Despite their best efforts, it was early afternoon before they reached the Jury Street Metro Station, homing in on the red rocket ship that marked what had once been a gas station in the days before the war. The small cluster of cement and concrete brick buildings surrounding what was left of the old subway station stood out against the ruined backdrop of the Wasteland, forming an oasis of pre-war civilization; Gob counted a small grocery store, a hardware supply store, and a diner, as well as one or two other buildings, boarded up and so run-down that he could not determine their functions. The entrance to the subway was no more than a concrete platform with steps in the center leading down to a closed chainlink gate. He glanced around him as they carried Charon through the street; the other ghoul was mumbling again, though Gob couldn't make out any identifiable words. He had been restless for the past hour or so, shifting and squirming against the restraints that held him to the stretcher; Gob wondered if the Med-X were starting to wear off.

"Does anyone live here?" Gob ventured, running his eyes over the surroundings. "It looks abandoned…."

"It is," Samantha replied. "Most places in the Wastes are." She put her head back to look up at the sun, and he saw her shoulders tighten. Gob felt warmth spread across what little skin remained on his cheeks and he dropped his eyes; despite their best efforts they were already behind where Samantha had wanted them to be by this time. They had run into some awkward terrain that they had had trouble negotiating with the stretcher; and then a couple of times they had had to stop to deal with an attack by yao guai or radscorpions. Those things hadn't helped, but Gob knew that one of the biggest holdups was that he simply was not able to physically keep pace with Samantha. Tending bar at Moriarty's had not conditioned him for roaming the Wastes…and Samantha's got that powered armor to help her, he thought. Already the strain of carrying Charon's stretcher was beginning to tell; his shoulders and back were starting to ache and his hands were growing sore from the pressure of the handles. He bit his lip.

"I'm sorry, Samantha," he apologized. "I know you wanted to be farther than this by now and I...."

Samantha was silent for a moment, then gave a small sigh. "It's okay. I'm just--worrying." She glanced back over her shoulder at Charon. "Let's go set him down in there for a moment," she said, jerking her head toward the rounded form of the diner. Dot's, the dead neon sign read.

Inside, the diner was a ruin, filled with dirt and trash. The windows had broken out, and rubble was piled in through them high enough to walk on. Papers, cans and empty bottles were scattered all over the floor, along with broken cups, plates and other rusty utensils. The smell was sickening, like a public toilet. Gob hesitated, and cast an uncertain glance at Samantha; but she forged ahead as if she noticed nothing out of the usual. He braced himself, and followed her in. Dogmeat trotted after them, then stopped at the door; he stared intently outward, his tail held up in the alert position. He smells something, Gob thought, and shivered.

"Here," Samantha said, navigating the refuse-piled floor. "Let's lay him down back behind the counter where he's shielded a bit."

Gob gulped as they maneuvered the stretcher into place behind the counter. "Uh, S-Samantha—there's a body back here." Or at least…the dismembered pieces of one, he thought uneasily.

"It's Prime," she responded absently. "Or Jiggs…I was never sure which one." She knelt, lowering her end of the stretcher to the floor.

"Oh." Gob silently digested that as he too lowered his end of the stretcher. It told him absolutely nothing. "Did you, uh…did you—"

"Did I kill him? No," she responded, her attention fixing on her Pip-Boy. "He was dead when I got here. I suspect Raiders got him, either that or he tried to doublecross his partner. It was from him that I got my Xuanlong Assault Rifle," she added, with a small smile.

"Oh." Gob squatted on his heels, somewhat queasily, reflecting that none of what she had said illuminated the situation in the slightest. "Should we leave—I mean, there are, uh, pieces—"

"Well, just push them out of the way," Samantha said with a shrug. "He's dead, he won't bother you." She bit her lip, her eyes still fixed on the green screen. "Gob, will you be okay if I leave you here for a few moments?"

"I—I guess?" he faltered. "Why?"

"I think we're being followed. In fact, I'm sure of it."

Gob's heart leapt into his throat. "The Enclave?" he asked hoarsely.

"No, I think it's just Raiders," she replied, glancing up at him reassuringly. "Ordinarily, I wouldn't even bother worrying about them until they decided to attack us—Raiders are more of a nuisance than anything else—but with Charon the way he is, I don't want to take any chances." She pushed herself to her feet, taking her helmet from where it had been hanging at her hip and raising it to her head. It clicked home, sealing with the rest of her armor, and a brief flash of green lightning arced around her. She took her plasma rifle from her back. As she stood there looking down at Gob, armored and alien, a chill passed through him. When she spoke, her voice crackled with electronic static. "I'm going to go out and deal with them. Wait here until I get back. You still have the gun I gave you?" Wordlessly Gob took it out and showed it to her. "Good. If anyone comes, shoot to kill. I'll be back in a bit. Dogmeat! Heel!"

