I apologize for taking so long. I've been busy helping out another writer, so I haven't had the time to write my own stuff. I can't believe that I've only put out three chapters. It's time to fix that. I'm going to let you on a secret, I'm going to try and expand to a third. Where it will go? I'm not saying. Send your reviews so I know how much you like this one.


While Sara was still sleeping, Patrick was already on the move. Boxcars was on his back again, making sure that nobody was going to sneak up on them. Patrick kept his pace slow and steady, making sure not to wake Sara up. She was tired and she had good reason. Her entire town was destroyed by nightstalkers, almost everyone killed. They had been lead by one that had been mutated beyond what was considered 'normal' for them. Whoever was spreading the fragments, there didn't seem to be any reason behind what they were doing. These cases were not the first time he had dealt with those mutated by their power.

There was once a small village, populated by a simple tribe. They treated him like he was a powerful ancient being sent by the spirits to help their tribe. This was supported when he brought them guns, ammo, and medicine from all around. There were those who were concerned with his presence, but he never brought them any harm. Even those who once feared him began to respect him and even enjoyed the time he was with them.

In a way, they had become his family and he took on the roll of their protector. Even when he would leave for months at a time, he would always return with more to trade. And they would always have warm food and good leather to repair his coat with when he came home. He would give them the better part of the deal because he didn't need any of it.

Being able to stay with the children was his favorite activity while he was around. Whenever he was there, the men would go hunt and the women would leave him to take care of their kids. They would learn about the world they lived in by him while he had them too. He knew how harsh it was out there, but they wished to learn. He showed them how to skin geckos they caught in traps and which desert fruit wouldn't make them sick. He also taught them of the reality outside their little world. If they wanted to leave, they would learn to survive first. Those who can't survive the desert wouldn't make it on their own. This was why all the wild beasts could be so fierce. They had to be if they wished to survive.

During his time with the children, he met a pair of girls, twins actually, who favored him more than the others did. They enjoyed the toys and old picture books he would bring them. They would collect berries and fruit to trade, wanting to be like the grown-ups. They even used their lessons to start catching geckos. They would skin them and trade the hides and meat. Patrick made sure to bring them plenty, even going so far to have half a dozen teddy bears for both of them. Over time, they loved him like he was another father and treated him as such. Their parents trusted him because he would never let any harm come to them. When a wild dog attacked, he roared at it, scaring it off. When one of them fell sick, he stayed with her and made sure that she had everything she needed. The constant care and his knowledge of medicine helped her to pull through. Under his care, they were growing to become intelligent young women. It was three years after these events when things suddenly changed.

He was coming back after two months of wandering to find the tribe obliterated. He found the bodies of men, women, and even children. Among the rubble, there was evidence that they had discovered a collection of glowing fragments. Those who had them were quickly mutated and turned on their fellow tribe members in their rage. When he found the dolls he made for the twins, a Big Daddy and Little Sister, whatever heart he had shattered. He spent the next twenty years hunting down those who possessed the fragments. He barely ate and hardly ever slept, going for months between sleeps.

With the tribe lost, he never returned to the area. He kept to himself mostly. It was only when he discovered the Gun Runners that he started trading again. He had lived on wild animals he found and did his best to tan their hides. By the time he started trading for good leather, his coat was a mess. Because of his large size and knowledge of old-world guns, he helped them to rebuild their damaged machinery. His own weaponry was built especially for him using what he knew about gun designs that he picked up over the years.

"Hey, you can put me down now. Don't make me shoot you."

"Oh, sorry, Sara." Patrick put the woman down so she could walk on her own. He wouldn't easily admit it, but he didn't mind carrying her. She was a strong woman, but she was still vulnerable while she slept. "You sleep good?" he asked her and waited as she checked her pockets and pouches. She still didn't trust him well enough. Or it was just habit for her. To her, he could just be another wanderer who might want her stuff. It was the way of life in some areas, especially where bandits were concerned.

"Who said you could fucking touch me?" The tone of her voice told Patrick that she was trying to hide the fact that she was grateful. She must have enjoyed the contact, but she had an image to uphold. He could do without the foul language though, but after being alone for so long, it was better than nothing.

