Fallout-Trail of Tears

by ticktickboomshow

The sequel of Dusty Trails. Return to post-War Minnesota and our hero, Hunter Tobin, where he learns he is not alone in his quest and discovers those he has been working for, might not be who he thought. Trust is broken, lies are discovered and for some, Luck, finally runs out. Sorry for the delay, finally here is Chapter 4: Choices

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Choices

The room was bright from sunlight, enhanced by the reflection off the aged, yet still vibrant, baby blue paint; though time had faded the once crisp white trim to an exhausted linen. The previous occupants may have been deceased, but they imprinted their existence on the decorated walls via of busted wooden picture frames of distorted faces, and water damaged posters of long past musicians. Hunter had to blink his eyes several times before being able to fully focus, picking out the Minneapolis favorite, the Andrews Sisters. His body felt foreign and his movements were torpid. Refocusing his efforts, Hunter looked around a little more gingerly; before attempting to sit up. The compact room was causing the environment to become very disorientating, due to the intensity of light pouring into such a small area. It had been designed long ago to serve a purpose, rest quarters for workers perhaps, too small to be a permanent living space. It was a tight fit with the bunk bed he was in, a lazy-boy chair by the window, and a table across from the bed against the wall. Examining the table from his place on the bed, he noticed it was holding a few things: a large metal object facing away from him, a box of .50 caliber rounds and numerous spent medical items; empty IV bags, used stimpaks and an unrolled fresh bandage that was teetering on falling onto the floor.

Sara was asleep in the chair, covered by his jacket. "Wait, wasn't my jacket destroyed beyond repair? It would take a master at repair to bring that back to life, then again it would have taken a master surgeon to bring me back to life as well." He thought to himself. "It must be Big John's, seems like the type of noble act he would do; but, that was impossible, I saw him die before my eyes." Hunter struggled to remember, his memory slightly foggy of the events. Finally attempting to try and sit up on the edge of the bed; his ribs, right shoulder and leg shot pulsating, burning pain. Though the pain fought to make him regret his decision, he didn't have time to just lay there. "God, how long have I been out?" Hunter didn't have much on besides a white shirt and athletic shorts, not surprising since most of his gear had probably been destroyed in the explosion.

"Easy cowboy," a familiar voice came from the doorway, "a lot of resources were put into you. Hate to lose you to something stupid."

Hunter grabbed the aged metal bed frame to steady himself, the room swirling inside his head and sweat starting to build up on his brow. He looked over at Vince, who was leaning against the door frame, a large black duffel bag by his side. He was back in his worn Postman's outfit, but something was off about it. The seams were straining in places, no doubt he still wore at least the combat chestplate and thigh plates from their last encounter. "How long have I been out?"

"A simple question with a complicated answer." Vince shrugged. "Probably only needed to be out for a couple days, but they drugged you up enough for a good two weeks, Lieutenant Ryan's orders."

A sense of strain turned into a dull head pain, as Hunter struggled to adjust and remember everything that had happened. "Two weeks? Jesus Christ, was I really that close to death?"

Vince stepped in, leaving the bag in the door frame, and sat in a wooden chair Hunter hadn't seen next to the bed. "Not everyday you get blown up, shot, stabbed and then run over by a stampede of radmares." He gave a cautious frown, then started rubbing his chin, "At least I don't think so, and hell, that's just the physical damage. How are you holding up mentally?"

Hunter thought to himself, trying to piece together what happened after being hit by the falling radmare. He remembered trying to roll one of the dead beasts partially off his body, the smoke burning his lungs and lots of yelling. "Well you look pretty good yourself, thanks for asking." Hunter countered, trying to avoid having to talk about Scarlett, knowing the tightness building in his chest wasn't from the physical injuries.

Vince gave a chuckle, before rubbing his own thigh, "Oh I had my own injuries, but I'll admit I endured better than you. While you had two highly trained Enclave medics pumping you full of chems and piecing you back together. I've been running this Outpost, and units in the field. Look," he cut Hunter off seeing him getting offended, "someone took an interest in you and gave the order to keep you alive; but the Director needs more personnel back in the field. I need you back in the field again, you've proved to be the best man for the job. Now, since Sergeant Ellis plopped you on that Vertibird, you've been in good hands, not to mention Sara hasn't left your side. She's tougher than she looks and I'm pretty sure, that will be the last time Henry will underestimate her; but duty is calling and we all need both of you to answer the call."