So saying, she stepped out the door and was gone, leaving Gob alone in the filthy, gore-encrusted diner. He settled on the floor next to Charon's unconscious form, setting his back to the wall and gazing in the direction Samantha had gone. One of his hands landed on something soft and squishy; he yanked it back with a jolt, realizing it had landed on a piece of the body. Prime, he thought, gazing down at the piece; it was a leg, clad in the remains of a boot. That's what Samantha called him. Or maybe Jiggs…. Gob bit his lip. Beside him, Charon tossed in his restraints, muttering unintelligibly, then subsided again.

So this is what having an adventure is like. Gob stole a glance at the dismembered corpse of Prime, then looked away, working his shoulders to relieve the ache. He tried to remember if he had had anything like this in mind when he had first set out from Underworld so long ago, and couldn't do it. The pathways that might have led him back into his state of mind at that time were long since closed to him. Somehow he doubted it, though. I really hadn't thought anything through very well, he recalled ruefully. He'd set out from Underworld with no goal, no destination except a vague desire to maybe get to Rivet City, no armor, only a .32 pistol for defense, and maybe a hundred caps to buy things with. No wonder Carol begged me not to go. His mouth twisted at the thought.

What he should have done, he'd realized in the fifteen years since then, was ask Quinn to take him along on one of his expeditions, or at least spent some time walking the beat with Willow. Either one of them could have shown him the ropes, helped him find his feet…. Was it any surprise that I got captured by Slavers almost immediately? Not at all, he reflected moodily; the only surprise was that he hadn't gotten killed.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the sounds of the approach until they were right on top of him. The grating of a footstep outside finally made its way into his consciousness. He got to his knees, starting to call out…then stopped. High, sneering voices drifted in through the open doors.

"Think anyone's around, Tuner?"

"Gotta be, Slice. I was tellin you, I was watchin from the hill. I seen that armor chick come in here with those two fuckin zombies, one walkin behind her, the other on the stretcher. Then the armor chick leaves, but no zombies. They gotta still be in here." The one called Tuner gave a vicious laugh.

Raiders. Gob's heart froze within him. He was shaking, his mouth dry. Carefully, on wobbly hands and knees, he crept forward just enough to where he could peer around the edge of the counter. He saw shadows cross outside the diner door.

"That armor chick looked nice," came another voice, this one female. "I wish she was still in here. I'd love to cut her up good. Wouldn't be so pretty then. You with me, Rose?"

"Yeah, Star," another female agreed. "Zombies're no fun. Half the time, everything's already fallen off them anyway, so there's nothin left to cut." She giggled nastily.

"Well, anyway, here's the diner. Let's go find them fuckin zombies. Have some fun," Tuner sneered. The shadows moved again. The footsteps were coming closer.

Gob scooted back from the counter, planting his back against the wall and shivering in panic. His stomach was crawling; he felt as if he were going to be sick, right then and there. A trembling weakness spread along his limbs. His heart was racing in his chest; blackness crept in at the edges of his vision, and for a moment he felt as if he were going to pass out. The gun—the gun Samantha gave me— He struggled to draw it from its holster. His hands were shaking so much he almost dropped it; he caught it at the last moment by pressing his palms together. His remaining skin was slick with sweat, his palms clammy. The shadows were closer now, and the vicious voices louder; over the counter, he could see the head of one Raider appear in the doorway briefly. They're here…oh God, they're here….they'll find me….

"Here."

At the rasping voice from his left, Gob nearly jumped a foot off the ground. Trembling like a live wire, he whipped around to see Charon.

The other ghoul was awake. His rotting features looked even more corpselike than usual; his cheeks were hollower, his eyes more sunken, but he was awake. He was fumbling with the quick-release buckle on the straps holding him to the stretcher; he tripped the catch, and then raised himself torturously on one elbow. Sweat gleamed on what remained of his skin, and the exposed muscles in his face and neck twitched in spasms. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Give me the gun."

Gob stared at him. His wildly overstressed mind couldn't make sense of Charon's request at first. "I—I—"

"Give it to me." Those milky eyes gleamed, fever-bright, compelling. Gob slid the weapon over to him almost without thought. Charon picked it up and checked the load, his ruined face twitching. "Keep your hands off weapons," he rasped. "You're hopeless."

