The morning of departure was cool and quiet; overhead, the stars were just beginning to lose their brilliance as the eastern horizon grew slightly less black. Inside the shack, Claw was helping Cutter tighten the straps on his leather armor.
"This is going to be cool." The boy shifted from foot to foot, making Claw frown and yank the strap a little harder than necessary. "I've never seen snow before."
"Hooray, frozen radiation," Claw grumbled. "Hold still, you did a shit job back here."
"My arms don't bend that way," the boy protested. "I can never get the ones in the middle tight."
"Learn." Claw planted her hand on the small of his back and tugged. "You need to be able to strap into your own goddamn armor, you're not a little kid anymore."
"I tried!" Cutter twisted his neck to pout at her. "I mean it, my arms just won't go!"
"I got mine on no problem." The woman grunted as she forced the buckle shut. "No excuses, do better next time."
Spike was splayed out on the floor beside them in another set of armor. He also wore his coat and a tattered, wide-brimmed hat. Said hat was pulled over his eyes as he snored, head resting on his pack and a hunting rifle clutched in his arms.
He had stumbled back from God only knew where four hours prior, stone drunk and face beaten to hell. Claw privately commended him on managing to make it to bed without tripping once; she'd made sure he was lying on his stomach and gone right back to sleep, figuring that if he didn't have an angry mob in tow, he hadn't gotten into any trouble that couldn't wait until morning.
"There." Claw gave Cutter a good-natured swat on the back. "Much less shitty. Got the rest of your gear packed? Once we walk out those gates, we won't be back until the job's over."
"Yeah." The boy grabbed the pile of belts near his feet and buckled them on: one for his pistol holster, another covered in large, rectangular pockets and a third with a few odd tools hooked in leather thongs. "Do you think we'll get to see any Sabers?"
"If that's supposed to be a joke, it's not funny." Claw adjusted her own belts, making sure the .44 magum on her hip rested exactly where she liked it, and the spare ammunition was in easy reach. "The fewer animals we come across, the better."
"I just wanna see one," Cutter grumbled. "I wouldn't try to pet it or anything."
"You're almost as bad as Spike. Stretch."
Claw did several squats, raised each knee to her chest, and raised her arms over her head. Satisfied with her mobility, she watched Cutter do the same.
A low, hoarse laugh drifted from under Spike's hat.
"I didn't know you guys could dance."
"Good." Claw nudged his ribs with her foot. Spike flinched away with a hiss. "You're awake. Up and at'em, sunshine, it's time to get to work."
"Oh God." Spike's voice was filled with despair. "I was afraid you were gonna say that. Yeah, I just gotta-" He climbed unsteadily to his feet, lurched to the door, and bent over just outside the shack. Hands on his knees, he wretched and heaved, bringing up a few mouthfuls of liquor and bile.
Claw rolled her eyes, adjusting her traveling pack on her shoulders. She nodded at Cutter, grabbed Spike's abandoned gear, then made her way outside.
The young man was still doubled over, gasping for breath and spitting intermittently. She slapped the hat over his head, dropped the pack, and pushed the rifle into his arms.
"Dumbass."
"He doesn't need your help," Spike moaned, staring dolefully at her and allowing Claw to get her first good look at his face. It was a battered mess; both eyes were black and swollen, his lower lip was split in two places, and all of his jaw was colored with varying shades of black and purple. Claw was pretty sure he'd gotten his nose broken again, too; there was a fresh split across the bridge, and she thought it looked more misshapen than she remembered.
"Still drunk." Spike wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh man, I'm still drunk. Fuck my life." He pulled the pack on laboriously, rifle slung over his right shoulder, and fell in behind Claw. Walking behind him, Cutter took every available opportunity to kick the bottom of his shoes, making Spike stumble as well as swerve.
"Gonna get what's coming," the young man grunted after the fifth time. "Just wait till I can see straight again."
"Oooh, I'm so scared," Cutter laughed, managing two consecutive kicks and nearly sending the older boy sprawling.
"Cutter, stop." Claw glanced over her shoulder. "Save your energy, it's going to be a long walk."
