FALLOUT: Impact

Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Slavers

Chapter 3: Trouble in Paradise

Unlike most places the caravan had been to since Amber joined up, Paradise Falls was not visible on the horizon from a mile out. In fact, it seemed to sneak up on her and only make its presence known when they had just crested the final rise leading up to where it squatted at the base of a cliff face. A few traders moved about the entrance, and as Crow led the group over to join them, Amber started picking things out about their destination.

Paradise Falls was an interesting settlement from what she could see. It had at one point been an indoor shopping mall of the same name, as declared by the massive sign above what used to be the main building. The roof had long since caved in, and the mall's new inhabitants had constructed wasteland scrap-walls at all the entrance and exit points besides one, creating a single choke point.

And they looked more than capable of defending it, too. As Amber followed Crow into the milling group of traders she got a good look at the fortifications near main entrance: two sandbag pillboxes and sentries manning emplaced .50 caliber machineguns. With one on the right side of the entrance and the other a little further in on the left side, they were placed in the perfect positions to catch attackers in a deadly crossfire.

Behind them the path curved off to one side, blocked from her view by the obstructing steel scrap wall. However, she did get a look at some more of the settlement's inhabitants where they leaned against a ruined Corvega further in. She had expected the men manning the machineguns to be outfitted for a fight, but it seemed that even further in, the citizens were armed to the teeth.

"So what brings you up this way?" she heard one of the traders ask Crow.

"I've got a few shoulder pads to sell," Crow replied, then pointed over his shoulder at the entrance to the old mall, "Hopefully the slavers in there'll be inclined to buy them."

Amber's heart skipped a beat. Paradise Falls was a slaver outpost? And Crow didn't tell her?

"Hoskins, watch Stevie," she instructed.

Reaching out, she grabbed her employer by the shoulder and hauled him out of the group of traders, carefully avoiding several piles of Brahmin shit as she went. Once they were safely out of the way by a worn and tattered billboard, she let him go.

"What's your problem?" he asked.

Amber crossed her arms and glared at him. "My problem is you."

"Me?" he said, "What did I do?"

"You didn't say anything about trading with slavers," she said.

"So what? Their caps are just as good as anyone else's, and they buy en masse. So there isn't any problem unless," his voice trailed off as he thought about it for a second. Then his eyes widened as the implications of her behavior hit him. "Oh shit. You were a-"

"Yeah," Amber replied, "Since I was a kid back in the Pitt. Roll up my right sleeve and you can still see the brand."

Crow's mouth twisted into a frown as he thought this over. Amber watched him as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, his hands steady like a rock. He took a long draw off the tobacco stick, running through a good portion of the thing in one go.

"You're pissed, aren't you?" she asked.

Crow shook his head. "No, everybody has a past. I'm a little agitated that you didn't tell me this straight out, but I suppose that's forgivable. But it does complicate things."

"No kidding," she agreed, "I can't very well go in there now. Not with all those slavers."

"Yes you can. You were a slave in the Pitt, but this is the Capital Wasteland. No one here should recognize you," he replied, "But just to be on the safe side, let me do the talking."

Amber had no problem with that. Besides, she hadn't figured on doing much talking anyway. "What about Hoskins?"

"He'll stay here and watch Stevie."

"Why don't I watch Stevie?"

Crow laughed. "What if things go south in there? Do you really think I want Little Miss Butterfingers watching my back?" he said, "Hell no. Hoskins watches the Brahmin, you come with me."

"Fine," Amber huffed, "But I still don't like it. When're we going in?"

"Right now. Grab one shoulder pad for a sample and meet me at the front door," Crow said, "Let's see if we can't make a sell."

Hoskins got one of the spiked shoulder pads out of a pack on Stevie and handed it to Amber. "I don't get it."

"Don't get what?" Amber asked, examining the item in her hand. It was made out of shaped steel and was covered in two inch spikes. It had a leather strap to hold it on the wearer's shoulder by running across the chest and under the opposite armpit. This way, someone could wear two of them if they were so inclined. It was a fine piece of equipment if one didn't like getting attacked from behind.

"Why I'm staying with the Brahmin," Hoskins went on, "I've been with Crow longer, so what the hell?"

"Tell me about it," Amber replied.

Without another word, she headed up to the front pillbox, instantly drawing the attention of both .50 caliber machineguns. She stopped without protest, one foot still in the air, and looked at the closer of the two sentries.

"Can't let you in unless you got business in here," he said.

"And I suppose you get to decide what that business is, huh?" Amber shot back.

"Precisely."

Amber held up the shoulder pad. "My boss is a guy named Crow. He's already in there selling a bundle of these," she indicated the shoulder pad, "I'm just delivering the sample."

"I'd like her to take my sample," she heard the other sentry say.

"Shut the fuck up, Charlie!" the first sentry snapped over his shoulder. When he looked back to Amber, his cheeks were flushed, "You'll have to excuse my friend. He's a fucking idiot."

