Alex spit some of the build up from his mouth and rushed him again. Alex threw a punch, then another and another. Quick, precise. It took all of Nick's focus to keep up with the jabs. Alex's fist streaked across his line of vision, stealing his attention, and was dazed when the other bounced off his jaw. The blow sent him to the sand but he caught himself before he could hit the ground flat.
Now, he was starting to get pissed off. Alex hadn't rushed him, allowing him to stand up unchallenged. He too, spit the out the blood welling up inside his mouth. Sucking his teeth to clear as much of the coppery spittle as he could, he spit on more time aiming for Alex's feet. "Didn't rush me. . . big mistake."
Now it was his turn to press the attack. Alex was fast, but Nick knew he was faster. Getting in close, he ducked the first swing made by Alex and hit him in the ribs. Alex shot a downwards elbow, and missed when Nick danced around him to his open side. Again, he targeted the body with two vicious hits, and when Alex tried to shield himself, when nothing came, he fired a pair of retaliatory shots. Nick ducked and weaved around them, drawing Alex out; then his opponent slipped, trying too hard and threw himself off balance. 'When your not punching, they're punching,' he could hear Fergus say, in the back of his mind. Nick altered his aim and focused on Alex's now open head. One solid hand collided with Alex's head, cranking his head back and he stumbled. A left-handed punch to the body doubled him over, and a nasty uppercut followed, finally toppling the boy over.
'Snap your punches, don't overcommit. Only push through on a sure shot. Breathe out, explosive, when throwing your punches.' All those lessons, the beatings, this is what Fergus had made him into. 'Good breathing, good control. Good control and good footwork, balance, leads to good technique. Good technique, is where you get your power.'
And like that it was over. Nick was a little short for breath, but he was the one left standing. Alex was on his back, breathing heavy, but down and out. The fight, and the prize, were his. The proctor slowly glanced between him and Alex as she made her way over to him, her eyes lingering on him in what he could only imagine was curiosity. Taking his hand, she held it high. Those who had bet on him cheered him on as those that chose wrong grumbled out their frustrations. Glancing around he saw Chance, giving him a thumbs up. Even Bren was nodding his head in approval.
And in that moment, for the first time he could remember, he felt proud of himself.