The boy took one last shot, kicking Spike's foot clear out from under him; the older boy yelped, managing to catch himself on Claw's shoulder just before hitting the dirt.
"That's for knocking the wind out of me," Cutter said, meeting Claw's angry stare evenly.
"I said enough!" she snapped.
"I'm done." Cutter glared at Spike. "He deserved it."
"I told you to stop." Claw's tone was low and dangerous. "You know better than to ignore me."
"Sorry, Claw." The boy hung his shaggy blonde head. "I'm sorry."
"Pick on each other all you want when we stop for the night." She huffed through her nose. "Christ, we haven't even left town."
They met Samuel, Brian's son, just inside the gates of the trading outpost. An average height and build, the twenty-year-old man wasn't nearly as large as his father, but had the same brown eyes and good-natured face. He greeted Claw with a sleepy wave; Cutter immediately ran toward him, chattering about weapon repair and the sort of equipment they'd brought.
"Think I'm dying," Spike mumbled as they pulled their boots on. "Oh God, I feel like so much shit."
"Good," Claw snipped. "Maybe this time you learn something."
Spike merely groaned, giving her a pitiful look through his swollen eyes. She stared back without a trace of compassion.
"I took you drinking myself the night before. You passed out puking, no one fought, we had a good time. But that wasn't enough. I don't know why I even fucking bother anymore."
"You said all I want. I wanted to drink last night, too."
The woman pushed herself to her feet, an aggravated scowl on her face. "Walk in the back. You smell like booze and vomit."
It was nearly sunrise when they passed through the gates; Claw took the lead, followed by Samuel, Cutter and a loaded Brahmin. Spike slogged in the rear, head hanging.
The outpost quickly faded to an indistinct blur on the horizon, then vanished completely as the group trekked through the Waste. After two hours of steady walking, they were completely surrounded by wilderness. Most of it was brown and gray rock; a few skeletal trees were all that remained of what used to be extensive forest.
Cutter chatted animatedly with Samuel as they walked, overjoyed to have another person around who was nearly as interested in cleaning and repairing guns as he was. The young man seemed surprised at Cutter's knowledge; he'd stopped trying to dumb down the process almost immediately, and seemed to forget that Cutter was eight years younger than himself.
"A lot of people don't get how important it is to take care of them." The boy hopped over an especially large crack in the asphalt. "Everyone should know how to keep their guns working good. You never know when something's gonna go wrong and BAM! You're up shit creek."
"Don't say shit," Claw scolded over her shoulder. "You're still too short."
"You say shit all the time, and you're almost as short as me!" the boy protested.
"Quit being an ass." Claw ran a wrist over her forehead and flicked away sweat. "It's too hot."
"Claw, I'm dying." Spike's pitiful voice drifted from several yards behind them. "I mean it this time, I'm really dying."
"Quit being dramatic." Claw didn't bother looking back. "I told you not to drink the night before. Didn't I?"
"You tell me a lot of things." He dry-heaved once. "Can't see. It's so hot, so fucking hot-"
"God damn it," Claw muttered when Spike began to sway. "Pain in my ass. Spike, don't fucking pass out on me. Hold on a second, Samuel."
She rummaged briefly through the Brahmin's packs, and pulled out a bottle of water. Stomping up to the older boy, who was hunched over miserably, she pushed the bottle into his hand.
"Don't you dare throw this up," she ordered.
"I'm gonna," Spike moaned.
"Drink." Claw smacked his arm. "Slowly. Cutter, keep an eye on the idiot, make sure we don't accidentally leave him behind if he passes out."
Cutter rolled his eyes, giving Spike an annoyed glare. He was more than a little tired of being told to babysit, especially when his charge was seven years his senior. Spike glared back halfheartedly, the effect lessened by the swelling around his eyes.
"Don't leave me behind," Spike demanded.
"Don't pass out, then," Cutter snarked. "Shouldn't you be drinking your water?"
"Fuck you," he replied weakly, staring dolefully at the bottle in his hand. He sipped with varying amounts of success as they walked, having some trouble with his badly-swollen lip.