Amber shrugged. "It happens."

The sentry laughed. "I like a girl with a sense of humor," he said, letting the aim of his machinegun drop to the dirt, "Welcome to Paradise Falls. Enjoy your stay."

Amber thanked him and headed past the pillboxes, throwing the shoulder pad over the top of her current one. She'd left her rucksack back on Stevie and besides her armor was only weighed down by her weapons. Her hunting rifle was slung across her back, balancing out her combat shotgun where it hung under her right arm.

The latter was, for all intents and purposes, ready to kill something at a moment's notice. Its barrel was pointing in front of her and her hand was already on the stock, finger mere inches from the trigger. Her combat knife was securely tucked in her right boot, and the Chinese pistol she'd obtained the night before was holstered further up on the same leg.

If the shit hit the fan, Amber felt sure that she would walk out of it alive. Wounded, maybe, but alive. Then she spotted Crow at the entrance to the main slaver complex and tried to push the thoughts of confrontation from her mind.

"Hey," he greeted her, a grin on his face, "They said we could meet with Eulogy."

"Who's that?" she asked.

"He's the guy in charge of all the slavers based out of Paradise Falls," Crow answered, "He's a very powerful man."

As Crow led the way in through the double doors, Amber wondered if, from her standpoint, meeting such an important slaver could really be a good thing.

"So, my friend," Ymir said in his thick Russian accent, "How much longer will you be with us here in glorious Capital Wasteland?"

Lukas Stipes finished pouring what remained of the whiskey into a glass, set the bottle down on the bar and knocked back the glass. He gulped the flaming liquid down without any noticeable effort, a testament to how high a tolerance he had for pain.

"It depends, Ymir," he replied, already hailing the bartender for another bottle.

"On what?"

Stipes smiled as he uncorked the new bottle and poured two glasses, one for him and one for Ymir. "On how long it takes Eulogy to get those slaves for me. Then I'll be heading back to the Pitt."

"Then you might be here long time," Ymir grinned, showing a broken set of yellow teeth.

"Yeah, I know Eulogy has a couple of…distractions in there with him," Stipes said.

He pushed one of the glasses over to Ymir, who caught it in his steel-plated fist. "To good friends, strong drink, and loads of money!" the Russian descendant declared, thrusting his glass into the air.

"My thoughts exactly," Stipes agreed, not bothering to mention that Ymir had already made the same toast eight times since they'd started drinking.

Their glasses clinked and both of them shot the whiskey down. Stipes could taste the unusually high water content, and was about to yell at the bartender for a replacement bottle when Ymir beat him to it.

"Hey, mother fucker!" Ymir shouted, throwing the glass aside, "What're you trying to pull?"

The bartender looked up from where he was sweeping the floor. "What?"

"The fuck do you mean what?" Ymir hopped across the bar, landing on the opposite side in a fighter's stance. He pulled the super sledge that he totted around off his back and swung it once, pounding the ground to get his point across. "You fucking watered down my drink! And I hate it, when somebody waters down my drink!"

The bartender dropped his broom and held his hands up to surrender, but the super sledge was already in the air. Stipes looked away as the blood from the bartender's crushed head washed across the countertop.

"Whew," Ymir said, slinging his weapon again. He reached down and pulled three more bottles of whiskey from a cooler behind the bar and sat them on the counter. "Teach him to be fucking with me."

Stipes laughed. "Hey, could you get me another glass?" he asked, "This one's got blood in it."

"Yes, but it is not watered down blood, huh?" Ymir said, breaking into a laughing fit.

Stipes shook his head and looked back across the courtyard. Several slavers were milling about at the tables, playing cards and telling each other vulgar jokes. Beyond that, across the small path that bisected Paradise Falls, was Eulogy's residence. Two people were standing outside, one of them a guy in a ball cap chatting up the door guard. The other was a woman, standing to one side in leather armor with hair so auburn it verged on purple.

"Looks like Eulogy has himself new distraction, eh?" Ymir said, elbowing Stipes in the arm, "Now, try this drink."

Stipes accepted the offered glass without looking away from the woman. Something about her hair stood out in his mind, like he remembered her from somewhere. Even from just seeing the back of her head Stipes got the feeling that he'd met her before. He was right in the middle of developing the little itch of a memory he had into a full remembrance when he swallowed whatever Ymir had given him.

Immediately, he coughed it back up. "What the fuck was that?" he shouted.

Ymir laughed thick, deep, and hearty. "That was true whiskey, my friend! The way we make it back home!"

"That was fucking pure alcohol!" Stipes protested, wiping the remnants of the acid off his lips.

"Like I said," Ymir said, still laughing, "True whiskey!"

Stipes looked back to Eulogy's front door, where the woman had turned around at the commotion. Their eyes locked, and in that instant, Stipes recognized her: that little bitch from the Pitt. The one who always got stuck on Ingot detail. The one with the smart assed husband who always tried to joke with the slavers.