As he adjusted to the swirling once more, Hunter focused on his own body. "Sergeant Ellis, well that explains the box of shells, could have a worse calling card I suppose." He could feel the bruises from the overuse of the .50 cal rifle in his shoulder, and see the many areas of bandages now that he investigated. Moving slowly Hunter stood up, some bandages were dried with blood, but otherwise most seemed fresh. Trying to guide himself forward enough to stretch, Hunter could feel the support of a brace under his shirt holding his bruised ribs snug. "Look, I appreciate being alive and all, but I don't want anything to do with the Enclave anymore...I'm done."

The Postman scowled before he leaned forward on the chair, "Look here cowboy, I can understand you are torn up over losing you friend. We all lost people out there and they-"

Hunter's emotions broke through as he snapped, cutting Vince off. "Think this is my first rodeo? I just lost my childhood friend a month or so ago, multiple fellow soldiers before that, and lets not forget my family while I was still a boy. I know the way of the wastes, and trust me I know this forsaken frozen wasteland isn't done taking others." Looking over toward Sara, "My rage has burned up any tears I have left to cry. If I am traveling alone, well, lets just say I'm fine if no one needs to shed one for me."

"Please, take offense when I say, I am disappointed you'd say that." Vince gave a sigh, the wooden chair creaking as he adjusted back to a standing position. "I was hoping you'd be stronger than this, but you completed your last mission and will be paid of course; minus what Deputy Daze already took out to repair your gear of course. Then again, you did get the confirmed kill on Markov, so the bounty money is yours. Normally we would do Enclave Marks, but I'm assuming you'll be wanting washers." Taking note of Hunter's lack of movement, he nodded his head showing he understood. "Alright, the choice is yours of course, but I'm hoping you'll reconsider."

"No, I've been blinded by these types of people before. I joined the Enforcers to protect people when I was younger, and all that happened was extortion of numerous settlements; that and a lot of good people died. The Enclave is no different, just a lot of people dying and nothing good to show. I'll just gather my things and go." Hunter's leg shot unexpected pain, forcing him to sit back down hard on the bed. Wincing, he glanced a look over at Sara to see if she was sleeping still or not.

The soldier dressed Postman flicked paint chips off the bed frame. "Sure, you could call the Enclave bad guys just like the Enforcers. If I wasn't one, I might be inclined to agree with you. They do have a, 'kill ghouls on sight' policy that some in the waste don't agree with; but why haven't we burned Red Lake to the ground then? There is no doubt that we have the fire power and means to do so, right? I'm just a simple soldier and I don't know a lot of the politics of the Enclave, but I do know there are a lot of families depending on us to keep them safe at night. None of those soldiers, deputies and even those medics magically burst from nothing, they all had parents at one point, myself included. Not to mention, we all have to eat and someone has to grow the food; so some civilian family is doing their part to support us on the front line. Unlike the Enforcers, who either take by force or demand via tribute, the Enclave functions via a society. Some day, we are going to be able to support more than just us and when that happens we can kick down the door of the Enforcers and burn their ideology to the ground; until then, the Enclave and the Marshals do what we can. You want out, fine, that can be arranged; but from the tales I've heard on the radio, though probably embellished a little, they are giving people hope." He gave Hunter a long hard stare, letting it fester before releasing a breath neither knew he was holding. "You and the other Marshals are giving people hope, something currently lacking in the world. Maybe it will all come crashing down someday, but I'd like to believe we are building something able to stand the test of time. Why don't you ask Sara, if you don't believe me. Her life was changed because of the Enclave, she believes in the cause -"

"As did she," Sara spoke up with a touch of sadness from her place in the chair, still maintaining her laying position. "Scarlett, I mean. I listened to a sound file, on her Pip-Boy." She sat up, grabbing the device from the table and holding it in her lap. Now that Hunter's vision had cleared up, it was more apparent what it had been. "I assumed you would want it, so I fixed it up, and it should fit; considering you would take it." She got up and held it out to him, waiting for him to accept the offer.