"No one did. Had to move. Bandits were coming." It was true, for he could always tell when trouble was coming around.

"Ya, sure," she took her gun back, which was hanging from his arm, and checked it over. Seeing that it was still in working order, she slung it over her shoulder and fell behind him as he started moving.

"You have family?" Patrick asked as they passed a road-side sign. It was so weathered that there was nothing left to read.

"Don't know if I have anyone left. My two brothers were off with my father out on a hunt and never returned. Ten years later, I was searching through a cave to find their bones. I recognized them because of their equipment. Damned idiots got themselves killed and eaten by cazadors. I waited ten whole years for them, hoping they would return. He never did keep his promise."

"And your mother?"

Sara sighed, these memories looked to be deeply buried, "My mom had to take care of me all on her own during that time. I learned to shoot a gun to help protect us from the geckos and wild dogs. She died of an illness she picked up from a gecko bite. But I was old enough by then to live on my own and sold all our valuables. I didn't have any need for them and needed the food and ammo. I wandered about, killing a few bandits here and there and doing odd jobs until I came across New Nipton. I lived there for three years until this whole fucking mess screwed everything up. I fucking hate this place, but I can't quite leave it. I bet you don't have to worry about it, though."

"Not so, Sara." Patrick shook his head and pulled out an old Big Daddy doll from inside his coat. He didn't have his Little Sister because she was lost the flames that took his tribe family. "I remember past. Feel what's lost. This toy, example. Belonged to child. She had twin. I cared greatly. I lost both."

"What happened?" Sara asked.

He took out his bag of fragments, "These accursed things. They ruined everything. Started it too."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm very old. Older than war." He took out a bottle of water and gulped it down to soothe his throat. "Saw the beginning. It was horrible. Fragments were whole. They create change. Change create monsters. I became monster. But I protector." He drank another water to keep speaking. "Made to defend. My body built. Built to fight. But I protect. Protect Little Sister. She like daughter. Share your name. Her name...Sara."

Patrick couldn't see her reaction with her walking behind him, but he heard her stop. He stopped too and turned around to see her shaking, gun in hand. His words had just tested what trust she had in him. She didn't want to have to think of him as someone she would have to fight.

"I won't fight. You have choice. Shoot or don't." He stood still so she could get a good shot at his head if she wanted.

"Hey, what are you doing? I'm still here, you know!" Boxcars struggled, but there wasn't anything he could do. Patrick wasn't going to move until Sara made hers.

"No, I won't. I don't know what you intentions are, but you fought to save me from those nightstalkers. You didn't even know me, yet you risked your life to help me. Hell, you would have probably tried to save the whole town if they weren't already dead. Come on, we have to keep moving."

"You remind me. Of Sara's soul. She good too."

Sara struck him on the arm with the butt of her gun. He barely felt it, but she got her point across. She didn't want to hear any of it anymore. But Patrick knew that she wouldn't do anything to actually hurt him. Saving her life at the risk of his own left its mark on her. He wasn't just any random wanderer, but he still had something to prove. As long as he didn't give her any actual reason not to, she might actually learn to trust him.

"We should go." He waited for her to put herself back together and only started moving when she was ready. He kept his pace steady so she could always keep up if she got lost in thought. When a lone gecko decided to attack them, he had her save her bullets and just kicked it. His foot was easily the best weapon against them. He took it with them so he could skin and carve it up along the way.

They came across an old NRC camp and took a few moments to check it out. There wasn't much to see beyond the piles of old metal that were once Old World campers. They were stacked on each other to act as walls, but now they were left to decay like everything else. Inside the small building, they only found some junk and the like. Not much was of any use to them. They did take the time to cook up the gecko, which tasted good. Gecko steaks was something any wanderer learned how to cook in order to survive. After they ate, they started moving again. But they were just leaving the gate when Patrick heard something coming towards them.