"What happened to his face?" Samuel whispered after a moment, glancing back as Spike stumbled over nothing. Cutter shrugged, his own eyes darting in that direction when the older boy started wretching.
"Probably got into a fight. Claw says his brain is broke, and he can't open his mouth without pissing someone off."
"Doin' all right back there, buddy?" Samuel called.
"Don't call me that," Spike muttered. "No, he doesn't, he seems like a dumb fuckin' Yup."
"Hi." Samuel waved briefly. "Standing right here."
"And where'd that get me?" Spike failed miserably at spitting. "Fuck you, I wanted to run."
"He's not listening," Cutter told Samuel, shrugging as Spike continued to grumble at no one. "He'll just talk to himself until his hangover's gone."
"Ignore him," Claw admonished. "There's some trees a little way off the road. We'll take a breather. How's the water coming, dumbass?"
"I puked." Spike groaned, and sat down hard. "Fucking told you so."
Claw opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and sighed through her nose.
"You two head for those trees and pull out something to eat." She nodded at Cutter and Samuel. "I'll meet you there in a minute. Come on, get up." She grabbed Spike's arm, wrapped it over her shoulders and pulled him up; he choked off a cry of pain, green eyes squeezing shut. His knees wobbled, and Claw's face was strained as she took most of his weight.
"Cutter, take his pack," she grunted, slinging Spike's rifle over her other shoulder.
"I can give you a hand," Samuel offered; Spike raised his head enough to glare, and Claw shook hers once.
"Go get some food out," she repeated. "We'll meet you in a minute."
Samuel shrugged, and urged the Brahmin into a slow trot. He and Cutter made for the copse of dead trees, mirages of heat shimmering on the horizon.
Claw watched the rest of the group head for the trees with a resigned look on her face. Spike's tall, skinny frame hung awkwardly from her shoulders. He positively reeked of alcohol, and had more than one piece of vomit in varying stages of dryness stuck in his hair.
"So." She pulled him along, letting the young man support himself as best he could. "What happened last night?"
"Got drunk. C'mon, boss, you know what happened."
"Your face, the limp, the bruised ribs- what did you do, Spike?"
"I didn't kill 'em," he muttered defensively. "Just fucked 'em up."
"Where."
"Behind the johns. No one else saw. Wasn't my fault, they jumped me outta nowhere."
"Really." Claw grunted as his legs went limp, nearly sending them both sprawling. "You understand why I'd have my doubts about that."
"I swear. I was just trying to take a piss, and they jumped me." Spike let out a low, gravelly laugh. "They got me pretty good, huh? How's it look?"
"Like you lost a fight with the business end of a sledgehammer." Claw chuckled despite herself. "How'd it go?"
"They won't eat solid food for weeks. Broke one's arm. Got the other in the balls. He was still puking when I left."
Claw clapped his back appreciatively.
"Atta boy. Now be honest. What did you say to them?"
"Boss, I don't think you understand. I got drunk. I remember the first half of a bottle of vodka. I remember getting thrown in the dirt with my dick in my hand, still pissing, and I remember beating the hell out of the two dipshits that did it."
"Thank you for not killing them."
"Yeah, well. You owe me one, boss."
They were approaching the trees, where Cutter and Samuel sat against the trunks. Once reaching the sparse shade, Claw dropped Spike unceremoniously. He groaned, sprawled on his back, and pulled his hat over his face.
"No sleeping." Claw nudged him with her foot. "Drink more water." She sat down next to Cutter, and took an offered piece of jerky with a nod of thanks. Samuel was watching the black-haired man warily; Spike had himself propped on one elbow, and was trying to drink with a variety of dramatic grimaces.
"The fuck you lookin' at?" he demanded. Samuel glared at him.
"Shut up," Claw replied for the brown-haired man. "Slow down on the water, you're going to throw up again." She sighed loudly. "Our time is tight enough without this bullshit. We haven't even made five miles."
"Sorry, boss," Spike muttered. "I think I'm done puking, though. Feels good to be out of the sun."
"Good. Eat." Claw threw the jerky at him; Spike blanched at the sight of the bag, shoulders heaving once.
"No, I think I'm good," he told her, voice strained.