Hunter sat transfixed on the device, mute as the other two exchanged glances. On the one hand, he wanted nothing to do with the Pip-Boy, just wash his hands clean from a tainted past; however, it had been hers and was probably the only thing he would ever have to remember her by. Hanging his head, Hunter raised his left arm up as she helped him get it on his wrist. To his surprise it fit, a little snug and awkward with the sudden weight; but it fit.

"I could show you how it works if you would like, or you could figured it out on your own if that is what you would prefer." Sara sat down next to him, her black hair pulled back into a tight braid that hung from her shoulder. She too was wearing a different set of cloths, a tan and dark brown western style shirt, some strange wooden stick with various carvings hung from her neck; before she tucked it back way. Her previous set of leather reinforced riding pants had been replaced, with what looked like dark brown hemmed men's riding slacks. Same cowboy, or maybe cowgirl, boots. He was never quite sure how to label them.

Hunter kept his gaze on the bulky device, and thanked her before asking, "How do you know so much about it, this I mean." Raising his newly acquired fashion accessory.

"I grew up in a vault as well." She went on to explain that her tribe had discovered an incomplete Vault that was being built before the Great War, and they took shelter in it decades before she was born. It functioned enough to support her small tribe, offering them a small treasure of Pre-War artifacts. Due to it being incomplete, there was only a limited amount of the Vault-Tec hardware known as Pip-Boys, so not everyone received one. It helped explain her knowledge of the workings of one and why she didn't have one herself.

During the conversation, Vince decided to excuse himself and lugged the duffel bag onto his shoulder. He gave Hunter one last glance, "If you don't mind, I have to find Henry before the Director rips this place apart. Don't do anything foolish cowboy."

Hunter didn't respond, just held his glaze toward the mysterious Postman as he walked out of view. Taking a second to regain composure, he decided to press the topic raised by him earlier. "Vince said your life was changed by the Enclave, I would like to know what he meant...if you don't mind?"

"Mind, I do not. Tell you the whole tale? I will not." She took a moment, either looking for the exact words or reliving the event once more made her question her decision. "To make a long tale short, we were besieged by mutants, and I triggered an emergency distress signal. If I hadn't, then my tribe would be extinct." She glanced out toward the soldiers moving about below, giving a heavy sigh before continuing. "My tribe was grateful, but to them, one act by an outsider is not grounds for trust; no matter how heroic it may have been. Mistakes made by our ancestors, lessons now learned; or so the Chief says. The Enclave...they offered me aanjibii'an, and I took it."

"I've heard that expression before, something to do with the stars at night right?" Hunter had heard this phrase used by others Natives in his travel. Until now, he had just cracked it up to supernatural beliefs or maybe just never felt comfortable to press the subject.

Sara initially shook her head, but then shrugged after giving it some thought, "Not stars as you see them, but I guess destiny. The word comes from the ancient tongue, it means to write it over. You see, my tribe believes that everyone is born to serve a task, but I didn't like the task I was given; and the Enclave gave me a chance to rewrite it."

"Forgive me, but you don't talk like other Natives I've met." Hunter found her to be a very interesting and mysterious woman, which also sounded alarms of caution in his head.

She chuckled, blushing slightly as she brushed back a few loose strands of hair. "You mean I don't sound poetic and lost in deep thought?"

"Cryptic and vague was more of what I was thinking," he gave a frown expecting to have insulted her, but her light laughter let him break into a smile, "you are more direct and to the point."

"I spent two years with Vince, and his special forces, before I joined up to be a deputy. Forgive me if being direct offends you, I have found that your culture does not do well when the answers they seek must be found on their own. So I tend to just provide it as you generally do." She gave him a flirtatious smile, which normally would have been a welcoming gift; however, it only seemed inappropriate and irritated him. She quickly caught his fading expression and withdrew, standing to add physical distance. "I am sorry Hunter, I understand your reasons for not being able to trust us...but I think you would be making a mistake, if you choose to go."

Hunter averted his eyes as he ran his right hand across the Pip-Boy, "I'll stay long enough for the funerals and to honor the dead, but I'm pretty sure I've already made up my mind."