"Get behind me!" he cried as something created an explosion several feet before them. If he hadn't stopped like he did, there was a good chance that would have been them caught in the blast. He brushed off the debris off him and checked on Sara. She was shaking again, but this time because of shock brought on by the thought of her being killed in the explosion.

"Are you alright?" Patrick asked and reached for her. She looked at him and took his hand, which was almost like a child's compared to his. "And you, Boxcars?"

"I'm alright. Thanks for not turning around."

"I am protector. Pain is nothing." Unfortunately, that wasn't all that true. A chunk of stone had struck his knee and he was in great pain. Even for one with all his alterations, years of radiation undid some of that. But he did his best to ignore it, even managing to keep it from showing in his voice. "We should move! Town's in trouble!"

"Wait a minute, what's happening?"

"Could be fragments! Sara, get moving!" He knew she heard him because he could hear her cock her gun and was running just behind him. If there was any more explosions, he would make a good shield. He and Sara stayed low, keeping to the rocks until they knew that they weren't going to be attacked. Sara used her rifle scope to get a better look.

"I don't see anyone."

Boxcars spoke up, "That doesn't mean they aren't there. What should we do now? I'm not much help if they are in front of us."

Sara looked to Patrick for guidance and he took out Little Bertha, his double-barrel shotgun. With it in hand, he was ready for almost anything. But when a bullet flew over their heads, he was still forced to duck for cover. Fortunately, the shot was too high up to have been directed towards them. Either the shooter had no aim, or their target was moving rather quickly. Sara checked again and took a shot.

The loud scream told them that she landed the shot, but then she hit the ground. The rock she was using for cover was suddenly melted into slag by a powerful beam of thermal energy. They weren't sure what caused it, but it was enough for them to search for more cover. Even Patrick was no match for weaponry that powerful. Another shot fired and he had to put out a fire that ignited on his arm. It was close, but he was alright.

"Get better cover!" he cried and fired a 25mm grenade. The explosion was much stronger than what was supposed to happen, but everything went calm after that. He popped his head up, only for a .308 rifle round to nick his helmet. "Hold your fire!" he yelled. "We are friendly!"

"Put down your weapons and we will consider it!" came the responce.

"We're coming out!" he called back and put his shotgun away. "Guns down. We aren't hostile."

"But they still shot at us!" Boxcars replied.

"I know that. They were attacked." He had to gulp down a water for his throat. "They're protecting themselves."

"Just do it, Boxcars." Sara slung her gun on her shoulder and raised her arms, following what Patrick was doing. "We aren't hostile! Two of us are travelers from New Nipton!"

A man with dark skin approached, armed with a hunting rifle, "New Nipton? What are you doing out here?"

"Our town was attacked. Everyone but us are dead. Us too if it wasn't for the big guy here." She pointed her thumb in Patrick's direction. He didn't care much about the recognition, but he wasn't going to say anything about it.

"Is that so? Well, that's mighty fine of you. And we are glad you got rid of latest trouble. I'm Cliff Briscoe, I'm a merchant and the mayor of Novac."

"I'm Patrick Drake." Patrick pointed to himself, then to his companions. "Susan and Boxcars."

"Boxcars? Is that really you back there?"

"In the flesh. I would have visited sooner, but you know how it is. I had a hard time getting out of the house." He tapped Patrick's shoulder, getting him to turn around.

Cliff smiled and slung his rifle over his shoulder, "I'm sure you did. What are you doing out here?"

"Nipton's dead. We were attacked by nightstalkers." It was with that bit of information that his smile faded.

"Shit, and the place was actually looking better this time around. Any survivors beyond you two?" Both Boxcars and Sara looked away. Cliff sighed and motioned them to follow him.

Along the way, Sara moved to Cliff's side, "Hey, what was it that I shot?"

"You're talking about the rock roaches. We've only seem them recently, but they've caused us a lot of trouble. They came out of nowhere, spewing laser beams and dropping piles that blows up like dynamite."

"Sounds like they brought a shit storm with them."

"Hey, that's a good one. But what is strange is that we've found a green stone on one of them."

Patrick was quick to catch up, "Did you touch?"

