Chapter Three: Family Matters

Audio Enhancement

"Hurt" by Johnny Cash.

"Triggernometry" by Billy Elm and Woody Jackson.


"He's been awful quiet," Gabe whispered to his partner, Thomas.

"If I were you, I'd leave him be. You ain't worth his mettle."

Gabe frowned. He didn't much care for unsociable travellers.

Gabe and Thomas ran the Caravan Supply Trail between Cold Springs and New Reno, transporting goods and commodities to and from the two cities. Oftentimes, they'd take alongside them a few stragglers for a reasonable fee; folks looking for safe passage to New Reno, travelling on the backs of Brahmin.

The stranger had shown up unannounced that morning, seeking passage on the Trail to New Reno. Gabe had explained to him that they couldn't spare any Brahmin due to large order of goods placed by the New Reno establishments, and all animals were fully packed. That's when he handed Gabe a sack of caps, offering to reimburse him for a few lost supplies. So they took a few boxes of grain off a Brahmin and gave him a saddle.

He wasn't much of a travelling companion, that was for sure. The caravan guards were more conversational than him, and most of them were two-bit, brick-headed mercs. Gabe was used to having a nice rapport with passengers, but this one was silent and withdrawn. As they navigated the dusty roads through the narrow mountains, the man had yet to say a single word since he joined.

"Who the hell is this guy, anyway?" Gabe muttered under his breath.

"He's some famous gun, I heard about him while I was in that bar. He's a real cowboy apparently," said Thomas, scratching his beard.

"Why do you think he's on his way to New Reno?"

"Don't know. I wouldn't ask."

Gabe turned around to glance at the stranger, scanning the mountaintops, his eyes, quick and ever-moving, robotically assessing his surroundings. Suddenly, his eyes met Gabes. Gabe turned around quickly.

"They call him the 'Apache.'"


That morning

While Albert stood at the mirror in the Sharp family bathroom, trimming his beard, Eliza was just outside in the living room, packing his travel gear.

A courier tended to pack light, only bringing a handful of supplies. Too much gear tends to weigh you down, so a courier must rely on his adaptability and know how to scavenge supplies for himself while he's on the road. Albert's gear was simple. A map, a compass, a pocket watch, a pad and pen, a canteen of water, a candy bar, a small sack of caps, a hunting knife, some extra ammunition and his pistol. Eliza carefully took each item and stuffed them into Alberts dusty brown backpack.

"I'm done!" she called to her father. Albert grunted a 'thanks' in response.

"Did you remember to pack the stimpaks?" asked Albert.

Eliza cursed silently. "Just a minute…" she said, joining her father in the bathroom. He paused to stop shaving while she retrieved the medicine kit from behind the bathroom mirror.

"Just two. And some bandages," he told her, continuing to shave. In his distraction, he nicked himself with his razor.

"Fuck!" he yelled, washing off the cut with some water. Eliza squinted at him.

"You say that word a lot. What does it mean?"

"What word?"

"Fuck. It's a swear, right?"

Albert dropped his razor in shock, having never heard his girl curse before. "Jesus. Yeah, it's a swear. Don't say that in front of other people."

"Like pussy?"

"Shh! Yeah. Don't say that. Especially that," said Albert, wiping the foam off his chin. "Don't swear, pancakes. Kids shouldn't swear."

"Jake Sutter swears all the time."

"Again with Jake fucking Sutter," bemoaned Albert, rolling his eyes. "You met his daddy. You really think that little shit's any different?"

"I wanna hit him."

"Who? Jake Sutter?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. But just once," relented Albert.

"Can I hit his daddy too?" asked Eliza.

"No. Only I can hit his daddy."

"Why do you get to do things that I can't do?" Eliza asked innocently.

"Because…" Albert trailed off, as he rinsed off the rest of his face. He looked at his daughter's reflection in the mirror as it looked up innocently back at him. He smiled. "Look at you. You're growing up so damn quick."

Eliza looked curiously at her reflection in the mirror. It was true, she was two inches taller than she was a few months ago. It made her feel proud, even though she was still one of the shortest in her class. She liked how she looked though. She had her father's eyes- a deep hazel, shifty and catlike. She had his hair too- the Sharps all had jet black hair. Someone once told her that her family had 'latino' blood. She didn't know what it meant, but what she understood was that she was always slightly darker than the other children. Eliza looked back to her father. The resemblance was uncanny.