"The funeral service was two days ago, I'm sorry." Sara plopped the jacket on the bed, metal plates thudding together as it landed, and handed him a holotape. "When you are feeling up to it, I can show you the cemetery. They were well honored, the Director even delivered a nice speech for them. Here, Vince told me to give this to you. Give me a few minutes while I get your weapons from Daze." She showed him how to pop it into the Pip-Boy before she left the room, gathering up the soiled bandages on the table and stopping in the door frame to cast him one final glance back.

Hunter found the rest of his cloths, freshly sharpened combat knife and the remaining ammo, stashed in a foot locker under the bed; along with an old dusty holotape from the original owner. He decided to save both, and play them later; as just getting things gathered and on was taxing enough. Deputy Daze had been crafty in the modification of Big John's jacket, sewing in the liner of his old one to the lining of this jacket; and making additions or repairs as needed. It wouldn't have been the method he would have used, but it did save time and added some additional insulation against the weather. After getting dressed, Hunter decided to plop into the recliner, and the sun light; enjoying this warm spot to rest under heavy uncomfortable breaths, as he tried to regain his composure. His body throbbed, mainly from the inactivity and suddenly high demand he figured, but possibly it was the various injuries he was still recovering from as well.

"Vince might be right, resting seems like a waste of time when I could be doing something." He thought before looking down at his new Pip-Boy 3000B, "Let's see what this thing can do." The first screen, STATS, showed a little blue man he assumed was to be him, the face frowned with pain. The status bars for the limbs were nearly full, the chest was just barely over two thirds; but he otherwise was alright it looked. Poking deeper he flipped to a screen labeled EFF. Apparently it showed various medical alerts and effects. "Med-X, explains the loopy feeling." He groaned, now becoming more use to the buzz. He meant to only flip the scroll over to the tab that said, Skills, but he flew past it to one at the end that said, Traits. There was two of them in this tab, he read them aloud. "Indurated, because of your life on the outside all these years, your emotional strength in dealing with things is stronger than those around you; though it might come off cold and callous to others. In truth, you are just more in touch with the nature of the Wastes and better suited to handle the horrors in it. Because of this, some may have trouble dealing with you." Hunter thought, "Makes senses, lived out here all my life and seen nothing, but shit." Reading on, "User Metabolism, Chems are +25% stronger with -50% duration, your body works better with the drugs flowing in your veins; however, your body burns them up faster than it would be advised to pump them in. Currently, you're flirting with that crutch called addiction."

Hunter quickly moved on to a different screen, trying not to dwell on the fact he was or had been a junkie. A past that even this device knew he could never escape, or at least forget. Though he found the item sorter very handy and rather impressive, he couldn't clear is mind from what he read earlier. "Let's see what memories from the past have to say, hopefully something interesting or perhaps mind numbing." Hunter hit play after he double checked the holotape was in there correctly.

.

"Hey Ray, it's Danny if you couldn't tell. If you're hearing this, then it means I made the right choice. I wasn't really on duty the night Delilah was raped, or was just getting off like I had said. We were having drinks together at KNC's. It wasn't like that, we've been friends since grade-school and whenever I have problems with Karren, and you're out fighting the fires, I give her a call. She was acting different that night, but we were drinking the heavy stuff too, so I just assumed. Damn, I should have known something wasn't right. I should have called a taxi like I wanted too. I should have told you the truth right away too, but, I was scared. When I learned she didn't remember why she was there, I just ran with it and played dumb. I betrayed your loyalty, your trust, our friendship. It won't bring her back, I know, but if it helps I did catch the guy that did it tonight, got a tip from that bartender at Tod's Pub. Should have took him in, but I just kept driving, past Solway, Shevlin, all the way to Leonard. I thought we could do it together, like bringing him to you would fix the wrong I did, but when they said you were out on a call; well I took matters into my own hands. Called up Old Jack in Redwing, he owed me a favor, so I said we could call it even if he got me one of those drums of goop he was trying to get rid of. I beat the piss out of him Ray, literally, pissed himself before Jack even showed up with the drum. Like I said, if you're hearing this...then I turned in my badge and confessed, probably left a few details out. I'm a cop, or I was, should have been. It was my duty to protect and serve, regardless of my personal baggage. We both know even if we take off the uniforms, we are always on the job. I had mine on, but my guilt got the better of me and I lost my way. I did the crime, I'll do the time and I know no matter what, it isn't going to be long or hard enough to fix the injustice I have done to you. I'm not looking for forgiveness, just wanted you to know I finally did right."