Cliff pulled back, not sure what to do, "No Bark suddenly went wild about it and buried the thing. It belonged to the second biggest of them so we were worried it was poisonous. Hell, No Bark's crazy, but he's never reacted like that before. And we're sure the bigger of the two went to the old REPCONN facility. Ever since they appeared, we've had to deal with more and more bugs. Here, that one you shot is still here."

The roach was possitively huge. It was as big as a person but looked like it was heavily armored. True to its name, its shell was as rugged as a rock. Between its eyes was a glass-like stone that sparked when Cliff tapped it with his knife. Patrick ripped it out, causing it to glow with a green energy. He put it into his pocket and took out his own knife, one that was almost as long as Sara's arm. He carved off its back shell and carried it with him to the town. Sara was forced to have him put it in a trash bin because the stench was too much to handle.

The 'town' itself wasn't much beyond an ancient hotel. But it was reinforced with metal plates, protection against the rock roaches and their lasers. There were a few blast marks on the ground, but none of them were able to get inside the buildings. The bodies were left outside in a pile to rot, those that didn't already blow up. After settling Boxcars into a room, Patrick went off to carve them while Sara stayed with Cliff.

"Hey, how long ago was it since these bugs came around?" she asked.

Cliff rubbed his balding head, "About a month ago, why?"

"Nipton was attacked only recently. There was a huge nightstalker commanding some normal ones."

"Is that so?" He scanned the area from where they were on the second floor walkway of the hotel. He seemed on edge, probably worried that they were going to be attacked again. He took a swig of whiskey before he spoke, "I don't know what caused this, but these bugs are more dangerous than anything I've seen. We've already had to bury six people in that month. I guess we were lucky after what happen to New Nipton. Are you sure there were no survivors?"

"I wouldn't know because I was stuck on the roof of the town hall. Patrick was able to save my ass, even at the risk of his own life." She took the bottle of whiskey and took a swif of it herself and her face scrunched up. "Ooh, strong stuff you got. Got anything sweeter? Anyways, Patrick didn't even know me, but he worked to kill every one of them. He killed every one and took on their leader on his own. Hell, he did this with a fucking nightstalker stuck to his head!"

"What, as a hat?"

"No, he got bit by one, but it got stuck. I had to lop off its head before it could get off of his." She chuckled and took another drink. When it didn't go down so well, Cliff pulled out a bottle of vodka. "We found out that there was a fragment in the leader, which was why it grew so big. He told me that it was dangerous, so you were right not to touch one."

"Are you sure he wasn't just hunting the fragment?" Cliff asked.

Sara shook her head, "No, he seemed very concerned for my safety. And he wanted me to come with him. He even protected me from bullets and at least one explosion with his own body. He's an extremely rare sort of person." She took a drink of the clear liquid and found it to be more to her liking.

"How so?"

"I'm not quite sure how to put it." Sara leaned over the railing. "I guess he's the sort of person who would protect you at all costs. He doesn't care what happens to him as long as he's protecting you. And with that big body of his, I'm sure he will be able to do it. I guess it's wierd, but I feel like part of me knows him."

"Did you know your father when you were young?"

"I did, actually, but dissapeared during that time. I found out he was dead some time afterwards."

"Maybe Patrick reminds you of your father. These feelings could be from the qualities Patrick has that your father possessed as well."

Sara shook her head, "No, he's done things that my father could never do. My father was just a hunter, no matter how much I loved him. But Patrick is a greater man than anyone I have ever known, and not for his height or strength. I have met men who can fight off deathclaws, but Patrick seems to have the strength to take on whole packs with just his will alone."

"I can see you hold a lot of respect for him." Cliff passed his bottle of whiskey to a man who walked by them.

Sara was surprised by this, "Are you sure? I've only known him for a couple days now."

"Maybe he left a good impression on you."

Sara shrugged, "Saving me from a giant nightstalker's stomach would do that to you, I guess. But, what should I do now?"

"What do you mean?" Cliff asked. He could see that she was concerned about something, but her face wasn't about to tell him what.