Gob swallowed. He tried to reply, but nothing came out. The Raiders were very near now; the one in the doorway laughed and called something back to the rest of them.

"How many?" Charon asked.

It took Gob a moment to realize what he was asking. "F-Four," he whispered back. "I think."

The other ghoul cursed quietly. "Stay down," he ordered Gob. Gritting his teeth, Charon raised the gun, correcting the aim so that his shot would clear the countertop. The first Raider standing in the doorway, a male with his hair in a mohawk, had been joined by a second one: a woman with blond hair in spikes like devil's horns.

"That's it," Gob heard Charon breathe, barely audible. He raised the gun a fraction of an inch further. "That's it…."

The female glanced past the male's shoulder and spat. "Ahhhh…shit, Tuner," she sneered. "There ain't nobody in here. What kinda shit you tryin to—"

Her words cut off as Charon squeezed off two shots, panting through his teeth. The loud report of the gun echoed throughout the diner. His aim had been perfect; the heads of both Raiders exploded into a bloody mess of flesh and bone, spattering gore over the surroundings; a heartbeat later, there was the sound of bodies smacking into the concrete.

"Holy shit!" came Slice's voice from outside. "Holy fuck!"

"So there is somebody in there," Rose's voice laughed. "Come on out an' say 'hi,' why don't ya?" There were more footsteps, and Gob could see more shadows moving in front of the door. Charon cursed again, breathing heavily.

"Are they leaving?" Gob whispered.

The other ghoul's filmy eyes drifted closed for a moment, and his body tightened in a spasm. "No," he rasped when he could speak again. "They're…going around to the sides—avoid a frontal assault. Don't stay there," he said, jerking his head at Gob's location. "No cover…through the windows it's a straight shot. Damn," he growled, squeezing his eyes shut again and grinding his teeth.

"But where should I—" Gob began, when there was a loud crack, as of a stick breaking. Something zinged by his head, very fast, and Slice's voice rang out in a gleeful taunt of "Found ya!"

Charon swung to deal with the threat, raising his gun. "You want some?" he snarled. Panicked, Gob scrambled as fast as he could on hands and knees to the other end of the diner, huddling under the far windows. Rapid gunfire rang out as Charon and the other Raider traded shots. Gob pressed his back to the wall, terrified, trying to fuse with the wall behind him. A shot from Slice bounced off the metal strut directly to the left of his head, and sparks singed his face. God, just let me get out of here—

"Oh no, baby, you ain't goin nowhere."

Skinny, strong arms shot through the broken window, wrapping around his shoulders in an amazingly powerful grip. Gob heard himself cry out; mindless with fear, he grabbed at them, trying to tear himself free, when the keen edge of a knife blade pressed itself to his throat.

Time seemed to stop. His body felt as if it had turned to stone. Total paralysis descended on him. A strange, crystal clarity seemed to infuse all his thoughts. This is it. This is how I will die. That high, sneering voice laughed in his ear.

"'Parently, you ain't as dumb as you are ugly." He recognized it as Rose's voice and Gob could have wept for his own stupidity. How could I have forgotten that she was out there? The knife advanced another millimeter, digging into the exposed muscle of his throat. Gob dared not even swallow. "Heh. Feel that?" Rose snickered. He could feel her hot breath on the side of his face. "Don't worry, it ain't too sharp. Star liked sharp knives. I like dull ones better." She laughed again, cold and cruel. Her arms seemed strong as iron around him.

"Oh, please let me go," he heard himself whine. "Please—please just let me go—"

"I told Star I don't like doin zombies—not much fun there—but it looks like you got a lotta good stuff left on you still. I wonder how much? It'll be fun to find out," she laughed. Gob heard himself whimper. Charon was still shooting it out with Slice—bullets were zinging through the air—and with Rose's knife at his throat, he dared not call out.

"You squeal good. I like that. Tell you what, zombie," she taunted him. "I'm gonna play with you for a bit. Make you squeal. If you squeal good enough, then after I've had my fun, maybe I'll let you go, what's left of you." She gave a short, sharp laugh. "Maybe." The knife slid back and forth along his throat, a vicious parody of a caress. "What do you think of—"

A high-pitched snap and whine cut her off. Gob felt her body jerk against him and something warm splattered against the back of his neck and shirt. Rose's arms relaxed around him, then fell away. Gob flung himself away roughly, falling on his hands among the shattered glass and plate shards on the floor; he almost sobbed for joy to see a Tesla-armor-clad form standing framed in the window, plasma rifle still raised. Behind him there was a savage growl followed by a high-pitched yell: "Ow! Bad dog! Get aw—" The crack of a gunshot silenced Slice's cry.