A knock came from the door frame just seconds after the recording stopped, "Well, well, cowboy, looks like you are a tough one to kill." Henry smiled, a cigar glowing as he took a drag. The old man adjusted the red bandanna around his neck while he chewed on the end of the cigar. He looked roughed up with the bruises, a folder rested in his left arm in a sling and a bandage resting on a wound just under his cowboy hat. Unlike the last time Hunter had seen him, Henry had replaced his tan riding jacket, for a worn dark brown duster usually worn by the deputies around the outpost.

"Oh, I feel pretty dead alright," Hunter commented at the unique choice of words, "maybe I just don't know it yet."

Henry took another puff resting his hand just above the grip of his revolver, giving it two taps with his fingers. "Can't be too careful these days, don't want to get shot with everyone so jumpy. Ever since that Lieutenant Ryan showed up, he's had security set up real tight, not quite sure why."

Hunter closed his eyes and shrugged; taking note of the hand placement. "Beyond me, I've just woke up. Besides you, I've really only talked with Sara and Vince. Sounds like he's looking for you by the way...said something about the Director wanted to get a hold of you."

"Director?" Henry grunted out and reached up to take the cigar from his mouth. "No, the only one person who has found me was a deputy just outside." He extinguished it against the innocent color of the wall, leaving a blackened burnt mark as he dropped it to the floor. "I'll keep an eye out for him though...nice room you have here. To bad they put you in the fire hall, but I guess it's going to be the center of attention here soon." The old man hobbled over to put a hand on Hunter's shoulder and gave a deep sigh. "Look kid, I'm sorry for all that has happened. I want you to know, that none of it was meant to be taken personally. For whatever reason, you just seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or trouble just loves find you."

"What the hell are you talking about, not like you knew or could control what was going to happen?" Hunter debated on pulling away, but went with keeping his eyes firm on the old man. The apology almost seemed genuine enough, but there was no remorse behind it, just matter of fact like. An alarm screamed to life just above their head and throughout the fire hall, cutting short their conversation.

"Fuck," Henry started toward the door with a slight limp, "look I've got to run, just sit tight and I'm sure it will all be over soon." With that, he pulled the bandanna and collar up tight before heading out into the few personnel running down the hall.

Hunter moved toward the window, finally noticing that he was indeed on the second floor of the fire hall, just behind the back parking lot of the Post Office. A wall had been created on the perimeter between the two to make a decent sized courtyard. Last time Hunter had seen it, was when they had obtained the mounts before they headed out on that damn mission; apparently a couple weeks ago. One of the power armored soldiers jumped from their guard nest on the Post Office and sprinted across toward his building.

"What the fuck are you doing? Do your ears not hear that alarm?" Sara asked from the doorway, her flushed facial expression and heavy breathing indicating she too had been sprinting. She swung a duffel bag off her back and tossed it onto the bed, taking out a scoped dark blue composite rifle with leather sling and a black blued revolver with cherry wood grips that held an Enclave insignia inlay.

He was able to stand just in time for her to start shoving the two firearms into his arms. These weren't his original guns, but they had been crafted from their remains. The new rifle popped up first in his Pip-Boy, with the name, Angel. It had an unique effect, Veracious: when performing a critical attack, this weapon will never miss. The new .44 revolver was just below his combat knife with the unique name, Rose. Unlike the rifle, the revolver did not seem to possess some specific known effect; however, it did seem to feature some sui generis ability yet to be discovered.

"A murdered deputy has been discovered outsides, everyone is to be at the ready." She yelled, loading her shotgun and looking out down the hall; while Hunter loaded his own firearms.

He paused only for a moment, "Henry? He was just here with a deputy's duster and bandanna on, said something about just meeting a deputy outside."

Sara's head snapped to look at him as she rammed the last shell into her shotgun, "You saw him, like here and now?"

"Yeah, figured he heard I was up and stopped in to check in on me." Hunter was forced to back pedal up against the wall as she advanced into his face. The alarm still screaming into his ears and beginning to drill a dull ache into his head.