"We're finally here, in a safe place. We can leave Boxcars here where he can be of use, but what about me?"

"There's plenty of space here for the both of you."

"That's kind, but I think I might stick with Patrick for awhile longer. I want to see just what he can do." She drained the bottle and put it on the floor. "I'm sure that he's going to take me places that I didn't know existed. Hey, who's that?" She still had her rifle with her, so she pulled it up and used the scope to see them. What she saw was Patrick talking to another figure. From what she could tell, the stranger was about as big as him. Then the stranger pointed in her direction and Patrick started walking back to town. "Hold on, I need to check up on something." She nearly flew down the stairs and out the gate to see Patrick walking towards her.

"Hey, who was that person you were talking too?"

"Another wanderer. Traded for supplies."

"What did you have to trade? I thought you left your stuff to me and Boxcars to pay for our own supplies and ammo."

"Traded bug shells. Good for armor. But needs work." He walked past, only to stop and say, "Ending bad smell."

Sara got a faint smile from that one and she followed him back into the town. He sat himself just inside the gate and started checking his equipment. His fingers were surprisingly agile as he used a large needle and thread to sew up his coat. It wasn't the best jobs she had ever seen, but it was enough to close the holes. Then he went to work checking up on his guns. He still had his large shotgun and revolver, untouched from the explosion. She spotted a pair of thick-looking holsters, which was probably the reason why. She also noticed some sort of body armor that he was wearing. It was patchwork, but once he started working on it, he pulled out several sharp stones. They were big enough to kill a lesser person, but he pulled them out like they were nothing.

"Those look painful."

Patrick grunted and replied, I'm strong enough. Been for years."

"Hey, your knee is bleeding!" Sara ran inside for a medical kit and came back to see that he had torn his pants leg off. He was sewing a new one while she went to work on his leg. Even his limb was wrapped in old bandages, but there was a big tear where the wound was. There wasn't much blood, as if the wound has sealed up rather quickly. Patrick didn't make her stop or leave him while she wrapped it, but instead just sat there, watching her. "I guess now I know for certain that you're a survivor of the war."

"This," he pointed to his withered skin, "old mutation."

"You're a mutant?" She tilted her head and examined the blood that stained his leg.

"I was made. To be this. Don't you remember?"

Sara remembered, but she didn't think of him as a mutant, "I guess, but it was strange to think tha you had a mutation."

"Ghouls are mutated."

"I know, but your skin, it's not falling off. It's a bit withered, but I can see that it's still there. Why do you keep yourself wrapped up like this?"

"Look too different. Even ghouls unsure. Because of size."

"Hmm, ya, I guess so. I guess people might think you're just another super mutant or something and attack you on sight. Has that ever happened?"

"Yes, from bandits." Now that she was done, he started sewing on the new pants leg.

"But didn't normal people attack you?"

"They learned quickly. Guns always help."

"Don't tell me you shot them!" She nearly tipped over when Patrick poked her.

"What was that for?"

"I never fire. They too impressed. After shooting bandits." He resumed sewing his pants together and left the conversation. She sat by him and leaned her head against the fence. She was tired after all the excitement and needed a drink. "This for you." Patrick pulled out a large bottle. "It's wasteland tequila. Made it myself." Sara took it and gave it a try, only to sputter and fall to the ground. Patrick was able to save the bottle from falling and drank it himself. He handed her a bottle of wine afterwards.

As the sun began to settle, Patrick took it upon himself to wait just outside of town. With Sara and Boxcars inside, he was able to wait for a large figure to appear.

"So, what have you found?" he took out a bottle of water and gulped half of it before handing it over.

"Information was correct. Source passed here." Patrick took out the fragments he was carrying. "You take these. Keep them safe."

"Alright, and you stay safe too." The tall man gulped down another water. "We've already lost three of us. Only four of us remain."

"What about them?"

"They haven't been found yet. And if we don't find them..." he gulped yet another water. "If we don't find them, this world is lost."

"We'll save it. We'll find them. Or die trying."

"We're going to die again when this is over. Why should an early one be different?"

"Then we failed..."