"Gob, are you all right?" Samantha's voice crackled through the helmet. She reached up and took it off, hanging it again at her hip.

Gob was shivering. "Samantha….S-Samantha," he stammered helplessly. "I—I—" He swallowed. " Y-yes. I'm okay."

Samantha bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Gob," she apologized. "I did manage to find a group of maybe half a dozen Raiders following us—I dealt with them all, but I should have guessed that a couple would come back here—"

"F-Four," Gob said, shaking. "There were four of them. Ch-Charon—he shot the first two, but there—"

"Charon?!"

Samantha started in surprise, and her head swung toward her follower. She put her hand on the shattered sill, and in one single move she vaulted smoothly through the broken window. Her boots slammed into the tiled floor beneath, and she practically bounded to her follower's side. Dogmeat appeared at the door to the diner as she did so, tail wagging hopefully; he caught sight of Gob and barked. Samantha ignored him; her attention was focused on Charon.

"Are you all right?" she asked him.

Charon had collapsed back on the stretcher; the gun he had taken from Gob had fallen from his loose hand. His breath came ragged and rasping; his head was tipped back against the headrest and his face was contorted with pain. As Samantha knelt by his side, he turned his head toward her. "Mistress," he forced out.

"Are—are you shot?" Samantha asked, her voice trembling.

"No, Mistress," he whispered hoarsely. Samantha drew a breath in relief.

"Gob says you shot two of the Raiders. Is that true?"

"Three, Mistress. But….Dogmeat helped with the last." Charon rolled his eyes toward the Blue Heeler, who came trotting up to his side; the dog's tail was down, and he whined unhappily. Samantha closed her eyes. She reached for the ghoul's hand and squeezed it, lowering her head.

"At least you're all right. Thank God," she said fervently. "If the Raiders had gotten you—" She broke off and squeezed the ghoul's hand again, then drew a breath. "How are you doing otherwise?"

"I—have been better, Mistress," Charon admitted. He swallowed. "Mistress, I am….I am so thirsty," he whispered. Gob could see fresh bloodstains seeping through the bandages swathing his torso.

Samantha closed her eyes. "I can't give you anything, Charon," she said quietly. "Doc Church said that with the gut wounds, even water might be fatal. It might do you in before we even can get you to Vault 87. Think you—" Her voice faltered. "Think you can tough it out, big guy?"

Charon swallowed again, and a dry tongue slipped out to lick at his parched, leathery lips. "If it is what my mistress commands, then I will obey." His face spasmed, and he groaned in pain. Samantha immediately reached for a hypo of Med-X, only have Charon stop her with a hand on her wrist.

"No."

"Charon, you need this. Doc Church said—"

"No." He grimaced. "Not yet. If I were to—to take the hypo now…It would leave you one gun down, Mistress." His loose hand groped vaguely for the gun he had let fall. Dogmeat whined again and pushed his nose into the ghoul's palm, and Charon's hand tightened spasmodically in something that might have been a caress.

"Charon!" Samantha demanded, her eyes wet. "Don't try to be a hero. There's no reason to suffer like this! Take the hypo!"

"In…a while, Mistress. The pain—" He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "The pain is….bearable. For now."

Samantha considered that, biting her lip. "Do you promise that the minute it gets to be too much, you'll ask for the hypo?"

Charon nodded. "I promise, Mistress." His face twitched.

"Okay. Okay, then," she said unsteadily. She drew a breath, and then straightened her shoulders, visibly taking hold of herself. Her jaw tightened as the distance slipped back into her eyes. "Can you travel, Charon?"

"As you command, Mistress," he responded.

"Then let's go." She reached down and carefully laid the weapon he had dropped back in the stretcher by his outstretched hand. "Gob, come here and help me secure these straps."

Gob came and knelt by them, helping to refasten the straps around Charon's body. Charon glanced at him briefly, then closed his eyes again. His hand tightened around the gun. Gob looked away. Keep your hands off weapons, echoed in his head.

Together he and Samantha knelt between the poles. They tried to lift the stretcher as gently as possible, but Charon still grunted in pain. Samantha's shoulders tightened. "I'm sorry," Gob found himself apologizing. He hadn't expected the other ghoul to answer, but Charon's milky eyes opened.

"Just go," he growled. He closed his eyes again, and his jaw tightened as Samantha and Gob carefully wound their way around the counter, carrying him out of the ruined diner.