Modus Operandi 4
An open can of Salisbury steak was shoved under her nose, along with an old spork. She stared at the meat, and could've sworn it twitched. "We lead charmed lives, don't we?" they were the first words she'd spoken since they set off for the broadcast tower.
"Don't pull that line." The Wanderer told her. "At least you're guaranteed a hot meal and warm bed. Decent conversation. Most people don't have that. Brotherhood Soldiers live sheltered and privileged lives."
"Despite the fact we get our thankless asses shot off for the wasters?" Sarah snapped.
Her quiet companion stared into the light of a small wind-up lamp he'd set up in the middle of the floor. It barely gave off enough light for her to make out basic shapes in the darkness. Beyond an immediate one-meter radius, it didn't throw any light at all. Not that it mattered all that much. They had made camp in a small circular room under the radio tower. Never in a million years would Sarah ever have even spotted the hatch, which was cleverly hidden behind a rock.
The man had immediately pulled some leather armour out of a suitcase. Sarah was warm, dry, comfortable (aside from her feet), and for the first time since she'd last spoken to Glade, she felt that she wasn't in any immediate danger. That counted for a lot. He had draped a blanket around her shoulders to keep her warm, which was a thoughtful touch.
"I didn't say you didn't deserve it." the Wanderer said. "Those who take the biggest risk, sacrifice the most, deserve the greatest reward."
"And what's your reward?" Sarah asked. "According to Three-Dog, you've sacrificed more than anyone else in the wasteland."
The Wanderer leaned back, intentionally throwing his face into shadow. "Three Dog's speeches aren't always the most accurate."
"I know. He's turned you into a messiah."
The Wanderer shrugged. "Doesn't bother me."
Sarah raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Getting a little big for your britches? I remember the day we met. I found you cowering behind a concrete wall. From two muties."
"And an hour later I killed my first behemoth." Her companion crossed his arms. "It's only hubris if I'm wrong. And that's not it at all. Hope is the important thing. If Three Dog wants to use my image to spread that, I don't see why I should disagree."
"I guess that's fair…" Sarah picked up the can of food and began to shovel it into her mouth. It occurred to her that she didn't actually know how many days had passed since she had last eaten. The meat was cold and repulsive, but she swallowed mouthful after mouthful, not knowing when her next meal was going to come. Then she choked as the conversation ran itself through her head. "First?"
"First. I've come across a few others since then. Two in the Evergreen mills area, one in Takoma park, and one in the capitol building itself, though Talon mercs technically got that one."
Sarah stared, trying to imagine the twenty-foot tall monstrosity being taken down by a single man with an assault rifle. It was difficult to stomach.
"So, how long till they think you're dead?"
The question caught her off guard, but she ran it through and realized he was asking about the Brotherhood. "They stop the search after three days. But that's not the same thing. We're still listed as Missing in Action. Not Killed in Action. And don't say it like that. We don't have the resources."
The Wanderer whistled. "One whole letter difference, eh? Has anyone ever come back after the three day mark?"
"A few." Sarah admitted, trying to ignore his jab. "Less than I'd like."
"Any at all is good."
She nodded.
They settled into what was for her an uncomfortable silence. She broke it with a statement. "You saved my life."
"Yes."
"Would it matter to you if I thanked you?" She hadn't meant it to slip out like that, but the man was getting on her nerves.
"It might." He admitted, after a long silence. "I did put something important aside to help you."
"More important?" Sarah asked, her tone demonstrating that what he said next would dictate their working relationship for the rest of their days.
"Poor choice of words. Raiders keep finding their way into the capital wasteland. I've driven them out of Evergreen mills more than once. I'm trying to plug the leaks. I have a pretty good idea where, but I needed conformation. They cause more deaths than the Supermutants." The Wanderer said. "But when I see them hauling off a captive, I do my best to save them."
"We do too. But not if it means getting one of our own killed." Sarah told him.
He nodded.
More silence.
"Would you like to listen to some music?" he asked, catching her off guard again.
Sarah set down the empty tin and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "I'd like that."
He reached down to a strange green computer wrapped around his left forearm. Sarah knew what it was of course: the Pip Boy 3000. She had never seen it up close, and only knew that he had never been seen without it.
The Wanderer adjusted a few dials on it, and was rewarded with light scratchy jazz piano, accompanied by a soulful clarinet.
"That's…useful." Sarah commented.
"I don't listen to it much." Her companion explained. "Up here, if you don't keep your eyes and ears open, you're dead."
Her feet still hurt, and left a red stain on the floor wherever contact was made. She knew that some rocks were stuck under the skin, but it was hard to reach them from such an awkward position, and all of her joints were aching so much it was hard to stretch in any case. But she grunted and crossed her leg, trying to clean her feet up by the meager light.
The Wanderer dug around in his suitcase and produced a roll of grey bandages and a pair of tweezers. He flicked a second button on his pip-boy and the room was suddenly lit in a warm yellow glow. They watched each other for a moment, then he extended a surprisingly gentle hand and moved her foot so he could get a better view. He handed her a familiar syringe.
"Med-X?" she asked.
"Do you want it painless, or not?" he responded. "My dad was a doctor, and I've patched myself up countless times. Med-X, Stimpacks, bandages. That combo lasts for days on wounds far worse than this. Now either take the Med-X, or give it back.
Sarah hesitated for a moment, then slipped the needle into her own arm. She felt the drugs seep through her, dulling the pain and warping her senses until she was only vaguely aware of the tweezers slipping into the cuts., pulling out rock after tiny rock. In the background, Billie Holiday's fragile voice washed over her. The blanket had somehow grown warmer and softer. Sarah slipped into sleep.