Sara grabbed him by the collar, pulling him in close and growling between gritted teeth. "Hunter, he is the cause for our hardship, he betrayed us! He is the reason everyone was killed, he told them we were coming!"

A chilling, but gentle breeze danced through the cemetery, biting at Hunter's exposed ears and face as he stood; thinking about a great many things. His hands buried deep into the pockets of his heavy brown canvas duster as he ignored the wind, standing still as stone. Feeling once again lost in a daze of emotion and thought looking down at the grave of his deceased companion; split as to whether it was worth saying anything. His dirty blonde hair had the sides trimmed up tight, fading into the newly acquired black patrol cap. A bandage blew off his nose, revealing a fresh "n"-shaped scar riding the bridge; other fresh scars lay beneath his cloths and never healing scars even deeper beneath those. Her grave, and that of the others, were the only fresh signs of activity in the cemetery. Age, time and weather had eroded many of the other tombstones, possible that vandalism or a fire fight could be responsible for a few other destroyed tomb markers; though the stone half-wall with twisted iron spires guarding the gathered lost souls looked well preserved.

"Is all well with you?" Sara asked from a distance behind him. Her black hair pulled back once again into a tight braid under her tan cowboy hat. The collar of a worn, but still new looking beige leather duster pulled up tight against her neck and face; masking the injuries and scars she had received as well. Her modified shotgun was swung across her back as her bandoleer, freshly restocked with multipurpose shells, ran down her chest. A faded sun kissed face that was once attractive and appealing, now seemed like a broken stained glass scene; what remained was still warm and captivating, but heartbreaking in the same, knowing what it once had been. Her deep dark brown eyes still danced in defiance of being unreadable and forever analyzing, looked at him.

He nodded in a glance back at her, those had been the first words she had said to him since explaining the situation with Henry. Unbeknownst to him, or many others, Vince had been running an investigation into Henry after the second Marshal had been killed using similar ambush tactics as the first. Sara explained that Vince also linked the two together as being recruited by him, and given the assignments that lead to their deaths straight after meeting Henry for the first time. Vince had personally watched and recommended recruitment five of the eight Marshals; Henry, Richard and Five-Fingers, one of the others Hunter hadn't meet yet, being those he hadn't. Of those Vince had recruited, only Hunter and Ann B. Craft, were still alive. Ann was to be the third Marshal killed, but she discovered the ambush after a deputy loyal to Henry slipped up on his story; which tipped her off enough to gain an edge. Hunter was informed that Henry had leaked information of Marshal activities to both Lucky and Markov, and he planned on dealing a blow to the organization with this last operation; either faking a capture or being the only survivor and making the Enclave appear incompetent. Vince never formally added Hunter to the roster, and sent Five-Fingers the wrong coordinates for the meeting place; so when Henry met Hunter he would have no information on his skills or abilities. It was a gamble to add him, as Henry could have called off the operation; however with the chance to kill off another Marshal recruited by Vince, Henry took the bait. Vince had only theories, weak evidence and the confession of a half dead deputy that linked Henry with the plot; he needed something more concrete and when Henry put in an ambush plan based off Enclave intelligence, Vince put his own plan into motion. Sara was chosen as part of the team for her loyalty to the Enclave, but she was unaware of Vince's knowledge that Henry was a possible threat. After the battle, Henry disappeared and Five-Fingers never reported back in after her assignment, with a handful of Henry deputy loyalist apparently seizing a field post just outside Bemidji; otherwise most of the remaining deputies retook their oath to uphold the law and protect the Enclave.

Things made a little more sense now, at least with regards to the small force sent in and why the raiders had been prepared with power armored units; even if they proved inferior to those of the Enclave. Some of Henry's comments made more sense as well, such as his demands for circling the farmstead and having Scarlett go with him, his continual criticism of Vince and lack of lethal injuries. Henry had made a series of mistakes in the end; underestimating the ability of Enclave was indeed one of them, but the abilities of Sara and Hunter had been another. If Hunter was not part of the team, and they had attacked at the time indicated, the outcome of the battle would have possibly been different. Sara told him that more heavy weapons and power armor frames had been discovered in the barn, including a couple of T-45's. With the disappearance of Henry, the Director immediately put out a message stating this was not a racially based operation, but to deal a blow to those whom break the law.