"Do I look more like momma or you?" asked Eliza. Albert's smile disappeared. Eliza noticed her father always clammed up when she asked him about her mother.

"Are you done packing my gear?" he asked, changing the subject as he walked into the living room. He eyed his bag, resting on the couch. A separate, slightly smaller pink backpack lay next to it.

"What's with the second bag?"

Eliza shifted uncomfortably. Albert turned to her.

"Eliza?"

"Well…" she began, as she looked down at the floor. "I was thinkin'..."

Alberts eyes narrowed.

"No," he stated.

"I didn't say anything!"

"I know what you want. And no. Unpack your shit, you're staying here," ordered Albert, grabbing his bag off the couch.

"But dad, I jus' wanna go to New Reno is all! Maybe jus' this one time, I can-"

"No."

"No, that's not fair! You said you wanted to spend more time with me, an' then-"

"That's completely different."

"Is not!"

"Hey!" Albert snapped. He raised a finger threateningly at Eliza. "Shut it down," he warned.

Normally a tense stare like the one Albert was giving his daughter right now was enough to keep her from misbehaving. But today, Eliza seemed determined to speak her mind. She stomped her foot in anger.

"You promised! You said you'd quit bein' a courier an' you'd spend more time with me!"

"And I meant it. But it doesn't mean I'm gonna start taking you along with me on jobs," Albert sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Look, if this thing is legit, we're looking at 5000 caps. After that, I promise, it's the last job, and I'll quit."

"I don't want you to leave! I want to come with you!"

"Well you ain't. The wasteland is too dangerous for a little girl. You remember Purple Randy and his friend?"

Eliza nodded sourly.

"Well there's a hundred of folks just like 'em for every rock between here and New Reno," said Albert, slinging his pack over his back. "If this thing is legit, I'll send someone down to Cold Springs to tell you how long I'll be gone. For now, you just stay here."

"There's nothing to do here!"

"There's plenty to do here. You got your books, you got your dolls…"

"I hate those dolls!" screamed Eliza. "I wanna go with you!"

"Eliza, come on," pleaded Albert. He searched through the couch cushions. "What about Mr. Bun? Huh?" he said, grabbing one of Eliza's stuffed animals.

Mr. Bun was a pink stuffed elephant that Eliza happened to be very fond of. He was old and raggedy, but she loved him all the same. Even though she tried not to show it in this very moment.

"I don't like Mr. Bun anymore," she mumbled softly.

"You don't like Mr. Bun anymore? No?"

Eliza shook her head.

"No? Fine. Then I'll just take him with me." Albert walked out of the cabin, Eliza's toy stuffed under his armpit.

She whined, stomping her feet. "You're the worst! Give him back!" she said, running out after him.

"I thought you don't like him anymore," teased Albert, holding the elephant over his head. Eliza jumped frantically, trying to steal her friend back.

"Leggo!" she yelled, punching Albert with her tiny fists. A small tear came running down her cheek.

"You want him back?" asked Albert. He wound up his arm, and threw the tiny stuffed toy through the front door, into the house. "There! You got him!"

Eliza gave her father a look of pure spite, and ran back into the house. A few seconds later, she ran back out, Mr. Bun in one hand, and her backpack in the other. She stood in front of Albert defiantly.

"For the love of…" Albert groaned. "I'm gonna count down from three. If you're ass isn't in the house at zero, I'm gonna put you through the fucking wall."

"You can't. Keep me. Here!" whined Eliza, stomping her foot.

"YES I CAN!" barked Albert. "THREE!"

"What if you get hurt? I can do first-aid, an' I can carry your stuff, an'-"

"TWO!"

"I promise, I'll be really quiet! And I won't be bad, I promise!"

"ONE!"

"Please daddy! Just this one time!"

"THAT'S IT! YOU'RE DONE!" roared Albert, grabbing Eliza by the scruff of her neck as she yelped in pain. Eliza struggled and kicked the whole way, screaming at her father as he forcefully dragged her back into the house. Exasperated, he threw Eliza back in, as she collapsed to the floor. But Eliza wasn't done, as she dusted herself off and stood back up.