"I'm still hungry," Cutter spoke up, "can I look around?"
"At what?" Claw demanded. "I can already tell you what you'll see; dirt, rocks, and more dirt."
"Please?" Cutter begged, "I saw a gully just over there and I bet there's lizards."
"Fine. Stay where I can see you," Claw told the twelve-year-old. "Be careful."
Cutter bounded off, bright blonde hair nearly white under the unforgiving sun. Claw leaned against the tree trunk with a sigh, closing her eyes and listening to the Brahmin chew the lowest branches. They sat in silence for a time; the woman opened one eye when Spike began snoring, splayed out with the empty water bottle clutched in one hand.
"So, Sam." Claw pulled a short knife from its sheath on her calf and began to clean her fingernails. "What did you do to get stuck on this job?"
The young man cleared his throat. "My dad couldn't get any of the traders to go." He chuckled briefly. "Looks like you were the only person stupid enough to take the work."
"Don't remind me." Claw started on her other hand. "How much field experience do you have, kid?"
"I'm twenty," Samuel corrected. "Enough. I've been on plenty of local runs, and I go out with the hunters all the time. Trust me, I'm not going to get in your way."
"Here's hoping." Claw wiped dirt and other unidentifiable goop from the tip of her knife onto her pants. "It's going to be a tough run. We're supplied for it, but..." She broke off, staring distantly into the shimmering heat. Samuel tilted his head.
"What's-"
"Shh," Claw hissed, grabbing the pair of small binoculars that hung around her neck. She squinted through them, then relaxed.
"Sorry." She reached into one of the pouches on her belt and pulled out a battered metal cigarette case. "Thought I saw something. Must've been the heat waves."
Leaning back and closing her eyes while she smoked, Claw left Samuel to sit in awkward silence. After a minute, Spike started sniffing, then held out his hand toward Claw.
"Gimmie."
"Get your own," Claw slapped his hand away. "These are mine."
"Wanna split it?"
"No." Claw took a long drag. "You forgot to pull yourself out a pack, didn't you?"
Spike let his hand flop into the dirt, grumbling under his breath. Claw finished the cigarette slowly. When she'd finished, she snuffed the butt and cupped her hands around her mouth.
"Cutter! We're leaving!" She stood up, brushing dust off her armor. "Get up, we've got a lot of ground to cover."
Spike and Samuel pushed themselves up, the former clutching the sides of his head with a groan.
"Jesus I feel like so much shit. My fucking head."
"Shut up." Claw picked up her pack. "You're lucky I gave you a break at all."
It only took Cutter a moment to return, something small and wiggly sticking out of his mouth. Claw made a face at him.
"Raw is one thing." She raised one hand to shield her eyes as he devoured the lizard. Spike and Samuel's faces paled a few shades. "How do you stand them moving like that?"
"It's not so different from Mole Rat." Cutter wiped a trickle of bluish blood off his chin. "They taste way better, too."
"Oh f-" Spike clapped a hand over his mouth and bent forward, the other on his knee. Cutter laughed, and belched loudly. Claw smacked the boy on the back of his head.
"He wasted enough water already," she scolded. "Knock it off."
"I'm good." Spike took a deep breath. "Kicked it."
"I'm so proud." Claw rolled her eyes. "Is there any chance we can get moving before winter gets here?"
"How do you guys get anything done?" Samuel demanded, taking the Brahmin's rope and urging it away from the trees.
"Honestly?" Claw pulled off her kerchief, ran her fingers through her hair, and tugged it back on. "I have no fucking idea. Let's get back to the road. Spike, keep an eye out. I thought I saw something earlier."
They pressed north as the sun made its way slowly through the sky, leaving a small cloud of dust in their wake. In one of the numerous gullies cutting through the landscape, two pairs of eyes watched until the dust was out of sight, then began following the trail.
((Ok, I know I've been super-vague about location and other moderately important details; hang in there, I'm still dusting out the corners of the storytelling portion of my brain, and boy is it a mess back here.
Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. The site even made reviewing easier by giving us the nifty insta-reply box! So...you know. Drop some delicious brainfood for me!))