"Can we trust him?" Hunter finally spoke as he turned back toward Sara and their mounts tied to the gate of the hallowed ground.

Sara frowned as she took up his flank as he neared, "You still doubt the trust and loyalty of the Postman, after everything?"

Chuckling Hunter shook his head, "That is a different answer, but no, I was referring to Director Wes."

"Captain Wes might be old, but he is wise and I believe in his integrity to do right." Sara mounted her radmare Tipper with such grace and ease it seemed her injuries didn't phase her.

Much to his surprise, Red-Eye, had survived the explosion and Hunter felt obligated to take the radmare before someone lesser did. Hunter hadn't known him long and from the time spent with him, he thought John was just some jukebox hero in it for the glory, and not a hell of a man that should come with the title; but, much of his gear had gone into rebuilding Hunter's, and maybe it was giving both of them a second chance. "Captain? I thought the Lieutenant said he was the only civilian in such a high role." Hunter winced as he put his foot into the stirrup and swung himself up, gritting through the complaints of his sore muscles.

From what he had gathered, Director Timothy Wes or Captain Wes, was the one in command of the Division of Peacekeeping and Recovery. Originally from some place out West, he took up post in Chicago before taking interest in the success of the Marshal program started up by Lieutenant Ryan. His time spent at Outpost Leo was to be temporary and when Hunter inquired where his permanent would be, the lieutenant just said it was classified.

"Retired, but still worthy of the title, heart of a warrior never gives up the call." Sara trotted her radmare along side Red-Eye. Rubbing off the imaginary dirt that had settled on the star indicating her recent promotion.

Hunter let a smile cross his face as he checked his new rifle, Angel, was indeed secured in the leather case attached to his saddle. Hunter straightened up, feeling his muscles stretch and give dull aches. He wasn't quite up to par to face an angry mob of, possibly well trained, rogue deputies like Lieutenant Ryan wanted him too. "So, where are we headed Marshal?"

She shot him an inquiring smile, "Can I assume that means you have decided to remain a Marshal as well?"

Taking note of his medical supplies on his new Pip-Boy, Hunter felt confident to use one does of Med-X. He felt the rush of relief and warmth rush through his veins, letting the pain melt away. Hunter also noticed the frown creep across Sara's face, probably disappointed in his actions, as earlier he had confessed to blaming himself and his past addiction for getting Scarlett killed on their way out here. "It gets me back in the fight."

"That it might," She pulled her brown bandanna up to cover her face from the brisk wind, "but does it ever change the outcome?"

With a few flicks of his wrist he had Red-Eye heading South, off toward the Enclave settlement of New Ver. It was primarily a farming community, but a growing trade hub, at least that was what he was able to pry from Lieutenant Ryan. It might just be a front, but it was a place to start and see how they operated. Hunter looked back, "Always, I'm still here aren't I?"

"Unique words from one that does not care for himself." Sara once again took up a position on his flank. "Can you endure it?"

He could feel her eyes on him, but he remained focus ahead. "Endure what?"

"This trail of tears you set out on." Her flickered with adventure as her eyes remained fixed on his silhouette, trying to read him.

Hunter flipped through the pip-boy's features in search of the radio, "Unique deduction for one that cast herself out."

She straightened forward, the rise of the bandanna hinting at the formation of smile beneath. "Keep that spark Hunter, and we shall get along well."

The radio crackled to life right as she finished, the raspy voice of the ghoul DJ Jack Hammer mid sentence. "-dead by the dozens. That's right folks, both slavers and raiders a like, are fighting over the husk of Lucky's Slave Empire. Funny, here I thought that bitch named Lucky would have out lived even me, but seems Karma had it in for her. Just a second." A muffled voice could be heard talking to the on air host, not clear enough to make out the words however. "This just in, unlike the power void caused by the loss of their leader at Five Clans Casino. Caliber has assumed command of Markov's forces. Best to avoid the area West and South of here, sounds like a war zone if these reports are correct. I was never one to ask for law enforcement help, but Marshals, we need you now if you are listening. Now, for better or worse, here is Charlie Barnet with Things Ain't What They Use To Be."