"I hate you!" she screamed, her face a teary mess.

"WELL I LOVE YOU, YOU FUCKING BRAT!" responded Albert in kind. And he shut the door and that was the last Eliza saw of her father that day.


As the trail traveled through the mountains, Albert had some time to reflect on his actions.

Albert never claimed to be good with kids. In all honesty, he should have never been a parent.

All he could see was Eliza's sobbing face, as she screamed out the words: "I hate you." It made his stomach churn. Not a lot could do that to him these days.

"Stupid...stupid…" Albert muttered to himself. What kind of man lays a hand on his daughter? What kind of man calls his daughter a 'fucking brat?'

Looking back, he could have been a little nicer. She was right. It wasn't right to keep her locked up at home. But what was the alternative? Bring her along? No. Albert was right in his decision. But as he replayed the incident in his head, he couldn't help but feel like a jerk. He made a mental note to buy Eliza a gift from New Reno.

He sighed to himself. Times like this, he sure did miss his wife. She didn't know how to hurt anybody.

A loud stream of distant gunfire interrupted his thoughts. He scrambled for his gun. Gabe laughed.

"Calm down, partner. Look," he said, pointing down into the valley below them. The Caravan trail came to a halt as the travellers stopped to check the commotion.

Albert looked down at the small figures in the valley. Three men with standard issue service rifles, dressed in military uniforms. He recognized their stiff motions, and their trigger discipline as the nuances of a soldier. Next to them was a dead Coyote.

"Is that..." Thomas squinted at them. "Is that the NCR?"

"Damn right it is."

"Why are they all the way out here?"

"Why do you think?" laughed the grizzled man. "Annexation. You didn't catch the whole parade of them march into New Reno? I'm surprised there aren't more of 'em out here."

Albert watched as the soldiers below him hooted and hollered, laughing as the celebrated their kill. Gabe tisked.

"Pretty soon, all of Nevada's gonna be under NCR rule. Soon as they square things out in New Vegas," he added.

"You really think they'll annex out New Reno?"

"Hell, they might as well have. They'll start with the west most settlements first. Cold Springs, Sun Valley. New Reno. Then New Vegas," Gabe sighed.

"Alright, let's get a move on. Let's see if we can beat em to it."

As the caravan began to move again, Albert glared down at the soldiers. His trigger finger itched.


The dry sun of the Nevada desert beat down on the travellers as they crossed through the dusty valley, wilting the collars of Gabe and Thomas. A portly caravan guard had slung his rifle to fan himself with his hat, as beads of sweat rained down his forehead. Strangely, Albert Sharp seemed to be unaffected, even in his dark brown duster.

"Goddamn, this sun is killer," Thomas complained, splashing a little water over his forehead from his canteen.

"Don't wet the merchandise," Gabe warned. "And this? This is nothin'. Back in Arizona, the sun would cook the Brahmins alive. Dropped 'em dead in the road."

"You know they got working cars in California now? NCR's gotta whole fuckin' armored division of trucks and what-not," said the younger man, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

Gabe shook his head. "Ain't too surprised to be honest. Hell, if they can fix up Vertibirds for the President they can get a few trucks up and running."

"Yeah, but...just imagine. In a few months, if the NCR takes over Nevada, sooner or later we'll be cruising along in fixed up pickups, riding in style. Not humpin' it on foul-smellin' Brahmin," said Thomas dreamily.

"And who's gonna clear out the roads for these cars? You? The NCR?" asked Gabe. "And if the NCR does take over Nevada, don't expect a fuckin' handout. Expect the opposite. First thing they're gonna do is take out the local caravan businesses and replace 'em with the fuckin' Crimson Caravan."

"Ain't that a good thing?" asked Thomas

"Sure, if you're an NCR Citizen. But we ain't. And when they do make us citizens, they'll tax us out the nose, so it won't matter anyhow. Trust me, the NCR is nothing but trouble."

Gabe turned around to look at Albert. "No offense, chief."

"I ain't NCR," Albert replied drly.

"Oh yeah? Then why you wearing that ranger armor?" asked Gabe.