But most importantly, she was the one that escaped.

Amber recognized Stipes immediately. She'd seen him rifle butt her friends too many times to not instantly realize who he was, and as he pushed himself off the barstool and started across the courtyard toward her, she wondered just what to do.

A few ideas quickly formed in her head, first and foremost of which involved the combat shotgun beneath her right arm. However, that avenue ended in the rest of the slavers filling her full of holes. Or maybe they wouldn't, instead accepting her as more of a badass because she killed him in a fight.

But there was a slim chance of that, so first she'd try and sort it out in a conversation.

"Hey bitch," Stipes said as he walked up.

Great start, she thought. She was just about to respond when Crow beat her to it.

"I'm sorry. Can I help you?" he asked, one hand moving close to the stock of his assault rifle.

Stipes glanced at Crow. "Yeah, you can give me back my fucking slave."

"This chick's a slave?" the door guard asked.

"No," Crow told the guard. Then he looked back at Stipes. "Mister, you've got it all wrong. She isn't a slave; she's an employee of mine."

"Bullshit. She's from the Pitt. Escaped four or five years back with her husband," Stipes said, looking to Amber, "How is he, your hubbie?"

Amber felt her eyes narrowing. "I don't have a husband," she said. Well, she supposed that was true enough.

"What's all this commotion about?" asked a new voice.

Amber, along with everyone else on the porch, looked over at the appearance of Eulogy Jones. He was wearing silk sleepwear and a bathrobe, and despite all of it still managed to look dangerous. He held no weapon, but the slave girl that had exited along with him looked like she would be more than proficient with the sawed off shotgun she totted.

"Eulogy, this bitch belongs to Ashur!" Stipes said, "Have her roll up her right sleeve and you'll see!"

The mega slaver looked Amber up and down, eyes carefully assessing every part of her, checking for any physical deformities or aspects that might hinder her laboring prowess, while also admiring her 'womanly' features. It was a look every slaver inherently possessed and she knew it well, another fact that he had probably picked out.

"I don't doubt it," Eulogy said, "Ma'am, were you? Don't hesitate to tell the truth."

Amber was reluctant to do so, but something in Eulogy's eyes told her that it was okay. Besides, the conversation wasn't really going her way anyway. In the end, she simply nodded in the affirmative.

"Ha! I knew it!" Stipes shouted. He reached into his pocket and started pulling out an old set of handcuffs. "Now turn around, sister. You're coming back with me."

"No she's not," Eulogy said, staying Stipes with a wave of his hand.

The Pitt native was stunned. "What do you mean she's not?"

"I've talked with Ashur before, and it is my feeling that he would reward this woman with freedom for her actions. After all, she did earn it," Eulogy explained, "However, it is your right as a slaver to try and take her back, but you will get no assistance from the men and women of Paradise Falls. In other words, the matter is between the two of you. No one here will intervene."

Amber took the message, wheeled around on her heel and squeezed the trigger on her combat shotgun.

The pellet spread slammed into Stipes's exposed gut, tearing flesh and muscle as the bits of steel entered his body. The blast knocked him backward to land on his ass, blood leaking from the twenty-some-odd holes in his stomach. Screaming, he dropped the handcuffs and grabbed his ruined gut, sticking his fingers in the openings to stop the blood flow.

He looked up and met Amber's second blast at point blank range in the face. His skull broke into a thousand pieces, letting loose a tide of blood that cascaded down his chest like a waterfall. His headless corpse tipped forward, slumping down until his neck fountained directly into the dirt.

"Well, I'm glad that's finished," Eulogy said, "Congratulations on your continued freedom, my dear. Now, Crow, I believe you wanted to see me?"

"Uh, yes," the trader said, shaking his eyes away from the murdered slaver.

"Well, step right in," Eulogy offered, motioning inside. As Crow started in, the slaver boss looked to the door guard. "Get this mess cleaned up."

As the guard went about scraping Stipes off the path and Eulogy retreated inside with Crow, Amber was left alone. She was about to go have a look around when a voice called out to her.

"Hey! Woman who did the killing of Stipes! Over here!"

Amber looked over at the food court where a large Russian man was leaning against the bar, gesturing for her to come over to him. When she obliged the request, she found that he was standing with a row of shot glasses arrayed before him.

"Hello, I am Ymir," he said, "I was a friend of Stipes."

Amber shrugged. "That sucks."

The man named Ymir laughed. "I like you! You have sense of humor!" he exclaimed, picking up a glass, "Here, you and I be doing shots today."

Amber picked up one of the glasses and clinked it with Ymir's, then knocked it back. It burned like hell and seemed to be mixed with irradiated battery acid, but damn it was good. She set the glass back down and reached for another one, which for some reason made Ymir laugh and clap her roughly on the shoulder.

Paradise Falls was alright.

To Be Continued