Silence. Gabe chuckled heartfully. "That's right partner, I know a ranger when I see one. So, you in the military?"

"I resigned," said Albert, pulling his duster over his black armor.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. "Didn't know you could do that."

"I was persuasive."

"You resigned, and they let you keep their shit? Doesn't sound like NCR to me," laughed Gabe.

"I was very persuasive." Suddenly, Albert felt a small nudge from the large wooden crate packed behind him. He frowned.

"What's in this crate?" Albert asked.

"Guns, ammo, courtesy of New Reno Arms. You know Reno loves their guns," answered Thomas.

"It's actually dead mail. Turns out it was an accidental order placed by that fumbling mayor, so we're bringing it back," Gabe added.

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," muttered Albert.

"You know, New Reno Arms doesn't need to know about that," began Thomas. "We could always take 'em ourselves."

"You're gonna rip off the NRA? You wanna fuck with the Bishops? What, you don't like your kneecaps the way they are?"

"They won't notice a few guns...and I saw the shit they got in there, Gabe. It's some nice shit. And I know cowboy over there can rack 'em up," said Thomas, motioning towards Albert.

"Fool, we got guns. And guards," spoke Gabe. "We don't need NRA guns! The bandits up here, all they got are fuckin' sticks and rocks and such anyhow."

"You never know what's gonna happen in these hills. Hell, last time-"

BANG

Before Thomas could finish his sentence, he was thrown off his Brahmin suddenly as a deafening shot rang out from above. He fell to the ground, his head in a thousand bloody pieces. A caravan guard screamed:

"BANDITS! SCATTER!"

"Fucking sticks and rocks my ass!" yelled another guard, before a round came and pierced her throat. She fell to the ground gurgling.

Suddenly, a hailstorm of bullets came raining down on the Supply Trail, cutting through the travellers like butter, as the unprepared guards were riddled with gunfire. His instincts kicking in, Albert leapt off his Brahmin quickly and took cover behind a rock, drawing his pistol. He watched as the caravan guards were picked apart by the attackers. A stray shot hit the toe of a Brahmin, and it hollered in pain. Spooked, the Brahmins began to scatter in panic. He heard a voice call out from above.

"They're panicking! Kill 'em before they run off with the loot!"

Albert watched as the dumb animals were shot down as the bandits concentrated their fire on them. They collapsed on the road, bloody. Albert looked over. Sitting back against a dead Brahmin was Gabe, clutching his bleeding stomach.

"Psst!" Albert whispered, trying to get his attention. "Hey! Hey, you!"

Gabe looked back at him weakly.

"Where are they?" Albert whispered to the dying man.

Gabe slowly raised a wavering finger up at the mountain, before another shot rang out and put Gabe out of his misery. Crack. Albert watched for the muzzle flash. Up on the far ridge, he spotted three figures, reloading their rifles. Too far away to get a clean shot with his pistol.

Albert cursed, scanning his surroundings, until his eyes focused onto the dead Brahmin, about twelve feet in front of him, and the large crate of weapons, still strapped to it's back. He peered over the rock. The bandits were still busy reloading. Albert took a deep breath and scattered out from behind his cover

"Hey!" a voice called from above. The bandits took aim and fired on Albert, as he scampered towards the Brahmin. Bits of dirt flew into his face as he ran, as the bullets hit the ground. He slid into cover behind the dead animal, breathing loudly. He reached up to grab the crate, when another bullet sailed over his hand.

"Are you crazy? Don't damage the fucking loot!" yelled another voice.

Albert took a deep breath once more, and quickly pulled the large crate off of the Brahmin, as several more bullets flew overhead.

He grunted, as he brought it to the ground. It was strangely heavy. And he swore, he almost heard a yelp from inside the crate when it dropped.

Albert pulled his knife from his duster, and placed it under the lid. He pried open the box effortlessly, and looked inside.

Albert had seen many a terrifying thing in his life, but he was never as shocked as he was as he saw the contents of the box.

There were no guns in the crate. No ammunition either. There was nothing in the crate, except for a tearful little girl, clutching her knees in fear. The girl's eyes stared at Albert in terror. He looked back at her in disbelief.

It was Eliza.


In the next chapter, Albert tries his hand at diplomacy, and the family bumps into an NCR patrol.